The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1909-02-06
The VILLAGE Thatcher.

vie lAldlCIltT Is also last becoming d
thing of the past. in my early youth
no one owned a slated house in the viii
iage about which / write with the ex-
ception of the parish priest, the doc
Tor, the Protestant minister and the
magistrate. A slated house in those
days was the mark of riches. Now you
meet them turn where you will. and the
matched cottages, so suggestive of the
simple Irish peasant, have for the most
part become things Of the past For
my own part / regret their disappear
ance, and ireland seems to me not half
so beautiful as when the matched cot
tages nestled down the valleys or slept
so peacefully on the slopes of the
mountains with the curling smoke of
the turf fire rising from the clay
chimneys.
Tis only a little cottage,
And the roof is all of thatch.
And here and there little square,
neat and new-made patch;
And ivy sings upon the wings
And round the old half door;
That cot is mine, come hail or shine,
] wish not any more.
Our village had its thatcher and the
thatcher's name was Matt Muldoon.
l had great regard for Matt, chiefly
because, being so used to the elasticity
of rods or "scollops." on account of his
profession, he was able to make me
good bow and arrow, and when he had
IT made we used to go Indian hunting
around the haycocks and stables, he as
Stunning the role Of Trapper Matt, and I.
oh, my name does not matter, it was
something more warlike than Cabin.
anyway. Matt was big man. about
six feet two in height. and made in
proportion. A coal-black beard almost
covered his face and swept down his
powerful chest. There was not one
grain Of bad humOT in his composition.
and he encountered all his troubles and
worries with a smiling face. His work
ing dress consisted of a black frieze
coat and a corduroy trousers, with n
piece of a hay rope tied tightly round
the knees of each leg A black felt hat
covered his head. with string at
tached to the band and fastened to the
back Of the frie2e coat. This string
kept the hat from blowing away in
stormy weather. He had a habit of
talking to himself as he worked. and
that chat with himself embraced all
subjects from the rotteness of the scol-
Top that was after breaking in his
hands to the good points in Gladstone's
land act. His pockets were full of old
ballads. MoOre's almanacs and leaflets
of the Irish penny readings, especially
l.. Il
vans poems. Every new poem Of T. D.
Sullivan Matt was sure to get and COM
init to memory. Every time he saw
Ryan, the peeler. passing he would in
fallibly break out with stanza of the
'Peeler and the Goat or "Murty
Hynes." much to Ryan's Indignation
Matt dabbled himself in poetry. and
one of his poetical effusions which he
drawled forth for Ryan's benefit was
the following:
Il never see the peeler Ryan
Upon the road patroling, Q.
But he reminds me ov a goat
Among the greens (cabbage) a-strol-
lin. o.
The poor goat only ates the green's.
But Ryan he ates the green's and
stumps.
The sargint when he boils the pot
Filings in the bacon in big Jumps.
And all for Ryan partowlin', Q.
And all for Ryan patrowlin, o.
The last line is sung in key all
Matt's own, with a thump of his fist to
the thatch and a victorious look at |
Ryan standing twenty yards away. |
another voice takes IN
MATHS song and finishes it for him. The |
voice is Jim Scully's, and the words |
come rolling out as from a barrel:
Ryan ates, and there's no KNOWN. 0. |
How thin he goes patrowiin. Q.
But iV he goes he's BLOWN. O."
AS ! think now upon that oft-repeat- |
ed scene, and the actors IN it, Matt up
on the roof of house, poor Ryan |
standing some distance away venting |
his rage by pulling at q sandy, thin |
and Jim Scully. with his
shoulders propping up the gable end |
1f a house, and his hands in his trou-
US pockets, the tears of laughter |
come into my eyes and I cannot help !
saying those good old days" There !
was another comic scene in which Matt |
look prominent part, and those who
beheld that scene can never forget ii,
Matt was matching for a respectable
md well-tO-1o farmer near the village
Tim Scully was in attendance on Matt,
md while at their work the farmers
son, a young lad of about Il years of
age, home from school on vacation, ae-
3osted Matt thus:
Matt, are you in the state Of
yrace2'
Il may an I mayn't, bud what has
he state oY me sowl got TO do wud
,eh?"
Il am going TO shoot you, Matt. so
YOU have got five minutes TO say your
prayers"
You're larnin geography aren't
-eh Master Michael?" 0he boys
lameD
Yes Matt"
An algebrah an Euclid?"
Yes Matt
An Latin an Frinch?''
Yes, Matt"
Well. then. Master Michael. go an
arm common since. an don't think veil
llay tricks on me"
Il am in earnest. Matt. I am in
ieadly earnest I'll shoot you when L
'ome back" and Master Michael dis
into the house. only TO APP
ear again with a gun in his hands
"I'll give you, Matt while I am
ten to prepare, and then it
viii be long farewell for you to this
world and TO Btddy' CMatt's wife).
Jim Scully stood chewing a straw
title puzzled as to how the acting Wa3
.oing to end
One, two, three and the count went
n up to nine, and then Master Michael
topped with:
Il hope you viii forgive me for TAX
ng your life, 'att. but / had to do ii.
'ay a last row. u now to sun, moon.
tars, Jim -u.- md me-"
Matt tur ed ~ md in the ladder
nd got a lilte trls ened when he saw
ne gun pointed erect at him.
Take it away, eh young diyil. yeh
ave it pointin s, ne, and it might 90
f."
It's going of. farewell. Matt. and
mo M Loud