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French king at Fontenoy, and who taught me the dances and customs,
and a smattering of the language of that country, with the use of
the sword, both small and broad. Many and many a long mile I have
trudged by his side as a lad, he telling me wonderful stories of the
French king, and the Irish brigade, and Marshal Saxe, and the opera-
dancers; he knew my uncle, too, the Chevalier Borgne, and indeed had
a thousand accomplishments which he taught me in secret. I never
knew a man like him for making or throwing a fly, for physicking a
horse, or breaking, or choosing one; he taught me manly sports, from
birds'-nesting upwards, and I always shall consider Phil Purcell as
the very best tutor I could have had. His fault was drink, but for
that I have always had a blind eye; and he hated my cousin Mick like
poison; but I could excuse him that too.
With Phil, and at the age of fifteen, I was a more accomplished man
than either of my cousins; and I think Nature had been also more
bountiful to me in the matter of person. Some of the Castle Brady
girls (as you shall hear presently) adored me. At fairs and races
many of the prettiest lasses present said they would like to have me
for their bachelor; and yet somehow, it must be confessed, I was not
popular.
In the first place, every one knew I was bitter poor; and I think,
perhaps, it was my good mother's fault that I was bitter proud too.
I had a habit of boasting in company of my birth, and the splendour
of my carriages, gardens, cellars, and domestics, and this before
people who were perfectly aware of my real circumstances. If it was
boys, and they ventured to sneer, I would beat them, or die for it;
and many's the time I've been brought home well-nigh killed by one
or more of them, on what, when my mother asked me, I would say was
'a family quarrel.' 'Support your name with your blood, Reddy my
boy,' would that saint say, with the tears in her eyes; and so would
she herself have done with her voice, ay, and her teeth and nails.
Thus, at fifteen, there was scarce a lad of twenty, for half-a-dozen
miles round, that I had not beat for one cause or other. There were
the vicar's two sons of Castle Brady--in course I could not
associate with such beggarly brats as them, and many a battle did we
have as to who should take the wall in Brady's Town; there was Pat
Lurgan, the blacksmith's son, who had the better of me four times
before we came to the crowning fight, when I overcame him; and I
could mention a score more of my deeds of prowess in that way, but
that fisticuff facts are dull subjects to talk of, and to discuss
before high-bred gentlemen and ladies.
However, there is another subject, ladies, on which I must
discourse, and THAT is never out of place. Day and night you like to
hear of it: young and old, you dream and think of it. Handsome and
ugly (and, faith, before fifty, I never saw such a thing as a plain
woman), it's the subject next to the hearts of all of you; and I
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