Literary cadet and Rhode-Island statesman. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1827-1829, 1828-01-02
MTSCELLANY
THE WHISPER.

A LEGEND OF THE OUT OF. IRELAND.
"Ifyou walk through the ruined town
of Kllmallock just outside of it you will
see, hard by the big old oak, a dilapi-
dated forge. In that forge the strokes
of the sledge hammer have long since
ceased to vibrate on the ear: and he
who once welded it so stoutly, now
sleeps quietly under the east window of
the old abbey. A pleasant fellow he was
before he was laid where he is, and a
clover fellow withal. But what made
him most famous in his day and gener-
alton, was his power Of breaking horses
by a whisper; whence he went by the
name of The W~hisperer;' and his fame
was spread ove the six counties Of
song-abounding Munster. Give him the
fiercest horse that ever broke a mans
neck, and Terence O'Sullivan-for that
was the Whispercr's name, boldly went
up to him, clapped his hand upon his
name, applied his mouth to his ear, whis-
pered something, God knows what, into
it, and in two minutes afterwards the an
Imal was as quiet as a Quaker! Some
said it was effected by this method, and
some by that, but it was all mere guess
ing, and to this day nobody knows the
real truth, excepting his son Dennis, to
whom the old man told the secret on his
death bed. But there is an old saying,
that the world always goes on from bad
to worse, and it is verified in this case;
for Dennis does not manage the bust
ness half so well as his father. They
say the eason is, that he does lot 90 up
to the horse so boldly as the old man a
dashing, off hand old fellow, who feared
neither nal nor beast) was wont to do;
and it may be that there is something in
it, for a mans horse in this respect is
like his sweetheart, and is not the worse
for being approached with some degree
of spirit. However, it matters not as to
the precise way the Whisperer operated,
the manner in which he originally ac-
quainted himself with the art was this:
Terence was one day at his forge, busily
employed, as usual, in f~ashioning a horse
shoe, thinking ofnothing al. ell, but bare
ly whistling; when there came by a SOL
der, lame ED wayworn, toiling along
slowly on the dusty road, in the heat OF
a July day. The blessing Of God and
the Virgin be upon you,' said Terence
to the weary man. Il am afraid said
the soldier, 6 l have little chance Of eth
er; thank you, nevertheless, for the
kindness OF your prayer. But add to the
good wish a good deed. L am faint with
thirst: give me a drink Of water So
Terence answered him from amid the
sparkles Of the fire, as he still labored
at the iron: Il drink no water except
when ! cannot help it, and I've no no
ton Of doing to another what l would
not wish to be done TO myself. The
best ofbuttermilk from this to Dublin
shall be at your service;' and laying
down his sledge hammer, he went and
brought some to the poor soldier. The
traveller drank eagerly ofthe proffcred
bowl; and when he had finished il, said
6 you have done me a kind service, and
though you see me here poor as the
poorest, yet | know that which will make
you rich. Come behind the Jorge, and
| will let you into a secret Terence
O'Sullivan wondered at the mans Ian