A Case of Irish Drollery.

Cromwell Argus, Volume IV, Issue 190, 1 July 1873, Page 7

A Case of Irish Drollery.

An amusing story is related of Dailies Barrington, the eminent jurist and recorder of Bristol. Having to appear for a plaintiff in a case at Clonmel, he denounced the conduct of the defendant in unmeasured terms. The individual inveighed against (a Tipperary man named Foley), not being present, only heard of the invective : but after Barrington got back to Dublin, he lost no time in paying Ids compliments, in genuine Tipperary fashion, to the counsel. He rode all day and night, and, covered with sleet, arrived early in the morning before Barrington’s residence in Harcourt- street, Dublin. Then throwing the bridle of his smoking horse over the railing of the area, he announced his arrival by a thundering knock at the street-door. Barrington’s valet answered the summons, and, opening the street-door, beheld the apparition of the rough-coated Tipperary fire-eater, with a large stick under his arm, and the sleet sticking to his bushy whiskers. “Is your masther up?” demanded the visitor, in a voice that gave some intimation of the object of his journey. “ No,” answered the man. “Then give him my compliments, and say Mr Foley—he’ll know the name—will be glad to see him.” The valet went up stairs and gave his master, who was in bed, the early visitor’s message. “ Then don’t let Mr Foley in for your life,” said Barrington, “for it’s not a hare or a brace of ducks he has come to present me with.” The man was leaving the bedroom when a rough wet coat pushed by him, while a thick voice said, “ By your leave,” and at the same time Foley entered the bedroom. “You know my business, sir,” said he to Barrington ; “ I have made a journey to teach you manners, and it’s not my purpose to return until I have broken every bone in your body,” and at the same time he cut a figure of eight with his shillelagh before the chevalglass. “ You do not mean to say you would murder me in bed !” exclaimed Dailies, who had as much humour as cool courage. “No,” replied the other, “but I’ll just thronble you to get up as soon as you can.” “Yes,” replied Dailies, “in order that you might floor me the moment I put myself out of the blankets !” “No,” replied the other ; “I pledge you my word not to touch you till you are fairly out of bed.” “ You won’t ?” “No.” “Upon your honour ?” “ Upon my honour.” “That is enough,” said Dailies, turning over and making himself comfortable, as though he meant to fall asleep. “ I have the word of honour of an Irish gentleman, and may rest as safe as though I were under the protection of the Castle Guard.” The Tipperary salamander looked marvellously astonished at the pretended sleeper ; but Dailies soon began to snore. “ Halloa !” said Foley, “aren’t you going to get up ?” “Not I,” said Dailies, “I have the word of an Irish gentleman that he will not strike me in bod, and 1 am not going to got up to have my bones broken. 1 will never get up again. In the meantime, Mr Foley, if you should want your breakfast, ring the bell and give your orders ; the best in the house is at your service. The morning paper will be here presently, but be sure and air it before reading, for there is nothing a man so quickly catches cold from as reading a damp journal and Dailies affected to go to sleep. The Tip. had fnu in him too, as well as ferocity ; he could not resist the cunning of the counsel. “Get up, Mr Barrington,” said he, “ for in bed or out of bud, I have not the pluck to hurt so droll a heart.” The result was, that iu an hour afterwards Dailies Barrington and his intended murderer were sitting down to a warm breakfast, the latter only intent upon assaulting a dish of smoking mutton-chops. —J rinlmum.