SKETCHES OF WESTERN SPORT.-No. X.

CONNEMARA.

Return from the Island Castle-Storm on the Lake-A New Scene-Danger of keeping Company with a Doctor-A Mountain Hamlet-A Sportsman converted into a Physician by physical Force-How he officiated in this new CapacityKathleen Doona's Complaint-Receipt for Love and Madness-A Voice from the Mountain-A Connemara Fee-The Scenery of Maam by MoonlightMacnamara's Leap-The Legend of the Mouse-colored Mare-Arrival at the Inn-A Party of "Jolly Good Fellows"--A Spirit-stirring Supper-Sporting Anecdotes-A Sporting Parson outwitted-St. Stephen's Day and the Parsons Town Fox-hunters-Don Quixotte outdone-A Toast and a Profane RevellerA Scrimmage in the Banquet-room.

As we landed on the Island, the night looked dismal and dark, and the first words spoken by my brave and dexterous companions were— "The divil an inch out of this will we get to-day! There is a turrible shtorm intirely comin' shure enough!" Not being either foolhardy or anxious to dare the danger of a storm in such a place, and with such "navigators" as fell to my lot, after taking a hasty survey and sketch of the old ruin, I with much difficulty persuaded the men to embark and commit themselves to my guidance for their safety. It would have been madness to have attempted to return by the same route we came to the Island Castle, as the wind was blowing directly against us, and it had now risen to a perfect but steady storm. Our alternative, therefore, was to drift to the first point of land that presented in the wake of the Island, and accordingly, setting the boat with her head before the wind, we were obliged to let her run down to the nearest promontory that lay in that direction. The "sailors" were well nigh frightened out of their wits; and I confess that I was a little shaken myself, especially when upon one occasion we attempted to bring our frail bark in a slanting direction to a nearer promontory than that for which we first steered, a heavy swell struck her in the side, and knocked us all off the benches to the bottom of the boat. In the meantime our clumsy vessel was tossed about and driven along with the wind, and when we regained our equilibrium, we were rejoiced to find ourselves within a few hundred yards of the shore, about three miles below the little creek in the bulrushes from which we set out.

On landing, a new scene presented itself to our view. A number of peasants from one of the adjoining mountain villages, hearing that

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there was a disciple of Esculapius amongst the visitors at the Inn, and mistaking me, unfortunately, for that sapient personage, surrounded me, and insisted on my accompanying them, nolens volens, to their mountain homes. It was in vain that I pleaded utter ignorance of the "healing art"-that I was not the person they mistook me for, and that any of themselves knew as much about physic and diseases as I did.

"Niver mind his Honor," cried Dick, who kept at a civil distance; "didn't I see him with my own two eyes houlding the bowl whilst the other big Docthor was dhrawin' the blood aff Tim Casey's wife; an by the same token it was the divil's own blood shure enough, as black as yer shoe, Larry a vic, O!"

"Och, murther an eelish!" ejaculated the other.

"The sorrow word av lie in it," continued Dick; "an it was no wondher, she was such a maggot of a woman wid that dirthy dhrop in her, bating the life out av poor Tim, in bed an out av bed, until she didn't lave him worth a thrawneen (a straw). Even Father Pat was tired givin' her dissolution for her sins, until at lasht ould Maurveen More the midwife tould her people the divil a good iver she'd do until she lost some av the bad dhrop that was in her; so wid that they bundled her into a cart, an whipped her aff to the Docthor here an his frind."

"Arrah Dick, avourneen," cried an old woman in the crowd, "did they kill her out an out? or did they lave a spark at all at all in her?"

"Herrieth an_omodhawn!" retorted the other indignantly. "Kill her out an out! throth thin it isn't sich an easy matther; she's as tuff as yerself! The bleeding did her a world av good anyhow; it made her face look as clane an as white as a new sheet, an ye all know what a yallow divil she was before now."

A pause succeeding to this gentle episode, I embraced the opportunity of making another appeal for my liberty on the grounds that, although "I held the bowl," I could not therefore as a matter of course cure diseases.

"Nobocklish!" cried my loquacious companion Dick; "yer Honor might as well tell us the man that 'ud hould the pishtols for a frind couldn't fight a jewil himsel av he was axed."

This was a clincher. I had not a word more to say, so I resigned myself to my fate.

After ascending a goat path for about half a mile from the shore where we landed, we arrived at a little village, if half a dozen houses can be so called, built on the side of the mountain, and this, I was informed, was the place of my destination. As the cabins were so smoky and so low in the roof, it was agreed that as many of the invalids as could walk should be mustered outside for the " Docthor's" inspection. Accordingly, after several shouts and halloos, loud enough to awaken the dead, about a dozen of the fair sex of all ages came forth from divers places difficult to describe as the dwellings of human beings -some on crutches, some limping, some blind, and one interesting wild Irish girl, whose face seemed "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." They were arranged by one of my body guard, who took on himself the office of master of the ceremonies, along the side wall of

one of the mud-edifices facing the West, and thus marshalled before me I proceeded to examine them seriatim.

I got on pretty well in my new avocation until I came to an unlucky old crone who was bothered intirely with "a reelin' in her head." This dame, it appeared, was a sort of oracle amongst the villagers concerning all things relating to love and medicine. She listened attentively to my advice to the patients who preceded her, but when she found I ordered the same remedy to dispel the "reelin'" from her head as that recommended to another a few minutes before for the colic, she protested against my confused notions of therapeia, and vowed that her own mixture of herbs would be of more service than the best of my compounds. Although this refractory conduct on the part of my patient excited the indignation of the audience, so that the crone was hurried in double-quick time from the "gintlemon's prisence," I was sorely puzzled whether to proceed any further or bolt at once.

At this critical juncture, and while scanning the countenances of those remaining, hope inspired me from a new quarter. I caught the confiding glance of the pale girl above-mentioned, which seemed to say, "On, on." I could not resist the eloquent silence of those eyes; their pensive cast excited something more than hope. The remainder of my duties was not interrupted. The "lame and the blind" were speedily despatched; and it is needless to add that I was not long in finding my way to the side of the fair Mountaineer, though last, not least on my list.

Night had already fallen, but the mountains and the valley below were illumined with a bright full moon, whose melting beams were dancing over the still troubled waters of the lake, and as the scattered clouds passed by, disclosed to the view in a variety of shades the wild and solitary Island Castle of the Hen. It was an exquisite scene, one which I shall not easily forget. The shadows of the moon, with the gilded halo round its disc, enhanced the charms of this exquisite solitude, and imparted a freshness to the entire landscape. As I approached the fair invalid, the light of the moon fell full upon her person, making her wan cheeks look paler than ever, and in strong contrast with the gay color of her picturesque kirtle dress*. The following dialogue

passed between us :—

"What is your name, my fair girl?" "Kathleen Doona, yer Honor."

"What do you complain of, Kathleen ?"

"Nothing but a lowness, Sir."

"What is the cause of the lowness?"

"I don't know," said the patient, drooping her long silken eyelashes, and looking abashed.

"Have you been always so pale?"

"No, not always, Sir: I have no pain, but I cannot sleep or eat, and they say I am wasting."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen on Easter Sunday last."

The females in this part of Ireland wear a red or crimson woollen tunic, which reaches half way below the knee, opens in front as far as the waist, and is exceedingly picturesque.

The mother of the girl now came forward from the group of spectators, and spoke: "Kathleen, avourneen, tell it all to the Docthor, jist as if he was the Priest, an don't desaive him, ye know it's for yer good he is."

This appeal had the effect of suffusing Kathleen's face with a blush of the deepest die-a true couleur de rose.

"Oh, no, mother, that has nothing to do with it at all at all," said the girl impatiently, as she recovered from her momentary confusion, and then burst into tears. I suspected from the first there was an affair of the heart (to use a gallicism) at the bottom of the girl's sorrow; I was now convinced of the truth of that suspicion. The mother told me an affecting narrative of the fate of her girl's betrothed, which for obvious reasons cannot be introduced here, and entreated that I would "do something to dhrive it all out of her head, for she was shure it was in the brain that her poor colleen's sickness lay."

There was no getting off now; so looking as grave as I could, I desired Kathleen to put out her tongue, at which I shook my head full of wisdom. I then felt her pulse, and shook my head again; at which the mother's face grew awfully long, and the fair patient herself sighed deeply.

"O, Hiernah, is she in danger, Docthor jewel?" exclaimed the anxious mother.

"No, my good woman, I replied; Kathleen's complaint is just taken in time, else it might go hard with her to get over it.

"Thin the blissen of Heaven light upon ye, for consolin' the poor lone widdy's heart! for they tould me there was a blight upon my poor colleen, an I was affeard I was to lose her like the rist."

I now beckoned the mother to withdraw. Kathleen and I proceeded to the gable-end of the cabin, and here she told me after her own fashion her story, as affecting as it was simple and true.

"Won't you give me the bit o' writin', Docthor ?" said the girl earnestly, after I had given her my "advice"-" for there's a charm in what's on paper, and I'd niver mind (remember) all you tould me, and shure that 'ud be the pity."

This was the climax of my professional perplexities, and certainly of all other requests that of writing a prescription was the most distant from my thoughts. Kathleen looked so artless and seducing, that I confess I felt much more inclined to give her a kiss than the "bit o' writing;" but the confiding tone and looks of the girl, as she asked for the charm in which her hopes were placed, disarmed Cupid effectually, and at the same moment by some happy accident, Ovid's receipt for love and madness flashed across my memory :—

"I, bibe, dixissem pungantes pectora succos

Quidquid, et in tota nascitur Anticyra* :”

* For the benefit of my Lady Readers, I may state that helebore was a celebrated remedy with the ancients for mental diseases; and the Island of Anticyra, which yielded that plant in abundance, was resorted to alike by the love-sick and the insane! Tradition informs us, that the daughters of the King of Argos were cured of a fit of love-melancholy by the juice of the wild helebore, and the fortunate prescriber was rewarded with the hand of one of the Princesses and a portion of the Kingdom of Argos as his fee. Who knows but the hand of Kathleen and the "Kingdom of Connemara" are yet in store for me!

as effective a remedy, I believe, as modern science can administer for these complaints, with the advantages of its elegance and classicality. These happy lines-happy to me, for what could I have done without them on this occasion!-were forthwith penciled on the fly-leaf of my note-book, which was not long of being transferred to Kathleen's bosom, the favorite hiding place with Irish girls for all pearls of great price! I now took leave of my fair patient, as I thought for that night at all events, and set off along the mountain boreen (a narrow path), accompanied by my boating companions, towards the inn. We had not proceeded far, however, when we were hailed by a soft voice from behind, and on turning round recognised the agile and graceful figure of Kathleen skipping down the pathway towards us. "Will yer Honor take these for the throuble we gave ye? I wove them myself, an I wished they were better," said the almost breathless girl, curtseying and presenting me with a pair of the celebrated Connemara stockings. As soon as she deposited the fee in my hands, she bounded away like a young fawn amongst the rocks, and was out of sight in a moment. It is needless to add, that I took the precious gifts, and wore them for Kathleen's sake. Brother Sportsman, you must pardon me for telling you that they were the most comfortable hose I ever wore in my lifeas soft as the sweet voice of the girl that wove them, and as warm as her own heart that love had well nigh broken.

The mountains along which our homeward path lay were called the Karrah Gorrah range, and besides being, like the rest of the adjoining hills, the rendezvous of the elfin tribe, they were specially celebrated as the scene of the greatest leap that ever man or horse performed since the world began-it is called "M'Namara's leap" and the following is the history of the hero of that extraordinary feat, as narrated by one of my mountain guides while journeying homewards.

"This Macnamara (said the chronicler) was the biggest poacher an robber that ever stepped in shoe leather. The ould people say he was a native of the County Clare, an becase he couldn't behaave himsel there, he was obleeged to fly off from his own country an take up his rizidince here in the caves of the mountains. Well, as the divil was in him shure enough, he couldn't keep himsel quite here nayther, but every night as soon as the dasent world was asleep, and the 'good people' the Lord betune us an arm!-were dancing their merry rounds on the green rath forninst ye, this turrible skaymer would thrap the red deers in the mountain beyont, dhrag the river from Corrib Head to the gorge, or walk in to some Gintlemon's house widout lave or license, an rob him out an out of all he was worth. Although there is no denying that he was as cute as a fox, they say, however, that all the vartue was in his mare, Maureen, an widout her he could. do nothing in his line av business. This mare was as fleet as the wind, an had as much sinse as a Christian, an av coorse Mac knew better than to lave her at home when he went a huntin'. One night there was a party of Galway Squires at a Gintlemon's house near Cong, and Mac heard of this; so whin he thought the company were all harty (tipsy), he stole up to the house, an Maureen stood on her two hind legs agin the wall, an up goes Mac on her head into the drawin'room windy, an robs every mother sowl of them. He was aff agin in a jiffey, an his jewel av a mare carried him like chaff before the wind