can do it; devil o' your likes I see any where. I'll lay Shibby to a penny trump that you could dance your own namesakethe Caleen dhas dhun, the bonny brown girl-upon a spider's cobweb, widout breakin' it. Don't be in a hurry, Grace dear, to tie the knot; I'll wait for you." - Several times in the course of the night a plate is brought round, and a collection made for the fiddler: this was the moment when Mickey used to let the jokes fly in every direction. The timid he shamed into liberality, the vain he praised, and the niggardly he assailed by open hardy satire; all managed, however, with such an under-current of good humour, that no one could take offence. No joke ever told better than that of the broken string. Whenever this happened at night, Mickey would call out to some soft fellow, "Blood alive, Ned Martin, will you bring me a candle? I've broken a string." The unthinking young man, forgetting that he was blind, would take the candle in a hurry, and fetch it to him. "Faix, Ned, I knew you wor jist fit for't; houldin' a candle to a dark man! Isn't he a beauty, boys?—look at him, girls— as 'cute as a pancake." It is unnecessary to say, that the mirth on such occasions was convulsive. Another similar joke was also played off by him against such as he knew to be ungenerous at the collection. "Paddy Smith, I want a word wid you. I'm goin' across the counthry as far as Ned Donnelly's, and I want you to help me along the road, as the night is dark." "To be sure, Mickey. I'll bring you over as snug as if you wor on a clane plate, man alive!" "Thank you, Paddy; throth you've the dacency in you; an' kind father for you, Paddy. Maybe I'll do as much for you some other time." Mickey never spoke of this until the trick was played off, after which, he published it to the whole parish; and Paddy of course was made a standing jest for being so silly as to think that night or day had any difference to a man who could not see. Thus passed the life of Mickey M'Rorey, and thus pass the lives of most of his class, serenely and happily. As the sailor to his ship, the sportsman to his gun, so is the fiddler attached to his fiddle. His hopes and pleasures, though limited, are full. His heart is necessarily light, for he comes in contact with the best and brightest side of life and nature; and the consequence is, that their mild and mellow lights are reflected on and from himself. I am ignorant whether poor Mickey is dead or not; but I dare say he forgets the boy to whose young spirit he communicated so much delight, and who often danced with a buoyant and careless heart to the pleasant notes of his fiddle. Mickey M'Rorey, farewell! Whether living or dead, peace be with you. Mickey, who is still living, remembers the writer of this well, and felt very much flattered on hearing the above notice of himself read.W. C., 1845. |