As I knew this was a request that on such an occasion could
not be declined without offence, I accepted his offer with thanks, and
no little praise of the virtues of whiskey; the principal
recommendation of which, I said, "was that there was not a headache in
a hogshead of it."
"She believes so herself," he said, "it is petter ash all de rum,
prandy, shin, and other Yanke pyson in the States; ta Yankies are
cheatin smugglin rascals."
The entrance of Jessie fortunately gave a turn to this complimentary
remark; when she set down the tray, I rose and extended my hand to
her, and said in Gaelic, "Cair mur tha thu mo gradh (how do you do, my
dear), tha mi'n dochas gam biel thu slan (I hope you are quite well)."
The girl was amazed, but no less pleased. How sweet to the ear are the
accents of the paternal language, or the mother tongue as we call it,
for it is women who teach us to talk. It is a bond of union! Whoever
speaks it, when we are in a land of strangers, is regarded as a
relative. I shall never forget when I was in the bazaar at Calcutta,
how my heart leaped at hearing the voice of a Connecticut man as he
was addressing a native trader.
"Tell you what, stranger," said he, "I feel as mad as a meat axe, and
I hope I may be darned to all darnation, if I wouldn't chaw up your
ugly mummyised corpse, hair, hide, and hoof, this blessed minute, as
quick as I would mother's dough-nuts, if I warn't afraid you'd pyson
me with your atimy, I'll be dod drotted if I wouldn't.
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