The herald., 1894-11-13
A BIRTHDAY GIFT.

lt mlSnG nave happened IN London
or it might not If any one prefers to
localize this story of true love at Liver
pool or Glasgow or any other British
city where Irish do live, he or she is
quite welcome to do so am not going
to vulgarize ter.der ;dyl by giving
with the fidelity Of county court sum-
mons the precise town, village or other
minute description of the scene where
the poetic evenls to be now told took
place.
Mat Casey lodged with Tim Brennan,
who occupied q couple of rooms in a
small house in court off passage in
in back street. Sure you're gintle-
man, for you're as good as the pig that
pays his rint," Tim used to say to him,
and Mat would reply, True for yez,
an it's meself that's proud to be that
same" And then, if either happened
to have u shilling about him, they
would 60 to the Cobwebs inn and
drink it. lf in luck, they would per-
haps have fight Or two in the course
of the night. If things were depressed
and people were low spiritedly peaceful,
they would in most cases have figAt
between themselves and then fraternal-
ly pump OH each others heads or repair
their faces from tho same stock of stick
ing plaster.
Mat was a travelling tinker, middle
aged, jovial, ugly, fine drinker, a
good singer, and, as Tim said, ''a dhivil
of poet. Tim was an odd job charac-
ter-an auction porter and speculator
in small lots. Mat was widower Tim
had an extensive wife and scattered
family.
AT the entrance to the court was a
sort of half shop, half shed, with a big
room behind and small one above,
where Widow Moloney lived and car
ried on her business, which consisted in
the purchase and sale of anything from
an old bedstead to coverless diction-
ary and from broken candlestick to
an indistinct oil painting. Her husband
had been an attendant at sales and a
broker in a humble way.
After the inquest on him-now some
lSmonths ago-Mrs. Moloney continued
the concern. She found it unnecessary
to go to auctions, as Tim and Others
brought their purchases to her, and she
had tolerably ready means of buying
and selling, not merely to add from her
neighbors, but also, being well known,
among the inhabitants generally in a
small way.
She was about 40 and weighed 1S
stone. A big shawl was always crossed
over her opulent bosom and Gnotted be-
hind. She had bright eye, ready
tongue, a heavy fist and Il strong head
Mat was deeply enamored of this
gentle lady. OF course Tim was in his
confidence, and many an untruthful
word in praise of Mat did he drop, as if
by accident, in her hearing, and many
an unveraoious account of his broken
heartedness ON her account did he sigh
ingly narrate, with the addition of his
own private opinion that Mat was dy-
ing or would kill himself for love of
her. Tim was as loyal friend as q So
Der though truthful knight of old
"Tim, said Mat ON the eve of Wild
ow Moloney's birthday, II want yez to
give her this birthday card from me.
It's a great red heart. with skewer
sticking in it. That riprisints nioine-
the heart, mane The skewer'--
"It's an arrow, Mat-that's what
they do be calling it,.
well, Tim, an there's good Irish
sound about that same. They can't do
without us anyway, you see
'Sorra bit, an you want mo to be
afther giving her that?"
Eyes; I've improved it. I've made it
stiff with red lead an put in q few
dhrors, as if it was the blood of me
heart that was flowing for her, an
she's so scornful Of mo sufferings"
ITS illigant" said Tim, with great
admiration.
An see here, now. I've written
some varses to her to the tune of
'O'Shaughnessy's Hat. Bedad, an they
rowl as swately as n jig an as delud-
herring as the crayther. F"
he sang them over in his rich voice
and delicious brogue, and Tim got OK
oitcd and promised his most devoted
aid. Then they went to the Cobwebs
ed. had tussle with some strangers
about something of which they had no
particular notion or recollection, lost
each other and finally got home some
how, though separately.
Next morning they arose with un-
elouded and unaching brows, and Tim
started on his mission. Mat waited at
the Cobwebs for his return.
'---- ~--,- doorstep ant
reflected.
'Take her dhirty. painted, twopenn,
piece of paper with a red lead heart OF
it! Bedad an begorra an won't! III
do better. than that, or my names no
Tim Brennan. Mats decent bhoy al
a dhivii of a roct, but widdies is prac
tical. It takes tho likes of me to under
stand the likes OF them.