_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was going through a little country village.

The streets were very sore by reason of the hardness of my feet and lameness of my brogues, so I went but very slowly across the streets.

From port to port is a pretty long way; but I, being weary, thought nothing of it. Then the people came all crowding to me as I had been a world's wonder, or the wandering Jew, for the rain blew in my face and the wind wetted all my belly, which caused me to turn the back of my coat before and my b.u.t.tons behind, which was a good safeguard to my body, and the starvation of my naked body, for I had not a good shirt.

_Tom._ I am sure, then, Paddy, they would take you for a fool?

_Teag._ No, no, sir; they admired me for my wisdom, for I always turned my b.u.t.tons before when the wind blew behind; but I wondered how the people knew my name and where I came from, for every one told another that was Paddy from Cork. I suppose they knew my face by seeing my name in the newspapers.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow in the village?

_Teag._ To be sure I was not idle, working at nothing at all, till a decruiting sergeant came to town with two or three fellows along with him, one beating on a fiddle, and another playing on a drum, tossing their airs through the streets, as if they were going to be married. I saw them courting none but young men, so, to bring myself to no preferment at all, I listed for a soldier. I was too big for a grandedeer.

_Tom._ What listing money did you get, Paddy?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I got five thirteens and a pair of English brogues. The guinea, and the rest of the gold, was sent to London to the King, my master, to buy me new shirts, a c.o.c.kade, and common treasing for my hat. They made me swear the malicious oath of devilry against the king, the colours, and my captain, telling me if ever I desert and not run away that I should be shot, and then whipt to death through the regiment.

_Tom._ No, Paddy; it is first whipt, and then shot, you mean.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, it is all one thing at last; but it is best to be shot and then whipt--the cleverest way to die I'll warrant you.

_Tom._ How much pay did you get, Paddy?

_Teag._ Do you know the little tall fat sergeant that feed me to be a soldier?

_Tom._ And how should I know them I never saw, you fool?

_Teag._ Dear shoy, you may know him whether you see him or not. His face is all bored in holes with the smallpox, his nose is the colour of a lobster-toe, and his chin like a well washen potato. He's the biggest rogue in our kingdom. You'll know him when you meet him again. The rogue height me sixpence a day, kill or no kill; and when I laid Sunday and Sat.u.r.day both together, and all the days in one day, I can't make a penny above fivepence of it.

_Tom._ You should have kept an account, and asked your arrears once a month.

_Teag._ That's what I did, but he reads a paternoster out of his prayer book, wherein all our names are written; so much for a stop-hold to my gun, to bucklers, to a pair of comical harn-hose, with leather b.u.t.tons from top to toe; and, worst of all, he would have no less than a penny a week to a doctor. "Arra," said I, "I never had a sore finger, nor yet a sick toe, all the days of my life; then what have I to do with the doctor, or the doctor to do with me."

_Tom._ And did he make you pay all these things?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, pay and better pay: he took me before his captain, who made me pay all was in his book. "Arra, master captain," said I, "you are a comical sort of a fellow now; you might as well make me pay for my coffin before I be dead, as to pay for a doctor before I be sick;" to which he answered in a pa.s.sion, "Sir," said he, "I have seen many a better man buried without a coffin;" "Sir," said I, "then I'll have a coffin, die when I will, if there be as much wood in all the world, or I shall not be buried at all." Then he called for the sergeant, saying, "You, sir, go and buy that man's coffin, and put it in the store till he die, and stop sixpence a week off his pay for it." "No, no, sir," said I, "I'll rather die without a coffin, and seek none when I'm dead, but if you are for clipping another sixpence off my pay, keep it all to yourself, and I'll swear all your oaths of agreement we had back again, and then seek soldiers where you will."

_Tom._ O then, Paddy, how did you end the matter?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, by the nights of Shaint Patrick and help of my brogues, I both ended it and mended it, for the next night before that, I gave them leg bail for my fidelity, and went about the country a fortune-teller, dumb and deaf as I was not.

_Tom._ How old was you, Paddy, when you was a soldier last?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was three dozen all but two, and it is only two years since, so I want only four years of three dozen yet, and when, I live six dozen more, I'll be older than I am, I warrant you.

_Tom._ O but, Paddy, by your account you are three dozen of years old already:

_Teag._ O what for a big fool are you now, Tom, when you count the years I lay sick; which time I count no time at all.

PADDY'S NEW CATECHISM.

_Tom._ Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now, Paddy, of what profession art thou?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter to carry out of mine own country: I was afraid that you English Presbyterians should pluck it away from me.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, was your religion such a load that you could not carry it along with you?

_Teag._ Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me when at home, my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear b.u.t.ton hole.

_Tom._ And what manner of worship did you perform by that?

_Teag._ Why, I adored the cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed Oliver as black as crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all Protestants and church of Englandmen.

_Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of Englandmen, or a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Paddy?

_Teag._ Because it is unnatural for an Irishman: but had Shaint Patrick been a Presbyterian, I had been the same.

_Tom._ And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Paddy?

_Teag._ Because they have liberty to eat flesh in lent, and everything that's fit for the belly.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, are you such a lover of flesh that you would change your profession for it?

_Teag._ O yes, that's what I would. I love flesh of all kinds, sheep's beef, swine's mutton, hare's flesh, and hen's venison; but our religion is one of the hungriest in all the world, ah! but it makes my teeth to weep, and my stomach to water, when I see the Scotch Presbyterians, and English churchmen, in time of lent, feeding upon bulls' and sheep's young children.

_Tom._ What reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing your stomach so while you are alive?

_Teag._ By Shaint Patrick I'll live like a king when I'm dead, for I will neither pay for meat nor drink.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, do you think that you are to come alive again when you are dead?

_Teag._ O yes, we that are true Roman Catholics will live a long time after we are dead; when we die in love with the priests, and the good people of our profession.

_Tom._ And what a.s.surance can your priest give you of that?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, a good shoul, who can repeat a paternoster and Ave Maria, which will fright the very horned devil himself, and make him run for it, until he be like to fall and break his neck.

_Tom._ And what does he give you when you are dying? that makes you come alive again?

_Teag._ Why, he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a wafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and direction in our right hand, who to call for at the ports of Purgatory.

_Tom._ And what money design you to give the priest for your pardon?

_Teag._ Dear shoy, I wish I had first the money he would take for it, I would rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill and my honest word, payable in the other world.

_Tom._ And how then are you to get a pa.s.sage to the other world, or who is to carry you there?

_Teag._ O, my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter: for when I die, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt, and bones, only my skin will be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear shoul I mean; and then I will be blown over to the other world on the wings of the wind; and after that I'll never be killed, hanged, nor drowned, nor yet die in my bed, for when any hits me a blow, my new body will play buff upon it like a bladder.

_Tom._ But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it?