A brayer is a hand-tool used historically in printing and printmaking to break up and "rub out" (spread) ink before it was "beaten" using inking balls or composition rollers. The word is derived from the verb to "bray", meaning "to break, pound, or grind small, as in a mortar". A brayer consists of a short wooden cylinder with a handle fitted to one end; the other, flat end is used to rub the ink. In the late nineteenth century the term was mis-applied in the United States to a small hand-roller, "used for spreading ink on the inking table, and for applying it to the distributing plates or rollers connected with presses". Such small rollers were sold as "brayers" from at least 1912 and later in the century the term was applied in the U.S.A. to hand-rollers of all sorts and sizes. It retains its original meaning in Europe.
True brayers were generally made of wood (though Southward refers to their being made of "wood or glass"). Later, rollers could be made of composition, vulcanized rubber, sponge, acrylic, polyurethane or leather. They are formed around a shaft or core and often attached to a wooden handle. Some rollers have an all-metal support, while larger examples may have two handles to allow for two-handed use (to allow the heavy roller to be controlled and in some cases to apply additional pressure).
Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
Me mind being bent on rambling, to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision, and I followed with a will
'Til next I came to anchor at the cross at Spancil Hill
It being on the 23rd of June, the day before the fair
When Ireland's sons and daughters and friends assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold came, their duty to fulfill
At the parish church in Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill
I went to see me neighbors, to see what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning gray
But I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still
Ah, he used to mend me britches when I lived in Spancil Hill
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as white as any lily, gentle as a dove
And she threw her arms around me saying, "Johnny, I love you still"
As she's Nell the farmer's daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill
I dreamed I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
Ah Johnny, you're only jokin', as many's the time before
Then the cock, he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill