"
Next is a prose sketch:
THE FURLOUGH.--AN IRISH ANECDOTE.
"In the autumn of 1825, some private affairs called me into the sister
kingdom; and as I did not travel, like Polyphemus, with my eye out,
I gathered a few samples of Irish character, amongst which was the
following incident:--
"I was standing one morning at the window of 'mine Inn,' when my
attention was attracted by a scene that took place beneath. The Belfast
coach was standing at the door, and on the roof, in front, sat a
solitary outside passenger, a fine young fellow, in the uniform of the
Connaught Rangers. Below, by the front wheel, stood an old woman,
seemingly his mother, a young man, and a younger woman, sister or
sweetheart; and they were all earnestly entreating the young soldier to
descend from his seat on the coach.
"'Come down wid ye, Thady'--the speaker was the old woman--'come down
now to your ould mother; sure it's flog ye they will, and strip the
flesh off the bones I giv ye. Come down, Thady, darlin!'
"'It's honour, mother,' was the short reply of the soldier; and with
clenched hands and set teeth, he took a stiffer posture on the coach.
"'Thady, come down--come down, ye fool of the world--come along down wid
ye!' The tone of the present appeal was more impatient and peremptory
than the last; and the answer was more promptly and sternly pronounced:
'It's honour, brother!' and the body of the speaker rose more rigidly
erect than ever on the roof.
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