The Ned M'Keown Stories: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume ThreeCarleton, William
General
The Ned M'Keown Stories: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume Three
Carleton, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“The occasion on which the first re-encounter between us and the
O'Hallaghans took place, was a peaceable one. Several of our respective
friends undertook to produce a friendly and oblivious potation between
us--it was at a berrin belonging to a corpse who was related to us both;
and, certainly, in the beginning we were all as thick as whigged milk.
But there is no use now in dwelling too long upon that circumstance;
let it be sufficient to assert that the accommodation was effectuated by
fists and cudgels, on both sides--the first man that struck a blow being
one of the friends that wished to bring about the tranquillity. From
that out the play commenced, and God he knows when it may end; for no
dacent faction could give in to another faction without losing their
character, and being kicked, and cuffed, and kilt, every week in the
year.
“It is the great battle, however, which I am after going to describe:
that in which we and the O'Hallaghans had contrived, one way or other,
to have the parish divided--one-half for them, and the other for us;
and, upon my credibility, it is no exaggeration to declare that the
whole parish, though ten miles by six, assembled itself in the town of
Knockimdowny, upon this interesting occasion. In thruth, Ireland ought
to be a land of mathemathitians; for I am sure her population is well
trained, at all events, in the two sciences of multiplication and
division. Before I adventure, however, upon the narration, I must wax
pathetic a little, and then proceed with the main body of the story.
“Poor Rose O'Hallaghan!--or, as she was designated--_Rose Galh_, or
_Fair Rose_, and sometimes simply, Rose Hallaghan, because the detention
of the big O often produces an afflatus in the pronunciation, that
is sometimes mighty inconvenient to such as do not understand
oratory--besides, that the Irish are rather fond of sending the liquids
in a gutthural direction--Poor Rose! that faction fight, was a black day
to her, the sweet innocent--when it was well known that there wasn't a
man, woman, or child, on either side that wouldn't lay their hands under
her feet. However, in order to _insense_ the reader better into her
character, I will commence a small sub-narration, which will afterwards
emerge into the parent stream of the story.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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