The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1846-05-05 00:00:00

AN IRISH BEGGAR-WOMAN.

( From the Fortunes of Torlogh O'Brien.)
As Miles Garratt followed his homeward way through
the misty shadows flung by wild hedges and straggling
timber across the narrow road, he passed the tall, lean,
figure of a female, wrapt in a cloak of red cloth; herlgok
form was curved with age or bodily deformity • she car-
ried a staff of blackthorn in her bony hand, but less, as it
seemed, for support than for effect, for she often smote
the stones of the road, and often the stooping boughs of
the overhanging wood in malignant wantonness, as it
seemed, while she advanced with long and leisurely strides
over the unequal road ; her hood flapped in the light
breeze, and occasionally disclosed a sharp hooked nose
and the bowl of a short tobacco pipe, from which she
drew thin clouds of the narcotic vapour which perfumed
the chill night air.
As the grim horseman rode by, almost grazing her
shoulder with his jack-boot, so closely did she keep the
centre of the narrow road, she whined a mendicant peti-
tion, which degenerated into a fierce and bitter curse, as
he, sullen and unheeding, pursued his way.
" Wishn ! one little penny, Miles Garrett, agra, an' the
ould woman 'ill be prayin' for you night and morning, an'
may—it's never mindin' he's keepin', the thatching pin-
cil ! Ride away, an' the widdy's curse behind you—you
black, ill-lookin', lean, unlucky scoundrel ; may the gar-
ron come down an' crack your long neck in the piper's
quarry, you yellow nigger! an' if you ever get back may
you carry the Phooca home on your shoulders—you shka-
min', double-tongued, poison-faced dog, you. Oh! blur
an' agers ! it's stoppin' you are, is it ?—an' it's plenty iv
stoppin' an' standin' I wish you this blessed night. Turn-
in' round, is it ? —may you never find the way home, you
down-lookin' villian ; doesn't the world know you, what
sort you are ?—as bad as your murdherin' ould cousin,
Willoughby, the hangman : bad luck to every mother's
skin iv you, seed, breed, an' generation—the bloody pack
iv yez—mav ye be cuttin' one another's throats, it's all
yez are fit for. Aia ! by jabers, what's that ? Its
beck'nin' he is—its changin' your tune you are, afther
all, is it ?"
As she thus spoke, she quickened her pace, and ad-
vanced to meet Miles Garrett, who was now slowly re-
tracing the intervening space which he had lately passed
at !o sharp a pace. _ _ _

" Peg lq,!her!" he said, gruffly, as he approached, " is
that Peg Maher?"
" Ah, then, who else id be in it, agra ?" she responded,
with a whine, " its the poor widdy, sure enough, wid no
one to help her hut the fatherless innocent, that's more
in her way wid his thricks and his nansense, God help
him, than anything he's good for, the crathur."
" Thete—there's a shilling," he interrupted, in the
same gruff tone, as he dropped the coin into her hand.
" Wisba I my blessin' an you night an' mornin', Miles
Garrett; acushla," said she, as she glanced from the coin,
which glittered on her smoke•dried palm, into the face of
the donor, with an undisguised expression of wonder
and curiosity ; " The widdy's blessin' be about you an'
yours this night."
She looked inquiringly in his face, for he bad reined in
his horse, and now sate motionless in bis saddle, gazing
upon her with a scowl of profound and, as it seemed,
malignant thought.
" Peg Maher," he continued, abruptly, after a pause
of some seconds, " I'll make that shilling a crown, it you
do a message for me safely."
" Begorra, it's a far message, an' a heavy one, the
poor widdy would not carry for a crown piece, Misther
Garrett, agra," she rejoined, with alacrity ; " an' for
safity, just lave that to myself—that's all."
Without heeding her, he muttered, thoughtfully, " It
mustn't be to Willoughby himself—the hot-headed old
bully might frighten the hag into confessing whom she
had it from—no, his right-hand man will answer better;"
and turning to the old woman again, he said, in a changed
tone, " you must tell old Tindal, of Drumgunniol—ob-
serve my words, old woman—that his own house and
Glindarragh castle will be rifled and burnt on to-morrow
night, unless he and Willoughby gather their friends—
you understand me—and defend themselves ; just say so
much, and no more. If you mention one word of your
having seen or met with me, you had better make up your
mind to quit the country, for I'll undoubtedly make it
too hot to bold you—do you understand me, witch ?"
" An' how could I but ondherstand you, darlin' gen-
tleman I—to be sure I do," rejoined she ; " never shake
to Peg Maher, if I don't carry the message right. That's
enough—honour bright, and no deludin'."
Without further interchange of words, Miles Garrett
flung the broad silver piece upon the road before her, and
rode rapidly away. She picked up and examined the coin
in the moonlight, and ringing her earnings together in her
joined hands, she wagged her bead exultingly, and, with
a chuckle, muttered, as she watched the receding form of
the horseman—

•
" A crown an' a shilling, my awned, by gannies, an'
for nothing else but mischief, as sure as my name's Peg
Maher; for wherever it lies, an' whatever it mains, I
know by his face, an' I know by his nature, there's mis•
chief galore in Dark Garrett's message. Let them fall
out, the blacker the better; let them be plundherin' an'
murdher in' aich other, an' caed rAille fall ha ; they robbed
an' slaughtered us long enough, and now, like the wild
dogs, when there's no more left for them to tear an'
devour, they only turn an one another." She sat down
on the bank by the road side, and continued in a changed
tone, " Oh ! Shamus, mavourneen, did I ever forget you ?
—don't think it, my darlin' ; I'm your own Peggy still—
your own Peggy bawn, that you married an' loved—that
was your young wife for two years, my darlin'. Did I
ever lave you, Shamus. all the time you vvor on your

loe, ma bouchal dhas, an' didn't you sleep with your head
in her lap on the side of Galty More—oh ! cushla ma-
chree, an' didn't we dar' the storms together, my darlin'?
an' the hunger and could, for Peggy was your first love
an' your last; an' when they killed you—killed you, my
beautiful, undaunted boy, didn't Peggy—your own Peggy
bawn—hould your head on her could knees for a day and
a night, the way she used when you were sleepin' in the
wild glins an' the mountains, Shamus laudher ma bohul
bra, with no one but herself to guard you—antil the sinses
left me, and the neighbours carried me, God knows where,
away from my darlin'—for, livin' or dead, I'd cling to you,
Shamus ; and afther your head was laid in the clay—then,
when our first child was born, the poor innocent—oh !
wasn't my heart hoping I might die in the pains ? that I
might be with my darlin' agin. Oh ! Sha I.us, my hus-
band !—my darlin' three-hearted boy ! sure I'm thinkin'
of you every minute that goes, an' promisin' an' prayin',
ma bouchal brash, that the time will come round yet,
when I'll see your murdherers hunted an' harried from
the hills to the woods, an' from the woods to the glins,
an' back again—with no shelter from the winter's wind
but the mountain carrigs an' the hrakes by the bog side;
it's comin' yet—it's comtn'—l see it comin' I "
She rose hastily, and climbed to the top of the bushy
bank which overlooked the road, and as suddenly resu-
ming her wonted accents of harsh and querulous discord,
she shrilly cried—
" Shaun—Shaun, you big omadhaun, will I never make
you folly me? Shaun dhas, will you come, I tell you,
or, by gannies, I'll lay this switch across your back."

An Irishwoman called at an oilman's the other day, and
asked for a quart of vinegar. It was measured out, and
she put it in a gallon jug. She then asked for another quart
to be put in the same vessel. " And why not ask for half
a gallon, and have done with it ?" said the oilman. "Och,
bless your little bit of a soul," answered she, "it's for
two persons."
THE MYSTERY SOLVED.—Some years ago attention
was particularly called to a tombstone in Worcester Ca-
thedral inscribed with the one word " Miserrimus," (a
most wretched man.) So brief, yet so painfully-expres-
sive a record, naturally awakened a good deal of conjec-
ture, and we believe that a whole book was written upon
the supposed career of the nameless tenant of a mysteri-
ous grave.—ln Widcombe churchyard, Bath, lately, a
like inscription, the word " Annette ' upon a broken co-
lumn, attracted the notice of a poet of no mean pretensi-
ons, who wrote some very affecting lines, full of touching
conjecture as to the mortal pilgrimage and affecting death
of the fair deceased,—which verses were inserted in one
of the most popular of our monthly periodicals. The de-
nouement of the subject, however, is rather curious. A
surgeon, who elates his success in his profession from the
time of the occurrence, states that " Annette " was almost
his first patient, and that he was called in by an old Duch-
ess-dowager, the foster-parent, who resided on the North-
parade, Bath, and who with tears in her eyes entreated
the doctor's best offices for the poor invalid. The physi-
cian was enabled to effect a tempo: ary recovery ; the ma-
lade, however, eventually had a relapse and died. But
who was the fair deceased ?--None other than a favourite
Blenheim spaniel I The dowager was at first inconsola-
ble for the loss, but so sensible of the kind attention of
the medical attendant, that she not only appointed him
her own professional adviser, but recommended him to
others, thus establishing his fame, and making his fortune.
The defunct spaniel was, by means of a douceur to the
Sexton, interred in a Christian burial-ground, and hence
the touching elegy of the muse !
HOW TO SOW FLOWER SEEDS.—We want fine dry soil.
First provide that; get the ground level, and press it gen-
tly with a piece of tile or glass. If it contains stones or
clods, remove them. If your seeds are very small, sift
over it a little silver sand or peat • upon this scatter the
seeds thinly. If they are excessively small, mix them be-
fore sowing with dry sand or peat, in order to separate
them ; and again with gentleness press all flat. Then pro-
vide some coarse moss—any sort will do • but bog-moss
or sphagnum is the best—having previously soaked it in
boiling water to kill insects or their eggs. Press it till its
wetness is exchanged for dampness, and then, while warm,
scatter it loosely over the seeds. Press it down, invert
over the moss a common garden-pot, lay a tile on the bole,
and the operation is performed. But the little apparatus
thus contrived must be watched. In a day or two lift up
the pot, raise the Moss, and 'examine the seeds. If the
moss is dry, which is not likely to happen, again damp it
with warm water. If all is still, have patience. Thus go
until you find your seeds beginning to grow. Then re-
move the tile from the hole in your pot, and leave them
for another day. At the end of that time you will possi-
bly find that the seeds have grown much more ; if so, take
away part of the moss, so as to give the young things more
air and light. The next day, raise the pot on one side, so
as to open it to the south. This may be done with a stone
placed beneath its front edge; but do not raise it all round,
because if you do the strong current of air setting over
your seedlings and through the hole in the pot will chill
them. As soon as you find the seedlings green and plump
and stout, the moss may be entirely removed and the pot
raised higher. And very soon, that too may be qaite dis-
pensed with, unless there are frosts at night, or bitter dry
easterly winds by day. In the former case, replace the
pot every night and take it off again in the morning ; in
the latter, it is wise to place a little screen between the
plants and the wind. For this purpose a pantile is a capi-
tal thing, but a piece of board, or any such matter, will do.
In this way you secure all that you want in order to get a
hardy seed to grow—darkness, moisture, air, warmth; and
afterwards moisture, air, light and shelter.—Gardener's
Chronicle.

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.

NEWMARKET FIRST SPRING MEETING.

MONDAY.

The list was prolific of :Tort this afternoon, no less than
nine races having been brought to an issue; it, however,
lacked importance, none of the stakes having any prospec-
tive interest.

FIFTY POUNDS ; for four yr-olds, 7s. 10113 ; five, Bst. 91b. ;
six and aged, 9st. Last three miles of B. C. Six subs.
Mr. Shelly's Maynooth, 4 yrs, beat Miss Ellis, Keppel,
Sycurgus, and Switcher. Betting-5 to 4on Miss hlis ;
3 to 1 agst Maynooth.
HANDICAP SWEEPSTAKES of 20 Soya. each, for 3 yr-olds
and upwards. Six subs.
Lnrd Orford's Blackie, 3 yrs, 6st. 21b., beat Cocoa Nut,
5 yrs, Bst. 41b., and Duc-an-Duras, 4 yrs, Bst. 21b. Bet-
ting, 6 to 5 agst Blackie. and 7 to 4 agst Cocoa Nut.
SWEEPSTAKES of 50 soya. each ; for three-yr-old colts,
Bst. 71b. ; fillies Bst. 41b. Six subs.

Col. Anson's lago, beat Taurina and Side Saddle. Bet-
ting 7 to 4 on lago.
SWEEPSTAKES of 50 sons. each, for foals of 1843, out of
mares that never bred a winter ; colts, Bst. 71b. ; fillies,
Bst. 31b. Five subs.
Duke of Bedford's Paragone beat Lord Exeter's Leba-
non. Betting-7 to 2on Paragone.
SWEEPSTAKES of 50 sovs. each, h ft. Three subs.

Mr. King's Young Lochinvar, 6 yrs, 7st. 51b., beat
Bishop of Romford's Cob, 6 yrs, Bst. 71b., and Garry
Owen, aged, Bst. 71b. Betting-4 to 1 against Young
Lochinvar.