Here, plase your honour.

[_And when Mr. CARVER says_ "Ballynascraw," _all the McBRIDES bow, and reply--_

Here, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ (_speaking with pomposity, but embarra.s.sment, and clearing his throat frequently_) When I consider and look round me, gentlemen, and when I look round me and consider, how long a period of time I have had the honour to bear his majesty's commission of the peace for this county--

_Catty._ (_curtsying_) Your honour's a good warrant, no doubt.

_Mr. Carv._ Hem!--hem!--also being a residentiary gentleman at Bob's Fort--hem!--hem!--hem!--(_Coughs, and blows his nose._)

_Catty._ (_aside to her son_) Choking the cratur is with the words he can't get out. (_Aloud_) Will I spake now, plase your honour?

_Clerk._ Silence! silence!

_Mr. Carv._ And when I consider all the ineffectual attempts I have made by eloquence and otherwise, to moralize and civilize you gentlemen, and to eradicate all your heterogeneous or rebellious pa.s.sions--

_Catty._ Not a rebel, good or bad, among us, plase your honour.

_Clerk._ Silence!

_Mr. Carv._ I say, my good people of Ballynavogue and Ballynascraw, I stand here really in unspeakable concern and astonishment, to notice at this fair-time in my barony, these symptoms of a riot, gentlemen, and features of a tumult.

_Catty._ True, your honour, see--scarce a symptom of a fature lift in the face here of little Charley of Killaspugbrone, with the b'ating he got from them McBrides, who bred the riot, entirely under Flourishing Phil, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ (_turning to PHIL McBRIDE._) Mr. Philip McBride, son of old Matthew, quite a substantial man,--I am really concerned, Philip, to see you, whom I looked upon as a sort of, I had almost said, _gentleman_--

_Catty._ _Gentleman!_ what sort? Is it because of the new topped boots, or by virtue of the silver-topped whip, and the bit of a red rag tied about the throat?--Then a gentleman's asy made, now-a-days.

_Young McB._ It seems 'tis not so asy any way, now-a-days, to make a _gentlewoman_, Mrs. Rooney.

_Catty._ (_springing forward angrily_) And is it me you mane, young man?

_Randal._ Oh! mother, dear, don't be aggravating.

_Mr. Carv._ Clerk, why don't you maintain silence?

_Catty._ (_pressing before her son_) Stand back, then, Randal Rooney--don't you hear _silence_?--don't be brawling before his honour.

Go back wid yourself to your pillar, or post, and fould your arms, and stand like a fool that's in love, as you are.--I beg your honour's pardon, but he's my son, and I can't help it.--But about our examinations, plase your honour, we're all come to swear--here's myself, and little Charley of Killaspugbrone, and big Briny of Cloon, and Ulick of Eliogarty--all ready to swear.

_Mr. Carv._ But have these gentlemen no tongues of their own, madam?

_Catty._ No, plase your honour, little Charley has no English tongue; he has none but the native Irish.

_Mr. Carv._ Clerk, make out their examinations, with a translation; and interpret for Killaspugbrone.

_Catty._ Plase your honour, I being the lady, expicted I'd get lave to swear first.

_Mr. Carv._ And what would you swear, madam, if you got leave, pray?--be careful, now.

_Catty._ I'll tell you how it was out o' the face, plase your honour.

The whole Rooney faction--

_Mr. Carv._ _Faction!_--No such word in my presence, madam.

_Catty._ Oh, but I'm ready to swear to it, plase your honour, in or out of the presence:--the whole Rooney faction--every Rooney, big or little, that was in it, was bet, and banished the town and fair of Ballynavogue, for no rason in life, by them McBrides there, them sc.u.m o' the earth.

_Mr. Carv._ Gently, gently, my good lady; no such thing in my presence, as sc.u.m o' the earth.

_Catty._ Well, Scotchmen, if your honour prefars. But before a Scotchman, myself would prefar the poorest spalpeen--barring it be Phil, the buckeen--I ax pardon (_curtsying_), if a buckeen's the more honourable.

_Mr. Carv._ Irrelevant in toto, madam; for buckeens and spalpeens are manners or species of men unknown to or not cognizable by the eye of the law; against them, therefore, you cannot swear: but if you have any thing against Philip McBride--

_Catty._ Oh, I have plinty, and will swear, plase your honour, that he put me in bodily fear, and tore my jock, my blue jock, to tatters. Oh, by the vartue of this book (_s.n.a.t.c.hing up a book_), and all the books that ever were shut or opened, I'll swear to the damage of five pounds, be the same more or less.

_Mr. Carv._ My good lady, _more or less_ will never do.

_Catty._ Forty shillings, any way, I'll swear to; and that's a felony, your honour, I hope?

_Mr. Carv._ Take time, and consult your conscience conscientiously, my good lady, while I swear these other men--

[_She examines the coat, holding it up to view--Mr. CARVER beckons to the Rooney party._

_Mr. Carv._ Beaten men! come forward.

_Big Briny._ Not _beaten_, plase your honour, only _bet_.

_Ulick of Eliogarty._ Only black eyes, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ You, Mr. Charley or Charles Rooney, of Killaspugbrone; you have read these examinations, and are you scrupulously ready to swear?

_Catty._ He is, and _will_, plase your honour; only he's the boy that has got no English tongue.

_Mr. Carv._ I wish _you_ had none, madam, ha! ha! ha! (_The two McBRIDES laugh--the ROONIES look grave._) You, Ulick Rooney, of Eliogarty, _are these_ your examinations?

_Catty._ He can't write, nor rade writing from his cradle, plase your honour; but can make his mark equal to another, sir. It has been read to him any way, sir, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ And you, sir, who style yourself big Briny of Cloon--you think yourself a great man, I suppose?

_Catty._ It's what many does that has got less rason, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ Understand, my honest friend, that there is a vast difference between looking big and being great.

_Big Briny._ I see--I know, your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ Now, gentlemen, all of you, before I hand you the book to swear these examinations, there is one thing of which I must warn and apprize you--that I am most remarkably clear-sighted; consequently there can be no _thumb kissing_ with me, gentlemen.

_Big Briny._ We'll not ax it, plase your honour.