The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1893-03-28
SHAMROCKS.
Little Stories of Irish Life and Irish People by Frank
Mathews.

a joke ware? or is that you Phaudrig? Can
it be You Phaudrig. Wasn't it on this
table We were walked All, man alive, don
ye know that We are dead? Dead or alive,
squcals the ould mother putthln her arm
round his neck an lanin' on him-she was
no taller than him, though he was sittin'--
dead or n live. We are welcome home,
phaulecn. acushla.
"Phaudrig, be looks rouu' over his left
shouther ut they foIl--thcy were huddled
at the far ind o the room, they didn't
look half so NANNY as whn they We're
dancin'-all starin' at him; some o the
women We're prayn' aloud, the tiddlers on
the table were that frightened they
blind piper goes on playin reel Just the
same, burstn' his checks Phaudrig he
looks around an ye can hear the folk on
the left side o the room gaspin' when they
met his eye He looks back at his wife
Dead? said he, 1 am so--worse luck
Phaudeen, says tn ould mother that was
holdin' him that tight you'd have
thought he was gold, tell me, Phaudeen
alanna, is it in he'll or in heaven y'are?
An where would ! be- says Phaudris,
country? There they are. til ould folks
that have been dead ages ago. IT'S the
same life over acin-ah, God pity us all!
--aich lives as he lived here over again,
wild little 10 ate an little aise. It's a
country like the same. rocky an hard,
an there's 10 kindness in the hills, an we
go fishin on black aud wild nights
John Mcehan, who was drunk, he sthag-
gers across the room (his eyes were near
shut like as if he was asleep, an he spoke
as if he'd an egg i'll his mouth.) He slaps
PEaudrg on the back. Cheer up Phau-
Orig, me man, says he, for what are We so
gum? Sure heavy heart seldom can be
gray head. No man shall be glum on
my weddm' night, an / marryin your
wife Phaudrig he looks NJ nj his wife.
rs that so" says he very quiet--he was al
ways a mild man. She says nothin'; she
looks near as dead as himself. All the
time the bagpipes 60 on playin' the reel.
Phaudrig goes on IN be askin' your par
KNOWN says he. He sthands up an looks
around at the folk-ye cud hear them
Gaspin' agin when they met his eyes. Ge
needn't be so afeared good people, says
he, very quiet like, 'yc were glad enough
to be friends with me once He SthoOps
down an kisses his little Ould mother, he
goes an opens the door, the wind rushcs
in wild rain drenchin' the most of us, the
room filled with ShInOke from the fire, all
the candies were blown out. His ouid
mother she hobbies tottclin' afther him
squealin', All. for Gods sake tal5A me
hind We, Phaudeen.' Eut be goes out
from the door"
IA Letter for Ireland"
AS | was passing lately through Para
disc walk | saw old Biddy Gallagher sitting
on the doorstep of Johnson's house with
her elbows on her knees and her dirty
hands buried III her tousled gray hair She
seemed in high good humor and beamed
on the world. But the world Of that
Chelsea slum took small heed of her scOwls;
she was dcprayed and lone old woman,
her face WAS bloateG, she was shaped like
a tub. ana her clothes were rags. Tncre
was no pause i'll her Numbering talk eX-
cept when she was asleep drunk, and
it took power of whisky TO silence her.
Now she was holding forth eioqucntly.
though a crippled baby. sitting in the gutter
near her was her only listener. TN"
people Of Paradise walk were busy cheer
Ing two washerWomen who We're fghting'
because the ConHemara brOgue was music
10 me, L stopped for moment to hear
Biddy.
I'm me gran'mother." she was saying
mo OVID Ould gran mother dat did use to
live in Rallinahadereen behind Lcenaan
on de road to Mann. She did use TO sit
SO i'll de doorway. smOkin' her black pipe,
an dere WAS no passn her. An me father.
dacnt man, God rest him. He couldn't
get out Of the house till she let him. lie
was terrible sthrong. but he'd rather have
sthopp"d in there for liver dan he rough
wild de oud woman. lis a pleasant place
is Ballirahaderccn an de folk are kindly,
dcy bear wild ould women and deyre gen
tie wild We when we're dhrunk. All. It's
dere ! wish | was now. Dey do be tellin'
me dat Bailinahadarcen is dc same rs when
] was a slip of a CURL wild de dung heaps
in front o de houses, an de sthrane rmuin'
down de middle Of lie street an de blue
shmoke comm ont Of Dc chiuhly holes in
de- tach an de air smcllin' Of turf. an de
PIGS. de craTthurs. lookin' out of dc front
doors an de little pigs-de boneens-runnin'
Lp The road afthrr ye, squealn' as If DER
hearts was bruk Dcy do be snyin dat
.tia de snme-and but It's sore and hard TO
u lloNe It. | was a good CURL when | was
derc, surely dat was ages ard ages 0go
afore de mountains was made When I
was colleen wild shawl over me head.
L dld use to walk to mass at Lcenaan four
miles lvery moInin'. snow or shine picllin'
me way long &c road to keen clare of de