_Catty._ No Rooney, living or dead, was ever guilty or taxed with the like! (_Aside to her son_) Oh, they'll swear iligant! We'll flog the world, and have it all our own way! Oh, I knew we'd get justice--or I'd know why.

_Clerk._ Here's the book, sir, to swear complainants.

[_Mr. CARVER comes forward._

_Mr. Carv._ Wait--wait; I must hear both sides.

_Catty._ Both sides! Oh, plase your honour--only bother you.

_Mr. Carv._ Madam, it is my duty to have ears for all men.--Mr. Philip, now for your defence.

_Catty._ He has none in nature, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ Madam, you have had my ear long enough--be silent, at your peril.

_Catty._ Ogh--ogh!--silent!

[_She groans piteously._

_Mr. Carv._ Sir, your defence, without any preamble or pre-ambulation.

_Phil._ I've no defence to make, plase your honour, but that I'm innocent.

_Mr. Carv._ (_shaking his head_) The worst defence in law, my good friend, unless you've witnesses.

_Phil._ All present that time in the fair was too busy fighting for themselves to witness for me that I was not; except I'd call upon one that would clear me entirely, which is that there young man on the opposite side.

_Catty._ Oh, the impudent fellow! Is it my son?

_Old McB._ Is it Randal Rooney? Why, Phil, are you turned _innocent_?

_Phil._ I am not, father, at all. But with your lave, I call on Randal Rooney, for he is an undeniable honourable man--I refer all to his evidence.

_Randal._ Thank you, Phil. I'll witness the truth, on whatever side.

_Catty rushes in between them, exclaiming, in a tremendous tone,_

If you do, Catty Rooney's curse be upon--

_Randal stops her mouth, and struggles to hold his mother back._

Oh, mother, you couldn't curse!--

[_All the ROONIES get about her and exclaim_,

Oh, Catty, your son you couldn't curse!

_Mr. Carv._ Silence, and let _me_ be heard. Leave this lady to me; I know how to manage these feminine vixens. Mrs. Catherine Rooney, listen to me--you are a reasonable woman.

_Catty._ I am not, nor don't pretend to it, plase your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ But you can hear reason, madam, I presume, from the voice of authority.

_Catty._ No, plase your honour--I'm deaf, stone deaf.

_Mr. Carv._ No trifling with me, madam; give me leave to advise you a little for your good.

_Catty._ Plase your honour, it's of no use--from a child up I never could stand to be advised for my good. See, I'd get hot and hotter, plase your honour, till I'd bounce! I'd fly! I'd burst! and myself does not know what mischief I mightn't do.

_Mr. Carv._ Constable! take charge of this cursing and cursed woman, who has not respect for man or magistrate. Away with her out of my presence!--I commit her for a contempt.

_Randal_ (_eagerly_) Oh! plase your honour, I beg your honour's pardon for her--my mother--entirely. When she is in her rason, she has the greatest respect for the whole bench, and your honour above all. Oh!

your honour, be plasing this once! Excuse her, and I'll go bail for her she won't say another word till she'd get the nod from your honour.

_Mr. Carv._ On that condition, and on that condition only, I am willing to pa.s.s over the past. Fall back, constable.

_Catty._ (_aside_) Why then, Gerald O'Blaney mislet me. This Carver is a _fauterer_ of the Scotch. Bad luck to every bone in his body! (_As CATTY says this her son draws her back, and tries to pacify her._)

_Mr. Carv._ Is she muttering, constable?

_Randal._ Not a word, plase your honour, only just telling herself to be quiet. Oh, mother, dearest, I'll kneel to plase you.

_Catty._ Kneel! oh, to an ould woman like me--no standing that! So here, on my hunkers I am, for your sake, Randal, and not a word, good or bad!

Can woman do more? (_She sits with her fingers on her lips._)

_Mr. Carv._ Now for your defence, Philip: be short, for mercy's sake!

(_pulling out his watch._)

_Phil._ Not to be detaining your honour too long--I was in Ballynavogue this forenoon, and was just--that is, Miss Car'line Flaherty was just--

_Mr. Carv._ Miss Caroline Flaherty! What in nature can she have to do with the business?

_Phil._ Only axing me, sir, she was, to play the flageolets, which was the rason I was sitting at Flaherty's.

_Mr. Carv._ Address yourself to the court, young man.

_Phil._ Sitting at Flaherty's--in the parlour, with the door open, and all the McBrides which was _in it_ was in the outer room taking a toombler o' punch I trated 'em to--but not drinking--not a man _out o' the way_--when in comes that gentlewoman. (_Pointing to Mrs.

ROONEY.--RANDAL groans._) Never fear, Randal, I'll tell it as soft as I can.

_Old McB._ Soft, why? Mighty soft cratur ever since he was born, plase your honour, though he's my son.

_Mr. Carv._ (_putting his fingers on his lips_) Friend Matthew, no reflections in a court of justice ever. Go on, Philip.

_Phil._ So some one having tould Mrs. Rooney lies, as I'm confident, sir--for she come in quite _mad_, and abused my sister Honor; accusing her, before all, of being sitting and giving her company to Randal Rooney at Flaherty's, drinking, and something about a ring, and a meeting behind the chapel, which I couldn't understand;--but it fired me, and I stepped--but I recollected I'd promised Honor not to let her provoke me to lift a hand good or bad--so I stepped across very civil, and I said to her, says I, Ma'am, it's all lies--some one has been belying Honor McBride to you, Mrs. Rooney.

[_CATTY sighs and groans, striking the back of one hand reiteratedly into the palm of the other--rises--beats the devil's tattoo as she stands--then claps her hands again._

_Mr. Carv._ That woman has certainly more ways of making a noise, without speaking, than any woman upon earth. Proceed, Philip.