A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut tree;

The more you beat them, the better they be.

Irish Proverb.

Thus sadly sang P. Sarsfield O'Toole to himself, as he readjusted the bandage to his wronged eye. He believed it, too; at least in the case of Madame Bridget Burke, the wife of one John Burke.

The Burkes were the neighbours of P. Sarsfield O'Toole; they lived next door. The intimacy, however, went no further; O'Toole and the Burkes were not friends.

This is the story of the damaged eye. It offers the reason why P. Sarsfield O'Toole comforted himself with the vigorous Irish proverb.

It was the evening before. P. Sarsfield O'Toole was sitting on his back porch, cooling himself after a day's work at his profession of bricklayer, by reading the history of Ireland. The Burkes were holding audible converse just over the division fence.

P. Sarsfield O'Toole closed the history of his native land to listen. This last was neither an arduous nor a painful task, for the Burkes, with the splendid frankness of a household willing to stand or fall by its record, could be heard a block.

“Me family was noble!” P. Sarsfield O'Toole overheard John Burke remark. “The Burkes wanst lived in their own cashtle.”

“They did not,” observed Madame Burke. “They lived woild in the bog of Allen, and there was mud on their shanks from wan ind of the year to the other. Divvil a cashtle did a Burke ever see; barrin' a jail.”

“Woman! av yez arouse me,” said John Burke, threateningly, “I'll break the bones of ye, an' fling yez in the corner to mend. Don't exashperate me, woman.”

“I exashperate yez!” retorted Madame Burke, scornfully. “For phwat wud I exashperate yez! Wasn't your own uncle transhpoorted? Answer me that, John Burke?”

“Me uncle suffered to free Ireland, woman!” responded the husband.

“May the divvil hould him!” said Madame Burke. “He was transhpoorted as a felon, for b'atin' the head off Humpy Pete, the cripple, at the Fair. He was an illygant speciment of a Burke! always b'atin' cripples an' women!”

The last would seem to have been an unfortunate remark, in so far as it contained a suggestion. The next heard by the listening P. Sarsfield O'Toole was the loud lament of Madame Bridget Burke as her husband, John Burke, submitted her to that correction which he afterwards described to the police justice as, “givin' her a tashte av the sthrap.”

The cries of Madame Bridget Burke were at their highest when P. Sarsfield O'Toole looked over the fence.

“Shtop b'atin' the leddy, John Burke!” commanded P. Sarsfield O'Toole.

“Phwat's it to yez! ye Far-down!” demanded John Burke, looking up from his labours. “Av yez hang your chin on that line fince ag'in, I'll welt the life out av yez! D'ye moind it now!”

“Is it to me yez apploies the word 'Far-down!” shouted P. Sarsfield O'Toole, wrathfully. “Phwat are yez yerself but a rascal of a Stonethrower? Don't timpt me with your names, John Burke, an' shtop b'atin' the leddy. If I iver come over wanst to yez, I'll return a criminal!”

“Shtop b'atin' me own lawful Bridget,” retorted John Burke, in tones of scorn, “when she's been teasin' for the sthrap a month beyant! Well, I loike that! I'll settle with yez, O'Toole, when I tache me woife to respect the name of Burke.” Here the representative of that honourable title smote Madame Bridget lustily. “Av I foind yez in me yarud, O'Toole, ye'll lay no bricks to-morry.”

P. Sarsfield O'Toole cleared the fence at a bound. He was chivalrous, and would rescue Madame Burke. He was proud and would resent the opprobrious epithet of “Far-down.” He was sensitive, and would teach John Burke never to threaten him with disability as a bricklayer.

P. Sarsfield O'Toole, as stated, cleared the fence at a bound, and closed with John Burke as if he were a bargain.

What might have been the finale of this last collision will never be known. As P. Sarsfield O'Toole and John Burke danced about, locked in a deadly embrace, the emancipated Madame Burke suddenly selected a piece of scantling from the general armory of the Burke backyard and brought it down, not on the head of her oppressor, but on that of the gallant P. Sarsfield O'Toole, who had come to her rescue.

“Oh, ye murtherin' villyun!” shouted Madame Burke. “W'ud yez kill a husband befure the eyes of his lawful widded woife! An' due yez think I'd wear his ring and see yez do it!”

At this point in the conversation Madame Bridget Burke cut a long, satisfactory gash in P. Sarsfield O'Toole, just over the eye.

The police came.

John Burke was fined twenty dollars.

Madame Bridget Burke, present lovingly in court, paid it with a composite air, breathing insolence for the judge and affection for John Burke.

“The ijee av that shpalpeen, O'Toole,” said Madame Burke that evening to John Burke, and her words floated over the fence to P. Sarsfield O'Toole, as he nursed his wounds on his porch; “the ijee av that shpalpeen, O'Toole, comin' bechuxt man and woife! D' yez moind th' cheek av 'im! Didn't the priest say, 'Phwat hivin has j'ined togither, let no man put asoonder?”

“He did, Bridget, he did,” replied John Burke. “An' yez have the particulars av a foine woman about yez, yerself, Bridget!”

“Troth! an' I have,” said Madame Burke, giving full consent to this view of her merits. “But, John, phwat a rapscallion yer uncle they transhpoorted must av been, to bate the loife out o' poor Humpy Pete, the cripple-fiddler, that toime at the Fair!”

For the second time the strap fell, and the shrieks of Madame Burke filled the neighbourhood. P. Sarsfield O'Toole, still on his porch, sat unmoved, and bestowed no interest on the doings of the Burkes. As the strap was plied and the yells of the victim uplifted, P. Sarsfield O'Toole repeated the proverb which stands at the head of this story.