and he didn’t like to try it, as he had a small drop taken; so he tied the boat to a tree, in a cosy little nook near Ross Island, and fell asleep in it. Sometime coming on morning, he woke up, and to his great surprise, the lake was as smooth as a sheet of glass. He rubbed his eyes to see that they were not deceiving him, but they were not; and more than that, he saw a man mounted on a white horse, with golden shoes, riding cross towards him on the top of the water. "As sure as I live," says Tim, "this is O’Donohue;" and true enough for him, for very soon he spoke to him, calling him by his name, and asked him how he was, and what kept him out from his wife and children the whole night. "Please yer honor," sez Tom, "I’m very well; but I was afraid to cross the lake last night, it was so rough, altho’ I’m sure Nelly will be uneasy about me," "well, now," sez O’Donohue, "don’t you know that no man of my name will be drowned in these lakes as long as I’m enchanted." "Begorra, I dramed twice about that," sez Tim; "and about some crocks of Goold that was hid in some place, and I was sure if I dramed the third time about it I’d surely make it out." "Well," sez O’Donohue, "that goold is buried" and he had only just time to finish that word when the sun began to shine over Mangerton; then he sunk into the lake, and the horse turned into stone where he was.
"Be me sowl," sez tim, "me drames were right; but wasn’t it a pity the sun got up just at the time when he was going to tell me where the good was." So Tim went home as mad with himself as ever he could be, but was never afterwards in dread, or any of his name, to go on the lakes in the worst of the weather. Nelly, nor any of the neighbours, couldn’t believe what he told them about O’Donohue; but when they saw the stone horse standing in the water they said he must be right. And gintlemen, said the old boatman, "there is the horse yonder; as true an image of a horse as you ever saw; but his head fell off a few years ago."
As he had the interesting legend finished, our boat was passing that well-known rock, called "The O’Donohue’s Rock," on our way to Ross Quay, where we landed, well pleased with our "two days in Killarney."
Many of the inhabitants of the "Hougoumont" display a wonderful love of flours. They have had several nice little plots to bring them up, and already one or two have succeeded in getting a good blow-out.
There is a man on board so fond of milk that he has several times attempted to milk the ship, but failed, as he could not get at her (r)udder.
Correspondence.
To the Editor of the "Wild Geese."
Dear Sir,—I have derived great pleasure from the weekly perusal of your paper, since its first issue, and I avail myself of its extensive ocean circulation—a circulation of unlimited latitude—to place prominently before the public a fact which, I presume, I am the first to discover—at least which I am the first to ventilate. But this is not to be wondered at, as it is seldom such an extraordinary smart and observant man—possessing such a wonderful genius for speculation of all sorts—travels in these parts. I allude to the astounding act that the principle of trades’ unions in entirely unknown in these latitudes. Near the equator (north and south), I was happy to find the principle established. The trade winds there work well, as any captain who traverses those regions must acknowledge. Now, sir, I suggest to all concerned, that at once this co-operative system should be extended to these latitudes; and through the columns of your invaluable paper, I offer my invaluable services to organize a Trade Wind Society on a most effective basis. I therefore trust that you will take steps to convene a public meeting to take the matter into consideration. Of course, should a company be formed, I expect to be appointed Secretary, and to receive from a grateful public a material acknowledgement of my disinterested services.
The excessively unpleasant weather of the past week has damped not alone the clothes, but the spirits of our staff. We trust, therefore, that our readers and correspondents will wait with beconing patience till next week for many things which they may have expected to see this.
Printed and published at the Office, No. 6 Mess, Intermediate Cabin, for the Editors, Messrs. John Flood and John B. O’Reilly.
