MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE. MAY, 1873. BETSY LEE, A FO'C'S'LE YARN PART II.': Now the grandest ould pazon, I'll be bail, Aw, of all the kind and the good and the true! Good luck to the boats, and-"How's the take?" And many a time he'd come out and try A line, and the keen he was, and the spry! This way and that way, and him a smookin And terrible sollum and regular. Bless me! the sperrit that was in him too, Houldin on till all was blue! And only a little man, but staunch, With a main big heart aback of his paunch! Just a little round man-but you should ha' seen him agate Of a good-sized conger or a skate : His arms as stiff, and his eye afire, And every muscle of him like wire. But avast this talk! What! what did you say? Well, well! he was a pazon-yis! But there's odds of pazons, that's the way it is. No. 163.-VOL. XXVIII. B And there's pazons partikler about their clothes, But Pazon Gale-now I'll give you his size, For a hungry heart, and soft and sweet, To hisself, and lookin down, and walkin. Now there's some of them pazons they're allis shoutin, And tearin at you, and ravin and routin, And they gets you pinned with a lot of others In a coop, and they calls you sisthers and brothers; And you can't get out, so the beggars raises Their vice, and gives it you like blazes. What's the good of all that surt! Sweatin and actin and bustin their shirt; I never liked them roarin ranthers. Yes! our pazon was quite, but, mind ye! don't doubt But the same man knew well what was he about. Aye, many a time I've seen his face All slushed with tears, and him tellin of grace And mercy and that, and his vice so low, And he wasn livin above the bay Of the tide set in on the rocks, and there He'd stand in the mornin, and listen to hear The dip of our oars comin out, and the jealous We were of the Derbyhaven fellows! And the way we'd pull to try which would be fuss! And "Pazon!" we'd say, "" are you comin with us?" And the Derbyhaven chaps would call And the way he'd smile and say nothing at all! Aye, the very man, the very man. Aw, if I once get agate of him But some night again, if I'll be in the trim, Well, the Pazon was walkin on the gravel- And a pickin a flower, or a kickin a stone, And I felt like a reg'lar blund'rin blockit, So I tould the Pazon all that I had, And he says, "God bless ye! God bless ye! my lad!" Aw, it's himself that knew my very soul, And me so young, and him so oul'. And all the good talk! and never fear And leave it to him, and he'd bring me clear— And Anthony wanted talkin to And on with the hat-and away he'd go And young Misther Taylor (a son of ould Dan!) "Aisy! Pazon," says I, and he went; And all the road home-" in-tel-li-gent” I said, "what's that?" some pretty name For a deng it! these pazons just like crame. They're talkin that smooth-aw, it's well to be civil"A son of ould Dan's!" and Dan was a divil. got, That was a Monday; a Thursday night And he wouldn't take rest till I had it lit; I never knew the like was at him afore : And if he didn behove to spin a yarn And Orion-and just to consedher The grand way God had put them together, And wasn it a good world after all, And-what was man-and the Bible- -and Paul Till I got quite mad, and I says "That'll do ! Were you at the Brew, Pazon? were you at the Brew?" Ould Anthony had, and the coorts, and the law; 66 He had gone there twice, but she stuck to her oath- And it's into the house, and "Mawther," I says, "I'm off." "What's off?" says she, "if you plaze! Off! what off!" says she, " you slink!" And she was sharplin a knife upon the sink, And she flung it down, and she looked that way- Off! off where?" and the sting of a light Snapped quick in her eye-" All right! all right!' I "Stand by!" I cried, "I want my clothes;" Like a flint, or some dead thing-" Let be, And she stamped them, and down on her knees, and she toor Aw, hands and teeth,-I'll be bound to say She could lift a hundred-weight and more, And there wasn a man in the parish could throw her. And as for shearin and pickin potatoes Aw, well she bet all, and always as nate as A pin, and takin a pride in it For there's some ould women, they're hardly fit,` But yandhar woman-asleep or awake- But hard-aw hard! for the ould man died, And she looked, and she looked, but she never criedAnd him laid out as sweet as bran, And everything white,-like a gentleman. And brass nails-bless ye! and none of your 'sterrits, Of that strong sowl, you would have seen the catches The woman's-juice, as you may say, Was clean dried out of her, and she got Not troublin much for good or ill; Like the moon and the stars God only touched And now He never minds them a bit, But they keep goin on, for they're used of it. Goin on! Well, she did go on that night, And the candle capsized, and she looked to grow But standin there like the shadda of death- Of a Betsy Lee? and she knew well enough What I'd come to at last with my milkin and stuff, And sniffin about where I hadn no call, And the lines hangin rottin upon the wall, And the boat never moored, and grindin her bones And the people talkin-And who were the Lees? |