Joxer: I suppose ‘tis now, though you wouldn’t think it.

Boyle: Joxer, han’ me over that attackey case on the table there. (Joxer hands the case.) Ever since the Will was passed I’ve run hundreds o’ dockyments through me han’s — I tell you, you have to keep your wits about you.
     Joxer: Well, I won’t disturb you; I’ll dhrop in when…
     Boyle: It’s all right, Joxer, this is the last one to be signed to-day. Now, Joxer, you want to see me; I’m at your service — what can I do for you, me man?
     Joxer: I’ve just dhropped in with the £3:5s.that Mrs. Madigan riz on the blankets an’ table for you, an’ she says you’re to be in no hurry payin’ it back.
     Boyle: She won’t be long without it; I expect the first cheque for a couple o’ hundhred any day. There’s the five bob^[2] for yourself — go on, take it, man; it’ll not be the last you’ll get from the Captain. Now an’ agen we have our differ, but we’re there together all the time.
     Joxer: Me for you, an’ you for me, like the two Musketeers.
     Boyle: Father Farrell stopped me to-day an’ tole me how glad he was I fell in for the money.
     Joxer: He’ll be stoppin’ you ofen enough now; I suppose it was ‘Mr.’ Boyle with him?
     Boyle: He shuk me be the han’…
     Joxer: I met with Napper Tandy, an’ he shuk me be the han’!^[3]
     Boyle: You’re seldom asthray, Joxer, but you’re wrong shipped this time. What you’re sayin’ of Father Farrell is very near to blasfeemey. I don’t like any one to talk disrespectful of Father Farrell.
     Joxer: You’re takin’ me up wrong, Captain; I wouldn’t let a word be said agen Father Farrell — the heart o’ the rowl,^[4] that’s what he is; I always said he was a darlin’ man, a daarlin’ man.
     Boyle: Comin’ up the stairs who did I meet but that bummer, Nugent. “I seen you talkin’ to Father Farrell,” says he, with a grin on him. “He’ll be folleyin’ you,” says he, “like a Guardian Angel from this out” — all the time the oul’ grin on him, Joxer.
     Joxer: I never seen him yet but he had that oul’ grin on him!
     Boyle: “Mr. Nugent,” says I, “Father Farrell is a man o’ the people, an’, as far as I know the History o’ me country, the priests was always in the van of the fight for Irelan’s freedom.”
     Joxer: (fervently) Who was it led the van, Soggart Aroon? Since the fight first began, Soggart Aroon?^[5]
     Boyle: “Who are you tellin’?” says he. “Didn’t they let down the Fenians, an’ didn’t they do in Parnell? An’ now — ” “You ought to be ashamed o’ yourself,” says I, interruptin’, him, “not to know the History o’ your country.” An’ I left him gawkin’ where he was.
     Joxer: Where ignorance ‘s bliss ’tis folly to be wise; I wondher did he ever read the Story o’ Irelan’.^[6]
     Boyle: Be J.L. Sullivan? Don’t you know he didn’t.
     Joxer: Ah, it’s a darlin’ buk, a daarlin’ buk!
     Boyle: You’d betther be goin’, now, Joxer; his Majesty, Bentham, ‘ll be here any minute, now.
     Joxer: Be the way things is lookin’, it’ll be a match between him an’ Mary. She’s thrun over Jerry altogether. Well, I hope it will, for he’s a darlin’ man.
     Boyle: I’m glad you think so — I don’t. (Irritably) What’s darlin’ about him?
     Joxer: (nonplussed) I only seen him twiced; if you want to know me, come an’ live with me.
     Boyle: He’s too dignified for me — to hear him talk you’d think he knew as much as a Boney’s Oraculum.[footnote]Napoleon’s Oraculum was a popular book in the 19th and early 20th centuries. See British Museum Catalogue v., 168, column 624, the Oraculum (1822) is described: “The book of fate, formerly in the possession of Napoleon…and now first rendered into English, from a German translation of an ancient Egyptian manuscript….” Described in The National Union Catalogue (V, 405, 173): “”Napoleon’s Oraculum and dream book (1884): containing the great oracle of human destiny. Also the true meaning of almost any kind of dreams….”[/footnote] He’s given up his job as teacher, an’ is goin’ to become a solicitor in Dublin — he’s been studyin’ law. I suppose he thinks I’ll set him up, but he’s wrong shipped. An’ th’ other fella — Jerry’s as bad. The two o’ them ud give you a pain in your face, listenin’ to them; Jerry believin’ in nothin’, an’ Bentham believin’ in everythin’. One that says all is God an’ no man; an’ th’ other says all is man an’ no God!
     Joxer: Well, I’ll be off now.
     Boyle: Don’t forget to dhrop down afther awhile; we’ll have a quiet jar, an’ a song or two.
     Joxer: Never fear.
     Boyle: An’ tell Mrs. Madigan that I hope we’ll have the pleasure of her organization at our little enthertainment.
     Joxer: Righto; we’ll come down together.[He goes out.

[Johnny comes from room on left, and sits down moodily at the fire. Boyle looks at him for a few moments, and shakes his head. He fills his pipe.]

     Voice of Juno at the door: Open the door, Jack; this thing has me nearly kilt with the weight.

[Boyle opens the door. Juno enters carrying the box of a gramophone,followed by Mary carrying the horn and some parcels. Juno leaves the box on the table and flops into a chair.]
     Juno: Carryin’ that from Henry Street was no joke.
     Boyle: U-u-ugh, that’s a grand-lookin’ insthrument — how much was it?
     Juno: Pound down, an’ five to be paid at two shillin’s a week.
     Boyle: That’s reasonable enough.
     Juno: I’m afraid we’re runnin’ into too much debt; first the furniture, an’ now this.
     Boyle: The whole lot won’t be much out of £2000.
     Mary: I don’t know what you wanted a gramophone for — I know Charlie hates them; he says they’re destructive of real music.
     Boyle: Desthructive of music — that fella ud give you a pain in your face. All a gramophone wants is to be properly played; its thrue wondher is only felt when everythin’s quiet — what a gramophone wants is dead silence!
     Mary: But, father, Jerry says the same; afther all, you can only appreciate music when your ear is properly trained.
     Boyle: That’s another fella ud give you a pain in your face. Properly thrained! I suppose you couldn’t appreciate football unless your fut was properly thrained.
     Mrs. Boyle: (to Mary).  Go on in ower that an’ dress, or Charlie’ll be in on you, an’ tea nor nothin’ll be ready.

[Mary goes into the room left.]
     Mrs. Boyle: (arranging table for tea). You didn’t look at our new gramophone, Johnny?
     Johnny: ‘Tisn’t gramophones I’m thinking of.
     Mrs. Boyle: An’ what is it you’re thinkin’ of, allanna?^[7]
     Johnny: Nothin’, nothin’, nothin’.
     Mrs. Boyle: Sure, you must be thinkin’ of somethin’; it’s yourself that has yourself the way y’are; sleepin’ wan night in me sisther’s, an’ the nex’ in your father’s brother’s — you’ll get no rest goin’ on that way.
     Johnny: I can rest nowhere, nowhere, nowhere.
     Mrs. Boyle: Sure, you’re not thryin’ to rest anywhere.
     Johnny: Let me alone, let me alone, let me alone, for God’s sake.

[A knock at street door]
     Mrs. Boyle: (in a flutter). Here he is; here’s Mr. Bentham!
     Boyle: Well, there’s room for him; it’s a pity there’s not a brass band to play him in.
     Mrs. Boyle: We’ll han’ the tea round, an’ not be clusthered round the table, as if we never seen nothin’. [Steps are heard approaching, and Juno opening the door, allows Bentham to enter.]
     Juno: Give your hat an’ stick to Jack, there — sit down, Mr. Bentham — no, not there — in th’ easy chair be the fire — there, that’s betther. Mary’ll be out to you in a minute.
     Boyle: (solemnly).  I seen be the paper this mornin’ that Consols^[8] was down half per cent. That’s serious, min’ you, an’ shows the whole counthry’s in a state o’ chassis.
     Mrs. Boyle: What’s Consols, Jack?
     Boyle: Consols? Oh, Consols is — oh, there’s no use tellin’ women what Consols is — th’ wouldn’t undherstand.
     Bentham: It’s just as you were saying, Mr. Boyle…

[Mary enters, charmingly dressed.]
     Bentham: Oh, good evening, Mary; how pretty you’re looking!
     Mary: (archly). Am I?
     Boyle: We were just talkin’ when you kem in, Mary; I was tellin’ Mr. Bentham that the whole counthry’s in a state o’ chassis.
     Mary: (to Bentham). Would you prefer the green or the blue ribbon round me hair, Charlie?
     Mrs. Boyle: Mary, your father’s speakin’.
     Boyle: (rapidly). I was jus’ tellin’ Mr. Bentham that the whole counthry’s in a state o’ chassis.
     Mary: I’m sure you’re frettin’, da, whether it is or no.
     Mrs. Boyle: With all our churches an’ religions, the worl’s not a bit the betther.
     Boyle: (with a commanding gesture). Tay!

[Mary and Mrs. Boyle dispense the tea.]
     Mrs. Boyle: An’ Irelan’s takin’ a leaf out o’ the worl’s buk; when we got the makin’ of our own laws I thought we’d never stop to look behind us, but instead of that we never stopped to look before us! If the people ud folley up their religion betther there’d be a betther chance for us — what do you think, Mr. Bentham?
     Bentham: I’m afraid I can’t venture to express an opinion on that point, Mrs. Boyle; dogma has no attraction for me.
     Mrs. Boyle: I forgot you didn’t hold with us: what’s this you said you were?
     Bentham: A Theosophist,^[9] Mrs. Boyle.
     Mrs. Boyle: An’ what in the name o’ God’s a Theosophist?
     Boyle: A Theosophist, Juno, ‘s a — tell her, Mr. Bentham, tell her.
     Bentham: It’s hard to explain in a few words : Theosophy’s founded on The Vedas, the religious books of the East. Its central theme is the existence of an all-pervading Spirit — the Life-Breath. Nothing really exists but this one Universal Life-Breath. And whatever even seems to exist separately from this Life-Breath, doesn’t really exist at all. It is all vital force in man, in all animals, and in all vegetation. This Life-Breath is called the Prawna.
     Mrs. Boyle: The Prawna! What a comical name!
     Boyle: Prawna; yis, the Prawna. (Blowing gently through his lips) That’s the Prawna!
     Mrs. Boyle: Whist, whist, Jack.
     Bentham: The happiness of man depends upon his sympathy with this Spirit. Men who have reached a high state of excellence are called Yogi. Some men become Yogi in a short time, it may take others millions of years.
     Boyle: Yogi! I seen hundhreds of them in the streets o’ San Francisco.
     Bentham: It is said by these Yogi that if we practise certain mental exercises we would have powers denied to others — for instance, the faculty of seeing things that happen miles and miles away.
     Mrs. Boyle: I wouldn’t care to meddle with that sort o’ belief; it’s a very curious religion, altogether.
     Boyle: What’s curious about it? Isn’t all religions curious? — if they weren’t, you wouldn’t get any one to believe them. But religions is passin’ away — they’ve had their day like everything else. Take the real Dublin people, f’rinstance: they know more about Charlie Chaplin^[10] an’ Tommy Mix^[11] than they do about SS. Peter an’ Paul!
     Mrs. Boyle: You don’t believe in ghosts, Mr. Bentham?
     Mary: Don’t you know he doesn’t, mother?
     Bentham: I don’t know that, Mary. Scientists are beginning to think that what we call ghosts are sometimes seen by person of a certain nature. They say that sensational actions, such as the killing of a person, demand great energy, and that energy lingers in the place where the action occurred. People may live in the place and see nothing, when someone may come along whose personality has some peculiar connection with the energy of the place, and, in a flash, the person sees the whole affair.
     Johnny: (rising swiftly, pale and affected). What sort o’ talk is this to be goin’ on with? Is there nothin’ betther to be talkin’ about but the killin’ o’ people? My God, isn’t it bad enough for these things to happen without talkin’ about them! [He hurriedly goes into the room on left.
     Bentham: Oh, I’m very sorry, Mrs. Boyle; I never thought.. .
     Mrs. Boyle: (apologetically). Never mind, Mr. Bentham, he’s very touchy.

[A frightened scream is heard from Johnny inside.]
     Mrs. Boyle: Mother of God, what’s that? [He rushes out again, his face pale, his lips twitching, his limbs trembling.]
     Johnny: Shut the door, shut the door, quick, for God’s sake! Great God, have mercy on me! Blessed Mother o’ God shelter me, shelter your son!
     Mrs. Boyle: (catching him in her arms). What’s wrong with you? What ails you? Sit down, sit down, here, on the bed — there now — there now.
     Mary: Johnny, Johnny, what ails you?
     Johnny: I seen him, I seen him — kneelin’ in front o’ the statue — merciful Jesus, have pity on me!
     Mrs. Boyle: Get him a glass o’ whisky — quick, man, an’ don’t stand gawkin’.

[Boyle gets the whisky.]
     Johnny: Sit here, sit here, mother — between me an’ the door.
     Mrs. Boyle: I’ll sit beside you as long as you like, only tell me what was it came across you at all?
     Johnny: I seen him — I seen Robbie Tancred kneelin’ down before the statue — an’ the red light shinin’ on him — an’ when I went in — he turned an’ looked at me — an’ I seen the woun’s bleedin’ in his breast — Oh, why did he look at me like that? — it wasn’t my fault that he was done in — Mother o’ God, keep him away from me!
     Mrs. Boyle: There, there, child, you’ve imagined it all. There was nothin’ there at all — it was the red light you seen, an’ the talk we had put all the rest into your head. Here, dhrink, more o’ this — it’ll do you good — An’, now, stretch yourself down on the bed for a little. (To Boyle) Go in, Jack, an’ show him it was only in his own head it was.
     Boyle: (making no move). E-e-e-eh; it’s all nonsense; it was only a shadda he saw.
     Mary: Mother o’ God, he made me heart lep!
     Bentham: It was simply due to an overwrought imagination — we all get that way at times.
     Mrs. Boyle: There, dear, lie down in the bed, an’ I’ll put the quilt across you — e-e-e-eh, that’s it — you’ll be as right as the mail in a few minutes.
     Johnny: Mother, go into the room an’ see if the light’s lightin’ before the statue.
     Mrs. Boyle: (to Boyle). Jack, run in an’ see if the light’s lightin’ before the statue.
     Boyle: (to Mary). Mary, slip in an’ see if the light’s lightin’ before the statue. [Mary hesitates to go in.]
     Bentham: It’s all right; Mary, I’ll go. [He goes into the room, remains for a few moments, and returns.
     Bentham: Everything’s just as it was — the light burning bravely before the statue.     Boyle: Of course; I knew it was all nonsense.

[A knock at the door.]
     Boyle: (going to open the door). E-e-e-e-eh. [He opens it, and Joxer, followed by Mrs. Madigan, enters. Mrs. Madigan is a strong, dapper little woman of about forty-five; her face is almost always a widespread smile of complacency. She is a woman who, in manner at least, can mourn with them that mourn, and rejoice with them that do rejoice. When she is feeling comfortable, she is inclined to be reminiscent; when others say anything, or following a statement made by herself, she has a habit of putting her head a little to one side, and nodding it rapidly several times in succession, like a bird pecking at a hard berry. Indeed, she has a good deal of the bird in her, but the bird instinct is by no means a melodious one. She is ignorant, vulgar and forward, but her heart is generous withal. For instance, she would help the neighbor’s sick child; she would probably kill the child, but her intention would be to cure it; she would be more at home helping a drayman to lift a fallen horse. She is dressed in a rather soiled grey dress and a vivid purple blouse; in her hair is a huge comb, ornamented with huge coloured beads. She enters with a gliding step, beaming smile and nodding head. Boyle receives them effusively.]

     Boyle: Come on in, Mrs. Madigan; come on in; I was afraid you weren’t comin’ – (Slyly) There’s some people able to dhress, ay, Joxer?
     Joxer: Fair as the blossoms that bloom in the May, an’ sweet as the scent of the new-mown hay. — Ah, well she may wear them.
     Mrs. Madigan: (Looking at Mary). I know some as are as sweet as the blossoms that bloom in the May — oh, no names, no pack dhrill!
     Boyle: An’ now I’ll inthroduce the pair o’ yous to Mary’s intended: Mr. Bentham, this is Mrs. Madigan, an oul’ back-parlour neighbour, that, if she could help it at all, ud never see a body shuk!
     Bentham: (rising, and tentatively shaking the hand of Mrs. Madigan).  I’m sure, it’s a great pleasure to know you, Mrs. Madigan.
     Mrs. Madigan: An’ I’m goin’ to tell you, Mr. Bentham, you’re goin’ to get as nice a bit o’ skirt in Mary, there, as ever you seen in your puff. Not like some of the dhressed-up dolls that’s knockin’ about lookin’ for men when it’s a skelpin’ they want. I remember, as well as I remember yestherday, the day she was born — of a Tuesday, the 25th o’ June, in the year 1901, at thirty-three minutes past wan in the day be Foley’s clock, the pub at the corner o’ the street. A cowld day it was too, for the season o’ the year, an’ I remember sayin’ to Joxer, there, who I met comin’ up th’ stairs, that the new arrival in Boyle’s ud grow up a hardy chiselur if it lived, an’ that she’d be somethin’ one o’ these days that nobody suspected, an’ so signs on it, here she is to-day, goin’ to be married to a young man lookin’ as if he’d be fit to commensurate in any position in life it ud please God to call him!
     Boyle: (effusively). Sit down, Mrs. Madigan, sit down, me oul’ sport. This is Joxer Daly, Past Chief Ranger of the Dear Little Shamrock Branch of the Irish National Foresters, an oul’ front-top neighbour, that never despaired, even in the darkest days of Ireland’s sorra.
     Joxer: Nil desperandum,^[12] Captain, nil desperandum.
     Boyle: Sit down, Joxer, sit down. The two of us was ofen in a tight corner.
     Mrs. Boyle: Ay, in Foley’s snug!
     Joxer: An’ we kem out of it flyin’, we kem out of it flyin’, Captain.
     Boyle: An’ now for a dhrink — I know yous won’t refuse an oul’ friend.
     Mrs. Madigan: Is Johnny not well, Mrs…
     Mrs. Boyle: (warningly). S-s-s-sh.
     Mrs. Madigan: Oh, the poor darlin’.
     Boyle: Well, Mrs. Madigan, is it tea or what?
     Mrs. Madigan: Well, speakin’ for meself, I jus’ had me tea a minute ago, an’ I’m afraid to dhrink any more — I’m never the same when I dhrink too much tay. Thanks, all the same, Mr. Boyle.
     Boyle: Well, what about a bottle o’ stout or a dhrop o’ whisky?
     Mrs. Madigan: A bottle o’ stout ud be a little too heavy for me stummock afther me tay — A-a-a-ah, I’ll thry the ball o’ malt.

[Boyle prepares the whisky.]
     Mrs. Madigan: There’s nothin’ like a ball o’ malt occasional like — too much of it isn’t good. (To Boyle, who is adding water) Ah, God, Johnny, don’t put too much wather on it! (She drinks). I suppose yous’ll be lavin’ this place.
     Boyle: I’m looking for a place near the sea; I’d like the place that you might say was me cradle, to be me grave as well. The sea is always callin’ me.
     Joxer: She is callin’, callin’, callin’, in the win’ an’ on the sea.
     Boyle: Another dhrop o’ whisky, Mrs. Madigan?
     Mrs. Madigan: Well, now, it ud be hard to refuse seein’ the suspicious times that’s in it.
     Boyle: (with a commanding gesture). Song! — Juno — Mary — Home to Our Mountains!^[13]
     Mrs. Madigan: (enthusiastically). Hear, hear!
     Joxer: Oh, tha’s a darlin’ song, a daarlin’ song!
     Mary: (bashfully). Ah no, da; I’m not in a singin’ humour.
     Mrs. Madigan: Gawn with you, child, an’ you only goin’ to be married; I remember as well as I remember yestherday, — it was on a lovely August evenin’, exactly, accordin’ to date, fifteen years ago, come the Tuesday folleyin’ the nex’ that’s comin’ on, when me own man — the Lord be good to him — an’ me was sittin’ shy together in a doty little nook on a counthry road, adjacent to The Stiles. ‘That’ll scratch your lovely, little white neck,’ says he, ketchin’ hould of a danglin’ bramble branch, holdin’ clusters of the lovliest flowers you ever seen, an’ breakin’ it off, so that his arm fell, accidental like, roun’ me waist, an’ as I felt it tightenin’, an’ tightenin’, an’ tightenin’, I thought me buzzom was every minute goin’ to burst out into a roystherin’ song about ‘The little green leaves that were shakin’ on the threes, The gallivantin’ buttherflies, an’ buzzin’ o’ the bees! ‘
     Boyle: Ordher for the song!
     Juno: Come on, Mary — we’ll do our best. [Juno and Mary stand up, and choosing a suitable position, sing simply ‘Home to Our Mountains’. [They bow to the company and return to their places.
     Boyle: (emotionally, at the end of song). Lull — me — to — rest!
     Joxer: (clapping his hands). Bravo, bravo! Darlin’ girulls, darlin’ girulls!
     Mrs. Madigan: Juno, I never seen you in betther form.
     Bentham: Very nicely rendered indeed.
     Mrs. Madigan: A noble call, a noble call!
     Mrs. Boyle: What about yourself, Mrs. Madigan?

[After some coaxing, Mrs. Madigan rises, and in a quavering voice, sings the following verse]:
     Mrs. Madigan: