The miller of Glanmire; an Irish story

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Mill and the Sack 0’ Flour. 5 II The Schoolmaster of Ballinamocht. 13

III Shamus Roe. - - - 30

CHAPTER I. THE MILL AND THE SACK o’ FLOUR

On the Lower Glanmire road, about four miles from the city of Cork, and within a stone’s throw of the river Lee, stands the flouring mill of Ronyane & Roe. A mill of no great pretensions, or large dimensions, but yet it does a thriving business.

To the south of the mill, and from the hills in the west, flows a stream of water, deep, clear, and drinkable, which ends its rapid downward course in the beautiful river Lee, and is known as the “Millers’ Luck,” as it continuously turns the old mill wheel, and — like an Irishman when he has money — never goes dry, thereby turning many an

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honest shilling into the pocket of honest Jerry Roe, the miller.

Opposite the mill, on a gentle eminence, you may read over the door of a low, thatched cabin, these words: “The Sack O’ Flour.” It is a Shebeen, or tap room, and, being the only one in the immediate neighborhood, where a poor boy can get a drop o’ mountain dew, many a hard earned shilling is exchanged for the “seducin’ crathur,” by Toby O’Keefe, or as he is called both near and far, “Smilin’ Tobe.”

One bright morning in the fall of 1886, Jerry Roe was standing looking up the lane, or short cut as it is called, that leads from the middle, to the lower Glanmire road and past the old mill. He is a man of 55, with iron gray hair, hale and hearty, with an honest look in his large gray eyes, and an honest heart beating under his flour-covered waistcoat. Rich and poor honor and respect Jerry Roe, the miller of Glanmire.

Outside the mill door, seated on a pile of sacks, reading the Cork Examiner, is a much younger man, perhaps 27 or 28 years of age, nearly six foot tall, with dark hair, a handsome face, and the physique of an athlete.

THE MILL AND THE SACK O’ FLOUR. 7

This is Neil Brandon, the book-keeper and confidential man of the firm of Ronyane

Roe.

“Not a thing in sight,” said Roe, as he advanced towards Neil. “What’s the news this mornin’ Nale ? ”

“Not a thing,” said Neil, “would you like to see the paper ?” offering it to him.

“No, I’d rather see the wliate ; its not cornin’ as fast as I’d like ; I’m afeared we’ll be several barrels short on our order.”

‘ ‘It’s only Monday morning” replied Neil rising. “The farmers will be coming in as thick as hops before the week is past.”

4 ‘They can’t come too thick or fast for me, ” said Jerry, “but Nale, boy, don’t lave them go by. Empty their carts no matter how full they may be.”

“Never fear, they’ll go home with empty carts, but pockets filled. ”

“That’s right, Nale; that’s right, but’tis dry work waitin’ for them, so I think I’ll go in the Sack O’ Flour, an’ have a pint o’ porter.” As he got to the door, he turned to Neil, saying: “Won’t ye jine me boy?”

“No, Mr. Roe, I might miss a bushel of wheat while I’m in the ‘Sack O’ Flour.’ By

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the way, if you find Shamus in there, tell him I’m waiting for him. ”

“Do ye mane to tell me,” and there was anger in Roe’s voice, “that he’s not at work this mornin’ ? ”

“I haven’t set eyes on him as yet,” and Neil laughed.

“Well, I’ll set the dogs on him,” said Jerry, as he left the Shebeen door, and looked up the lane. “Out hurleyin’ yesterday, I suppose, and maybe some one smashed his shins for him.”

“More likely some one got their shins smashed by him,” said Neil.

“No fear of Shamus ; why he’s one of the best hurlers in Ireland.”

“I wish he was one o’ the best millers,” and Roe sighed, as much as to say, that’s a forlorn hope. While Jerry was looking up the short cut for sight of Shamus, or the load of whate, and Brandon had resumed reading his paper. There appeared at the door of the “Sack O’ Flour,” a queer piece of humanity, about five feet one in height, with a head of hair nearly the size of a shock of ripe oats, and about the same shade. Small, deen-set

THE MILL AND THE SACK O’ FLOUR. 9 eyes of changeable color, according to his humor, fat almost to obesity, his face clean shaven, red as a pipin, and round as the full moon. This was Toby O’Keefe, or Smilin’ Tobe, the landlord of the “Sack O’ Flour.” His glance was an angry one, as it rested on Neil Brandon, but a smile lighted up his big broad face as he saw Jerry Roe. Tobe could smile, and while he smiled, poison you with his liquor. He remained standing in his doorway until he saw Jerry turn to join Brandon, then he retired only to return, as Roe resumed his conversation. “Who knows, Nale, Shamus may become a miller yet, lie’s young and strong, an’ has a good chance in the mill. I don’t see anything to hinder him.”

“I do,” said Neil rising and throwing his paper aside.

“What is it Nale?” asked Roe.

“That which has prevented many a young man in the neighborhood from doing good.” And Neil pointed to the “Sack O’ Flour.” Jerry Roe winced. It was his custom to visit the Shebeen shop three or four times a day, for the proverbial glass, or pint o’ porter.

“I’m very dry, is there any water in the

10 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. mill,” asked Roe.

“Plenty of it,” replied Neil, “fresh and clear. Take my word for it, one draught of it will do you more good than all the porter in Smilin’ Tobe’s cursed shop.”

“I think I’ll try a taste of it,” said Jerry as he entered the mill. O’Keefe, who had been listening, advanced toward Neil with a wicked light in his sunken eyes, and said: “One good turn desarves another, Mr. Nale Brandon. ”

“That has always been my motto, Mr. Tobe O’Keefe” replied Neil.

“It might be my turn to-morrow. I may surprise ye.”

“By doing a good turn,” and Neil smiled; 4 ‘that would be a surprise, not only to me, but to the neighbors.”.

“What would ? ” sneered Tobe.

“To see you do’ a good turn for anyone.”

“I could drive many a farmer away from the mill dure wid his cart full o’ good whate, ” snarled Tobe.

‘ ‘It’s many a one you’ve driven from your own door, with his skin full of bad whisky,” said Neil as he walked towards the mill.

“Oh, yer good at preachin’,” said Tobe

THE MILL AND THE SACK O’ FLOUR. 11 following liim. “’Tis a great pity yer not in orders. ”

“It is lucky for you that I am not,” replied Neil, turning on him. “If I were in orders, let me tell you what my next Sunday’s discourse would be. I would advise the people to burn the Sack O’ Flour to the ground; and afterwards, drive you far beyond the precincts of Grianmire, to return at your peril. ”

Tobe laughed. It was a hard, dry laugh, and had the effect of the report of a fowling piece, on the birds perched on the trees near by, for on hearing it, they stopped singing, and took to flight, while Tobe all unconsious of the havoc he had created among the feathery tribe, almost screamed into the ears of Brandon: “Ye wouldn’t dare. If ye wor the Bishop himself, I’d defy ye. I’ve my lase o’ the Sack O’ Flour, and I pay my license.”

“Yes,” replied Neil with a sigh. “The lease and the license has made many a home desolate, broken many a heart.”

“Bah ! ” And Smilin’ Tobe snapped his finger and thumb. “Broken hearts, or broken heads, is the one to me, as long as there’s

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liquor galore in the Sack O’ Flour. Keep yer sentiment, Mr. Kale Brandon, for yer wather drinkin’ friends ’tis out o’ place wid me.” And with a repetition of his laugh, but not within hearing of the birds, he entered his den.

“Heartless scoundrel,” said Neil resuming his seat on the sacks. “Atwater-drinking friends in this neighborhood are few and far between. More’s the pity. ”

Chapter II. The Schoolmaster Of Ballinamocht

A short distance from Cork on the upper Glanmire road is the little village of Ballinamocht. I hardly think you will find it on the map, as it is too insignificant to be recognized among the many beautiful suburbs of the second city in Ireland. There is nothing of especial interest to the tourist as he passes through the village on his way to Carigtoohill, or Middleton, save, indeed, it may be the mass of juvenile humanity by which he is assailed, as they crowd around his side car, with the cry: “Sur, sur, if ye plaze, would ye give us a pinny, to pay the schoolmaster for the eddication,” or “mam would yer ladyship throw a hay -pinny on the road for to buy a primmer wid the A B C’s in it,” and indeedit

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is many’s the penny that is placed in the dirty hand of a Tim, or Mike, or Bryan, to pay for the eddication, and many the halfpenny thrown on the road to be scrambled for by the unruly ragamuffins, thus enabling the donor to pass along, and avoid the further importunities of these young toll-gatherers.

But the penny does not pay for the eddication, nor does the liay-penny buy the primmer. Oh, no ; the coppers immediately find their way into the cabin of Mrs. Bridget Fay, and are there exchanged for taffy and gingerbread, which the youngsters devour on the side of the road with evident gusto, while they impatiently wait for their next victim.

A painter seeking the picturesque, would pass through Ballinamocht, without unstrapping his easel. There is nothing there to catch the eye of the artist. Its fifteen or twenty small dilapidated thatched cabins, or its few scattered cottages, each one with its little plot of ground, where long since the flower has given way to the weed, would be too commonplace to be transferred to canvas, yet within those thatched cabins, and neglected cottages, dwell a God-fearing people, for no Sunday passes that they do not trudge many a mile, some of them barefooted, to hear His blessed word, there being no chapel in the village.

Poor, ’tis true, too poor to waste the time in exterminating the weed, so that the flower might thrive. Those who are fortunate enough to be able to rent an acre, or so, work late and early, among the potatoe, the turnip, or the cabbage, while those who have no acre, work in the peat bog, or wherever the day’s work may be had, to keep the humble roof over their loved ones heads, the bite and sup in their mouths. The neatest looking cottage in the village, is that of the schoolmaster, Tyler McCabe. There and only there, are the flowers not neglected. The schoolmaster’s household, consists of himself, his daughter Hannora, and Nancy the 4 ‘ould mare, ” whom Tyler loves almost as well as he does Hannora. He is a man past the half century, tall and angular, with a pale, oval face, full of determination, light blue eyes, and a bald head, which materially aids a lofty brow. Eight years previous to our introducing him, his wife died, leaving

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to his care their only child Hannora, now a buxom maiden of two-and-twenty, good-natured, good-hearted, and good-tempered, but not a beauty.

“Ah!” her father would say, as she sat by the window, with its pretty chintz curtains, knitting, or plying the needle, as the case may be. ‘ ‘Ah ! how ye remind me of yer dear mother, sitting there, yer her very image, barrin’ her raven hair, an’ her eyes of sloe. ”

“Father dear,” Hannora would reply, “ ’tis a great comfort to me that I remind ye of my mother in Heaven. But sure ’tis no fault o’ mine, if my hair is red, an my eyes are blue, ’tis a blessin bestowed upon me I think, for I’m fond o’ colors, an red an blue matches my complexion so well, ” and Hannora would laugh, a soft musical laugh. “But what’s the harm; sure what I lack in good looks, I can make up in good deeds,” and so she did, for while Tyler and Nancy were working the four acres of rented ground to the north of the schoolmaster’s cottage, Nora McCabe was ministering to the wants of Mrs. Maloney who was down wid the fayver, or rubbing liniment into the shoulder of Mrs, Fagin who couldn’t move her arm with the rheumatism; or if not attending the sick and suffering, is taking care of Mrs. Twohey’s twins, while that good woman is doin’ the bit o’ wasliin for the ten childre, and the ould man. Sundown always finds Hannora in her own neat, snug kitchen, singing like a bird, while she prepares the evening meal for herself and father at the same time. After a hard day’s work, the schoolmaster is engaged in rubbing Nancy down a bit, previous to making her a bed of nice clean straw, while Nancy, poor baste, is regailing herself with a manger full of hay, and a small taste of oats. After the tea things are put away in the dresser, and Tyler has finished his second pipe, father and daughter adjourn to the barn in the rear of the cottage. For it is under the same roof with Nancy, the boys and girls of Ballinamocht and the country near by are taught the readin’ and the writin’ at the night school of Tyler Mc- Cabe. The barn or schoolroom, if you please, is about sixteen foot square. It’s furniture consists of a blackboard hanging on the wall ; five or six rough benches without backs, a chair and small table for the school-

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master. Suspended from the ceiling is an iron hoop, to which is attached eight sconces, and in each sconce is a piece of tallow candle. The illuminating is attended to by Con Fagin, for which service he gets his lamin’ gratis. Here every night at 8, except Saturday and Sunday, sits Nora McCabe, with primer in hand, teaching the juvenile feminine gender their A B C’s, A B, Ab’s, and I B lb’s, while the schoolmaster plys the chalk on the face of the blackboard, or the switch on the backs of the unruly boys, from the puny stripling of eight or nine, to the robust full-grown boy of five-and-twenty. (You are always a boy in Ireland until you are married.) On the morning of the day our story begins, Tyler was up bright and early, and after partaking of a hearty breakfast, put the harness on Nancy, and hitched her to the two wheeled cart, inside of which was four sacks of wheat, and seated on the sacks Hannora, dressed in her best, while Tyler piloted Nancy down the short cut, to pay his respects and dispose of his wheat to Jerry Roe, the miller of Glanmire. A moment after Smilin’ Tobe had retired laughing into the Sack O’ Flour, and just as Brandon resumed his seat at the mill door, Hannora’ s voice was heard a short distance up the lane cautioning her father:

4 4 Take care where you’re drivin’ or ye’ll have us in the mill strame.”

“Nancy, are you blind, that ye can’t see the road; ye’ll be fed in a minute,” said Tyler, as he drew rein in front of the mill door.

“Here we are at Jerry Roe’s ! ”

4 ‘Good morning Schoolmaster ! Glad to see you Miss McCabe,” said Neil, as he arose and saluted them.

“Same to you Nale,” replied Hannora.

“Allow me to assist you, Miss McCabe,” and Neil approached Hannora with outstretched arms, as if he expected her to fall into them.

“Lave her alone man! Youth needs no assistance,” said Tyler. “’Tis ould age that requires help.” And Hannora, ignoring Neil, jumped to the ground. While he, with a “I beg your pardon,” assisted the schoolmaster to alight from the cart.

“My legs are as stiff a poker,” said Hannora as she straightened up.

“Ah ! Sure the cart is as aisy as a jauntin’ car,” replied Tyler, as he patted Nancy’s

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neck. 44 ’Tis poor Nancy that should be stiff, from the long walk, the rough roads, and ”

“The slow gait,” laughed Hannora.

“She’s not as young as you are, God help her,” said Tyler, laughing.

“Nale boy I have in the cart, four as fine sacks o’ wheat as ever was threshed in the county. Call a couple o’ the boys to take it in the mill, while I give Nancy a feed.”

Neil called two of the men from the mill to unload the wheat from the cart, while Tyler busied himself unhitching Nancy, and turning her around, so that her head was where her tail should be, untied a small bundle of hay in the cart, and told her to “ate her male in pace.”

4 4 Ain’t Shamus in the mill ? ” asked Hannora.

4 4 No,” answered Neil, “He has not been here this morning.”

“Oh! I suppose not,” and Nora pouted, “Off gallavantin’ yesterday, an’ to-day he’s tired.”

4 4 Ah, poor fellow,” said Neil, 4 ‘Sunday is the only day he has to enjoy himself.”

“I don’t blame him much,” and there was pity in Nora’s voice, “for he’s there in that ould mill all the week, wid his lungs full o’ flour.”

“And his heart full of love,” laughed Neil.

“Oh ! I don’t doubt it a bit,” said Hannora. “ ’Tis a wonder to me that he don’t bust wid the love that’s in him. Yesterday morniiT, whin my father an’ myself was going to mass, who should I spy in Grady’s barn, dancin’ a four-handed reel but Mary and Nancy Grady, Con. Fagan, and Shamus Roe, wid sorra the music, fiddle, or pipes, savin Sliamus himself liltin’.”

“What, before chapel,” asked Neil in assumed horror.

“Yis, my father didn’t see him then, but whin we were goin’ home, after Mass, forninst us in the Borheen, wid a hurley on his shoulder, was Shamus. 4 Oh ! ’ says I, wid a prayer, not thinking my father heard me, 4 Shamus, Shamus, how can ye wid the dance, an’ the hurley, break this blessed day? ’ ”

“Twould be a blessin’ if he’d break his neck,” said my father, who caught sight of Shamus as he was jumpin’ over a hedge into the next field.

“Perhaps that would be a blessing to the

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poor boy,” said Neil, “as you’ve already broken liis heart.”

“Is it me, Nale? Are ye in arnest?”

“Indeed I am. He told me so.”

“Well, that’s the first thing I ever broke in my life, savin’ some crockery ware, an’ I’m always breakin’ them.” With a sly glance at Neil: “De ye think it could be mended Nale?”

“You might try.”

“I will,” laughed Nora, “I can mend most anything, I’ve never tried my hand at a heart, but Nale tell him from me, that he must try to mend his ways, before I try to mend his heart,” and with a laugh full of music, Nora ran to Jerry Roe, who was standing in the mill door.

“Ah! Hannora,” said the miller with extended hands, “an how is every bit o’ ye?”

“Purty well, thank ye, Mr. Roe, an’ so is my father.”

“Wislia, Tyler,” and Jerry clasped the schoolmaster’s hand, ‘ ‘ ’tis like a look at the harvest moon to see ye. How is the baste?”

“Tired Jurry, tired, but a rest will show all her fine points again.” Tyler really imagined that poor, broken, down Nancy possessed some fine points.

“It will, Tyler; it will,” and Jerry patted tlie faithful old animal on the back, then turning to Hannora, “The Lord save ye Hannora, ’tis the rosey color ye have in yer cheeks, an’ ’tis as supple as a fawn yer lookin. ”

“Well, Mr. Roe, ’tis not as supple as a fawn I’m f eelin’. My legs are that stiff I can hardly walk. ”

“Ah! sure, dear, if ye can’t walk, take a run in the garden wid Alice. That’ll put yer joints in good order.”

‘ Ts she at home ? ”

“Oh, indeed she is, God bless her, ” answered Jerry.

“Then, I’ll go and see her,” with a sly look at Neil, “As I have to borry a needle.”

“Yerra, for what?” asked Tyler.

“I have a job of mendin’ to do.”

“Why didn’t ye attend to it before ye left home,” said her father.

“I didn’t know it needed it then.”

“What is it at all,” and Tyler removed his well-worn coat to examine it.

“Oh! sure it isn’t yer coat father, ’tis only a young man’s heart.” And turning Nora sauntered up the lane, singing “Love’s Young Dream,” while Neil Brandon watched her

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until she entered a pretty vine-covered cottage, where for the present, dwelt the beauty of Glanmire, Alice Moyne.

“Tell me, Jerry,” said the schoolmaster, after Nora had gone, “De ye think she has him ? ”

“Who?” inquired Jerry.

“Why, Nale, of course.”

4 ‘No, ” replied the miller. ‘ ‘ ’Twould take more than a needle an’ thread to mend his heart. ”

“Would it now?” said Tyler interested.

“What would it take ? ”

“Whisper,” and the miller looked mysteriously at Neil. “ ’Twould take the two eyes of Alice Moyne. ”

“Oh ! ah ! um ! Yis ! ” and the schoolmaster winked at the miller. Then they nudged each other and looked at Neil, who was in a quandary to know why they were gazing at him and whispering. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by Roe telling him to go into the mill, measure the wheat, and bring the money to Mr. McCabe.

“Aline looking lad,” said Tyler, as Neil entered the mill.

“An’ as good as he’s good lookin’,” replied

Jerry. “Honest as the snn, an’ sober as Nancy beyant. Never touches a sup.”

“Talkin’ o’ sups, Jerry, a small taste won’t hurt us,” and the schoolmaster pointed to the rustic bench and small table, near the door of the Sack O’ Flour. “Come.”

“No, thank ye, Schoolmaster, there’s plenty wather in the mill. ”

4 ‘It requires wather to run it, ” replied Tyler.

“But I require something stronger after my ride. Why man, I’m shiverin’ like a lafe in November .Come and sit down.”

Remembering Neil’s word about Tobe’s cursed porter, Jerry cast a frightened look towards the mill, and then reluctantly took a seat opposite the schoolmaster.

“Here Tobe, ye villian,” shouted the pedagogue, knocking his knuckles on the table. “Where are ye?” No need to ask — Smilin’ Tobe stood at McCabe’s elbow. He was always on the alert for a cash customer, and knowing Tyler was ready money, greeted him in the most obsequious manner. “The top o’ the mornin’ to ye, Mr. McCabe,” and then the usual inquiry: “Wliat’11 it be gentlemen?”

“Two pints o’ porter,” ordered Jerry.

Tyler objected. “You may drink porter

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Jerry, but I’ll have a noggin o’ spirits to warm me up a bit.” Smilin’ Tobe entered the inn to fill the order. 4 4 I must see Maurice Ronyane,” continued Tyler, “in regard to

the school. I must have protection or ” He

was interrupted by Tobe with the liquids. “Here we are, gintlemen,” and Tobe placed on the table two mugs of porter, a small glass of whisky and another of water.

“That extra porter was’nt ordered,” said Tyler, as he handed Tobe some money. Tobe counted it, then raised the mug of porter, and said “Yer very good health, schoolmaster. I’ll drink this and it’ll make the change right. ”

4 ‘See here O’Keefe, ” angrily replied the schoolmaster, “If I must pay for medicine for my health, I’ll pay the doctor. ”

4 4 Oh ! Mr. Roe will ye listen to him, ” laughed Tobe. “He always will have his fun,” and Tobe drank the porter. “Now gentlemen to make amends, ye’ll have a taste wid me,” and without waiting for an affimative or a negative, he hastened after the taste.

“Ye must drink it now,” said Jerry, “if it drowns ye. ”

“De ye think he’ll put wather enough in it ? ” asked Tyler.

4 ‘Isn’t lie going to trate ? ”

“So lie said.”

“Well ye’ll get no clear liquor at liis expense,” said the miller. “But tell me, Tyler, in regard to the school, what de ye mane by protection; are the boys troublesome.”

“They are Jerry. The other evenin’, Mike Dooley came late, as usual. ‘Come here Mike, says I, ’till I make an example o’ ye. Hould out yer hand, I want to take the measure of it with this rule. ” He didn’t stir. ‘Give me yer hand, Mike, says I.’”

“An’ did he ? ”

“Oh, indeed, he did; the full flat of it on my face.”

“Ah! the villain,” exclaimed Jerry, he ought to ”

‘ ‘Once more, gintlemen, ” said Smilin’ Tobe, as he placed the poison on the table. “Now ye can drink my health.”

“Thank ye, O’Keefe,” and contempt shone in the schoolmaster’s eyes. “That’s a privilige ye don’t often accord to yer customers.”

“Your money, Schoolmaster,” said Neil, as he came from the mill. “Three poundsthree and sixpence.” Which amount he

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placed in McCabe’s hand.

“Thank ye, Nale, boy,” and Tyler counted the money. “Hallo !” As he handed a note to Jerry. “There’s a pound note that’s seen service, ’tis nearly torn in two.”

“Ah! sure,” said Smilin’ Tobe, as he looked at the note, over the miller’s shoulder. “ ’Tis as good as whate.”

“Why wouldn’t it,” said Tyler. “Sure, that’s what I got it for — whate ! ”

There was a general laugh at Tobe’s expense.

“That’s odd,” exclaimed Jerry, as he examined the note.

“What’s odd?” Came in chorus from the others.

“ Three thousand , three hundred and thirty - three” replied the miller, giving the numbers on the note.

“I wish I had as many of them as these numbers on it,” laughed the schoolmaster.

“There’s luck in odd numbers,” chimed in Smilin’ Tobe.

“Ye’d better take this one, Mr. McCabe. Sure, I’ll take it for refreshments, if it should become oneasy in yer pocket.”

“This one, I’ll never become aisy, or onaisy in your pocket, Mr. O’Keefe, give it to me Jerry.”

“No Tyler,” the miller handed the note to Neil. “Nale, hoy, bring the schoolmaster a whole one, an’ mind that.” Neil entered the mill with the torn one pound note numbered Three thousand , three hundred and thirty-three . At the same moment, a voice was heard some distance up the short cut, singing the “Rakin Paudeen Rhue.”

44 ’Tis Shamus come at last,” said Tobe, and the smile broadened on his ruddy face.

‘ 4 ’Tis last he always comes, ” and Jerry Roe frowned, while the owner of the voice came nearer.

Chapter III. Shamus Eoe

Still singing (and he could sing) there entered upon the scene a young man, dressed in a neat fitting courduroy coat, with cap to match, light colored knee-breeches and leggins. In appearance he is rather above the medium height, powerfully built, and strong as an ox, which fact many of the boys, in and near Glanmire, will vouch for. He is about 25 years of age, with dark brown hair, cut close to the head, while his eyes are gray as the dawn of day, and his mouth is made for laughter. Such is Shamus Roe, the sweetest singer, the finest dancer, the best hurler, the greatest wrestler, and the biggest divil among the girls in all Glanmire. Shamus knew very little of a father’s or mother’s love.

SHAMUS ROE.

The worthy woman who gave him birth died when he was bnt 5 years old, and his father, a u ne’r do well” soon after left for the gold fields of America, where all trace of him was lost. Thus it was that Jerry Roe, his father’s brother, being childless himself, took little Shamus to his heart and home. At 12 years old, the boy was sent to a public school in Cork. Jerry loved the lad, and had great hope of his advancement. “Vain hope.” Shamus soon tired of the school, and in the morning instead of going to Cork, he would only go as far as the brickfields, where with a few companions, older than himself, they would disport for hours in the clear water of the River Lee. So it was that he became very proficient in swimming, but very deficient in book learning. At 18 he was put in the mill, but like the school, it had very few charms for him. He would weary of the noise and bustle, and devote more of his time to the Sack O’ Flour, than he would to the sack o’ wheat. As may be surmised, Shamus on this particular morning was in dire disgrace with his uncle, as he came along the lane expatiating in song, on the many virtues of “Rakin Paudeen Rliue.” When