CHAPTER X.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 7, 2 December 1892, Page 23

CHAPTER X.

11 What did yoa mean by paying I didn't understand pigs !" Jot Bpronl asked, darting an indignant glanoe at Marty Magratb, In the corner of whose eye he saw something that he did not like at all. " I thought," returned Murty mildly, " that yon relied too much on compulsion. Compulsion is effective when judiciously applied, and at the proper moment. But there are times when nothing will tell upon a pig like persuasion. And, to be candid with you," added Murty Magrath. lifting his chin out of his high cravat, "I thought I noticed a deficiency of generalship in yon that surprised me in a reading man." " Would you want me to take 'em in my arms ?" Joe Sproul asked indignantly. "By no means," replied Murty Magrath. " 1 wouldn't hare yon stoop to that. Nor even to twisting your hand in the tail and pulling it, pretending 'twas the other way yoa wanted 'em to go. That may do well enough for a spalpeen, but not for a reading man. But to keep quiet and let them hare their own way during paroxysms ; to leave them under the impression that their conduct is a matter of indifference to you ; to adopt a decisive course at the critioal moment —and to know when to say 'hurrish ! banish ! bogh 1 bogh !' Tiat's the way to manage pigs." " I've had thirteen years' official experience of pigt," broke in Sub-constable Sproul with dignity — drawing himself up to his fall height and throwing back his Bhonldera — " besides being intimately acquainted with them in my own father's bouse since before I was able to walk." " There's pigs an' pigs in it," rejoined Murty Magrath blandly. " Bat wait till you know the Glenmoyan pigs as well as I do, and the correctness of my views will be self-evident to yon." "If that black pig be a typical pig," interrupted Sab-constable Sproul ; " if he is not a rara avit—a. lusiu natures — then all I can say is, that I may be promoted before this day week to the most distant stition in Kerry, where the only earthly motive for the exercise of either shoe-brush, clothes-brush, or hair-brush is a possible surprise from the sub-inspector ; where promotion would be an anachronism, and where you are perpetually reminded, either by sight or sound, of that insulting lyric, * The Bansha peelers went out one day.' That's all," Jce Sproul added, decisively. "I knew the author of the • Peeler and the goat ' well," said Murty Magrath gravely — "one Darby Ryan, of Bansba. A. very decent man. Now I wonder some genius never tried bis hand on the ' Peeler and the pig.' I can't see why a pig is not as fit a subject for poetry as a goat. " ' Oh, mercy, sir 1' replied the goat. And let me tell my story, Oh, I am no Borne or Bibbonman, A Croppy, Whig, or a Tory, Oh.'" " That's neat, but why not— ' Mercy, sir, replied the pig, ' Just wait till I my tail nnfold ; I'm not an Orangeman at all, Nor a tinker's wife, nor a four-year-old.' If Darby Byan was alive, or if his mantle had fallen on any of his posterity, I'd suggest to him to try what he could do with the peeler and the pig. Don't say it would be trying to make a silk purse of a pig's ear. Not at all. There's as much poetry in a pig any day as in a goat, 1 Meg-geg-geg-geg, let go my leg, Or I'll pluck you with my horn, Oh.'

"Ah I" exclaimed Marty Magrath, tapping his forehead and then holding np his finger, after the manner of the poet Moore's statue in College street, Dublin ; " there's the difficulty I 1 realise row why Darby Byan never tried bis hand on the ' Peeler and the pig/ I thought it might hetb»iioiinß and the head that constituted the goat's superiority as a subject for poetry. But no, it is the language. The man was never beto," added Murty Magrath with a melancholy shake of the head, ",w%O could put the pig's vernacular in print, and more's the pity. But for that one disadvantage there's not an animal in creation that has more poetry in him than a pig. I don't expect you to coincide in my opinion," said Murty Magratb, observing Joe Sproul's eyes fixed snspiciously upon him. " You should be more or less than man to be prejudiced in your present state of mind. Bnt if you reflect upon what I say in cooler moments you'll find I'm right." " Do yon belong to this part of the country 1" Joe Sprool asked. " Yee," was the reply. " I was bred, born, and reared in that little village whose smoke you can see peacefully curling, if yon move to this side of the road." " Tialike a dream to ms that I saw you before," muttered the aub-constable, eyeing the tall figure beside him suspiciously, " but I can't, remember where. Do you smoke ?" • 41 I take a blast now and then," said Murty Magratb. " There's no law against it that I ever heard. " They walked on m silence for another while, Body Flynn, who had dropped a little behind, presenting an admirable illustration of laughter, holding both bis "sides." The silenca was broken by the exolamation. " Halloo 1" from Murty Magrath. "Did you see that? 1 ' he continued, turning round to Body Flynn, who bad just wiped the tears from his eyes and become comparatively calm. 11 Wasn't it beautifully done ? " 41 Ponsonby'a white greyhound couldn't do it better," saiJ Body Flynn. "Like a steeplechase," rejoined Murty Magrath. " And see how beautifully they're keeping together across the field, the black leading and the other two well np. " Ah," continued he, turning to the two policemen, " when you come tc know the GlenmoyDan pig yell admire his speed and his bottom. Aren't they as fresh now as when ye picked 'em op ? " Murty asked with enthusiasm . " And yell see 'em thrust their snouts through the pound gate— when ye have 'am in — without a hair turned and not the leist blown." •• What'd to be dooe ? " said Joe Sproal, gasping for breath. " Go turn them back," replied Acting-constable Finucan absently. " Heavens and earth I What do yon mean 7 " shouted Joe Sproul, breaking into open insubordination and lookiog as if there and then be would dash his rifl.3 against the ground, and trample upon the jacket in which he onca fondly hoped be was to have a gentleman's lift. "Ton cannot say,' returned the genteel acting-constable reproaohfully, "that I did not do my full share of the day's duty." " If they take the next fence," interrupted Murty Magrath, who seemed to be getting uneasy at the turn things were taking, " they'll be into the magistrate's turnips. " Well," said the sub-constable, calmed by the fear of a " report," " will you hold my rifle and my belt an' I'll see what I can do 1 " The acting-constable hung the sub-constable's belt on his arm, and, with a rifla in each hand, watched his comrade pursuiag the three pigs through the large field, the fence of which they had cleared in a manner that the winner of the " Bock Stakes " might have envied. Unencumbered as he was, and having the firm green - ■ward under his feet, Joe Sproul found his chase Almost exhilarating, compared with that through the ploughed field ; and the three pigs, seeming conscious of the altered state of things, cantered back to the the road and again cleared tba fence in a manner that called forth the plaudits of Murty Magratb, and made Body Flynn's round black eyes sparkle like diamonds. "Hello !" exclaimed Muity Magrath, "the black fellpw is facin' k this way." % The military-lookin? actiog-consUble stood paralysed in the middle of the road, with a riflo in each hand. He opened his mouth till the chin-strap of bis cap got into it like a bit — giving him the look of an over-ridden and used-up eteed— as the black pig came on at a fearful pace, ignoring obstruction. The acting-constable stood vpellbound, and never moved a muscle — except those connected with the under jaw— till the black pig had rißbed past him. Then the

aociog- constable turned " right about face," and tore frantically down tbe road in pursuit of the black pig, a rifle in each hand, and Joe Sproul'a a word swinging from his arm and striking him behind and 1 before about the lege. " I thought it wasn't in him," said Marty Magrath. "He can pat on a quiet Bpurt. He's gainin' on him. If he can keep it up he'll get before him in less tban no time." Tbe black pig seemed to think so too, or he may have suddenly remembered that his two companion* had gone the other way. Not sharing Sub-constable Joe Bproul> prejudices, we don't care to suggest diabolism on the part of the black pig. We content ourselves with simply recording the fact — without Btopping to inquire into motives — that just as Aoting«con» stable Finucan was straining every nerve for a final and successful ■part, tbe black pig wheeled round without a moment's warning, and, rushing right against Acting-Ooostable Finucan's shins, " whipped the legs from under him," as Body Flynn afterwards exprtaoed it, when describing the catastrophe to bis friend Davy Lacy, and brought that promising officer flat upon his face, with a terrible crasb. "If the rifles were loaded I'd fe«l uneasy," Murty Magrath remarked. " I was afraid he was hurt," said Body Flynn, looking relieved on Beeing the acting* constable rise to his feet, and gaze all around the borizen aa if he were making astronomical observations. " Let the pig paBB," said Murty Magratb, as the black pig trotted leisurely back to join his companions, looking quite innocent and showing no signs of excitement whatever. " They'll get on all right now," he continued. " I was getting a little uneasy for fear they'd give it up when the pigs got into tbe field. Bnt 'tis all right now. They're d d decent fellows." Unfortunately, Joe Oooney left the gate open when returning with Mr O'Keeffe's horse from tbe forge, and didn't mind closing it, when riding out again an hour or two later. The horse pranced and capered while passing Body Flynn's. But even Father CUncey's gray maie pranced and capered when passing Rody Flynn's — which üßed to astonish tbe curate, who, for want of a better explanation, attributed the gray mare's liveliness to tbe scarlet geranium in tbe window ; never dreaming that it was all Joe Cooney'a doing. " I suppose that is the priest's gate," said Joe Sproul, '•Yes," Rody Flynn replied. The black pig seemed to have overheard the question, He held up his nose as if to inhale the odour of the lilac blossoms, and then moved sideways to the gate, pushing it optn, and waiting politely till his two companions had passed, walked leisurely up tbe avenue, and looked into the parlour window with rustic curiosity. It was plain he bad never seen so fine a house as that in his life. " Where is Joe 1 " Father Feehan asked. " Tell him to turn out these pigs." " I sent him on before us with my horse," Mr Robert O'Keeffa replied. Some report of his being seized might have reached Mr Cormack's ears. So I told Joe to ride him down and say I would go witb you on the car. 1 ' The priest and his nephew went outside the hall door, and stood on the steps, looking with some surprise at the three lean pigs, who, with their snouts in the air, seemed to be trying to count the windows in the front of the house. " Let us have 'em there and be d d," cried Joe Sprout. " That's Sub-Inspector O'Keeffe's brother," Marty Magrath remarked. " And tbe parish priest is bis uncle." Tbe two policemen immediately marched up the avenue, keeping tbe step. Body Flynn and Murty Magrath walked on through the village street, the one stopping at his own house and the other continuing his way over the bridge. The three pigs bebaved very decently this time, and allowed tbemselvtß to be driven back to the gate and down the village street without demur. Joe Spronl wondered whether respect for the priest might have had anything to do with this gratifying and unexpected change of behaviour. If it had, and if it was to be his fate to remain long at the Gurtbnabobill station, the sab-constable devoutly hoped that the parish priest of SLannaoloagh might soon pay a visit to that neighbourhood, and particularly to the townland of Glenmoynan. " The little man is a cooper," Joe Sproul remarked. " That's « very nice little house he has. And I suppose that nice girl is hist daughter. But I wonder what is the tall fellow 1 He's a tradesman I think. "

" I thought he migh be a country schoolmaster," Acting-constable Finnoan replied. •' He reminded me of a picture I saw of a schoolmaster in some magazine." " He's a bright fellow, whatever he iB," said Joe Sproul. « But you couldn't be sure sometimes but he was humbuggin' you. Maybe 'twas in a picture I saw him before, with a pipe in hit mouth and his hat back on his pole. 'Twas runnin' in my mind, too, where did I see the little man. But now I remember— 'twas a picture I Baw called " Mine hoßt of the Cherrytree," that was the dead image of him ; when he was laughin I—which1 — which was mostly always — the other fellow was always serious," mused Joe Sproul, " But you'd Bee somethin* about the left cheek an' the corner of the eye that looks suspicious. Did you ever see anything like the change for the better in the pigs? There, they're turnin' the right way of their own accord. Just as if th*y knew where they were goin', and hadn't the laste objection. I wish there was some change in the law with regard to the pigs," Sub-constable Sproul continued, as he and his comrade passed over the bridge. "To let them have tbeir own way altogether, or to reduce their number by taxation instead of the dogs* I see no use in taxin' dogs, except that, aB a rale, now only wan at a time barks at you instead of two or thret. Where's the advantage of that t I was never put to any trouble by a dog but once ; an' there was a license for that fellow. Very qoare notions get into the head of Parliament. But if they'd tax the pigs 'twould be something creditable. That black fellow, in all probability, wouldn't be in existence to-day if be were taxed," added Sub^conßtable Sproul. " There's reason in what the long fellow said about the peeler and the pig. The pig is our natural eoemy and not the goat. The goat is fiction. Why should a sensible man take offence at fiction ? But the pig is reality. The pig is a stubborn fact. 'Tie the pig we ought to abominate, an* not the goat. 'Tib a mercy, as the long fellow remarked, that the pigs' vernacular is not epellable, It it was we'd never know an hour's peace. We wouldn't be let pass through a village in this peaceable manner if the pigs' vernacular could be put into a ballad. That chap with the ankles there," said the Babconstable, scowling at Jacky, the cobbler, who was waiting all alone in Bully's Acre for school to break up, "that fellow wouldn't be silent at the present moment if the pigs' vernacular could be put into print, like ' meg-geg-a-geg.' There's that much to be thankful for," continued Joe Sproul with a grateful sigh. " But if agitation an' the force were not antagonistic an' incompatible — natural enemies in fact — I'd go in with all my heart ao' soul for an agitation to abolish pigs ; or at least to reduce their number by taxation, an' make logs compulsory—if not muzzles." (To be continued )