LIFE IN IRELAND 147 



array on the edge of a rock, from whence the devotees, 

 well primed with costiguous malt, descend with hideous 

 yells to have a sup from the iron ladle. 



Sir Shawn and Brian Boru, clad in russet brown, 

 alighted at Tim Connor's just in time to see a mid-day 

 dipping. Little notice was taken of our heroes ; they 

 had their glass at the mash-tub, and paid their two 

 sixpences for the Priests, who, although seldom present, 

 had pronounced a benediction over the grave or well of 

 the Virgin, which imbibed all the virtues of Cornelius 

 O'Callagan, who, as every woman in the province of 

 Ulster can testify, is a powerful man on his knees at 

 his favourite devotions. Would you be after taking a 

 noggin, said Tim, to drink the Virgin's good health in 

 her watery grave, at the same time handing to Sir 

 Shawn a tin pot marked with a crucifix, for which he 

 had to down with his tenpenny, and away they trudged 

 to the well in so mingled a crowd, that the Da7ice of 

 Death was never equal to it ; probably four thousand 

 individuals formed this grotesque scene, some on their 

 knees, some turning head over heels, others with hands 

 raised to the sky, all bawling out ' Shave us, shave us 

 all, holy mother.' — 'By my soul,' said Mooney, 'and if 

 she does come down to shave you all, she'll have a 

 dirty job, and there is not water enough in the holy- 

 well to make a lather for you all.' At the well such a 

 scramble took place, as Brian had never before seen ; 

 he and Sir Shawn went neck and heels into the 

 gutter, and poor Mooney followed very quickly, and, 

 in defiance of decorum, he came slap upon his master's 

 inexpressibles ; not a soul stayed to pick up the fallen 

 heroes, all trod and plodded on to fill their cans at the 



