In a cedar-ceiled palace, the proud arches rolled,O'erlaid with vermilion, and blazoned with gold,While their graceful supporters in colonnade stood,Like the children of giants, a grand brotherhood:Around them the lily and pomegranate wreath,In delicate tracery, while far beneathThe siren-voiced fountains beguile the long day,And the tessalate pavement is gemmed with their spray.The East from her treasury joyeth to bringHer magnificent gifts to a world-renowned king;Her birds, like to meteors, as brilliant and fleet,And her rainbow-hued flowers are laid at his feet,While he, in regality's power and pride,Sits enthroned with the symbol of pomp by his side.The beauty is glorious that beams in his face,His mien is majestic, his movement is grace!Before him a prophet, with hair long and whiteFalling down o'er a mantle as sable as night,With a glance of stern loftiness, cheek cold and pale,And a gesture of earnestness, thus told his tale."Two men in this city there dwelleth, my lord—One is blessed in the battle, and blessed by the board:He hath numberless flocks in the field and the fold,And the wealth of his coffers remaineth untold.The other hath naught save one lamb, which he fedLike a child of his household; it ate of his bread,It partook of his portion of food and of rest,It followed his footsteps, it lay on his breast,It lightened his sorrows with innocent art,And e'en, as a daughter, was dear to his heart.A traveler came to the rich man's abode,And he welcomed the guest in the name of his God;Bade him tarry awhile, 'mid the fierce noontide heat,'Neath the vine-tree's broad shadow, to rest him and eat.Then straightway he hasted, with tenderest care,To spread forth the board and the banquet prepare,While he spared of hisownto take youngling or damBut dressed for the stranger hisneighbor's ewe lamb.As a breath from the meadow, on wings of the wind,To the sense that had breathed but the perfume of Ind,Seemed this tale of simplicity, told to the heartThat had dwelt 'mid the spells of magnificent art.Spake the king, while fierce anger flashed hot from his eye,"Now, as the Lord liveth! this robber shall die!To the victim of wrong let his cattle be told,Till full restitution be rendered fourfould,Andcursedbe forever, with sword and with brand,The wretch who hath done such foul wrong in our land!"Then with stern condemnation the prophet repliedTo the monarch, who sat in his purple-clad pride,And his bold voice resounded throughout the broad spanOf the arches above them, "Thou, thou art the man!Saith the Lord, I have raised thee from humble estate,To rule o'er a nation most favored and great—I have given thee Judah thy portion to be,And the honor of Israel centres in thee!Thy children, like olive boughs, circle thy board,And the wives of thy master await at thy word,But insatiate still, thou hast entered the domeOf thy neighbor, and stolen the wife from her home;Thou hast slaughtered the husband with treacherous wile,And the vengeance of Heaven rewardeth thy guile!The child of thy love from thy arms shall be torn—And in sackcloth and ashes thy proud head shall mourn—The wives of thy household thy rivals shall be—As thou didst unto others,so be it to thee!And theswordthou hast taken, with murderous art,From thy heaven-doomed lineagene'er shall depart."
In a cedar-ceiled palace, the proud arches rolled,O'erlaid with vermilion, and blazoned with gold,While their graceful supporters in colonnade stood,Like the children of giants, a grand brotherhood:Around them the lily and pomegranate wreath,In delicate tracery, while far beneathThe siren-voiced fountains beguile the long day,And the tessalate pavement is gemmed with their spray.
The East from her treasury joyeth to bringHer magnificent gifts to a world-renowned king;Her birds, like to meteors, as brilliant and fleet,And her rainbow-hued flowers are laid at his feet,While he, in regality's power and pride,Sits enthroned with the symbol of pomp by his side.The beauty is glorious that beams in his face,His mien is majestic, his movement is grace!Before him a prophet, with hair long and whiteFalling down o'er a mantle as sable as night,With a glance of stern loftiness, cheek cold and pale,And a gesture of earnestness, thus told his tale.
"Two men in this city there dwelleth, my lord—One is blessed in the battle, and blessed by the board:He hath numberless flocks in the field and the fold,And the wealth of his coffers remaineth untold.The other hath naught save one lamb, which he fedLike a child of his household; it ate of his bread,It partook of his portion of food and of rest,It followed his footsteps, it lay on his breast,It lightened his sorrows with innocent art,And e'en, as a daughter, was dear to his heart.A traveler came to the rich man's abode,And he welcomed the guest in the name of his God;Bade him tarry awhile, 'mid the fierce noontide heat,'Neath the vine-tree's broad shadow, to rest him and eat.Then straightway he hasted, with tenderest care,To spread forth the board and the banquet prepare,While he spared of hisownto take youngling or damBut dressed for the stranger hisneighbor's ewe lamb.
As a breath from the meadow, on wings of the wind,To the sense that had breathed but the perfume of Ind,Seemed this tale of simplicity, told to the heartThat had dwelt 'mid the spells of magnificent art.Spake the king, while fierce anger flashed hot from his eye,"Now, as the Lord liveth! this robber shall die!To the victim of wrong let his cattle be told,Till full restitution be rendered fourfould,Andcursedbe forever, with sword and with brand,The wretch who hath done such foul wrong in our land!"
Then with stern condemnation the prophet repliedTo the monarch, who sat in his purple-clad pride,And his bold voice resounded throughout the broad spanOf the arches above them, "Thou, thou art the man!Saith the Lord, I have raised thee from humble estate,To rule o'er a nation most favored and great—I have given thee Judah thy portion to be,And the honor of Israel centres in thee!Thy children, like olive boughs, circle thy board,And the wives of thy master await at thy word,But insatiate still, thou hast entered the domeOf thy neighbor, and stolen the wife from her home;Thou hast slaughtered the husband with treacherous wile,And the vengeance of Heaven rewardeth thy guile!The child of thy love from thy arms shall be torn—And in sackcloth and ashes thy proud head shall mourn—The wives of thy household thy rivals shall be—As thou didst unto others,so be it to thee!And theswordthou hast taken, with murderous art,From thy heaven-doomed lineagene'er shall depart."
The incidents of life around us—of common life—of everyday events, and the common scenes which Nature has prepared on every side, are full of interest, full of means of gratifying a taste formed or cultivated to rational enjoyment. The Hymmalayen mountains may overtop the Andes, and the Amazon bear more water to the sea than the Susquehanna, but it follows not thence that the combination of scenery—points of beauty to be associated with the eye—are less attractive in the latter than in the former; and though thousands may tread, may ride, or may murder on the unfrequented path of the elder world, and give tragic effect to narrative, yet on all sides of us, in our home experience, and our limited wandering, events are every day occurring of as much interest to the participators as are those which constitute the theme of the foreign tourist; and scenes are presenting themselves almost daily within our own observation, that need only the pen of a Radcliffe to describe, or the pencil of a Claude to depict, to fix them on the imperishable canvas of the artist or the immortal page of the gifted poet.
How often have we been struck with the clustering beauties of a seashore by Birch, or some landscape by Russell Smith, and while we gazed in admiration at the production so rich in artistic skill, and felt astonishment at the fidelity of the representation, have shrunk away from the picture, ashamed that objects so constantly before our eyes should have remained unadmired till the pencil of the artist had transferred them to canvas—had selected the moment when sunshine had brought out the clustering beauties of some gentle promontory, or shade had deepened the darkness of the dell, and all which to our eyes had been daily spread out in constantly changing hues, had been fixed in beauty to challenge our admiration and create new love for the original.
Events which strike us with astonishment in their record, whether they are real or imaginary, acquire much of their importance from our knowledge of the antecedent circumstances and present condition of the actors. We connect the present with the past, and our sympathies becoming enlisted with the joys or sorrows of others, all that relates to them acquires the exaggerated importance to us which it has with those who are really connected with the occurrences. Every group of immigrants we meet, every wedding party we attend, every funeral train we join, contains in itself a story of deep and thrilling interest; the power of genius only is necessary to collect and combine the incidents, to bring in the feelings and hopes of the parties, and to present to the reader what the unobtrusive actor does, feels, hopes, fears and suffers.
Ungifted to catch the beauties of the landscape and transfer them to canvas, unpracticed in the simplest movement of the artist's duties, I can only stand and admire what Providence has spread around with a profusion of bounty, and as colors deepen or fade, and beauties augment or diminish, I bow with admiration at the object, and increased love to Him whose hand garnished the heavens, and whose goodness is as manifest "in these his lower works" as in the constellated glories of the firmament, whose systems combine to enrich with heatless light worlds of space—and the infinite seems exhausted to gem with starry lustre earth's evening canopy.
Equally unsupplied am I with that genius which seizes on passing incidents, and moulds them to important events, building the interesting and the sublime on the simple and the ordinary. I have not these gifts, but I have the love for the gifts, the sense of their existence in others, and a sort of conception of the time and the place in which they should be employed; and often, as I pass along, I select groups and note incidents that with the child of genius would be seed for a golden harvest. And scenes, too, that escape the general eye, or only excite the exclamation "how beautiful," press upon me till I wish that I had the genius and skill to fix the picture which Nature has drawn, and show that our own land and own vicinity are full of those beauties which true taste admires, which, transferred to canvas, become in turn the stimulant to taste. Yet the scenes which I see, and the occurrences which I note, may be of use to those who know better how to combine and present the materials; and what I saw and heard, others may present in an attractive form.
During the close of August and the first of September last I was, in obedience to an imperative call, engaged in some business in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The little borough was crowded with delegates to two conventions then being held, for the purpose of nominating candidates by the opposing parties for the office of Governor of the Commonwealth; a part of the machinery to which our institutions give rise, and those who affect to sneer at these preliminary movements, do not understand the true theory and practice of republicanism, where action, to be effective, must begin in thewillof the people, and to be beneficially operative it must continue in concurrence with that will. Notwithstanding the presence of two antagonistic parties therewere peace and much social intercourse between the delegates of opposite creeds; nor was this marvelous, the contest had not yet been delivered to the parties; the rivalry and antagonism were between the members of the same party, who should be the candidate—that settled on each side, then the divided fronts of the main divisions would unite, and the hostility be transferred from sections of the same party to the parties themselves. The general field of contest was of course not taken there, so that the elements of political warfare were held in abeyance, and the thronged streets wore a holyday appearance of pleasure and hope.
Standing early one morning at the door of the hotel, before the customary hour of rising, I was struck with a little procession from the canal toward the centre of the place. A stern woman led the company, in which were four men, two of whom, and the youngest, each carried a child; and in the rear was a very tall man, bearing also a younger child, wrapped about with parts of a ragged female dress. The man by his height and measured tread drew attention particularly to himself. The appearance of the whole was that of poor immigrants; Germans probably; though the stateliness of the march of its principal man was that of some one who had a spirit of independence, and felt that whatever might be his appearance, he was, for a time at least, above the influence of outward circumstances. The company passed me, and for some time I lost sight of them, and indeed nothing but the peculiar look of the woman and the remarkable tread of the man would have kept them in my memory. It was not long, however, before I saw a gathering in front of a public building, and loving to hear the remarks of those who speak out unrestrainedly, I joined the little company. Its centre was the band of immigrants. It was evident that some movements toward effective sympathy had been suggested. What they were or by what suggested I could not tell. The strangers could speak little or no English, and for a time their appearance only appealed to the kindly feelings of the multitude. I had pressed in close to the strong man, who was still bearing the little child in the same position in which it rested when he passed me at the door of the hotel. The same fixed look of independence was in his face and his position. There was much of sternness on the face of the woman, but it was marked by pain, referable perhaps to her situation, and to the marks of recent grief. Something was to be done, but what I could not yet determine. As I pressed nearer to the man the company crowded closer.
"You need help," said I to the strange man.
He intimated plainly that he could not understand me.
"You wantbread," said I.
"Das brod," exclaimed he, shaking his head. "Nein—das grab!"
And he threw the clothes from the face of the child on his arm, and the pale, quiet features of the little one were cold in death.
One low, agonizing cry went up from the depth of the woman's heart. One proud look around was given by the father, but that look was exchanged for one of anguish as he turned his eye downward toward the burthen which his arm sustained.
The company had come up, not to solicit charity, that they might eat and drink before they should die—but that they might obtain a burying-place for the little one of their flock, whom death had released from its parents' troubles.
It was a pretty child; the blue eyes were visible beneath the half divided lids, and the long lashes hung over them like gentle palls, defending them from the rudeness of earth's winds. The fine light hair lay smoothly over the marble forehead, and a few white teeth shone out from between the lips that were shrinking away from each other in the coldness of death.
It was agravethe parents needed.
The contributions were liberal, and a grave was provided. It would seem that in the wilderness of unreclaimed lands which lie along the public works of Pennsylvania, there might be found a resting-place for an infant stranger, without the eleemosynary aid which had been sought—but, alas! who does not desire when they "bury their dead out of their sight," that it may be in a place which memory may cherish.
We cannot comprehend the unconsciousness of the grave. We hedge it about, we make the last house as if comforts were to be enjoyed therein, and we love to place our dead side by side with others, as if there were fellowship with the mouldering clay. It is of no use to argue against this—it is better perhaps to encourage the feelings, and assist in their gratification. They refine the mind, they elevate views, they meliorate passions and keep alive affections. Let the resting-place of the dead be sanctified to all, it is the home of the temple of God. It is the Moriah of the Christian dispensation.
I cannot leave Harrisburg at any season of the year, but especially in the early part of Autumn, without seeking the shore of the Susquehanna at sunset. All day long the river is beautiful, the quiet stream as it goes shining down to the ocean is full of loveliness, and all upon it or near it, partakes of its character. But it is exquisitely rich and attractive near the close of the day. I went alone to enjoy the scene. And placing myself upon the bold bank between the town and the river I looked westward for the sight that had so often been enjoyed. It was there; no change comes over such beauties; they are immortal, they are without mutation. In the bosom of the broad river—glowing with the golden beams of the retiring sun—sat the islands that break the unity of the stream and augment its beauties. So rich, so full was the sunlight upon the river, that these islands seemed to be floating in the gorgeous light. Some shot out prominent angles into the water, and presented salient points to break the uniformity, while others sat swan-like down, their rounded edge touching the stream, as if they had been dressed by art to present the perfection of symmetry; the dark green of the shrubbery that sprung up in the moisture of theislands was mingled with the golden hues of the sun, and here and there the gentle current, by passing over some obstructing object, broke into a ripple, that danced like liquid gold in the sunlight.
It was a rich and lovely sight, one to which frequency of enjoyment can bring no satiety, and he who sits down to such a scene finds the impressions of unfriendly association passing away—the resolutions of revenge, which unprovoked rudeness excited, melting into the better determinations of the heart—and all of bitterness and animosity which unchastened pride encourages, are neutralized and lost in the deep emotions of love which such a view of God's works and such a sense of man's enjoyment necessarily promote.
I sat absorbed in the scene until the sun began to drop below the hills, and the warmth of the coloring upon the water was yielding to the neutral and colder tints of evening, but upward along the sides of the hills the gorgeousness of the sunlight was in its fullness. Casting my eyes away to the right, I noticed a gathering on the upland: and on looking closer I could discover the forms of those who had composed the morning procession. They had made a grave for the little one of their flock, and had gathered around it to do the last offices to the inanimate form. They all bowed together, as if taking a last look, and when they raised their heads, I thought I caught a little of the wild cry of the anguished mother—but I must have been deceived, the distance was too great, but the signs of grief werevisible, and I saw the father sustaining with his arm the afflicted wife, and the other members of the group cast their eyes toward their afflicted female companion. The air was full of dust, the consequence of a long drought, and as the floating particles reflected the sunbeams, the funeral gathering seemed for a moment, bathed in the glorious light of the setting sun, transfigured on their mount of sorrow—transfigured from the poor mendicant wanderers they had appeared in the morning, to children of light.
That glorious sunset on the islands and waters of the Susquehanna cannot soon fade from my memory—nor shall I easily forget the blaze of glory shed around the infant's grave. Strange that the richness of sunlight should spring from the impure particles by which it is reflected—but in this world of ours what but errors and impurities of the human kind make visible and beautiful the grace of Him in whose light and heat "we live and move and have our being?"
[It is a well known fact that the hapless Inez de Castro, the young and beautiful bride of Pedro of Portugal, was murdered, while he was absent on a hunting excursion.]
[It is a well known fact that the hapless Inez de Castro, the young and beautiful bride of Pedro of Portugal, was murdered, while he was absent on a hunting excursion.]
Softly broke the light of morning, through a pictured window's gloom,Blandly strayed the zephyr's winglet 'mid rich plants of Eastern bloom,Shedding a strong spicy fragrance round that gorgeous room,Lightly on her couch of purple slumbered Pedro's new-made bride,In her young unshadowed beauty, with no other thought besideThat which his deep love had poured o'er her spirit's tide.Softly had Prince Pedro risen from his nuptial couch that morn,Lightly donned his hunting vesture, at the call of hound and horn:Yet he bends enamored o'er that face of Beauty born.One more love-glance, yet another, on the sleeping face he cast;Soft he stoops to meet that red lip—one light kiss—the last!"God and our Lady bless thee, love!"—and so Prince Pedro passed.Softly faded into twilight gorgeous gleams of gold and red,Valley, stream, and purple mountain lay in mellow glory spread.And the lemon's snowy blossom dewy odors shed.Homeward through eve's tender shadows speeds Prince Pedro with his band,While with love almost paternal his fond eye drinks in the land,Over which he soon may govern with a kingly hand.Now the mellow horn he soundeth through the leafy olive groves,Far and wide the clear notes echo, but they bring not her he loves—"Inez? is it thou, sweet Inez, where yon shadow moves?"Never more shall Inez answer to that fond familiar call—Of the lovely bride left sleeping, bleeding clay is all—Of a fiendish hate the victim lies she, wrapt in gory pall.Never more from that dread hour was Prince Pedro seen to smile!Never more did chase or revel his still agony beguile—But he walked in the shadow of dark thoughts the while!With her martyred form forever graven on his memory,He became a scourge and terror from whom all men sought to flee,Tortured were his victims, but he smiled in mockery!Such the change, and such the monarch whose reft hand made discord ringLike a clarion through the country that had gladly hailed him king.Darkly, like the tempest, rode he on the avenger's wing!And when midnight drew her curtain round the land, that hourIn her blood-stained chamber did he stand with fearful power,And renew the fatal vow to avenge his martyred flower!
Softly broke the light of morning, through a pictured window's gloom,Blandly strayed the zephyr's winglet 'mid rich plants of Eastern bloom,Shedding a strong spicy fragrance round that gorgeous room,Lightly on her couch of purple slumbered Pedro's new-made bride,In her young unshadowed beauty, with no other thought besideThat which his deep love had poured o'er her spirit's tide.
Softly had Prince Pedro risen from his nuptial couch that morn,Lightly donned his hunting vesture, at the call of hound and horn:Yet he bends enamored o'er that face of Beauty born.One more love-glance, yet another, on the sleeping face he cast;Soft he stoops to meet that red lip—one light kiss—the last!"God and our Lady bless thee, love!"—and so Prince Pedro passed.
Softly faded into twilight gorgeous gleams of gold and red,Valley, stream, and purple mountain lay in mellow glory spread.And the lemon's snowy blossom dewy odors shed.Homeward through eve's tender shadows speeds Prince Pedro with his band,While with love almost paternal his fond eye drinks in the land,Over which he soon may govern with a kingly hand.
Now the mellow horn he soundeth through the leafy olive groves,Far and wide the clear notes echo, but they bring not her he loves—"Inez? is it thou, sweet Inez, where yon shadow moves?"Never more shall Inez answer to that fond familiar call—Of the lovely bride left sleeping, bleeding clay is all—Of a fiendish hate the victim lies she, wrapt in gory pall.
Never more from that dread hour was Prince Pedro seen to smile!Never more did chase or revel his still agony beguile—But he walked in the shadow of dark thoughts the while!With her martyred form forever graven on his memory,He became a scourge and terror from whom all men sought to flee,Tortured were his victims, but he smiled in mockery!
Such the change, and such the monarch whose reft hand made discord ringLike a clarion through the country that had gladly hailed him king.Darkly, like the tempest, rode he on the avenger's wing!And when midnight drew her curtain round the land, that hourIn her blood-stained chamber did he stand with fearful power,And renew the fatal vow to avenge his martyred flower!
One of my own dear countrymen, casting his eye on the above title, may possibly recognize something in it familiar to him, especially should he ever have resided on the classic shores of Galway or of Clare, our own "Far West;" but to others who may chance to honor our legend with a perusal, some few words of introduction are necessary to transport them, "in their mind's eye," from the city of "brotherly love," to the far distant and far different land of the O'Malleys, the Macnamaras,[1]and the Blakes.
An Irishman is, in my humble opinion, rather unlike a prophet, for this reason, he is in one sense only, to be honored in his own country—transplant him; and though he may be unimpaired, perhaps, in vigor of body; though he may make an excellent fabricator of rail-roads and canals, yet it has always appeared to me he loses his nativeraciness, except under very peculiar circumstances; he growsdifferent; in a word, he gradually becomes—like the rest of the world!
Is it the absence of the unique fragrancy of his native turf smoke, which at home he so freely inhaled, or is it the substitution of beef and pudding for his former scanty meals of the never-failing root of plenty? Let us leave thesevexatæ questionesto those whom they may concern, but on one point let us give our decided opinion. Our readers may say, "O, now you all are changed! since your Father Mathew has made five millions of youteetotallers, your country is not worth the living in! No more doth the invigorating, all-inspiring, thrice concentrated juice of the 'barley grain' push you forward to glorious deeds of heroic daring—of skull-breaking, dancing, or of story-telling; so that for all intents and purposes you have nothing left worth chronicling—you are getting like the rest of the world!" "Aisy a bit," say I, "the fiddle and the bagpipes have just the same charms to 'put the capers in our heels' as in whisky's balmiest days; and as for story-telling,thatwe can do equally well over a good cup of fine hot coffee. No, no; while the same fresh andfreebreezes shall continue to be wafted across the Atlantic to us; while we have our own green fields and wild, lofty mountains to behold, Irishmen we shall be in all our better qualities; and though Father Mathew may have been influential enough in cooling our heads, (we admit,) yet ourheartsare as warm as ever!
Irish cabins, which you all have heard of, would not be such bad concerns after all, and we should get
on very well indeed, if we were only aleetlebetter treated. On all hands it is admitted that we are pretty nearly able (and take my word for it we are willing enough) to eat and to drink all that a bounteous Providence causes to be brought forth from the most fruitful of soils; in truth, a superficial observer might even be tempted to utter an exclamation of surprise on being told that with a territory one thousand square miles less than that of the state of Maine, and six thousand less than that of Pennsylvania, ten millions of human beings should be supported; but then consider, kind reader, when our beef, and our butter, and our eggs, and even the little cabbages from our gardens, must fly on the wings of steam to pay the rent, and that rent flies away again, you know, to paywhom; (a slight glance at a certain map will tell you that;) consider, I say, that we cannot always be light-hearted, that a little sadness will sometimes creep over us. Think how our poor countrymen must sometimes suffer, and let ever our warmest sympathies be exerted when we hear of their distresses.
But, "stop!" you say, "these are twists you're getting into, indeed. What has this to do with your legend?" Well, then, reader, jump over with me into a snug cabin, which is not so very unlike a log-cabin, only built of stone or mud, (excuse me,) and sit down with me and a collection of choice spirits, round a blazing turf fire, keeping it warm, as we say, with the pipe and the "darlin' tibacky" taking their accustomed rounds. I may as well introduce Jimmy Carmody to you—my "Micky Free"—Tom Dillon, and a few others. So, now we are all settled.
"What's this you're all discussing so learnedly, boys?"
"O, nothing very partic'lar, your honor, only we're just saying what mighty quare owld ruins them is—them round towers. Did your honor never see any of them? Sure there's one on Scattery Island, in the Shannon, and one at Kilmacduagh, I believe, in this county."
"O, yes, Tom, I've seen those you mention, and a great many more, too; and if any of you have ever been to Dublin by the canal, I'm sure you must have seen the one at Clondalkin. There's one, too, you know, in the county Wicklow, at the lake that Tommy Moore made the beautiful song about:
'By that lake, whose gloomy shoreSkylark never warbled o'er.'"
'By that lake, whose gloomy shoreSkylark never warbled o'er.'"
"Why, now, yer honor's perfectially right!" said Jimmy, who just then remembered some incidents in his former travels to Dublin about his "little spot of a pratee garden, that was near being sowld at the Four Courts fornon payment. Quite right your honoris. Sure I wint down to see where the blessed Saint Kevin done all his miracles—where he turned the loaves into stones, and where he med the owld king's goose, that he was so fond of, young again, and all that; but sure your honor knows all about it; but after a while, the man that was there showed me a little hole up over the lake in thecliftabove, and 'look!' says he, 'that's St. Kevin's bed,' says he. 'Why, then, now!' says I, 'up inthatlittle pigeon-hole!' says I. 'O! and did his blessed reverince go upthereto bed?' says I. 'No! you fool!' says he, 'but to avoid the darlin' young lady,' says he. 'And it'stherehe threw her down into the deep, cowld, dark lake,' says he. 'Would you like to go up and lie down in his bed?' says he. 'Is itme,' says I, 'to do it? Why my brain is like a spider's web wid lookin' at it,' says I. But a young man that was used to crawling in them unchristian places—them mines—went up; and I thought I could jump through a key-hole, I felt so, to see him do it; and says I, when he came down, 'Young man, I pray, when you settle in life, you may have a handier way of gettin' into bed than that, particularly if you're—'"
Here a burst of laughter, which it is not hard to elicit from such an auditory, interrupted Jimmy, who is requested to tell "whether he ever heard who built these round towers, or why they were built at all?"
"Why," remarks Jimmy, "whythey were built, no one can tell—they don't look like any thing Christian; but the man that undoubtedly built some of them was the Gubbaun Seare."
"Who was he, Jimmy?" asked all.
"Why, then, your honor, myself doesn't know much about the Gubbaun Seare, only as the owld people tell us."
"Well, Jimmy, that don't make what the old people tell us of no account; for with all our new improvements, (I had been explaining a rail-road to them the evening before,) we are obliged to retain nearly all their inventions also; so you may as well tell us what you know about the Gubbaun Seare, for you may depend there must be some truth and value in it."
"Why, then, that's true for your honor," said another; a sentence, by the bye, which always greets you when you utter an opinion, correct or incorrect.
"Well, then," said Jimmy, "in them owld times, I believe, when the round towers was building, there was a mason—and if there was, he was as fine a mason as ever lived, or ever will again—and, indeed, your honor, you know the round towers would prove that, if he built them—for where is the mason-work that's equal to what's on them? That one at Glendalough is a fine one, to be sure—and there's many finer than that. Well, he lived in a fine cottage, somewhere in Munster, and I don't know exactly where.
"He had been married, and had an only son—and proud was he of him, you may depend. Well, it was given up to the Gubbaun, that he was not only the best mason in all the world, but along with that, sir, he was the cutest man known, and the greatest hand at all kinds of plans and contrivances. He was able for every one, and any one; and nobody ever had to boast that they had gained the least advantage overhim."
"I suppose, Tom, that with all this wisdom of the father, the son must have been as wise as he was himself, or may be wiser?"
"Why, to be sure, so one would imagine; but it was far from him to be asgooda boy as the father—and that the father knew right well, for he was always trying to make him sensible of the scaming; but the son was always too honest, and that vext the father.
"However, he said nothing until the son grew up a dashin' fine young man; and if he wasn't the best av scamers, he was nearly as good a mason as the father himself, and was quiet andhonest, only a terrible simpleton, and what the English gentleman that used to come to see your honor calledspooney; though what a man had to do with a spoon, myself doesn't see. But the father racked his brains constantly to find out some way to make him knowin'; and at last he came to be determined in his mind that nothing would do the son so much good, or put sinse so well into his head as a fine, clever, smart young woman av a wife, if he could meet one to his mind; and, your honor, though I never tried it myself, I have no doubt an excellent plan it is. Well, sir, after he once hit on a plan, sorra long he was in puttin' it into execution. One morning he got up very early, and called his son into the field. 'Now, Boofun,' (that was the young man's name,) 'now, Boofun,' says he, 'run an' catch the sheep beyant there—that big white one, with the fine fleece, and bring her to me quick!' So Boofun did; an' if he did, the Gubbaun pulled out his big knife, and kill'd her; an' by the same token the summer was comin' on, and the fleece was fine, and long, and silky."
"What did he do that for, Jimmy?"
"Wait a bit, your honor. When the Gubbaun had her skinned, he embraced his son, (that'shuggedhim, boys, d' ye mind,) an' spoke to him as this:
"'Now, Boofun, avick, (my son,) and it's youwasever the good boy of a son to me, only I never could make you understand the coorse of the world's doin's as well as I could wish; but never heed! you'll improve yet—so take courage and do as I desire you; but mind, if you don't, never call the Gubbaun Seare your father more, the longest day you have to live! Do you see that skin?' 'I do, father—I see it,' says he, innocent as a child. 'Well, Boofun, you must take to the road now at once, and you must walk on, and never stop till you get some one that will buy this skin, and pay you for it, and then give you your skin back again into the bargain.'
"'O! O! father!' says the other, 'I'm a fool myself, I know, and yet I'm sure I wouldn't do sich a simple thing asthat,' says he, 'and I think, indeed, father, you must be a foolyourselfto think so,' says he. 'Howld your tongue, an' be off, you natral!' says the father; 'what doyouknow about it! Be off at wanst; and here, take this! here's cost enough for the road,' says he, 'and be sure an' remember what I towld you,' says he.
"So poor Boofun, sir, wint off; and sorrowful he was to lave his father, and his business, and his comfortable home, and to go away on what he thought sich a wild-goose chase. It happened that it was market-day at the next town, an' many a one overtook him, an' he cryin'.
"'Well, Boofun,' they'd say, for they knew him, 'are you going to sell that fine sheep's skin?' 'I am,' he'd say; 'but I knowyouwont buy it, for by the way I'm selling it, it would be a dear article for you.' 'Why so, man? I'm in want of wool, an' very little would make me buy the sameskin, for it's finewool.' 'Yes, but,' Boofun would say, 'you must pay me for it, and then give it me back if you buy it!' So he would be always laughed at, an' he was nearly dying av dishpair.
"However, on he traveled and walked; and many miles from home he came to a beautiful lake, all surrounded with trees, very like that lake where your honor and the captain, and the ladies used to go and fish, and make peckthers, (pictures,) Inchiquin lake, sir; an' if he did, there was as darlin' a young lady as could be seen, an' she standing on the shore of the lake, and after finishing washin' some of the finest fleeces of iligant wool. 'O!' said he to himself, 'if I could only get this darlin' to buymyfleece! But no one will ever do so foolish a thing as that, an' I shall never sell it, nor get back again!'
"However, Boofun took courage, and wint up to her. 'God bless your work, alanna! 'tis yourself's not idle this morning! And what beautiful wool! I've a fleece here myself, an' I thought it good, but yours bates it intirely! I would sell mine, too, but neither you nor any one else will ever buy it! A voh! voh!'
"'Why, thatmustbe a curious fleece, if no one'll buy it. Sir,' says she, 'what may be the price?'
"'O, for that,' says he, 'it's for little or nothing I'd sell it; but what good would that do you, agrah, when I'm never to enter my father's house again, nor call myself his son, until I bring him back the skin and the price of it as well! However, it's no use talking to you, at any rate, foryou'llhave nothing to do with me.'
"'Why, how can you say so till I tell you?' says she.
"'O, my thousand blessings for that word,' says he, 'it makes my heart rise like a cork to hear you!'
"'Well, what will you take for the skin?'
"'O, very little, then—only so much, (mentioning a small sum.)
"'Very good,' says she, 'I'll give you that much, and welcome;' and whisper, 'are you the son of the Gubbaun Seare?'
"'I am; but how could you guess that?'
"'Because,' says she, 'no one could think of such a plan but his own four bones,and I think I see the meanin' of it, too,' says she. 'Hand me the skin.' So Boofun did, sir; and she fell to work, and in a very short time she had the wool stripped off. 'And here, now,' says she, 'here is yourskinback for you, andhereis the price of it,' says she, handing him the money; and tell the Gubbaun a very goodburaunthe skin'll make,' says she.
"'O, my million thanks to you,' says he; 'though I never should have thought of this in thousands of years, yet you've settled it with one word!'
"So, sir, after much more talk, away he ran, and never stopped till he came home; and the Gubbaun had just returned from his work, and findin' the house so lonesome, was almost repentin' he'd ever sent Boofun away. Glad he was, though, when Boofun came in, and gave him a great account of all he had done; but what was his joy when Boofun drew forth the sheep's skin, and counted out the money. Well, after some of the joy was over, the Gubbaun put on a very long, sarious face, 'And now, Boofun,' says he, 'don't as you love me,' says he, 'deny any thing I ask,' says he, 'but tell me the truth. I know, you needn't tell me, it was a woman that thought of the plan of skinning the fleece, for nomanin Ireland would think of it but myself.'
"'Faix, then, so she said herself,' says Boofun.
"'Hah! well, I knew it was ashe; but was she young or owld? for, by my trowel and hammer!' says he, 'the owld ones aresometimesas cute as any!'
"O, then, she was young, and handsome, too, and rich beside,' says he.
"'O, never mind the riches,' says the Gubbaun, 'for half a grain of sinse is worth a ton of it; but you're my darlin' son at last, and be off at the first light of morning,' says he, 'and take the best horse I have, and put on the best clothes you have, and bring her home—and I'll engage she comes.'
"Long before the Gubbaun was up, Boofun started; and not many hours was he on the road, when he met the very same young lady, an' she goin' to market all by herself. Well, sir, they had a great salutation, an' he coaxed her to take a sate on the horse. She wanted to get off at the market, but it wouldn't do, sir; and he came to his father's house airly in the evening.
"Well, you'd think, sir, the Gubbaun knew it all. Some said surely that he could foretell. There was the house, all beautiful and nate, and a most splendid intertainment on the table; there was a large party of the Gubbaun's friends, and plenty of all that was good.
"And the Gubbaun was the boy thatcouldintertain them all. And, sir, when all were in high good-humor, and herself laughing and jokin' with Boofun, then he brought forwardthe match. To be sure, she was very shy, and ashamed, the crayther, (all by herself, you may say,) but you know, sir, even now, as we see every day, a match isn't long comin' round, when the parties are willin' an' thespaykersare good. So it was now; she agreed to lave all for Boofun—and she did well. To make my long story short, in a few days they were married; and in the meantime they had gotherfriends' consint. And a great weddin' they had."
"Well, Tom, now we've got them well married, jump up for some turf! don't you see the fire's a'most out?"
"O, then, that your honor may never want for a good fire, I pray."
"Yes, Jimmy, nor agood warrant, like yourself, to tell a good story."
"To be sure, sir, it shortens the night, as we say, an' if Jimmy wont be offended, for taking the story out av his mouth, I'll tell your honor some more of the Gubbaun's doin's."
"That's a good boy, Tom," said Jimmy, myself doesn't remember any more about him."
"Well, then, sir, they were not very many weeks married, when the Gubbaun wished totrythe wife still more, to see whether she was knowin' enough for him, in order that she might be depended on completely, if any thing should happen. So one day he towld the son to get ready, and to come with him, for that he had heard of a fine job of work. So they started; and when they had got about three miles on the road, the Gubbaun turned sharp round, and asked Boofun the distance to the next place.
"'Twenty miles, no less,' says Boofun.
"'Well,' says the Gubbaun, 'every inch of the road we have to go,' says he, 'but it's too long by ten miles.'
"'Sure I can't help that,' says Boofun.
"'Youcan, sir!' says the Gubbaun, 'you can make ittenmiles, if you like; and if you can't, go back, sir, and stay at home with your wife, for you're not fit to travel with me,' says he.
"Boofun said 'he couldn't do it;' so he had to go back. And when he came home, his wife ran out.
"'Well, what's brought you back? Any thing the matter?'
"'Every thing!' says poor Boofun. 'We hadn't got three miles before the Gubbaun towld me to shorten the road one half; and sure, you know,all I could saywouldn't shorten it!'
"'I don't know that,' says she, 'may be not; but take my advice, run back, and begin to tell him some story,' says she, 'no matter whether it is true or not, but amuse him as well as you can; and if he isn't satisfied, cut my head off when you come back,' says she. So, sir, he never stopped until he overtook the Gubbaun; and the very minute he began the story, he had confidence in Boofun's wife.
"Now, Tom, tell us—what reason could he have had for that? Couldn't they and she both have taken care of themselves?"
"Howld on a while, and maybe you'll see, sir."
"They traveled on and on, a hundred miles, or maybe more, and at last they came to a most splendid, iligant, noble palace, that the King of Munster was building. Thousands of masons, and carpenters, and all kinds of workmen, were in full operation at it—and the finest of work they were doing. It was just dinner-time, as it happened, when the Gubbaun and Boofun came, but they made no delay, but asked the steward of the works, sir, for employment, an' they didn't let an they wereany thing in particklar, only just masons.
"'O!' says the steward, says he, 'there's plenty av employment for men in your line,' says he, 'but wait till after dinner, and then I'll talk to you,' says he.
"'Why, for that matter,' says the Gubbaun, 'it's a while ago we eat our dinner,' says he, 'and if it's all the same to you, we'll be glad if you'll set us some piece of work that we can be at till you come back.' And just then, sir, the dinner-bell began to ring. 'Well, gentleman,' says the steward, laughin' out loud, an' turnin' up his nose, an' winkin' round to the rest of the men, since you are so impatient, an' sich wonderful men, just sit down here, and take that block of marble,' says he, 'and have a cat an' two tails made out of it when I come back,' says he, runnin' into dinner.
"Well, sir, it was a fine block of stone, sure enough, and likely, rale Kilkenny marble; but it was any thing like a Kilkenny cat they med, for they never stopped until they had a splendid cat, wid two noble tails carved out, and all this before the lazy steward and his men came back from their dinner; and what was the most astonishin' to all, the surprisin' fierce pair of whiskers that the Gubbaun was puttin' out from the cat's nose when the steward came out! But who should be along with him but the King of Munster himself; and when he saw the cat, and the two tails, and the warlike pair of whiskers, he was all but ready to split with the laughin', and when he got words at last, he never stopped praisin' the Gubbaun.
"'But,' says the King of Munster, turning round to the unfortunate steward, (that hadn't one word to say,) 'you scoundrel! your intention was to make game of this honest man, and now he has done in one hour, what you wouldn't do if you were to live as long as that cat would last; and it'she, and notyou, that has the best right to be steward here,' says he. So the Gubbaun was appointed steward over all the palace; and it was he that made all the ornaments, and all the images and statues that was in the place intirely, he and Boofun; and the King of Munster grew fonder and fonder of him every day.
"But, sir, in the course of time the king got curious notions into his head, and the worst was, that at last he determined that his palace should not only be the finest and grandest in all Ireland, but what was worse for the Gubbaun, he resolved that as soon as all was finished, he would put an end to the poor fellow's life, and particularly because he had lately found out that the King of Leinster had heard of his beautiful palace, and that he intended to send for the Gubbaun and construct one still finer.
"But, sir, though the King of Munster was certainly determined to kill the Gubbaun Seare, he found it very difficult to lay a plan to do it—for he well knew who he had to deal with, and how hard it would be to catch him. However, the king incraysed his wages, and made him very well off, so that he mightn't suspect any thing; but, for fear he should, he sent for the man who owned the house where the Gubbaun and Boofun lived, privately, and made him great presents to keep the saycret, and to lay hands on the Gubbaun if he suspected that he was about to start away in any hurry. But, sir, as luck would have it, this very man's daughter, who loved the Gubbaun and Boofun dearly, happened to be behindthe door, or in a closet, while the king was giving these horrible directions to her father, and determined at once to let them know the danger they were in."
"I wonder, Tom, the Gubbaun didn't suspect something?"
"O, then, most likely he did, and was well prepared, I dare say, (for we all know, sir, how hard it is to trust these kings and great people,) still the girl found it very hard to make the Gubbaun sensible of his danger; and she knew there was always a strict guard over him, and spies out, for fear he'd make his escape; though, the palace not being finished yet, the king did not like to do the action for a while.
"One day the Gubbaun and Boofun had been hard at work at some grand temple, and they came back at night, mighty hungry. This very girl was the cook, and she had a very fine lookin' pot of pratees on the fire for dinner."
"Potatoes, Tom! No! Why they came from America, a thousand or more years after this!"
"Why, then, now, did they, your honor? Well, I suppose it was something as good; any how, we'll call them pratees."
"'Good evenin'!' says the Gubbaun; 'is supper ready?'
"'O, quite ready,' says she; 'but it's a poor one we have to-day, only pratees and eggs,' says she; for you know, your honor, they didn't livethenas we donow—they knew better than that.
"'Well, them same's good,' says he. 'Did you never hear the old saying, When allfruitsfail, welkimhaws!' for he'd always a pleasant joke or saying in his mouth. 'But what's this?' says he; 'Why, how came so many raw ones among them?'
"'O,' says she, looking hard at him, 'if youwillstophere, you must take things as they come, agreeable and disagreeable, for that's the way they're going!'
"'By my trowel and hammer!' says the Gubbaun, to himself, 'if that's the case, its full time to be goin' ourselves likewise;' and when they were going to work, he told Boofun every word, forhenever suspected. 'But never fear,' says he, 'we'll get out of this scrape, if they did their worst and their best, and if they were seventeen times wiser than they are, and if they had all the guards in his kingdom to watch me; but howldyourtongue, and don't let on a word of what I've said.'
"Next morning, when the king was up, and in his room, where he transacted all his affairs, the Gubbaun came and sint up word that he would be glad to see his majesty about something that was wanted for the palace. Now the Gubbaun, sir, was always welcome; and it was only because the king hadtoo goodan opinion of him, that he was going to kill him. When he was admitted, 'Well,' says the king, (mighty grand,) 'is my palace finished,orwhat do you want withme?' says he.
"'Why, plaze your majesty's reverence,' says the Gubbaun, (for he was a fine spoken man,) 'your majesty's palace isnotquite complately turned out of my hands yet,' says he, 'nor I can't exactly call it finished, nor let the people that's to come after me speak of the name of the Gubbaun Seare along with it, unless one thing is done, thatshouldbe done, if your majesty raylly wishes it to beperfect.'
"'Well, spake your wishes,and then, if I plaze, they shall be attinded to,' says the king.
"'Well, then, plaze your majesty, there is an instrument, and without it, your statues, and your images and pillars can't be polished nor complayted unless I get it, and that instrument is at home with me,' says he.
"'What may be the name of it?' says the king.
"'Why, we call it,' said the Gubbaun, (of course they spoke in Irish,) 'Khur enein khur, agus khaoun enein khaoun!' (and that, your honor, manes, the tricks upon tricks, and the twists upon twists;) 'no one in Ireland owns such an instrument but myself, or at any rate not half such a good one; and if your majesty plazes, I'll go home and get it.'
"'No,' says the king, 'you must never laive me; when I've this palace built, I'll build another, and I'll want you; if I let you go now, may be you'd meet something better, thoughthatyou could hardly do, I believe; but may be you'd die on the road, and I'd never see you again.No,' says he, 'you mustneverlaive me!'
"'Do you think so?' says the Gubbaun to himself. 'By my trowel and hammer, though, I think you're considerably wrong! Why, indeed, your majesty,' answered the Gubbaun, 'tis yourself that was ever and always the good friend to me and my son; and, indeed, so happy am I here, long life and good luck to your majesty!' says he, 'and may you incrayse, and long reign,' says he, 'that I would certainly never wish to part from you, and I'd be satisfied to build palaces for you all my life; may be, then, in that case, your majesty would be graciously plazed to allow my son, Boofun, to set out and get the khur enein khur, agus khaoun enein khaoun?'
"'No!' says the king, says he, 'I'm nearly as fond and as proud of Boofun as yourself; and it's my orders to double his wages, and to double your own from this minute.'
"'Well, very well, your majesty, let it be so, then. I would tell no common fellow here where it is, he'd just break it on the road; and if I'm not, nor Boofun, to go for this instrument, things must stop as they are, and the palace will remain unfinished to the end of the world.'
"The king considered for some time; at last, 'Gubbaun Seare,' says he, 'Imusthave my palace finished, and yet Imusthave your instrument; now my son, the prince, has nothing on earth to do—and will you be satisfied if I send him? I will be your security that he takes the greatest care of it.'
"'Well, your majesty, your will must be law. O! O! my poor instrument, if any thing should happen you!'
"So, sir, the prince was ordered up, and the Gubbaun gave him all kinds of directions how to carry it, and towld him where he'd get it, 'in the big chest, over the chimney-piece.'
"The next day the prince set out, and took but one companion with him; and who should that be but his younger brother, a young lad that wished for some divarsion—and the two only thought it a pleasant ride.
"In a few days they reached the Gubbaun's cottage, and when Boofun's wife saw them coming, she was sure something was wrong. Some of her people were in the house, but she bundled them out; 'Be ready, though,' says she, 'for fear I'd want you, but leave those lads to me.' So they came in, and the prince saluted her most kindly, towld her who he was, and begged lave to put up his horse. Then she asked him 'how her husband and the Gubbaun were?' But he gave her a full account of all I've told you, as far as he knew. 'But, ma'am,' says the prince, very gracious intirely, 'there is an instrument that the Gubbaun can't do without, that he wants to polish the stones,' says he, 'and my father's so fond of them both,' says he, 'that he wouldn't let him or Boofun home,' says he, 'and the Gubbaun wouldn't let any common fellow come, for fear he'd break it, and so I'm sent to ask you for it.'
"'And plaze your highness,' says she, 'what may be the name of this instrument? for he left so many afther him here, in that terrible big chest over the chimney-piece, that raylly I don't know which it could be.'
"'Ah! sure enough,' he said, 'it was in the big chest,' says the prince, 'and the name of it is—let me see, I dare say you know it ma'am—the khur enein khur, agus khaoun enein khaoun.'
"'O, yes, your highness!' says she, 'I know the twists upon twists, and tricks upon tricks very well, and a very fine, useful kind of instrument it is, as you'll soon see. I don't know whether I'll be able to get it out av the chist or not, but if I'm not able, you can do it aisy, for you're a fine, tall young man, and may you live long!' says she. So she got up on a chair and tried, and all she could reach was the lid av the chest. Then she put another chair on that one, and tried again, but she could only get her hand a little way in, and, says she, 'O, the lid's mighty heavy! but do you try, and I'm sure you'll bring it, for I can just reach it; I can almost feel it.' So the prince fell to laughin', and mounted on the chairs in no time, and opened the big lid av the chest, and looked in, while she gave the sly wink to one of her brothers.
"'O!' says the prince, 'but it's very deep! I can't see the bottom av it yet, it's so dark,' says he; 'get a candle.'
"'O, no!' says she, 'creep down, your highness; the instrument is quite at the bottom, I'm sure,' says she. 'Now,' says she to her brother, 'when I sayyou're very near it, catch a howlt av his legs, and bundle him into the chest.' Now the prince's brother all this time was ayten some bread and milk, and never suspected a ha'porth.
"'O, ma'am,' says the prince, 'Ican'treach it,' says he, bendin' over, and balancin' his body on the edge av the chist, 'is it here at all?' says he.
"'O, you're very near it now!' says she. And, sir, in a minute they had him doubled up an' pitched into the chest, and caught a howlt of the young brother and tied him neck and heels.
"'Ha! ha! what your highness asked for, you got,' says she. 'In all your life now, did you ever see a finer trick or a nicer twist? Faix! I think it was a rale trick upon trick, and a twist upon twist! Your brother may go back now, as quick as he likes, and tell his father that as soon as the Gubbaun is done polishin' the statues, we'll be very glad to see him back, and Boofun too, and we'll take iligant care of yourself until he comes; it was a good messenger he found to go for the khur enein khur, agus khaoun enein khaoun. That's a fine fellow,' says she, (to the young chap,) 'pelt away home, and when we see the Gubbaun and Boofun in view of this house, we'll release your brother; but mind me! if they are not in this house within one week from this day, your father will never see the prince again!'
"So he rode home, tearin' over the roads like mad, and as soon as he was gone, sir, she had the prince taken out av the chest, (for he was a'most smothered,) and took him up the mountains in hide, and fed him well, and took care av him.
"But O! your honor, how can I tell you how mad the king was, when he saw theharethat the Gubbaun had made av him, and how he wouldn't spake a word all day, but cursin'. However, next mornin' he considered that after all it was useless to fret, and that no time must be lost, or he'd lose the prince.
"So he put a good face on the business, and called the Gubbaun and Boofun to him, but took great care to explain to the Gubbaun how he didn't mean to harm him, and all that, and they say that kings and sich like people were always tolerable good hands at theblarney. And he paid them all their full amount of wages, and made them presents, and sent to the stables, and had two of the most splindid hunters that could be found saddled and bridled, and gave them to them.
"Well! they set out, and weren't long till they got home, and glad and thankful they were for their great escape; and to be sure Boofun's wife was proud indeed to see them, and she went and had the prince brought down, and the Gubbaun invited all his friends, and a great intertainment was prepared in honor of his return, and in honor of the prince.
"In the evening, or rather the morning of the next day, the prince asked leave to take his departure, but the Gubbaun wouldn't let him go till he had written a letter to the king, and I think this was the letter:—
"'May it plaze your majesty—I returned here quite safe, but I can't let his highness the prince off without returnin' you many thousand thanks for all you have done for me. You have made a family comfortable and happy for life, and, by my trowel and hammer, I will forever pray for your majesty's reverence! However, plaze your majesty,the instrument I have safe here, which the prince wasn't able tomake out; and in all my expayrience I never yet met with one that answered my purpose better than the Khur enein khur, agus khaoun enein khaoun.
The Gubbaun Seare.'"