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It was to no purpose that I endeavoured to turn the tables, by describing Fin's terror at my supposed resemblance to a highwayman -his story had the precedence, and I met nothing during my recital but sly allusions to mad dogs, muzzles, and doctors; and contemptible puns were let off on every side at my expense.
Benandonner looked down into the cradle, and seeing that enormous giant lying there, with his feet hanging over the foot-board, thought to himself, "if Fin's baby is so big, what must Fin himself be!" and became so frightened that he turned and hurried back home, much quicker than he came.
"Call me, sor, next time ye're passin' my rank any time after twelve at night, and I'll show ye fun enough to last ye yer life." Something dropped out of the landscape that day something of its brilliancy, color, and charm. The water seemed sluggish, the sky-tones dull, the meadows flat and commonplace. It must have been Fin's laugh! Jim met me at the station.
"No, Aunt Jinkey, you won't be punished for doing a good deed. Your young mistress is on your side, anyway. Who is she?" "Young mistis ain' got no po'r ef dey fin's out. She nuff ter do ter hol' 'er own." "How comes it she's friendly to 'we uns, as you say down here?" "She ain' friendly. You drap at her feet ez ef you wuz dead, en she hab a lil gyurlish, soft heart, dat's all.
'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath: They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!
Say one's his strength, one's his plan, the rest is them he loves, an' the more he loves the better 'tis fer him. Wall, they begin t' go one by one. Some die, some turn agin' him. Fin's it hard t' keep his allowance. When he's only nine he's lost eggzac'ly one-tenth uv his dread o' dyin'. Bime bye he counts up one-two-three-four-five-an' thet's all ther is left. He figgers it up careful.
'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath: They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!
'T is the bugle but not for the chase is the call; 'T is the pibroch's shrill summons but not to the hall. 'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath: They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire!
On a stone near Parsonstown, called Fin's Seat, there are similar impressions also associated with crosses and cup-shaped hollows which are traditionally said to be the marks of Fin Mac Coul's thumb and fingers.
It was just at the moment in which his spirits seemed at their highest, that I had the misfortune to call upon him for a story, which his cousin Father Malachi had alluded to on the ever-memorable evening at his house, and which I had a great desire to hear from Fin's own lips. He seemed disposed to escape telling it, and upon my continuing to press my request, drily remarked,
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