IRISH SENSATIONAL REFORMATION.
OME time ago, an Irish country doctor held out hope ki to a distressed father of curing his son of confirmed habits of intemperance. The poor father, like a drowning man grasping at a straw, put the case into the medical practitioner's hands, hoping that something good might result. The patient at the time was in the incipient stages of the " jigs "—i.e., " delirium tremens "—and, being delivered over to the doctor, was carried off by him to his own house, where he was confined in a darkened chamber. When the attack had spent its force, and the sufferer had regained some degree of consciousness, the doctor, being in a corner of the dark -room, began to make strange and sad noises. " What the deuce do ye mane by that, whoiver ye are'? "-said the voice from the bed ; " who are ye at all, at all P " To this inquiry the doctor only replied by a more prolonged groan, and explained presently that the place was situated in' the infernal regions, whither he too, an unfortunate drunkard, had been sent for his sins. " Maybe so, indade," said the voice from the bed ; " it's hard on ye, me poor man, but there's wan thing ye might do for me, as ye are longest here and know the ways of the place ; maybe ye wouldn't mind goin' out an' getting me a pint of John Jameson, for I've a terrible thirst on me, an'" ye might have a share of the same for yer trouble." It appears that this cool and matter-of-fact way of realising the situation quite upset the doctor, who there and then abandoned the idea of frightening his patient into sobriety by the use of artificial terrors.- It does not appear that the patient had really seen through the artifice employed to frighten him back to abstinence ; and if so, his instinctive readiness in asking for " Jameson " instead of water, under the circumstances, was a wonderful instance of the strength of the ruling passion. It was also quite what Napoleon I. called " 2 o'clock courage." This he explained by the illustration of a stranger of suspicious appearance presenting a pistol at your head at 2 o'clock in the morning, having first roused you from sleep. Napoleon said that the man whose nerve could stand such a test was really brave, and that he himself possessed this order of " 2 o'clock courage." In the above instance, the sensational attempt to convert a drunkard was a signal failure, and it may be con- cluded that all such efforts, as a general rule, eventually do more harm than good. Si naturam expellas furca tamen usque remrret.
It is only in Ireland, however, that such a comical aspect could be given to so serious an effort. Poor, dear old Ireland, what a pleasant country you are to live in, in spite of all your wrongs and miseries ! How well Moore painted you in a single touch,—
"Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eye " !
Lat us break away from any connected treatment of Irish humour, and note a few illustrations of it. The writer was recently making an ascent of Mangerton (a well-known Killarney mountain), and observing regretfully to the guide that the day was turning out wet, the latter replied : " Ah ! that's not rain at all, yer Honour ; that's only a paspiration off the mountain." The girls in the Gap of Dunloe are wonder_ fully attractive, both in appearance and manner. Their business is to supply pilgrims through this celebrated pass with whisky (which " never saw the face of a gauger ") and goat's-milk. "Sure, I'll give ye 'flahool' measure, yer Honour, for yere flahool yourself." It requires a slight knowledge of Irish to understand the compliment in this little speech, for " flahool " (we spell it phonetically) is the Irish for liberal or generous. Each damsel also expects your custom, and when you explain what you have already imbibed, informs you that the last drink will always be the best. " How are your eyes, Mary ? " we recently inquired of a professional. "Sober enough, your Reverence, sober enough ; but shure, if God Almighty didn't lave some little thing like that on us, we wouldn't know that He was there at all." " Well, I have just the three frinds left now, there's yerself, an' God Almighty, an' Mr. Bill; an' shure, there isn't a saint in heaven, big or little, that
I don't draw down on ye, and that's all big Mary have to say to ye." " What holiday are you keeping to-day, Mary ? " " Well, I don't rightly know, yer Reverence, but I believe the Blessed Vargin is implicated in it." The fondness of the lower classes in Ireland for long words of this kind is very remarkable,—el., an Irish servant will tell you that "the mistress adalises [idolises] her ; and, indade, why shouldn't she, whin I kapes her like an allyblaster [alabaster] ?" An Irish railway-porter who had recently been greatly teased with questions by a nervous old lady, at last told her to go to the d—. She complained of his language to the station-master, who required him. to apologise, which he did as follows, just as the train was starting : " An' so, Ma'ns, ye're the lady I tould to go to the d—, well, thin, ye needn't go."
Some time ago, a Roman Catholic curate of excellent character but weak intellect was suspended because of mental incapacity from the exercise of his office. As he had no private means, and was a man of very benevolent disposition, he was generally penniless. While in this state of chronic impecuniosity, he was invited to stay with a brother-priest, and got up early one morning to take a stroll before break. fast. On the road near the presbytery, he met a widow with a troop of small children, who in pious and pathetic language asked his charity : "Do, yere Reverence, for the honour of God an' the Blessed Vargin, do give us a little hand-reach, for we're starving wid the hunger." " My poor woman, Pm sorry to refuse you, but if ye only knew it, I'm as bare as yerself, ' said the good priest. But these denials, however true, are never accepted as true in Ireland, and the appeal was renewed. " Do, Father, dear, try in yer pocket for wan little sixpence 1" Instinctively the priest plunged his hand into his trousers pocket, whence, to his great amazement, he pulled out a half- sovereign. " Glory be to God an' the Vargin," said the mendicant; "a meracle, a meracle, Father !" The piece of gold was handed over to her, and the donor hurried back to the presbytery. He found his host still asleep, in the con- dition of the sluggard,— " As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his side and his shoulders and his heavy head." " Wake up, wake up, Father Tom, till you hear about the miracle !" At length a drowsy, uncurious voice replied : "A miracle ! What miracle, what miracle ?" But as the tale un- folded itself, the interest of the listener visibly increased, until at last, the truth having dawned on him, he sat up in bed and exclaimed " Well, I'm blessed if the poor innocent hasn't put on my trousers by mistake, and given the buccaugh ' my half-sovereign !"
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