_Teag._ Yes, that's what I did, for I ran to the doctor whenever she died, and sought something for a dead or dying woman. The old foolish devil was at his dinner, and began to ask me some stupid questions, and then kicked me down stairs.

_Tom._ And in what good order did you bury your wife when she died?

_Teag._ O, my dear shoy, she was buried in all manner of pomp, pride, and splendour--a fine coffin, with cords in it; and within the coffin, along with herself, she got a pair of new brogues, a penny candle, a good, hard-headed old hammer, with an Irish sixpenny piece, to pay her pa.s.sage at the gate, and what more could she look for?

_Tom._ I really think you gave her enough along with her, but you ought to have cried for her, if it was no more but to be in the fashion.

_Teag._ And why should I cry without sorrow, when we hired two criers to cry all the way before her to keep her in the fashion?

_Tom._ And what do they cry before a dead woman?

_Teag._ Why, they cry the common cry, or funeral lament, that is used in our Irish country.

_Tom._ And what manner of cry is that, Paddy?

_Teag._ Dear Tom, if you don't know I'll tell you. When any person dies there is a number of criers goes before, saying, "Luff, fuff, fou, allelieu, dear honey, what aileth thee to die! It was not for want of good b.u.t.ter milk and potatoes."

PART III.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, and what did you do when your wife died?

_Teag._ Dear honey, what would I do? Do you think I was such a big fool as to die too? I am sure if I had I would not have got fair play, when I am not so old yet as my father was when he died.

_Tom._ No, Paddy, it is not that I mean. Was you sorry, or did you weep for her?

_Teag._ Weep for her! By Shaint Patrick, I would not weep, nor yet be sorry, suppose my own mother and all the women in Ireland had died seven years before I was born.

_Tom._ What did you do with your children when she died?

_Teag._ Do you imagine I was such a big fool as bury my children alive along with a dead woman? Arra, dear honey, we always commonly give nothing along with a dead person but an old shirt, a winding sheet, a big hammer, with a long candle, and an Irish silver threepenny piece.

_Tom._ Dear Paddy, and what do they make of all these things?

_Teag._ Then, Tom, since you are so inquisitive, you must go ask the priest.

_Tom._ What did you make of your children, Paddy?

_Teag._ And what should I make of them? Do you imagine that I should give them into the hands of the butchers, as they had been a parcel of young hogs. By Shaint Patrick, I had more unnaturality in me than to put them in an hospital as others do.

_Tom._ No; I suppose you would leave them with your friends?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, a poor man's friends is sometimes worse than a professed enemy. The best friend I ever had in the world was my own pocket while my money lasted; but I left two babes between the priest's door and the parish church, because I thought it was a place of mercy, and then set out for England in quest of another fortune.

_Tom._ I fancy, Paddy, you came off with what they call a moonshine flitting.

_Teag._ You lie like a thief now, for I did not see sun, moon, nor stars, all the night then, for I set out for Cork at the dawn of night, and I had travelled twenty miles all but twelve before gloaming in the morning.

_Tom._ And where did you go to take shipping?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I came to a country village called Dublin, as big a city as any market town in all England, where I got myself aboard of a little young boat with a parcel of fellows and a long leather bag.

I supposed them to be tinklers, until I asked what they carried in that leather sack. They told me it was the English mail they were going over with. "Then," said I, "is the milns so scant in England that they must send over their corn to Ireland to grind it?" The comical, cunning fellows persuaded me it was so. Then I went down to a little house below the water, hard by the rigg-back of the boat, and laid me down on their leather sack, where I slept myself almost to death with hunger. And, dear Tom, to tell you plainly, when I waked I did not know where I was, but thought I was dead and buried, for I found nothing all round me but wooden walls and timber above.

_Tom._ And how did you come to yourself to know where you was at last?

_Teag._ By the law, dear shoy, I scratched my head in a hundred parts, and then set me down to think upon it; so I minded it was my wife that was dead, and not me, and that I was alive in the young boat with the fellows that carries over the English meal from the Irish milns.

_Tom._ Oh, then, Paddy, I am sure you was glad when you found yourself alive?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was very sure I was alive, but I did not think to live long, so I thought it was better for me to steal and be hanged than to live all my days and die directly with hunger at last.

_Tom._ Had you no meat nor money along with you?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I gave all the money to the captain of the house, or gudeman of the ship, to take me into the sea or over to England; and when I was like to eat my old brogues for want of victuals, I drew my hanger and cut the lock of the leather sack to get a lick of their meal; but, allelieu, dear shoy, I found neither meal nor seeds, but a parcel of papers and letters--a poor morsel for a hungry man.

_Tom._ Oh, then, Paddy, you laid down your honesty for nothing.

_Teag._ Ay, ay, I was a great thief, but got nothing to steal.

_Tom._ And how did you get victuals at last?

_Teag._ Allelieu, dear honey, the thoughts of meat and drink, death and life, and everything else, was out of mind. I had not a thought but one.

_Tom._ And what was that, Paddy?

_Teag._ To go down among the fishes and become a whale; then I would have lived at ease all my days, having nothing to do but to drink salt water and eat caller oysters.

_Tom._ What was you like to be drowned again?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, drowned, as cleanly drowned as a fish, for the sea blew very loud, and the wind ran so high, that we were all cast safe on sh.o.r.e, and not one of us drowned at all.

_Tom._ Where did you go when you came on sh.o.r.e?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was not able to go anywhere. You might cast a knot on my belly, I was so hollow in the middle, so I went into a gentleman's house and told him the bad fortune I had of being drowned between Ireland and the foot of his garden, where we came all safe ash.o.r.e. But all the comfort I got from him was a word of truth.

_Tom._ And what was that, Paddy?

_Teag._ Why, he told me if I had been a good boy at home I needed not to have gone so far to push my fortune with an empty pocket, to which I answered, "And what magnifies that so long as I am a good workman at no trade at all?"

_Tom._ I suppose, Paddy, the gentleman would make you dine with him?

_Teag._ I really thought I was when I saw them roasting and skinning so many black chickens, which was nothing but a few dead crows they were going to eat. "Ho ho," said I, "them is but dry meat at the best. Of all the fowls that flee commend me to the wing of an ox; but all that came to my share was a piece of boiled herring and a roasted potato. That was the first bit of bread I ever ate in England."

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow after in England when you was so poor?

_Teag._ What, sir, do you imagine I was poor when I came over on such an honourable occasion as to list, and bring myself to no preferment at all? As I was an able-bodied man in the face, I thought to be made a brigadeer, a grandedeer, or a fuzeleer, or even one of them blew-gowns that holds the fierry stick to the bung-hole of the big cannons when they let them off to fright away the French. I was as sure as no man alive ere I came from Cork, the least preferment I could get was to be riding master to a regiment of marines, or one of the black horse itself.

_Tom._ And where in England was it you listed?