24 WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



man, '' We're all here, colonel, avorneen ! " exclaimed 

 a red virago, '* but my own poor man, Brieney Bokkogh ;* 

 and he, the crater ! fell into the fire a Sunday night, 

 and him hearty, and sorrow stir he can make good nor 

 bad.'' "Ah, then," said the humane commander, 

 " why should poor Brien be left out ? Arrah ! run 

 yourself, and bring the cripple to us." In a twinkling 

 off went the red virago, and, after a short absence, issued 

 from a neighbouring lane with Brieney on her shoulders. 

 " Are you all here now ? " inquired the tender-hearted 

 chieftain. " Every single sowl of us," said an old woman 

 in reply. *' Ogh ! that the light of heaven may shine 

 on his honour's dying hour ; but it's he that's tender 

 to the poor ! " "Amen, Amen ! " responded a 

 hundred voices. " Silence ! " said the Mad Major, 

 as he produced a small book neatly bound in red 

 morocco. '* Whisht, your so wis ! " cried the big 

 beggarman. " Are ye listening ? " " Sha, sha ! yes, 

 yes ! " was responded in English and Irish. " Then, 

 by the contents of this blessed book — and it's the Bible 

 — a rap I won't give one of ye, you infernal vagabonds, 

 if I remained a twelvemonth in Mullingar ! " A yell 

 of execrations followed ; but the Major bore the cursing 

 Hke a philosopher, and kept his promise like a monk. 

 To the surprise of all, the beggars left the way when he 

 walked out, and absconded from the shop he entered. 

 They crossed themselves devoutly if they encountered 

 him unexpectedly at a corner, adjuring the Lord to 

 " stand between them, the Mad Major, and the devil ! " 

 Apropos to cursing ; the late Sir Charles Asgill told 

 a story of this eccentric personage. During the time 

 the 50th remained in Ireland, the Colonel was mostly 



* Bryan the Cripple. 



