e landlord came to seize for rent, took all they
could find, and turned us out upon the wide world. Myself and son
wandered together for an hour or two, then, having a quarrel with each
other, we parted, he going one way and I another. Some little time after
I heard that he was transported. As for myself, I thought I might as
well take a leaf out of the woman's book who had been the ruin of me. So
I went about bidding people give me alms for the glory of God, and
threatening those who gave me nothing that the mass should never comfort
them. It's a dreadful curse that, honey; and I would advise people to
avoid it even though they give away all they have. If you have no
comfort in the mass, you will have comfort in nothing else. Look at me:
I have no comfort in the mass, for as soon as the priest's bell rings, I
shouts and hoorahs, and performs tumblings before the blessed corpus,
getting myself kicked out of chapel, and as little comfort as I have in
the mass have I in other things, which should be a comfort to me. I have
two sons who ought to be the greatest comfort to me, but are they so?
We'll see--one is transported, and of course is no comfort to me at all.
The other is a sodger. Is he a comfort to me? Not a bit. A month ago
when I was travelling through the black north, tumbling and toppling
about, and threatening people with my prayer, unless they gave me alms, a
woman, who knew me, told me that he was with his regiment at Cardiff,
here in Wales, whereupon I determined to go and see him, and crossing the
water got into England, from whence I walked to Cardiff asking alms of
the English in the common English way, and of the Irish, and ye are the
first Irish I have met, in the way in which I asked them of you. But
when I got to Cardiff did I see my son? I did not, for the day before he
had sailed with his regiment to a place ten thousand miles away, so I
shall never see his face again nor derive comfort from him. Oh, if
there's no comfort from the mass there's no comfort from anything else,
and he who has the evil prayer in the Shanna Gailey breathed upon him,
will have no comfort from the mass. Now, honey, ye have heard the story
of Johanna Colgan, the bedivilled woman. Give her now a dacent alms and
let her go!"

"Would you consider sixpence a decent alms?"

"I would. If you give me sixpence, I will not say my prayer over ye."

"Would you give me a blessing?"

"I would not. A bedivilled woman