"'I am not, your hanner--I am a Catholic to the backbone, just like my
father before me. Come, your hanner, shall I play ye "Croppies Get Up"?'

"'No,' said I; 'It's a tune that doesn't please my ears. If, however,
you choose to play "Croppies Lie Down," I'll give you a shilling.'

"'Your hanner will give me a shilling?'

"'Yes,' said I, 'if you play "Croppies Lie Down": but you know you cannot
play it, your fingers never learned the tune.'

"'They never did, your hanner; but they have heard it played of ould by
the blackguard Orange fiddlers of Dublin on the first of July, when the
Protestant boys used to walk round Willie's statue on College Green--so
if your hanner gives me the shilling they may perhaps bring out something
like it.'

"'Very good,' said I; 'begin!'

"'But, your hanner, what shall we do for the words? Though my fingers
may remember the tune, my tongue does not remember the words--that is
unless . . .'

"'I give another shilling,' said I; 'but never mind you the words; I know
the words, and will repeat them.'

"'And your hanner will give me a shilling?'

"'If you play the tune,' said I.