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”
November 23, 1882.]
REDPATH’S ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.
11
“MIKE FROM GARRYOWEN!”
BY WM. COLLINS.
{For Redpath’s Tinstrated Weekly.)
\HE war of the Rebellion was over. Peace had been pro-
claimed at Appomattox Court House. The great review
of the Union troops had taken place in Washington | under the
e of President Johnson ; and every Irish soldier in the ser-
wee firmly believed that he would be immediately ordered to
fanada to subdue t) nad ians and make their country a
State of the Union. We had been fighting English guns,
English ships, English balls acd ballete, from Atlanta to the
sea, and somehow the notion struc s that we would soon
fighting England. ‘This fecling was 5 prevalent among Shee
man’s men. There were @ great many Irish under his com-
t fighters, indeed, were Irish, which
fact he has often veri ritied.
Well, we were disbanded, and, among others, J was one who
sought work in the Oil Regions of Pennsylvania.
There wi a patriotic enthusiasm in every Irish heart
—the Fenian Brotherhood was at the plenitude of its power,
the Irish-Americans were sending arms and funds to Ireland.
and every Irishman that was fit to handle a rifle had o1
his hands. We only waited for the order to burst pon “our
ancient enemy, and, truth to tell, it was what we most desired.
We attended the drills of the Brotherhood in Franklin,
. ‘Phen the greater part of us
a bright May evening. ‘The sun was sinking in Lake
Erie, and the nofke and bustle of the great city was giving
place to silence and repose, when a company of soldiers,
dressed in the green aiform of the Army of the Irish Re-
public, arrived at the Uni Depot.
I approached one, a handsome young fellow, with a black
rnustache wand a dark an eye.
mm Where did yon come from ?” Lasked.
**TIndianapoli:
“Where are * you going ?”
“To Cani
«What to ot ”
“Well, we're Western men, and used to slaughtering Bulls
on the prairies. Do you understand? and expect to get a job
in Canada !”
“Will you take an apprentice ”
“If he knows how a rifle, yes,”
“T served three Sours stor “Unelo Xam.”
“Then co
I went.
IL.
It was the night of the first of June, te On the Cana-
dian side of the Niagara River, a group of young men, with
‘eon shirts and turbans, their rifles ing by their ne, “und
nies.
West. local peculiarity of accent and speech ;
but it was plain to be seen that the majority were born in
in
‘Among others, a young fellow, apparently not more than
eighteen, with red cheeks, mild blue s, aud an innocent
girl, engaged my attention.
the e name of a “*billycock” in Ireland, a frieze coat, and a
pair of corduroy trousers,
you belong for Lasked, taking up
my, rifle and edging a inde bearer to
don’t know if long to any ¢ mpauy in particular,
sir 5 ;” he replied in a broad, sweet, Munster accent,
“Dm e volunteer.
“So am I; but, surely, you must know the company you
Jon; to,” Y answered, wondering at his ignorance of military
affairs, forgetful that everyone was not a veteran like myself.
‘Well, [landed in New York, , about a week ago, from Li
on a scrimmage, I
thought I'd take a hand in the affair. My grandfather was
a rebel in Ninety-eight—my father was a rebel i in Forty-eight,
and I don’t see why I shouldn’ " be a rebel now.”
“What is your name
“Call me Mike—never mind the family name—I came
from the heart of old Garryowen, and with the blessing of
God I'll try and do my daty to-morrow and not disgrace the
town that gave me birt
The ‘boy! aon there: wer about fifty in our on pany—from
aa many counties, and fave a cheer for “Mike fro
atrlotie’ words fell eon "their ears, and
morning to watth
UL
It was the morning of the 2d of June. We had marched
almost one hundred miles within the last few days.
bg
=
were bearing down upon us, Five thousand from T
a equal number from Kingston
ent from Hamilton with a battery rot artillery strong enough
fo annihilate us. Vi we were eating breakfast (scant and
meagre it w was), a bugle sounded.
Ina moment we were up and stirring.
From mouth to mouth the. word passed, “the Red-coats
are pon pel”
momen ntarily expected to be en;
‘he daring chivalry of the South at Chickamauga, Chattanooga,
Murfrecsbore, and Tennessee; but, I confess, never did I ex-
perience such mingled feelings of gladness and gloom, of joy
and fear, depression and hope, as then passed through my
eart as I stood confronting the British lines, | It had
been the object of my life, 4 it was the hope of my heart to fire
one shot, anyhow before I'd die, against the British. And
now the
ed in solid colamns they came eo The prestige of
the British name, the glory of their flag, ‘the flag that
braved s thonsand years the battle and the] breeze,” waved
over them, with the most pow erful government on earth at
their back—outnumbering u: five to one—with Spencer re-
peating rifles egainst common Springfield's, they bore down
upon us and with a cheer that drowned the roar of their rifles
hurled us back bleeding and discomfited. Then I despaired
for the cause and flag of my coun:ry. We were almost de-
moralized, English Sullets were pelting at us thick as hail.
Our comrades were falling. We were in retseat.
Suddenly a lord and commanding voice was heard above
the din oo tum
“* Hall
the wand of a magician had waved over us and sent a
goa hi tke garyent of courage into our hearts we halted.
Quek e s thought the order was obeyed.
Mout a gray horse, O'Neill rode ‘rom rank to rank
The Hogi were tavancing on us. men the;
Their solid and compact front glittering ‘with steel night
well dismay a stronger band than ours. But fired by a spirit
so lofty and a resolution unconquerable, we awaited their
charge.
An English officer, conspicuous by his red uniform led
them on. As they , with a shout of triumph on their
lips and grim de! Jorminetion in their eye:
leaped from the ranks of the Cleveland contin,
about twenty paces tothe front—deliberately levelled his mus-
‘et—fired, and the English officer fell with a bullet from Mike
hom Garryowen’ 's rifle in his brai
“Charge, boys and drive them ac to Hell!” shouted the
brave fellow as he sprang forward against the *opponing ranks.
fe responded with a yell and oO sheets
flashed fora monient inthe spree Svetween us and
‘oe—one volley, fierce and swift as a lightning flash,
and bursting upon their shattered centre, we swept them be-
fore us with our bayonets. When the smoke rolled away, the
-coats were in retreat—the Meteor flag was trampled to
the earth, but poor Mike from Garryowen lay dead with an
English bullet i ft vhs heart.
'e buri in his green jacket and corduroys on the
banks of the Niagara river that night.
BALLAD OF A BRAVE CATTLE-MAN.
BY JOAQUIN MILLER.
Across the broad brown Texan hills,
With blossoms to our brouchos’ knees,
G y, Sir,
‘Tbree-fourths of a man’s whole time he keeps
To talk, to think, to be of m
‘The other fourth he sleeps.
To learn what the mighty know of love,
T laughed all constancy to
“Behold yon happy, changefal fal dove!
y, all stortn at morn,
ver now ‘tis chan ged to calm and sun,
Yea, all things change-the heart, the head,
Bevold on earth there is not one
‘That changeth not,” I said.
He drew a glass, as if to re
The plain for steers; rune it and sighed.
He craned his neck, this le-man,
Then drove the cork home and replied :
“For twenty years (forgive these tears)—
I looked that Texan in the fac
That dark-browed, bearded ‘cattle- -man,
e
And toyed with something shining there
From out his holster, keen and small,
I was convinced. Idid not care
To argue it at all.
The ardor of my speech grew still
As
ad it their own way.
I wondered, marveled, marveled mach.
Was she of Texan growth? Was she
Of Saxon blood, that boasted such
Eternal constancy ?
Wall, we fell weary with the day.
ars of gold across the. West
His dauntless love, enduring trast;
His blest, immortal bride.
Bright camp-fires of Poor, weary souls,
Bound heavenward. While all about
Crouched Peace, with white patrols,
I would not sleep until I knew,
“Now twent; y years, my man,” said 1,
rned and dre
hb.
“Nay,
I %. not douvt ‘that this may be;
But tell, Oh! tell me how.
“oT would make a poem trae and grand;
All time should note it oor aed far
And thy fair, virgin, Tex
Should stand 0 ut like a winter star,
America shi reed. And tl
The dor abtfal French beyond the sea—
"Twrould make them truer, nobler men
'o know how this may
“Tes twenty years or more,” urged h
“Nay, that [ know, good fri fend | of nine
But int me where this wife may b
Ta pilgrim at the shrine.”
ada kneeling, a8 a pilgrim trae—
He scowling shouted in my ear:
“Teannat show my wife to you ;
dead this twenty year.”
‘The New York Commercial Advertiser thinks the telephone
is responsible for an alarming increase of profanicyy, That
swear the trouble must
awe
—An Austin lady, who had company to tea, reproved her
little son soveral times, speaking, however, very gently. At
last, out of patience with him, she uid, sharp]
“Jimmy, if you don't keep still, I'l Bend you away from
the table.”
‘Yes, that’s what you always do when there is company,
and there are not enough canned peaches to go around,”
the reply of the gifted youth.—‘Texas Sittings,
‘
ae
—Firewood is very dear in Austin just now, as illustrated
by the following incident. of the wealthiest citizens
bought a bottle of bitters yesterday, and told the clerk to
charge it to his accoun
‘The clerk smiled a viiying smile, and said :
“T would prefer the cash.”
The indignant nabob, who is worth millions, flushed up
and slammed down a dollar, ‘The cle rk, with a most as
ished expression, took up the coin, examined it, bit it, and
otherwise intimated that ite believed it was a counterfeit.
‘Isn't that dollar good?” asked the nabob.
“I believe 0; but I'd like to know how yon came by it. I
heard you bought a load of wood last week 5 but it must be a
mistake, or you would not have a dollar lef
was a mistake, for the nabob had not ‘Sought the wood.
—Texas Siftings.
*
—TIt am my painful dooty,” said the president, as he
opened the meeting, ‘‘to inform you dat death has again in-
vaded our circle. obradder Slipback Burbanks, of Syracuse,
N. Y., am no mo’ airth. He breathed his last three days
ago, arter an illness of sixteen days. What axshun will de
club pikes in de matter
t we Send de widder a resolushun of sympathy,”
announsed Judge Cadaver.
I reckon dat we had better resolve dat de club has lost a
shinin’ light,” tiwidly added Pickles §
e club will neither resolve nor ford any recolations of
sym: upathy,” remarked the president. ‘‘ De widder an’ chill’en
can’t eat a resolution, eben if written in blue ink. De seckre-
tary will mail her a ten-dollar greenback from de club funds,
an’ express de hope dat she am dooin’ well under de circum-
stan
"Dis club hasn't lost no shinin’ light by de death of Brud-
der Burbanks. He was no shiner. Fact am, he was a werry
mon sort of a humpback cull’d pusson, an’ it took him
as long to add seven an’ eight togedder as it would some ud-
der men to airn two dollars. He was accomplished in noth-
ing; he excelled only in killin’ time when at work by de day.
He would be no better off if we Pronounced forty lyin’ eulo-
gies on hie character. He can be no worse off if we tell de
Honest truth, De usual emblem of sorrow will be hung to de
nob of de inner doah fur de space of two weeks, an’ we will
remember Brudder Burbavks as extremely good-natured, eben
if extremely lazy.”—Detroit Free Press.
The Horse Editor.
“Good day, gentleman.”
A very nice-looking young man stood in the doorway of
the editorial room and gazed in a benign way at the occupants
of the apartment.
“ Would it be possible for me to sell the Tribune a story ?”
he conti
What kind of @ story have you ground out ?” asked the
horse reporter,
“The story,” suid the visitor, is one in which the triumph
of love is depicte
“Te isn’t one of those * e ‘and as Ethel stood there in the soft
moonlight, her lithe figure sharply outlined against the west-
ern sky, there was a loud crash in Coasteliffe Castle, and the
girl knew that her mother had dropped the doughnut jar?
Kind of stories, is it—because they won't do,” said the hors,
re
porhere i nothing at all about doughnuts in this story,” re-
plied the visitor rather haughtily, ‘but if you like I can read
a postion 0 of it?
“©All
“ Where oat I beg
“* Anywhere,” ieee the horse reporter.
give us the last sentence of it
“T should hardly thioke
“Oh, never tind about that. we do all the thinking for
young authors that come up bere.
The visitor seated imxelf and rend as follow
*** For answer Gladys’ beautiful eyes dropped, but she gave
him both her bands, and theres under the heavy fruited {re08,
ut them, and the air filled with
their dreawy monotone, he drew her upon his breast
raising her long ringlets to his lips, kissed them reverontiy,”
& Thee’ the last sentence, is it?” asked the horse reporte!
“Suppose you
Yes,
“1 should hope it was,
such ducks.
“Why, I don’t see——” began the author.
**Of course you don’ Probably you were the hero of the
novel. Did you ever hear of Thompson's colt ?”
The visitor admitted his ignorance concerning that histori-
cal animal.
‘*Well, ‘ihompson’s colt,” continued the horse reporter,
“*was such an eternal idiot that he swam across the river to
geta drink. Now, that fellow in your story is a dead match
It makes me tired to read about
I don’t understand -—
“Probably not. It is not to be expected of literary people.
Bat I will tell you; this young fellow in your story is out un-
der aa 1 apple treo holding a girl's hands, isn’t he ?”
“ne according to the story, he ‘raised her long ringlets
to his tips, and kissed them reverently.’ That is right?”
ly.”
Now, what do you think of a young man that ‘would go
nibbling around a girl’s back hair when she had hi ith
her? Such stories do not possess the fidelity tor nature that
should ever characterize the work of genius. No, my genial
imbecile; you cannot get the weight of this powerful journal
on the side of ary such young man as your story depicts, We
were once youn, apple- tree racket ourselves, ”
day,” said the author, sterng for the doo:
“So long,” was the response. ‘* Make George net like a
white man in your story, and come around again.”—Chicago
ne,