y it was. Forty-nine years ago come next Mickelmas, I was a good-lookin'
young felly, wid a nate cabin on the road from Ballinasloe to Ballinamore,
havin' a fine car an' a mare an' her colt, that was as good as two horses
whin the colt grew up. I was afther payin' coort to Dora O'Callighan, that
was the dawther av Misther O'Callighan that lived in the County Galway,
an', be the same token, was a fine man. In thim times I used be comin'
over here twict or three times a year wid a bagman, commercial thraveller,
you'd call him, an' I heard say av Owld Moll, an' she wasn't owld thin,
an' the next time I come, I wint to her an' got an inchantmint. Faix, some
av it is gone from me, but I mind that I was to change me garthers, an'
tie on me thumb a bit o' bark she gev me, an' go to the churchyard on
Halloween, an' take the first chilla-ca-pooka (snail) I found on a
tombshtone, an' begob, it was that same job that was like to be the death
o' me, it bein' dark an' I bendin' to look clost, a hare jumped in me face
from undher the shtone. 'Jagers,' says I, an' me fallin' on me back on the
airth an' the life lavin' me. 'Presince o' God be about me,' says I, for I
knewn the inchantmint wasn't right, no more I oughtn't to be at it, but
the hare was skairt like meself an' run, an' I found the shnail an' run
too wid the shweat pourin' aff me face in shtrames.

"So I put the shnail in a plate that I covered wid another, an' av the
Sunday, I opened it fur to see phat letters it writ, an' bad luck to the
wan o' thim cud I rade at all, fur in thim days I cudn't tell A from any
other letther. I tuk the plate to Misther O'Callighan, fur he was a fine
scholar an' cud rade both books an' writin', an' axed him phat the letters
was.

"'A-a-ah, ye ignerant gommoch,' says he to me, 'yer head's as empty as a
drum. Sure here's no writin' at all, only marks that the shnail's afther
makin' an' it crawlin' on the plate.'

"So I axplained the inchantmint to him, an' he looked a little closter,
an' thin jumped wid shurprise.

"'Oh,' says he. 'Is that thrue?' says he. 'Ye must axqueeze me, Misther
Magwire. Sure the shnails does n't write a good hand, an' I'm an owld man
an' me eyes dim, but I see it betther now. Faith, the first letter's a D,'
says he, an' thin he shtudied awhile. 'An' the next is a O, an' thin
there's a C,' says he, 'only the D an' the C is bigger than the O, an'
that's all the letters there is,' says he.

"'An' phat does thim letter