A Sportsman at Large 109 



in pronunciation and cadences in Old Ireland as there are 

 in England, and for the matter of that, North of the 

 Tweed.) 



" Shure," said I, " yez bhoys must be cold and whet teu 

 the shkin av yez. Faith ut's the frozen noses av yez that 

 needs be in a mug av the crathur. Come yez up teu the cabin 

 and Oi'll be dosin' yez wid the rale shtuff, an' divil a mite av 

 excoise paid upon ut ! " 



My suggestion was received with acclamation. Not only 

 the vile alcohol, but a fistful of white bread and soapy cheese, 

 was doled to each of the campaigners. My health was drunk 

 uproariously. 



" See here bhoys," I said as I wished them good-night. 

 " Next Sabbath as ivver is, come yez up wid the woives, 

 sisthers, cousins, ants and the collyeens av yez, an ut's a 

 foine kick up we'll be havin'. Is it game y'are ? " 



The answer was in the affirmative . . . emphatically so ! 

 The gala night arrived, and with it practically the whole 

 country side. The formality of invitations having been 

 dispensed with, the result, as far as numbers were concerned, 

 was most gratifying. It was a motley throng and all were 

 bent on enjoying themselves, making an infernal row, drink- 

 ing as much as they could hold, dancing themselves silly, 

 and ending up with a free fight. (The last item being sine 

 qua non.) This programme was faithfully carried out. Never 

 was there such a shuffling of hobnailed boots or bare feet 

 (according to the social quality of the terpsichoreans) on the 

 kitchen "flu-er." Never had the bucks of Connemara been 

 so well primed with mountain dew ; and consequently never 

 had the colleens been made love to so ardently and persistently. 

 Unhappily the latter pastime was somewhat discounted by 

 the late arrival of Father O'Reilly, who was a stickler for a 

 reasonable observance of the conventions. 



Of course there were many cases of deadly rivalry which 

 promised " wigs on the green " ere the entertainment was 

 brought to a close. One of the worst of these green eyed 

 phantasies was conjured up by no less a person than my portly 

 and exuberant cousin Ted, who though his wife was way 

 back in the land of the Saxon posed as a widower, and in this 



