There was a fine young gentleman the name of M’Carthy, he had a most beautiful countenance and for strength and prowess there was none to equal him in the baronies of Connacht. But he began to dwine away, and no person knew what ailed him. He used no food at all and he became greatly reduced, the way he was not able to rise from his bed and he letting horrid groans and lamentations out of him. His father sent for three skilled doctors to come and find out what sort of disease it might be, and a big reward was promised for the cure.

Three noted doctors came on the one day and they searched every vein in young M’Carthy’s body, but they could put no name on the sickness nor think of a remedy to relieve it. They came down from the room and reported that the disease had them baffled entirely.

“Am I to be at the loss of a son is the finest boy in all Ireland?” says the father.

Now one of the doctors had a man with him was a very soft-spoken person, and he up and says:

“Maybe your honours would be giving me permission to visit the young gentleman. I have a tongue on me is that sweet I do be drawing the secrets of the world out of men and women and little children.”

Well they brought him up to the room and they left him alone with M’Carthy. He sat down by the side of the bed and began for to flatter him, the like of such conversation was never heard before.

At long last he says, “Let your Lordship’s honour be telling me—What is it ails you at all?”

“You will never let on to a living soul?” asks M’Carthy.

“Is it that I’d be lodging an information against a noble person like yourself?” says the man.

With that the young gentleman began telling the secrets of his heart.

“It is no disease is on me,” says he, “but a terrible misfortune.”

“’Tis heart scalded I am that you have either a sorrow or a sickness, and you grand to look on and better to listen to,” says the other.

“It is in love I am,” says M’Carthy.

“And how would that be a misfortune to a fine lad like yourself?” asks the man.

“Let you never let on!” says M’Carthy. “The way of it is this: I am lamenting for no lady is walking the world, nor for one is dead that I could be following to the grave. I have a little statue has the most beautiful countenance on it was ever seen, and it is destroyed with grief I am that it will never be speaking to me at all.”

With that he brought the image out from under his pillow, and the loveliness of it made the man lep off the chair.

“I’d be stealing the wee statue from your honour if I stopped in this place,” says he. “But let you take valour into your heart, for that is the likeness of a lady is living in the world, you will be finding her surely.”

With that he went down to the three doctors and the old man were waiting below. For all his promises to young M’Carthy he told the lot of them all he was after hearing. The doctors allowed that if the gentleman’s life was to be saved he must be got out of his bed and sent away on his travels.

“For a time he will be hopeful of finding her,” says the oldest doctor. “Then the whole notion will pass off him, and he seeing strange lands and great wonders to divert him.”

The father was that anxious for the son’s recovery that he agreed to sell the place and give him a big handful of money for the journey.

“It is little I’ll be needing for myself from this out, and I am old man near ripe for the grave,” says he.

So they all went up to the room and told young M’Carthy to rise from his bed and eat a good dinner, for the grandest arrangements out were made for his future and he’d surely meet the lady. When he seen that no person was mocking him he got into the best of humour, and he came down and feasted with them.

Not a long afterwards he took the big handful of money and set out on his travels, bringing the statue with him. He went over the provinces of Ireland, then he took sea to England and wandered it entirely, away to France with him next and from that to every art and part of the world. He had the strangest adventures, and he seen more wonders than could ever be told or remembered. At the latter end he came back to the old country again, with no more nor a coin or two left of the whole great fortune of money. The whole time he never seen a lady was the least like the wee statue; and the words of the old doctor were only a deceit for he didn’t quit thinking of her at all. M’Carthy was a handsome young gentleman, and if it was small heed he had for any person he met it was great notice was taken of him. Sure it was a Queen, no less, and five or six princesses were thinking long thoughts on himself.

The hope was near dead in his heart and the sickness of grief was on him again when he came home to Ireland. Soon after he landed from the ship he chanced to come on a gentleman’s place, and it a fine big house he never had seen before. He went up and inquired of the servants if he would get leave to rest there. He was given a most honourable reception, and the master of the house was well pleased to be entertaining such an agreeable guest. Now himself happened to be a Jew, and that is the why he did not ask M’Carthy to eat at his table, but had his dinner set out for him in a separate room. The servants remarked on the small share of food he was using, it was scarcely what would keep the life in a young child; but he asked them not to make any observation of the sort. At first they obeyed him, yet when he used no meat at all on the third day, didn’t they speak with their master.

“What is the cause of it at all?” he says to M’Carthy. “Is the food in this place not to your liking? Let you name any dish you have a craving for, and the cook will prepare it.”

“There was never better refreshment set before an emperor,” says M’Carthy.

“It is civility makes you that flattering,” answers the Jew. “How would you be satisfied with the meat is set before you when you are not able to use any portion of it at all?”

“I doubt I have a sickness on me will be the means of my death,” says M’Carthy. “I had best be moving on from this place, the way I’ll not be rewarding your kindness with the botheration of a corpse.”

With that the master of the house began for to speak in praise of a doctor was in those parts.

“I see I must be telling you what is in it,” says M’Carthy. “Doctors have no relief for the sort of tribulation is destroying me.”

He brought out the statue, and he went over the whole story from start to finish. How he set off on his travels and was hopeful for awhile; and how despair got hold of him again.

“Let you be rejoicing now,” says the Jew, “for it is near that lady you are this day. She comes down to a stream is convenient to this place, and six waiting maids along with her, bringing a rod and line for to fish. And it is always at the one hour she is in it.”

Well, M’Carthy was lepping wild with delight to hear tell of the lady.

“Let you do all I’m saying,” the Jew advises him. “I’ll provide you with the best of fishing tackle, and do you go down to the stream for to fish in it too. Whatever comes to your line let you give to the lady. But say nothing might scare her at all and don’t follow after her if she turns to go home.”

The next day M’Carthy went out for to fish, not a long was he at the stream before the lady came down and the six waiting maids along with her. Sure enough she was the picture of the statue, and she had the loveliest golden hair was ever seen.

M’Carthy had the luck to catch a noble trout, and he took it off the hook, rolled it in leaves and brought it to the lady, according to the advice of the Jew. She was pleased to accept the gift of it, but didn’t she turn home at once and the six waiting maids along with her. When she went into her own house she took the fish to her father.

“There was a noble person at the stream this day,” she says, “and he made me a present of the trout.”

Next morning M’Carthy went to fish again, and he seen the lady coming and her six waiting maids walking behind her. He caught a splendid fine trout and brought it over to her; with that she turned home at once.

“Father,” says she, when she went in, “the gentleman is after giving me a fish is bigger and better nor the one I brought back yesterday. If the like happens at the next time I go to the stream I will be inviting the noble person to partake of refreshment in this place.”

“Let you do as best pleases yourself,” says her father.

Well, sure enough, M’Carthy got the biggest trout of all the third time. The lady was in the height of humour, and she asked would he go up to the house with her that day. She walked with M’Carthy beside her, and the six waiting maids behind them. They conversed very pleasantly together, and at last he found courage for to tell her of how he travelled the world to seek no person less than herself.

“I’m fearing you’ll need to set out on a second journey, the way you will be coming in with some other one,” says she. “I have an old father is after refusing two score of suitors were asking me off him. I do be thinking I’ll not get joining the world at all, unless a king would be persuading himself of the advancement is in having a son-in-law wearing a golden crown upon his head. The whole time it is great freedom I have, and I walking where it pleases me with six waiting maids along with me. The old man has a notion they’d inform him if I was up to any diversion, but that is not the way of it at all.”

“It is funning you are, surely,” says M’Carthy. “If himself is that uneasy about you how would it be possible you’d bring me to the house to be speaking with him?”

“He is a kindly man and reasonable,” says she, “and it is a good reception you’ll be getting. Only let you not be speaking of marriage with me, for he cannot endure to hear tell of the like.”

Well, the old man made M’Carthy welcome, and he had no suspicion the two were in notion of other. But didn’t they arrange all unbeknownst to him, and plan out an elopement.

M’Carthy went back to the Jew, and he told him all. “But,” says he, “I am after spending my whole great fortune of money travelling the territory of the world. I must be finding a good situation the way I’ll make suitable provision for herself.”

“Don’t be in the least distress,” says the Jew. “I did not befriend you this far to be leaving you in a bad case at the latter end. I’ll oblige you with the loan of what money will start you in a fine place. You will be making repayment at the end of three years when you have made your profit on the business.”

The young gentleman accepted the offer, and he fair wild with delight. Moreover, the Jew gave himself and the lady grand assistance at the elopement, the way they got safe out of it and escaped from her father was raging in pursuit.

M’Carthy was rejoicing surely, and he married to a wife was the picture of the statue. Herself was in the best of humour too, for it was small delight she had in her own place, roaming the fields or stopping within and six waiting maids along with her. A fine, handsome husband was the right company for her like. They bought a lovely house and farm of land with the money was lent by the Jew; and they fixed all the grandest ever was seen. After a while M’Carthy got a good commission to be an officer, the way nothing more in the world was needful to their happiness.

M’Carthy and his lady had a fine life of it, they lacking for no comfort or splendour at all. The officer’s commission he had, brought himself over to England from time to time, and the lady M’Carthy would mind all until he was home. He saved up what money was superfluous, and all was gathered to repay the loan to the Jew only for a few pounds.

Well it happened that M’Carthy went to England, and there he fell in with a droll sort of a man was the best of company. They played cards together and they drank a great power of wine. In the latter end a dispute came about between them, for the both claimed to have the best woman.

“I have a lady beyond in Ireland,” says M’Carthy, “and she is an ornament to the roads when she is passing along. But no person gets seeing her these times and that is a big misfortune to the world.”

“What’s the cause?” asks the Englishman.

“I’d have a grief on me to think another man might be looking on her and I not standing by,” says M’Carthy. “So she gives me that satisfaction on her promised word: all the time I do be away she never quits the house, and no man body is allowed within.”

The Englishman let a great laugh out of him at the words.

“You are simple enough!” says he. “Don’t you know rightly when you are not in it herself will be feasting and entertaining and going on with every diversion?”

M’Carthy was raging at the impertinence of him, and he offered for to fight.

“What would that be proving?” says the Englishman. “Let you make a powerful big bet with myself that I will not be able for to bring you a token from your lady and a full description of her appearance.”

“I’ll be winning the money off you, surely!” says M’Carthy.

“Not at all,” says the Englishman. “I’m not in the least uneasy about it, for I’m full sure it’s the truth I’m after speaking of how she does be playing herself in your absence.”

“You’ll find me in this place and you coming back,” says M’Carthy. “Let you be prepared with the money to have along with you.”

The Englishman took ship to Ireland, and he came to the house of the lady M’Carthy. Herself was in the kitchen making a cake, and she seen the man walking up to the door. Away she run to the parlour, and in the hurry she forgot the lovely pearl ring she took off her finger when she began at the cooking. Well, he found the door standing open, and he seen the ring on the kitchen table. It was easy knowing it was no common article would be in the possession of any one but the mistress of the house. What did the lad do, only slip in and put it in his pocket. With that the waiting maid came and asked his business, the lady M’Carthy was after sending her down.

“Oh, no business at all,” says he. “But I am weary travelling and I thought I might rest in this place.”

He began for to flatter the girl and to offer her bribes, and in the latter end he got her to speak. She told him all what the mistress of the house was like; how she had a mole under her right arm and one on her left knee. Moreover she gave him a few long golden hairs she got out of the lady’s comb.

The Englishman went back to M’Carthy, brought him the tokens, and demanded the payment of the bet. And that is the way the poor gentleman spent the money he had saved up for the Jew.

M’Carthy sent word to his wife that he was coming home, and for her to meet him on the ship. She put her grandest raiment upon her and started away at once. She went out to the ship and got up on the deck where she seen her husband standing. When she went over to him he never said a word at all, but he swept her aside with his arm the way she fell into the water. Then he went on shore full sure he had her drowned.

But there was another ship coming in, and a miller that was on her seen the lady struggling in the sea. He was an aged man, yet he ventured in after her and he saved the poor creature’s life.

Well, the miller was a good sort of a man and he had great compassion for herself when she told him her story. She had no knowledge of the cause of her husband being vexed with her, and she thought it hard to believe the evidence of her senses that he was after striving to make away with her. The miller advised the lady M’Carthy to go on with the ship was sailing to another port, for may be if she went home after the man he would be destroying her.

When the ship came into harbour the news was going of a great lawsuit. The miller heard all, and he brought word to the lady that M’Carthy was in danger of death.

“There are three charges against him,” says the miller. “Your father has him impeached for stealing you away and you not wishful to be with him: that is the first crime.”

“That is a false charge,” says she, “for I helped for to plan the whole elopement. My father is surely saying all in good faith, but it is a lie the whole time.”

“A Jew has him accused for a sum of money was borrowed, and it due for repayment: that is the second crime,” says the miller.

“The money was all gathered up for to pay the debt,” says the lady. “Where can it be if M’Carthy will not produce it?”

“The law has him committed for the murder of yourself: and that is the third crime,” says the miller.

“And a false charge too, seeing you saved me in that ill hour. I am thinking I’d do well to be giving evidence in court of law, for it’s maybe an inglorious death they’ll be giving him,” says she.

“Isn’t that what he laid out for yourself?” asks the miller.

“It is surely, whatever madness came to him. But I have a good wish for him the whole time.”

“If that is the way of it we had best be setting out,” says he.

The lady and the miller travelled overland, it being a shorter journey nor the one they were after coming by sea. When they got to the court of law wasn’t the judge after condemning M’Carthy; and it was little the poor gentleman cared for the sentence of death was passed on him.

“My life is bitter and poisoned on me,” says he, “maybe the grave is the best place.”

With that the lady M’Carthy stood up in the court and gave out that she had not been destroyed at all, for the miller saved her from the sea.

They began the whole trial over again, and herself told how she planned the elopement, and her father had no case at all. She could not tell why M’Carthy was wishful to destroy her, and he had kept all to himself at the first trial. But by degrees all was brought to light: the villainy of the Englishman and the deceit was practised on them by him and the servant girl.

It was decreed that the money was to be restored by that villain, and the Jew was to get his payment out of it.

The lady M’Carthy’s father was in such rejoicement to see his daughter and she alive, that he forgave herself and the husband for the elopement. Didn’t the three of them go away home together and they the happiest people were ever heard tell of in the world.