STAGE IRISHMEN AND OTHERS 243 



his professional career, and its inclusion here may be 

 pardoned on tlie plea that, in some degree, it illus- 

 trates this point. The carpenter was a person devoid 

 of conscience as an artist, his main preoccupation 

 being to persuade his employers that things, as Long- 

 fellow remarks, are not what they seem. He was, 

 withal, an agreeable and skilled conversationalist. " I 

 was hanging a gate one time for Mr. C," he began, 

 artlessly. " I had it hung when he comes to look 

 at it. ' Have ye it plumbed ? ' says he. 'I have, 

 sir,' says I; and that was a lie for me." Here a 

 hint of a pause, to make sure of the listener's apprecia- 

 tion of the position. "'Where's your plumb-line?' 

 says he. ' At home, sir,' says I (but sure, I had ne'er 

 a plumb-line)." Another pause. " Well, the next 

 day himself and Mrs. C. comes to look at the gate. 

 He asks me again for my plumb-line. ' Never mind, 

 sure ril plumb it ! ' says Mrs. C. ' Have ye a bit o' 

 string?' 'I have not, Ma'am,' says I. Pad Leary 

 was there, and with that he said he'd give her the 

 lace out of his boot. I wisht Pad Leary was dead 

 and buried. She tied a light stone in the lace, and 

 she plumbed the gate." The quiet voice ceased for 

 an instant, while the inwardness of the situation 

 sank in. 



" It was plumb." 



The climax came without so much as a mark of 

 admiration to emphasise it. The artist moved on, 

 without comment, save that implied in the steady 

 eye that held the hearer's. " And faith," he added, 

 without triumph, as it were irrelevantly, " Pad Leary 

 had to walk to town for himself the next day, to buy 

 a boot -lace." 



One searches in vain among the Traits and Stories 

 of Irish Life for any touch of calm, for any recogni- 

 tion of the preciousness of under- statement. Take, 

 in further exempUfication of these great qualities, the 



