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diff --git a/old/16015-0.txt b/old/16015-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5d3ce1c..0000000 --- a/old/16015-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7179 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The Geography -Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee, by William Carleton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee - Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of - William Carleton, Volume Three - -Author: William Carleton - -Illustrator: M. L. Flanery - -Release Date: June 7, 2005 [EBook #16015] -Last Updated: March 2, 2018 - - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - -TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY - -BY WILLIAM CARLETON - - -PART IV. - -[Illustration: Frontispiece] - -[Illustration: Titlepage] - - - -CONTENTS: - -Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver. - -The Geography Of An Irish Oath. - -The Lianhan Shee. - - - -PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER. - - -Phil Purcel was a singular character, for he was never married; but -notwithstanding his singularity, no man ever possessed, for practical -purposes, a more plentiful stock of duplicity. All his acquaintances -knew that Phil was a knave of the first water, yet was he decidedly a -general favorite. Now as we hate mystery ourselves, we shall reveal the -secret of this remarkable popularity; though, after all, it can scarcely -be called so, for Phil was not the first cheat who has been popular -in his day. The cause of his success lay simply in this; that he never -laughed; and, none of our readers need be told, that the appearance of -a grave cheat in Ireland is an originality which almost runs up into -a miracle. This gravity induced every one to look upon him as a -phenomenon. The assumed simplicity of his manners was astonishing, -and the ignorance which he feigned, so apparently natural, that it was -scarcely possible for the most keen-sighted searcher into human motives -to detect him. The only way of understanding the man was to deal with -him: if, after that, you did not comprehend him thoroughly, the fault -was not Phil's, but your own. Although not mirthful himself, he was the -cause of mirth in others; for, without ever smiling at his own gains, he -contrived to make others laugh at their losses. His disposition, setting -aside laughter, was strictly anomalous. The most incompatible, the most -unamalgamatible, and the most uncomeatable qualities that ever refused -to unite in the same individual, had no scruple at all to unite in Phil. -But we hate metaphysics, which we leave to the mechanical philosophers, -and proceed to state that Phil was a miser, which is the best -explanation we can give of his gravity. - -Ireland, owing to the march of intellect, and the superiority of modern -refinement, has been for some years past, and is at present, well -supplied with an abundant variety of professional men, every one of whom -will undertake, for proper considerations, to teach us Irish all manner -of useful accomplishments. The drawing-master talks of his profession; -the dancing-master of his profession; the fiddler, tooth-drawer, and -corn-cutter (who by the way, reaps a richer harvest than we do), since -the devil has tempted the schoolmaster to go abroad, are all practising -in his absence, as professional men. - -Now-Phil must be included among this class of grandiloquent gentlemen, -for he entered life as a Professor of Pig-driving; and it is but justice -towards him to assert, that no corn-cutter of them all ever elevated his -profession so high as Phil did that in which he practised. In fact, he -raised it to the most exalted pitch of improvement of which it was then -susceptible; or to use the cant of the day, he soon arrived at “the head -of his profession.” - -In Phil's time, however, pig-driving was not so general, nor had it -made such rapid advances as in modern times. It was, then, simply, -pig-driving, unaccompanied by the improvements of poverty, sickness, and -famine. Political economy had not then taught the people how to be poor -upon the most scientific principles; free trade had not shown the nation -the most approved plan of reducing itself to the lowest possible state -of distress; nor liberalism enabled the working classes to scoff at -religion, and wisely to stop at the very line that lies between outrage -and rebellion. Many errors and inconveniences, now happily exploded, -were then in existence. The people, it is true, were somewhat attached -to their landlords, but still they were burdened with the unnecessary -appendages of good coats and stout shoes; were tolerably industrious, -and had the mortification of being able to pay their rents, and feed -in comfort. They were not, as they are now, free from new coats and -old prejudices, nor improved by the intellectual march of politics and -poverty. When either a man or a nation starves, it is a luxury to starve -in an enlightened manner; and nothing is more consolatory to a person -acquainted with public rights and constitutional privileges, than to -understand those liberal principles upon which he fasts and goes naked. - -From all we have said, the reader sees clearly that pig-driving did -not then proceed upon so extensive a scale as it does at present. The -people, in fact, killed many of them for their own use; and we know not -how it happened, but political ignorance and good bacon kept them in -more flesh and comfort than those theories which have since succeeded so -well in introducing the science of starvation as the basis of national -prosperity. Irishmen are frequently taxed with extravagance, in addition -to their other taxes; but we should be glad to know what people in -Europe reduce economy in the articles of food and clothing to such close -practice as they do. - -Be this as it may, there was, in Ireland, an old breed of swine, which -is now nearly extinct, except in some remote parts of the country, where -they are still useful in the hunting season, particularly if dogs happen -to be scarce.* They were a tall, loose species, with legs of an unusual -length, with no flesh, short ears, as if they had been cropped for -sedition, and with long faces of a highly intellectual cast. They were -also of such activity that few greyhounds could clear a ditch or cross -a field with more agility or speed. Their backs formed a rainbow arch, -capable of being contracted or extended to an inconceivable degree; and -their usual rate of travelling in droves was at mail-coach speed, or -eight Irish miles an hour, preceded by an outrider to clear the way, -whilst their rear was brought up by another horseman, going at a -three-quarter gallop. - - * We assure John Bull, on the authority of Purcel - himself, that this is a fact. - -In the middle of summer, when all nature reposed under the united -influence of heat and dust, it was an interesting sight to witness a -drove of them sweeping past, like a whirlwind, in a cloud of their own -raising; their sharp and lengthy outlines dimly visible through the -shining haze, like a flock of antelopes crossing the deserts of the -East. - -But alas! for those happy days! This breed is now a curiosity--few -specimens of it remaining except in the mountainous parts of the -country, whither these lovers of liberty, like the free natives of the -back settlements of America, have retired to avoid the encroachments of -civilization, and exhibit their Irish antipathy to the slavish comforts -of steamboat navigation, and the relaxing luxuries of English feeding. - -Indeed, their patriotism, as evinced in an attachment to Ireland and -Irish habits, was scarcely more remarkable than their sagacity. There is -not an antiquary among the members of that learned and useful body, the -Irish Academy, who can boast such an intimate knowledge of the Irish -language in all its shades of meaning and idiomatic beauty, as did this -once flourishing class of animals. Nor were they confined to the Irish -tongue alone, many of them understood English too; and it was said -of those that belonged to a convent, the members of which, in their -intercourse with each other, spoke only in Latin, that they were -tolerable masters of that language, and refused to leave a potato field -or plot of cabbages, except when addressed in it. To the English tongue, -however, they had a deep-rooted antipathy; whether it proceeded from the -national feeling, or the fact of its not being sufficiently guttural, -I cannot say; but be this as it may, it must be admitted that they were -excellent Irish scholars, and paid a surprising degree of deference and -obedience to whatever was addressed to them in their own language. In -Munster, too, such of them as belonged to the hedge-schoolmasters were -good proficients in Latin; but it is on a critical knowledge of their -native tongue that I take my stand. On this point they were unrivalled -by the most learned pigs or antiquaries of their day; none of either -class possessing, at that period, such a knowledge of Irish manners, nor -so keen a sagacity in tracing out Irish roots. - -Their education, it is true, was not neglected, and their instructors -had the satisfaction of seeing that it was not lost. Nothing could -present a finer display of true friendship founded upon a sense of -equality, mutual interest, and good-will, than the Irishman and his pig. -The Arabian and his horse are proverbial; but had our English neighbors -known as much of Ireland as they did of Arabia, they would have found as -signal instances of attachment subsisting between the former as between -the latter; and, perhaps, when the superior comforts of an Arabian hut -are contrasted with the squalid poverty of an Irish cabin, they would -have perceived a heroism and a disinterestedness evinced by the Irish -parties, that would have struck them with greater admiration. - -The pigs, however, of the present day are a fat, gross, and degenerate -breed; and more like well-fed aldermen, than Irish pigs of the old -school. They are, in fact, a proud, lazy, carnal race, entirely of the -earth, earthy. John Bull assures us it is one comfort, however, that -we do not eat, but ship them out of the country; yet, after all, with, -great respect to John, it is not surprising that we should repine a -little on thinking of the good old times of sixty years since, when -every Irishman could kill his own pig, and eat it when he pleased. We -question much whether any measure that might make the eating of meat -compulsory upon us, would experience from Irishmen a very decided -opposition. But it is very condescending in John to eat our beef and -mutton; and as he happens to want both, it is particularly disinterested -in him to encourage us in the practice of self-denial. It is possible, -however, that we may ultimately refuse to banquet by proxy on our own -provisions; and that John may not be much longer troubled to eat for us -in that capacity. - -The education of an Irish pig, at the time of which we write, was an -important consideration to an Irishman. He, and his family, and his -pig, like the Arabian and his horse, all slept in the same bed; the -pig generally, for the sake of convenience, next the “stock” (* at the -outside). At meals the pig usually was stationed at the _serahag_, or -potato-basket; where the only instances of bad temper he ever displayed -broke out in petty and unbecoming squabbles with the younger branches -of the family. Indeed, if he ever descended from his high station as a -member of the domestic circle, it was upon these occasions, when, with -a want of dignity, accounted for only by the grovelling motive of -self-interest, he embroiled himself in a series of miserable feuds and -contentions about scraping the pot, or carrying off from the jealous -urchins about him more than came to his share. In these heart-burnings -about the good things of this world, he was treated with uncommon -forbearance: in his owner he always had a friend, from whom, when he -grunted out his appeal to him, he was certain of receiving redress: -“Barney, behave, avick: lay down the potstick, an' don't be batin' the -pig, the crathur.” - -In fact, the pig was never mentioned but with this endearing epithet of -“crathur” annexed. “Barney, go an' call home the pig, the crathur, to -his dinner, before it gets cowld an him.” “Barney, go an' see if you can -see the pig, the crathur, his buckwhist will soon be ready.” “Barney, -run an' dhrive the pig, the crathur, out of Larry Neil's phatie-field: -an', Barney, whisper, a bouchal bawn, don't run _too_ hard, Barney, for -fraid you'd lose your breath. What if the crathur does get a taste o' -the new phaties--small blame to him for the same!” - -In short, whatever might have been the habits of the family, such were -those of the pig. The latter was usually out early in the morning to -take exercise, and the unerring regularity with which he returned at -mealtime gave sufficient proof that procuring an appetite was a work of -supererogation on his part. If he came before the meal was prepared, his -station was at the door, which they usually shut to keep him out of -the way until it should be ready. In the meantime, so far as a forenoon -serenade and an indifferent voice could go, his powers of melody were -freely exercised on the outside. But he did not stop here: every stretch -of ingenuity was tried by which a possibility of gaining admittance -could be established. The hat and rags were repeatedly driven in from -the windows, which from practice and habit he was enabled to approach on -his hind legs; a cavity was also worn by the frequent grubbings of his -snout under the door, the lower part of which was broken away by the -sheer strength of his tusks, so that he was enabled, by thrusting -himself between the bottom of it and the ground, to make a most -unexpected appearance on the hearth, before his presence was at all -convenient or acceptable. - -But, independently of these two modes of entrance, i. e., the door and -window, there was also a third, by which he sometimes scrupled not to -make a descent upon the family. This was by the chimney. There are -many of the Irish cabins built for economy's sake against slopes in the -ground, so that the labor of erecting either a gable or side-wall is -saved by the perpendicular bank that remains after the site of the house -is scooped away. Of the facilities presented by this peculiar structure, -the pig never failed to avail himself. He immediately mounted the roof -(through which, however, he sometimes took an unexpected flight), -and traversing it with caution, reached the chimney, into which he -deliberately backed himself, and with no small share of courage, went -down precisely as the northern bears are said to descend the trunks of -trees during the winter, but with far different motives. - -In this manner he cautiously retrograded downwards with a hardihood, -which set furze bushes, brooms, tongs, and all other available weapons -of the cabin at defiance. We are bound, however, to declare, that this -mode of entrance, which was only resorted to when every other failed, -was usually received by the cottager and his family with a degree of -mirth and good-humor that were not lost upon the sagacity of the pig. -In order to save him from being scorched, which he deserved for his -temerity, they usually received him in a creel, often in a quilt, and -sometimes in the tattered blanket, or large pot, out of which he looked -with a humorous conception of his own enterprise, that was highly -diverting. We must admit, however, that he was sometimes received with -the comforts of a hot poker, which Paddy pleasantly called, “givin' him -a warm welcome.” - -Another trait in the character of these animals, was the utter scorn -with which they treated all attempts to fatten them. In fact, the usual -consequences of good feeding were almost inverted in their case; and -although I might assert that they became leaner in proportion to what -they received, yet I must confine myself to truth, by stating -candidly that this was not the fact; that there was a certain state -of fleshlessness to which they arrived, but from which they neither -advanced nor receded by good feeding or bad. At this point, despite of -all human ingenuity, they remained stationary for life, received -the bounty afforded them with a greatness of appetite resembling -the fortitude of a brave man, which rises in energy according to the -magnitude of that which it has to encounter. The truth is, they were -scandalous hypocrites; for with the most prodigious capacity for food, -they were spare as philosophers, and fitted evidently more for the chase -than the sty; rather to run down a buck or a hare for the larder, than -to have a place in it themselves. If you starved them, they defied you -to diminish their flesh; and if you stuffed them like aldermen, they -took all they got, but disdained to carry a single ounce more than -if you gave them whey thickened with water. In short, they gloried in -maceration and liberty; were good Irish scholars, sometimes acquainted -with Latin; and their flesh, after the trouble of separating it from a -superfluity of tough skin, was excellent venison so far as it went. - -Now Phil Purcel, whom we will introduce more intimately to the reader by -and by, was the son of a man who always kept a pig. - -His father's house had a small loft, to which the ascent was by a -step-ladder through a door in the inside gable. The first good thing -ever Phil was noticed for he said upon the following occasion. His -father happened to be called upon, one morning before breakfast, by his -landlord, who it seems occasionally visited his tenantry to encourage, -direct, stimulate, or reprove them, as the case might require. Phil was -a boy then, and sat on the hob in the corner, eyeing the landlord and -his father during their conversation. In the mean time the pig came in, -and deliberately began to ascend the ladder with an air of authority -that marked him as one in the exercise of an established right. The -landlord was astonished at seeing the animal enter the best room in the -house and could not help expressing his surprise to old Purcel: - -“Why, Purcel, is your pig in the habit of treating himself to the -comforts of your best room?” - -“The pig is it, the crathur? Why, your haner,” said Purcel, after a -little hesitation, “it sometimes goes up of a mornin' to waken the -childhre, particularly when the buckwhist happens to be late. It doesn't -like to be waitin'; and sure none of us likes to be kept from the male's -mate, your haner, when we want it, no more than it, the crathur!” - -“But I wonder your wife permits so filthy an animal to have access to -her rooms in this manner.” - -“Filthy!” replied Mrs. Purcel, who felt herself called upon to defend -the character of the pig, as well as her own, “why, one would think, -sir, that any crathur that's among Christyen childhre, like one o' -themselves, couldn't be filthy. I could take it to my dyin' day, that -there's not a claner or dacenter pig in the kingdom, than the same pig. -It never misbehaves, the crathur, but goes out, as wise an' riglar, jist -by a look, an' that's enough for it, any day--a single look, your haner, -the poor crathur!” - -“I think,” observed Phil, from the hob, “that nobody has a betther right -to the run of the house, whedher up stairs or down stairs, _than him -that pays the rint_.” - -“Well said, my lad!” observed the landlord, laughing at the quaint -ingenuity of Phil's defence. “His payment of the rent is the best -defence possible, and no doubt should cover a multitude of his errors.” - -“A multitude of his shins, you mane, sir,” said Phil, “for thruth he's -all shin.” - -In fact, Phil from his infancy had an uncommon attachment to these -animals, and by a mind naturally shrewd and observing, made himself -as intimately acquainted with their habits and instincts, and the best -modes of managing them, as ever the celebrated _Cahir na Cappul_* did -with those of the horse. Before he was fifteen, he could drive the most -vicious and obstinate pig as quietly before him as a lamb; yet no one -knew how, nor by what means he had gained the secret that enabled him to -do it. Whenever he attended a fair, his time was principally spent among -the pigs, where he stood handling, and examining, and pretending to buy -them, although he seldom had half-a-crown in his pocket. At length, by -hoarding up such small sums as he could possibly lay his hand on, he got -together the price of a “slip,” which he bought, reared, and educated in -a manner that did his ingenuity great credit. When this was brought -to its _ne plus ultra_ of fatness, he sold it, and purchased two more, -which he fed in the same way. On disposing of these, he made a fresh -purchase, and thus proceeded, until, in the course of a few years, he -was a well-known pig-jobber. - - * I subjoin from Townsend's Survey of the county of - Cork a short but authentic account of this most - extraordinary character:--“James Sullivan was a native - of the county of Cork, and an awkward ignorant rustic - of the lowest class, generally known by the appellation - of the _Whisperer_, and his profession was horse- - breaking. The credulity of the vulgar bestowed that - epithet upon him, from an opinion that he communicated - his wishes to the animal by means of a whisper; and the - singularity of his method gave some color to the - superstitious belief. As far as the sphere of his - control extended, the boast of _Veni, Vidi, Vici_, was - more justly claimed by James Sullivan, than by Caesar, - or even Bonaparte himself. How his art was acquired, or - in what it consisted, is likely to remain for ever - unknown, as he has lately left the world without - divulging it. His son, who follows the same occupation, - possesses but a small portion of the art, having either - never learned its true secret, or being incapable of - putting it in practice. The wonder of his skill - consisted in the short time requisite to accomplish his - design, which was performed in private, and without any - apparent means of coercion. Every description of horse, - or even mule, whether previously broke, or unhandled, - whatever their peculiar vices or ill habits might have - been, submitted, without show of resistance, to the - magical influence of his art, and, in the short space - of half an hour, became gentle and tractable. The - effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally - durable. Though more submissive to him than to others, - yet they seemed to have acquired a docility, unknown - before. When sent for to tame a vicious horse, he - directed the stable in which he and the object of his - experiment were placed, to be shut, with orders not to - open the door until a signal given. After a _tete-a- - tete_ between him and the horse for about half an hour, - during which little or no bustle was heard, the signal - was made; and upon opening the door, the horse was - seen, lying down, and the man by his side, playing - familiarly with him, like a child with a puppy dog. - From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit - to discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. - Some saw his skill tried on a horse, which could never - be brought to stand for a smith to shoe him. The day - after Sullivan's half hour lecture, I went, not without - some incredulity, to the smith's shop, with many other - curious spectators, where we were eye-witnesses of the - complete success of his art. This, too, had been a - troop-horse; and it was supposed, not without reason, - that after regimental discipline had failed, no other - would be found availing. I observed that the animal - seemed afraid, whenever Sullivan either spoke or looked - at him. How that extraordinary ascendancy could have - been obtained, it is difficult to conjecture, in common - eases, this mysterious preparation was unnecessary. He - seemed to possess an instinctive power of inspiring - awe, the result, perhaps, of natural intrepidity, in - which, I believe, a great part of his art consisted; - though the circumstance of his tete-a-tete shows, that, - upon particular occasions, something more must have - been added to it. A faculty like this would, in other - hands, have made a fortune, and great offers have been - made to him for the exercise of his art abroad; but - hunting, and attachment to his native soil, were his - ruling passions. He lived at home, in the style most - agreeable to his disposition, and nothing could induce - him to quit Dunhalow and the fox-hounds.” - -Phil's journeys as a pig-driver to the leading seaport towns nearest -him, were always particularly profitable. In Ireland, swine are not kept -in sties, as they are among English feeders, but permitted, to go at -liberty through pasture fields, commons, and along roadsides, where they -make up as well as they can for the scanty pittance allowed them at home -during meal-times. We do not, however, impeach Phil's honesty; but simply -content ourselves with saying, that when his journey was accomplished, -he mostly found the original number with which he had set out increased -by three or four, and sometimes by half a dozen. Pigs in general -resemble each other, and it surely was not Phil's fault if a stray one, -feeding on the roadside or common, thought proper to join his drove and -see the world. Phil's object, we presume, was only to take care that his -original number was not diminished, its increase being a matter in which -he felt little concern. He now determined to take a professional trip -to England, and that this might be the more productive, he resolved to -purchase a lot of the animals we have been describing. No time was lost -in this speculation. The pigs were bought up as cheaply as possible, and -Phil sat out, for the first time in his life, to try with what success -he could measure his skill against that of a Yorkshireman. On this -occasion, he brought with him a pet, which he had with considerable -pains trained up for purposes hereafter to be explained. - -There was nothing remarkable in the passage, unless that every creature -on board was sea-sick, except the pigs; even to them, however, the -change was a disagreeable one; for to be pent up in the hold of a ship -was a deprivation of liberty, which, fresh as they were from their -native hills, they could not relish. They felt, therefore, as patriots, -a loss of freedom, but not a whit of appetite; for, in truth, of the -latter no possible vicissitude short of death could deprive them. - -Phil, however, with an assumed air of simplicity absolutely stupid, -disposed of them to a Yorkshire dealer at about twice the value they -would have brought in Ireland, though as pigs went in England it was low -enough. He declared that they had been fed on tip-top feeding: which was -literally true, as he afterwards admitted that the tops of nettles and -potato stalks constituted the only nourishment they had got for three -weeks before. - -The Yorkshireman looked with great contempt upon what he considered a -miserable essay to take him in. - -“What a fule this Hirishmun mun bea;” said he, “to think to teake me -in! Had he said that them there Hirish swoine were badly feade, I'd -ha' thought it fairish enough on un; but to seay that they was oll weal -feade on tip-top feeadin'! Nea, nea! I knaws weal enough that they -was noat feade on nothin' at oll, which meakes them loak so poorish! -Howsomever, I shall fatten them. I'se warrant--I'se warrant I shall!” - -When driven home to sties somewhat more comfortable than the cabins of -unfortunate Irishmen, they were well supplied with food which would have -been very often considered a luxury by poor Paddy himself, much less by -his pigs. - -“Measter,” said the man who had seen them fed, “them there Hirish pigs -ha' not feasted nout for a moonth yet: they feade like nout I seed o' my -laife!!” - -“Ay! ay!” replied the master, “I'se warrant they'll soon fatten--I'se -warrant they shall, Hodge--they be praime feeders--I'se warrant they -shall; and then, Hodge, we've bit the soft Hirishmun.” - -Hodge gave a knowing look at his master, and grinned at this -observation. - -The next morning Hodge repaired to the sties to see how they were -thriving; when, to his great consternation, he found the feeding-troughs -clean as if they had been washed, and, not a single Irish pig to be seen -or heard about the premises; but to what retreat the animals could -have betaken themselves, was completely beyond his comprehension. He -scratched his head, and looked about him in much perplexity. - -“Dang un!” he exclaimed, “I never seed nout like this.” - -He would have proceeded in a strain of cogitation equally enlightened, -had not a noise of shouting, alarm, and confusion in the neighborhood, -excited his attention. He looked about him, and to his utter -astonishment saw that some extraordinary commotion prevailed, that the -country was up, and the hills alive with people, who ran, and shouted, -and wheeled at full flight in all possible directions. His first object -was to join the crowd, which he did as soon as possible, and found that -the pigs he had shut up the preceding night in sties whose enclosures -were at least four feet high, had cleared them like so many chamois, and -were now closely pursued by the neighbors, who rose _en masse_ to hunt -down and secure such dreadful depredators. - -The waste and mischief they had committed in one night were absolutely -astonishing. Bean and turnip fields, and vegetable enclosures of all -descriptions, kitchen-gardens, corn-fields, and even flower-gardens, -were rooted up and destroyed with an appearance of system which would -have done credit to Terry Alt himself. - -Their speed was the theme of every tongue. Hedges were taken in their -flight, and cleared in a style that occasioned the country people to -turn up their eyes, and scratch their heads in wonder. Dogs of all -degrees bit the dust, and were caught up dead in stupid amazement by -their owners, who began to doubt whether or not these extraordinary -animals were swine at all. The depredators in the meantime had adopted -the Horatian style of battle. Whenever there was an ungenerous advantage -taken in the pursuit, by slipping dogs across or before their path, -they shot off, at a tangent through the next crowd; many of whom they -prostrated in their flight; by this means they escaped the dogs until -the latter were somewhat exhausted, when, on finding one in advance of -the rest, they turned, and, with standing bristles and burning tusks, -fatally checked their pursuer in his full career. To wheel and fly until -another got in advance, was then the plan of fight; but, in fact the -conflict was conducted on the part of the Irish pigs with a fertility of -expediency that did credit to their country, and established for those -who displayed it, the possession of intellect far superior to that of -their opponents. The pigs now began to direct their course towards the -sties in which they had been so well fed the night before. This being -their last flight they radiated towards one common centre, with a -fierceness and celerity that occasioned the woman and children to take -shelter within doors. On arriving at the sties, the ease with which they -shot themselves over the four-feet walls was incredible. The farmer had -caught the alarm, and just came out in time to witness their return; he -stood with his hands driven down into the pockets of his red, capacious -waistcoat, and uttered not a word. When the last of them came bounding -into the sty, Hodge approached, quite breathless and exhausted: - -“Oh, measter,” he exclaimed, “these be not Hirish pigs at oll, they be -Hirish devils; and yau mun ha' bought 'em fra a cunning mon!” - -[Illustration: PAGE 911-- These be not Hirish pigs at oll] - -“Hodge,” replied his master, “I'se be bit--I'se heard feather talk about -un. That breed's true Hirish: but I'se try and sell 'em to Squoire Jolly -to hunt wi' as beagles, for he wants a pack. They do say all the swoine -that the deevils were put into ha' been drawn; but for my peart, I'se -sure that some on un must ha' escaped to Hireland.” - -Phil during the commotion excited by his knavery in Yorkshire, was -traversing the country, in order to dispose of his remaining pig; and -the manner in which he effected his first sale of it was as follows: - -A gentleman was one evening standing with some laborers by the wayside -when a tattered Irishman, equipped in a pair of white dusty brogues, -stockings without feet, old patched breeches, a bag slung across his -shoulder, his coarse shirt lying open about a neck tanned by the sun -into a reddish yellow, a hat nearly the color of the shoes, and a hay -rope tied for comfort about his waist; in one hand he also held a straw -rope, that depended from the hind leg of a pig which he drove before -him; in the other was a cudgel, by the assistance of which he contrived -to limp on after it, his two shoulder-blades rising and falling -alternately with a shrugging motion that indicated great fatigue. - -When he came opposite where the gentleman stood he checked the pig, -which instinctively commenced feeding upon the grass by the edge of the -road. - -“Och,” said he, wiping his brow with the cuff of his coat, “_mavrone -orth a muck_,* but I'm kilt wit you. Musha, Gad bless yer haner, an' -maybe ye'd buy a slip of a pig fwhrom me, that has my heart bruck, so -she has, if ever any body's heart was bruck wit the likes of her; an' -sure so there was, no doubt, or I wouldn't be as I am wid her. I'll give -her a dead bargain, sir; for it's only to get her aff av my hands I'm -wanting plase yer haner--_husth amuck--husth, a veehone!_** Be asy, an' -me in conwersation wid his haner here!” - - * My sorrow on you for a pig. - - ** Silence pig! Silence, you pig! Silence, you - vagabond! - -“You are an Irishman?” the gentleman inquired. - -“I am, sir, from Connaught, yer haner, an' ill sell the crathur dag -cheap, all out. Asy, you thief!” - -“I don't want the pig, my good fellow,” replied the Englishman, -without evincing curiosity enough to inquire how he came to have such a -commodity for sale. - -“She'd be the darlint in no time wid you, sir; the run o' your kitchen -'ud make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit no trouble to the -sarvints about sweepin' it, or any thing. You'd only have to lay down -the potato-basket on the flure, or the misthress, Gad bless her, could -do it, an' not lave a crumblin' behind her, besides sleepin, your haner, -in the carner beyant, if she'd take the throuble.” - -The sluggish phlegm of the Englisman was stirred up a little by the -twisted, and somewhat incomprehensible nature of these instructions. - -“How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?” said he. - -“The sarra one o' myself knows, plaze yer haner: sure we've an ould -sayin' of our own in Ireland beyant--that he's a wise man can I tell how -far he'll go, sir, till he comes to his journey's ind. I'll give this -crathur to you at more nor her value, yer haner.” - -“More!--why the man knows not what he's saying,” observed the gentleman; -“less you mean, I suppose, Paddy?” - -“More or less, sir: you'll get her a bargain; an' Gad bless you, sir!” - -“But it is a commodity which I don't want at present. I am very well -stocked with pigs, as it is. Try elsewhere.” - -“She'd flog the counthry side, sir; an' if the misthress herself, sir, -'ud shake the wishp o' sthraw fwor her in the kitchen, sir, near the -whoire. Yer haner could spake to her about it; an' in no time put a -knife into her whin you plazed. In regard o' the other thing, sir--she's -like a Christyeen, yer haner, an' no throuble, sir, if you'd be seein' -company or any thing.” - -“It's an extraordinary pig, this, of yours.” - -“It's no lie fwhor you, sir; she's as clane an' dacent a crathur, sir! -Och, if the same pig 'ud come into the care o' the misthress, Gad -bliss her! an' I'm sure if she has as much gudness in her face as the -hanerable _dinnha ousahl_ (* gentleman)--the handsome gintleman she's -married upon!--you'll have her thrivin' bravely, sir, shartly, plase -Gad, if you'll take courage. Will I dhrive her up the aveny fwor you, -sir? A good gintlewoman I'm sure, is the same misthriss! Will I dhrive -her up fwor you, sir? _Shadh amuck--shadh dherin!_“* - - *Behave yourself pig--behave, I say! - -“No, no; I have no further time to lose; you may go forward.” - -“Thank your haner; is it whorid toarst the house abow, sir? I wouldn't -be standin' up, sir, wit you about a thrifle; an you'll have her, sir, -fwhor any thing you plase beyant a pound, yer haner; an' 'tis throwin' -her away it is: but one can't be hard wit a rale gintleman any way.” - -“You only annoy me, man; besides I don't want the pig; you lose time; I -don't want to buy it, I repeat to you.” - -“Gad bliss you, sir--Gad bliss you. Maybe if I'd make up to the -mishthress, yer haner! Thrath she wouldn't turn the crathur from the -place, in regard that the tindherness ow the feelin' would come ower -her--the rale gintlewoman, any way! 'Tis dag chape you have her at what -I said, sir; an' Gad bliss you!” - -“Do you want to compel me to purchase it whether I will or no?” - -“Thrath, it's whor next to nothin' I'm giv-in' her to you, sir; but -sure you can make your own price at any thing beyant a pound. _Huerish -amuck--sladh anish!_--be asy, you crathur, sure you're gettin' into good -quarthers, any how--go into the hanerable English gintleman's kitchen, -an' God knows it's a pleasure to dale wit 'em. Och, the world's differ -there is betuxt them, an' our own dirty Irish buckeens, that 'ud shkin -a bad skilleen, an' pay their debts wit the remaindher. The gateman 'ud -let me in, yer haner, an' I'll meet you at the big house, abow.” - -“Upon my honor this is a good jest,” said the gentleman, absolutely -teased into a compliance; “you are forcing me to buy that which I don't -want.” - -“Sure you will, sir; you'll want more nor that yit, please Gad, if you -be spared. Come, amuck--come, you crathur; faix you're in luck so you -are--gettin' so good a place wit his haner, here, that you won't know -yourself shortly, plase God.” - -He immediately commenced driving his pig towards the gentleman's -residence with such an air of utter simplicity, as would have imposed -upon any man not guided by direct inspiration. Whilst he approached the -house, its proprietor arrived there by another path a few minutes before -him, and, addressing his lady, said: - -“My dear, will you come and look at a purchase which an Irishman has -absolutely compelled me to make? You had better come and see himself, -too, for he is the greatest simpleton of an Irishman I have ever met -with.” - -The lady's curiosity was more easily excited than that of her husband. -She not only came out, but brought with her some ladies who had been on -a visit, in order to hear the Irishman's brogue, and to amuse themselves -at his expense. Of the pig, too, it appeared she was determined to know -something. - -“George, my love, is the pig also from Ireland?” - -“I don't know, my dear; but I should think so from its fleshless -appearance. I have never seen so spare an animal of that class in this -country.” - -“Juliana,” said one of the ladies to her companion, “don't go too near -him. Gracious! look at the bludgeon, or beam, or something he carries -in his hand, to fight' and beat the people, I suppose: yet,” she added, -putting up her glass, “the man is actually not ill-looking; and, though -not so tall as the Irishman in Sheridan's Rivals, he is well made.” - -“His eyes are good,” said her companion--“a bright gray, and keen; and -were it not that his nose is rather short and turned up, he would be -handsome.” - -“George, my love,” exclaimed the lady of the mansion, “he is like most -Irishmen of his class that I have seen; indeed, scarcely so intelligent, -for he does appear quite a simpleton, except, perhaps, a lurking kind of -expression, which is a sign of their humor, I suppose. Don't you think -so, my love?” - -“No, my dear; I think him a bad specimen of the Irishman. Whether it -is that he talks our language but imperfectly, or that he is a stupid -creature, I cannot say; but in selling the pig just now, he actually -told me that he would let me have it for more than it was worth.” - -“Oh, that was so laughable! We will speak to him, though.” - -The degree of estimation in which these civilized English held Phil was -so low, that this conversation took place within a few yards of him, -precisely as if he had been an animal of an inferior species, or one of -the aborigines of New Zealand. - -“Pray what is your name?” inquired the matron. - -“Phadhrumshagh Corfuffle, plase yer haner: my fadher carried the same -name upon him. We're av the Corfuflies av Leatherum Laghy, my lady; but -my grandmudher was a Dornyeen, an' my own mudher, plase yer haner, was -o' the Shudhurthagans o' Ballymadoghy, my ladyship, _Sladh anish, amuck -bradagh!_*--be asy, can't you, an' me in conwersation wit the beauty o' -the world that I'm spakin' to.” - - * Be quiet now, you wicked pig. - -“That's the Negus language,” observed,one of the young ladies, who -affected to be a wit and a blue-stocking; “it's Irish and English -mixed.” - -“Thrath, an' but that the handsome young lady's so purty,” observed -Phil, “I'd be sayin' myself that that's a quare remark upon a poor -unlarned man; but, Gad bless her, she is so purty what can one say for -lookin' an her!” - -“The poor man, Adelaide, speaks as well as he can,” replied the lady, -rather reprovingly: “he is by no means so wild as one would have -expected.” - -“Candidly speaking, much _tamer_ than I expected,” rejoined the wit. -Indeed, I meant the poor Irishman no offence.” - -“Where did you get the pig, friend? and how came you to have it for sale -so far from home?” - -“Fwhy it isn't whor sale, my lady,” replied Phil, evading the former -question; “the masther here, Gad bless him an' spare him to you, -ma'am!--thrath, an' it's his four quarthers that knew how to pick out -a wife, any how, whor beauty an' all hanerable whormations o' -grandheur--so he did; an' well he desarves you, my lady: faix, it's a -fine houseful o' thim you'll have, plase Gad--an' fwhy not? whin it's -all in the coorse o' Providence, bein' both so handsome:--he gev me a -pound note whor her my ladyship, an' his own plisure aftherwards; an' -I'm now waitin' to be ped.” - -“What kind of a country is Ireland, as I understand you are an -Irishman?” - -“Thrath, my lady, it's like fwhat maybe you never seen--a fool's purse, -ten guineas goin' out whor one that goes in.” - -“Upon my word that's wit,” observed the young blue-stocking. - -“What's your opinion of Irishwomen?” the lady continued; “are they -handsomer than the English ladies, think you?” - -“Murdher, my lady,” says Phil, raising his caubeen, and scratching his -head in pretended perplexity, with his linger and thumb, “fwhat am I to -say to that, ma'am, and all of yez to the fwhore? But the sarra one av -me will give it agin the darlin's beyant.” - -“But which do you think the more handsome?” - -“Thrath, I do, my lady; the Irish and English women would flog the -world, an' sure it would be a burnin' shame to go to sot them agin one -another fwhor beauty.” - -“Whom do you mean by the 'darlin's beyant?'” inquired the blue-stocking, -attempting to pronounce the words. - -“Faix, miss, who but the crathers ower the wather, that kills us -entirely, so they do.” - -“I cannot comprehend him,” she added to the lady of the mansion. - -“Arrah, maybe I'd make bould to take up the manners from you fwhor a -while, my lady, Plase yer haner?” said Phil, addressing the latter. - -“I do not properly understand you,” she replied, “speak plainer.” - -“Troth, that's fwhat they do, yer haner; they never go about the bush -wit yez--the gintlemen, ma'am, of our country, fwhin they do be coortin' -yez; an' I want to ax, ma'am, if you plase, fwhat you think of thim, -that is if ever any of them had the luck to come acrass you, my lady?” - -“I have not been acquainted with many Irish gentlemen,” she replied, -“but I hear they are men of a remarkable character.” - -“Faix, 'tis you may say that,” replied Phil; “sowl, my lady, 'tis well -for the masther here, plase yer haner, sir, that none o' them met -wit the misthress before you was both marrid, or, wit riverence be it -spoken, 'tis the sweet side o' the tongue they'd be layin' upon you, -ma'am, an' the rough side to the masther himself, along wit a few -scrapes of a pen on a slip o' paper, jist to appoint the time and place, -in regard of her ladyship's purty complexion--an' who can deny that, -any way? Faix, ma'am, they've a way wit them, my counthrymen, that the -ladies like well enough to thravel by. Asy, you deludher, an' me in -conwersaytion wit the quality.” - -“I am quite anxious to know how you came by the pig, Paddy,” said the -wit. - -“Arrah, miss, sure 'tisn't pigs you're thinkin' on, an' us discoorsin' -about the gintlemen from Ireland, that you're all so fond ow here; faix, -miss, they're the boys that fwoight for yees, an' 'ud rather be bringing -an Englishman to the sad fwhor your sakes, nor atin' bread an' butther. -Fwhy, now, miss, if you were beyant wit us, sarra ounce o' gunpqwdher -we'd have in no time, for love or money.” - -“Upon my word I should like to see Ireland!” exclaimed the -blue-stocking; “but why would the gunpowder get scarce, pray?” - -“Faix, fightin' about you, miss, an' all of yez, sure; for myself sees -no differ at all in your hanerable fwhormations of beauty and grandheur, -an' all high-flown admirations.” - -“But tell us where you got the pig, Paddy?” persisted the wit, struck -naturally enough with the circumstance. “How do you come to have an -Irish pig so far from home?” - -“Fwhy thin, miss, 'twas to a brother o' my own I was bringing it, that -was livin' down the counthry here, an' fwhin I came to fwhere he lived, -the sarra one o' me knew the place, in regard o' havin' forgotten the -name of it entirely, an' there was I wit the poor crathur an my hands, -till his haner here bought it from me--Gad bless you, sir!” - -“As I live, there's a fine Irish blunder,” observed the wit; “I shall -put in my commonplace-book--it will be so genuine. I declare I'm quite -delighted!” - -“Well, Paddy,” said the gentleman, “here's your money. There's a pound -for you, and that's much more than the miserable animal is worth.” - -“Troth, sir, you have the crathur at what we call in Ireland a bargain.* -Maybe yer haner 'ud spit upon the money fwhor luck, sir. It's the way we -do, sir, beyant.” - - * Ironically--a take in. - -“No, no, Paddy, take it as it is. Good heavens! what barbarous habits -these Irish have in all their modes of life, and how far they are -removed from anything like civilization!” - -“Thank yer haner. Faix, sir, this'll come so handy for the landlord at -kome, in regard o' the rint for the bit o' phatie ground, so it will, if -I can get home agin widout brakin' it. Arrah, maybe yer haner 'ud give -me the price o' my bed, an' a bit to ate, sir, an' keep me from brakin' -in upon this, sir, Gad bless the money! I'm thinkin' o' the poor wife -an' childher, sir--strivin', so I am, to do fwhor the darlins.” - -“Poor soul,” said the lady, “he is affectionate in the midst of his -wretchedness and ignorance.” - -“Here--here,” replied the Englishman, anxious to get rid of him, -“there's a shilling, which I give because you appear to be attached to -your family.” - -“Och, och, fwhat can I say, sir, only that long may you reign ower your -family, an' the hanerable ladies to the fwore, sir. Gad fwhorever bliss -you, sir, but you're the kind, noble gintleman, an' all belongin' to -you, sir!” - -Having received the shilling, he was in the act of departing, when, -after turning it deliberately in his hand, shrugging his shoulders -two or three times, and scratching his head, with a vacant face he -approached the lady. - -“Musha, ma'am, an maybe ye'd have the tindherness in your heart, seein' -that the gudness is in yer hanerable face, any way, an' it would save -the skillyeen that the masther gev'd for payin' my passage, so it would, -jist to bid the steward, my ladyship, to ardher me a bit to ate in the -kitchen below. The hunger, ma'am, is hard upon me, my lady; an' fwhat -I'm doin', sure, is in regard o' the wife at home, an' the childher, the -crathurs, an' me far fwhrom them, in a sthrange country, Gad help me!” - -“What a singular being, George! and how beautifully is the economy of -domestic affection exemplified, notwithstanding his half-savage -state, in the little plans he devises for the benefit of his wife and -children!” exclaimed the good lady, quite unconscious that Phil was -a bachelor. “Juliana, my love, desire Timmins to give him his dinner. -Follow this young lady, good man, and she will order you refreshment.” - -“Gad's blessin' upon your beauty an' gudness, my lady; an' a man might -thravel far afore he'd meet the likes o' you for aither o' them. Is it -the other handsome young lady I'm to folly, ma'am?” - -“Yes,” replied the young wit, with an arch smile; “come after me.” - -“Thrath, miss, an' it's an asy task to do that, any way; wit a heart an' -a half I go, acushla; an' I seen the day, miss, that it's not much of -mate an' dhrink would thruble me, if I jist got lave to be lookin' at -you, wit nothing but yourself to think an. But the wife an' childher, -miss, makes great changes in us entirely.” - -“Why you are quite gallant, Paddy.” - -“Trath, I suppose I am now, miss; but you see, my honerable young lady, -that's our fwhailin' at home: the counthry's poor, an' we can't help it, -whedor or not. We're fwhorced to it, miss, whin we come ower here, by -you, an' the likes o' you, mavourneen!” - -Phil then proceeded to the house, was sent to the kitchen by the young -lady, and furnished through the steward with an abundant supply of -cold meat, bread, and beer, of which he contrived to make a meal that -somewhat astonished the servants. Having satisfied his hunger, he -deliberately--but with the greatest simplicity of countenance--filled -the wallet which he carried slung across his back, with whatever he had -left, observing as he did it:-- - -“Fwhy, thin, 'tis sthrange it is, that the same custom is wit us in -Ireland beyant that is here: fwhor whinever a thraveller is axed in, he -always brings fwhat he doesn't ate along wit him. An sure enough it's -the same here amongst yez,” added he, packing up the bread and beef as -he spoke, “but Gad bliss the custom, any how, fwhor it's a good one!” - -When he had secured the provender, and was ready to resume his journey, -he began to yawn, and to exhibit the most unequivocal symptoms of -fatigue. - -“Arrah, sir,” said he to the steward, “you wouldn't have e'er an ould -barn that I'd throw myself in fwhor the night? The sarra leg I have to -put undher me, now that I've got stiff with the sittin' so lang; that, -an' a wishp o' sthraw, to sleep an, an' Gad bliss you!” - -“Paddy, I cannot say,” replied the steward; “but I shall ask my master, -and if he orders it, you shall have the comfort of a hard floor and -clean straw, Paddy--that you shall.” - -“Many thanks to you, sir: it's in your face, in thrath, the same gudness -an' ginerosity.” - -The gentleman, on hearing Phil's request to be permitted a -sleeping-place in the barn, was rather surprised at his wretched notion -of comfort than at the request itself. - -“Certainly, Timmins, let him sleep there,” he replied; “give him sacks -and straw enough. I dare say he will feel the privilege a luxury, -poor devil, after his fatigue. Give him his breakfast in the morning, -Timmins. Good heavens,” he added, “what a singular people! What an -amazing progress civilization must make before these Irish can be -brought at all near the commonest standard of humanity!” - -At this moment Phil, who was determined to back the steward's request, -approached them. - -“Paddy,” said the gentleman, anticipating him, “I have ordered you sacks -and straw in the barn, and your breakfast in the morning before you set -out.” - -“Thrath,” said Phil, “if there's e'er a stray blissin' goin', depind an -it, sir, you'll get it fwhor your hanerable ginerosity to the sthranger. -But about the 'slip,' sir--if the misthress herself 'ud shake the whisp -o' sthraw fwhor her in the far carner o' the kitchen below, an' see her -gettin' her supper, the crathur, before she'd put her to bed, she'd be -thrivin' like a salmon, sir, in less than no time; and to ardher the -sarwints, sir, if you plase, not to be defraudin' the crathur of the big -phaties. Fwhor in regard it cannot spake fwhor itself, sir, it frets as -wise as a Christyeen, when it's not honestly thrated.” - -“Never fear, Paddy; we shall take good care of it.” - -“Thank you, sir, but I aften heered, sir, that you dunno how to feed -pigs in this counthry in ardher to mix the fwhat an' lane, lair (layer) -about.” - -“And how do you manage that in Ireland, Paddy?” - -“Fwhy, sir, I'll tell you how the misthress Gad bless her, will manage -it fwhor you. Take the crathur, sir, an' feed it to-morrow, till its as -full as a tick--that's for the fwhat, sir; thin let her give it nothin' -at all the next day, but keep it black fwhastin'--that's fwhor the lane -(leap). Let her stick to that, sir, keepin' it atin' one day an' fastin' -an-odher, for six months, thin put a knife in it, an' if you don't have -the fwhat an' lane, lair about, beautiful all out, fwhy nirer bl'eve -Phadrumshagh Corfuffle agin. Ay, indeed!” - -The Englishman looked keenly at Phil, but could only read in his -countenance a thorough and implicit belief in his own recipe for mixing -the fat and lean. It is impossible to express his contempt for the sense -and intellect of Phil; nothing could surpass it but the contempt which -Phil entertained for him. - -“Well,” said he to the servant, “I have often heard of the barbarous -habits of the Irish, but I must say that the incidents of this evening -have set my mind at rest upon the subject. Good heavens! when will ever -this besotted country rise in the scale of nations! Did ever a human -being hear of such a method of feeding swine! I should have thought it -incredible had I heard it from any but an Irishman!” - -Phil then retired to the kitchen, where his assumed simplicity highly -amused the servants, who, after an hour or two's fun with “Paddy,” - conducted him in a kind of contemptuous procession to the barn, where -they left him to his repose. - -The next morning he failed to appear at the hour of breakfast, but his -non-appearance was attributed to his fatigue, in consequence of which he -was supposed to have overslept himself. On going, however, to call him -from the barn, they discovered that he had decamped; and on looking -after the “slip,” it was found that both had taken French leave of the -Englishman. Phil and the pig had actually travelled fifteen miles that -morning, before the hour on which he was missed--Phil going at a dog's -trot, and the pig following at such a respectful distance as might not -appear to identify them as fellow-travellers. In this manner Phil -sold the pig to upwards of two dozen intelligent English gentlemen and -farmers, and after winding up his bargains successfully, both arrived in -Liverpool, highly delighted by their commercial trip through England. - -The passage from Liverpool to Dublin, in Phil's time, was far different -to that which steam and British enterprise have since made it. A vessel -was ready to sail for the latter place on the very day of Phil's arrival -in town; and, as he felt rather anxious to get out of England as soon -as he could, he came, after selling his pig in good earnest, to the -aforesaid vessel to ascertain if it were possible to get a deck passage. -The year had then advanced to the latter part of autumn; so that it -was the season when those inconceivable hordes of Irishmen who emigrate -periodically for the purpose of lightening John Bull's labor, were -in the act of returning to that country in which they find little to -welcome them--but domestic affection and misery. - -When Phil arrived at the vessel, he found the captain in a state of -peculiar difficulty. About twelve or fourteen gentlemen of rank and -property, together with a score or upwards of highly respectable -persons, but of less consideration, were in equal embarrassment. The -fact was, that as no other vessel left Liverpool that day, about five -hundred Irishmen, mostly reapers and mowers, had crowded upon deck, each -determined to keep his place at all hazards. The captain, whose vessel -was small, and none of the stoutest, flatly refused to put to sea with -such a number. He told them it was madness to think of it; he could not -risk the lives of the other passengers, nor even their own, by sailing -with five hundred on the deck of so small a vessel. If the one-half of -them would withdraw peaceably, he would carry the other half, which was -as much as he could possibly accomplish. They were very willing to grant -that what he said was true; but in the meantime, not a man of them -would move, and to clear out such a number of fellows, who loved nothing -better than fighting, armed, too, with sickles and scythes, was a task -beyond either his ability or inclination to execute. He remonstrated -with them, entreated, raged, swore, and threatened; but all to no -purpose. His threats and entreaties were received with equal good-humor. -Gibes and jokes were broken on him without number, and as his passion -increased, so did their mirth, until nothing could be seen but the -captain in vehement gesticulation, the Irishmen huzzaing him so -vociferously, that his damns and curses, uttered against them, could not -reach even his own ears. - -“Gentlemen,” said he to his cabin passengers, “for the love of Heaven, -tax your invention to discover some means whereby to get one-half of -these men out of the vessel, otherwise it will be impossible that we can -sail to-day. I have already proffered to take one-half of them by lot, -but they will not hear of it; and how to manage I am sure I don't know.” - -The matter, however, was beyond their depth; the thing seemed utterly -impracticable, and the chances of their putting to sea were becoming -fainter and fainter. - -“Bl--t their eyes!” he at length exclaimed, “the ragged, hungry devils! -If they heard me with decency I could bear their obstinacy bettor: but -no, they must turn me into ridicule, and break their jests, and turn -their cursed barbarous grins upon me in my own vessel. I say, boys,” - he added, proceeding to address them once more--“I say, savages, I have -just three observations to make. The first is,”-- - -“Arrah, Captain, avourneen, hadn't you betther get upon a stool,” said -a voice, “an' put a text before it, thin divide it dacently into three -halves, an' make a sarmon of it.” - -“Captain, you wor intended for the church,” added another. “You're the -moral (* model) of a Methodist preacher, if you wor dressed in black.” - -“Let him alone,” said a third; “he'd be a jinteel man enough in a -wildherness, an' 'ud make an illigant dancin'-masther to the bears.” - -“He's as graceful as a shaved pig on its hind legs, dancin' the -'Baltithrum Jig.'” - -The captain's face was literally black with passion: he turned away with -a curse, which produced another huzza, and swore that he would rather -encounter the Bay of Biscay in a storm, than have anything to do with -such an unmanageable mob. - -“Captain,” said a little, shrewd-looking Connaught man, “what 'ud you be -willin' to give anybody, ower an' abow his free passage, that 'ud tell -you how to get one half o' them out?” - -“I'll give him a crown,” replied the captain, “together with grog and -rations to the eyes: I'll be hanged if I don't.” - -“Then I'll do it fwhor you, sir, if you keep your word wit me.” - -“Done!” said the captain; “it's a bargain, my good fellow, if you -accomplish it; and, what's more, I'll consider you a knowing one.” - -“I'm a poor Cannaught man, your haner,” replied our friend Phil; “but -what's to prevent me thryin'? Tell thim,” he continued, “that you must -go; purtind to be for takin' thim all wit you, sir. Put Munster agin -Connaught, one-half on this side, an' the odher an that, to keep the -crathur of a ship steady, your haner; an' fwhin you have thim half -an' half, wit a little room betuxt thim, 'now,' says yer haner, 'boys, -you're divided into two halves; if one side kicks the other out o' the -ship, I'll bring the conquirors.'” - -The captain said not a word in reply to Phil, but immediately ranged the -Munster and Connaught men on each side of the deck--a matter which he -found little difficulty in accomplishing, for each party, hoping that he -intended to take themselves, readily declared their province, and stood -together. When they were properly separated, there still remained about -forty or fifty persons belonging to neither province; but, at Phil's -suggestion, the captain paired them off to each division, man for man, -until they were drawn up into two bodies. - -“Now” said he, “there you stand: let one-half of you drub the other out -of the vessel, and the conquerors shall get their passage.” - -Instant was the struggle that ensued for the sake of securing a passage, -and from the anxiety to save a shilling, by getting out of Liverpool -on that day. The saving of the shilling is indeed a consideration with -Paddy which drives him to the various resources of begging, claiming -kindred with his resident countrymen in England, pretended illness, -coming to be passed from parish to parish, and all the turnings and -shiftings which his reluctance to part with money renders necessary. -Another night, therefore, and probably another day, in Liverpool, would -have been attended with expense. This argument prevailed with all: with -Munster as well as with Connaught, and they fought accordingly. - -When the attack first commenced, each, party hoped to be able to expel -the other without blows. This plan was soon abandoned. In a few minutes -the sticks and fists were busy. Throttling, tugging, cuffing, and -knocking down--shouting, hallooing, huzzaing, and yelling, gave evident -proofs that the captain, in embracing Phil's proposal, had unwittingly -applied the match to a mine, whose explosion was likely to be attended -with disastrous consequences. As the fight became warm, and the struggle -more desperate, the hooks and scythes were resorted to; blood began to -flow, and men to fall, disabled and apparently dying. The immense crowd -which had now assembled to witness the fight among the Irishmen, could -not stand tamely by, and see so many lives likely to be lost, without -calling in the civil authorities. A number of constables in a few -minutes attended; but these worthy officers of the civil authorities -experienced very uncivil treatment from the fists, cudgels, and sickles -of both parties. In fact, they were obliged to get from among the -rioters with all possible celerity, and to suggest to the magistrates -the necessity of calling ir the military. - -In the meantime the battle rose into a furious and bitter struggle for -victory. The deck of the vessel was actually slippery with blood, and -many were lying in an almost lifeless state. Several were pitched into -the hold, and had their legs and arms broken by the fall; some were -tossed over the sides of the vessel, and only saved from drowning by -the activity of the sailors; and not a few of those who had been knocked -down in the beginning of the fray were trampled into insensibility. - -The Munster men at length gave way; and their opponents, following up -their advantage, succeeded in driving them to a man out of the vessel, -just as the military arrived. Fortunately their interference was -unnecessary. The ruffianly captain's object was accomplished; and as -no lives were lost, nor any injury more serious than broken bones and -flesh-wounds sustained, he got the vessel in readiness, and put to sea. - -Who would not think that the Irish were a nation of misers, when -our readers are informed that all this bloodshed arose from their -unwillingness to lose a shilling by remaining in Liverpool another -night? Or who could believe that these very men, on reaching home, and -meeting their friends in a fair or market, or in a public-house after -mass on a Sunday, would sit down and spend, recklessly and foolishly, -that very money which in another country they part with as if it were -their very heart's blood? Yet so it is! Unfortunately, Paddy is wiser -anywhere than at home, where wisdom, sobriety, and industry are best -calculated to promote his own interests. - -This slight sketch of Phil Purcel we have presented to our readers as -a specimen of the low, cunning Connaught-man; and we have only to add, -that neither the pig-selling scene, nor the battle on the deck of the -vessel in Liverpool, is fictitious. On the contrary, we have purposely -kept the tone of our description of the latter circumstance beneath the -reality. Phil, however, is not drawn as a general portrait, but as -one of that knavish class of men called “jobbers,” a description -of swindlers certainly not more common in Ireland than in any other -country. We have known Connaughtmen as honest and honorable as it was -possible to be; yet there is a strong prejudice entertained against -them in every other province of Ireland, as is evident by the old adage, -“Never trust a Connaugtaman.” - - - - - - -THE GEOGRAPHY OF AN IRISH OATH. - - -No pen can do justice to the extravagance and frolic inseparable from -the character of of the Irish people; nor has any system of philosophy -been discovered that can with moral fitness be applied to them. -Phrenology fails to explain it; for, so far as the craniums of Irishmen -are concerned, according to the most capital surveys hitherto made and -reported on, it appears that, inasmuch as their moral and intellectual -organs predominate over the physical and sensual, the people ought, -therefore, to be ranked at the very tip-top of morality. We would warn -the phrenologists, however, not to be too sanguine in drawing inferences -from an examination of Paddy's head. Heaven only knows the scenes in -which it is engaged, and the protuberances created by a long life of -hard fighting. Many an organ and development is brought out on it by the -cudgel, that never would have appeared had Nature been left to herself. - -Drinking, fighting, and swearing, are the three great characteristics -of every people. Paddy's love of fighting and of whiskey has been long -proverbial; and of his tact in swearing much has also been said. But -there is one department of oath-making in which he stands unrivalled and -unapproachable; I mean the alibi. There is where he shines, where his -oath, instead of being a mere matter of fact or opinion, rises up -into the dignity of epic narrative, containing within itself, all the -complexity of machinery, harmony of parts, and fertility of invention, -by which your true epic should be characterized. - -The Englishman, whom we will call the historian in swearing, will depose -to the truth of this or that fact, but there the line is drawn; he -swears his oath so far as he knows, and stands still. “I'm sure, for my -part, I don't know; I've said all I knows about it,” and beyond this his -besotted intellect goeth not. - -The Scotchman, on the other hand, who is the metaphysician in swearing, -sometimes borders on equivocation. He decidedly goes farther than the -Englisman, not because he has less honesty, but more prudence. He will -assent to, or deny a proposition; for the Englishman's “I don't know,” - and the Scotchman's “I dinna ken,” are two very distinct assertions when -properly understood. The former stands out a monument of dulness, an -insuperable barrier against inquiry, ingenuity, and fancy; but the -latter frequently stretches itself so as to embrace hypothetically a -particular opinion. - -But Paddy! Put him forward to prove an alibi for his fourteenth or -fifteenth cousin, and you will be gratified by the pomp, pride, and -circumstance of true swearing. Every oath with him is an epic--pure -poetry, abounding with humor, pathos, and the highest order of invention -and talent. He is not at ease, it is true, under facts; there is -something too commonplace in dealing with them, which his genius scorns. -But his flights--his flights are beautiful; and his episodes admirable -and happy. In fact, he is an improvisatore at oath-taking; with -this difference, that his extempore oaths possess all the ease and -correctness of labor and design. - -He is not, however, _altogether_ averse to facts: but, like your true -poet, he veils, changes, and modifies them with such skill, that they -possess all the merit and graces of fiction. If he happen to make an -assertion incompatible with the plan of the piece, his genius acquires -fresh energy, enables him to widen the design, and to create new -machinery, with such happiness of adaptation, that what appeared out -of proportion of character is made, in his hands, to contribute to the -general strength and beauty of the oath. - -'Tis true, there is nothing perfect under the sun; but if there were, -it would certainly be Paddy at an _alibi_. Some flaws, no doubt, occur; -some slight inaccuracies may be noticed by a critical eye; an occasional -anachronism stands out, and a mistake or so in geography; but let it -be recollected that Paddy's alibi is but a human production; let us not -judge him by harsher rules than those which we apply to Homer, Virgil, -or Shakspeare. - -“Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus,” is allowed on all hands. Virgil made -Dido and AEneas contemporary, though they were not so; and Shakspeare, -by the creative power of his genius, changed an inland town into a -seaport. Come, come, have bowels. Let epic swearing be treated with the -same courtesy shown to epic poetry, that is, if both are the production -of a rare genius. I maintain, that when Paddy commits a blemish he -is too harshly admonished for it. When he soars out of sight here, as -occasionally happens, does he not frequently alight somewhere about -Sydney Bay, much against his own inclination? And if he puts forth -a hasty production, is he not compelled, for the space of seven or -fourteen years, to revise his oath? But, indeed, few words of fiction -are properly encouraged in Ireland. - -It would be unpardonable in us, however, to overlook the beneficial -effects of Paddy's peculiar genius in swearing alibis. Some persons, who -display their own egregious ignorance of morality, may be disposed to -think that it tends to lessen the obligation of an oath, by inducing -a habit among the people of swearing to what is not true. We look upon -such persons as very dangerous to Ireland and to the repeal of the -Union; and we request them not to push their principles too far in the -disturbed parts of the country. Could society hold together a single -day, if nothing but truth were spoken, would not law and lawyers soon -become obsolete, if nothing but truth were sworn what would become of -parliament if truth alone were uttered there? Its annual proceedings -might be dispatched in a month. Fiction is the basis of society, the -bond of commercial prosperity, the channel of communication between -nation and nation, and not unfrequently the interpreter between a man -and his own conscience. - -For these, and many other reasons which we could adduce, we say with -Paddy, “Long life to fiction!” When associated with swearing, it shines -in its brightest colors. What, for instance, is calculated to produce -the best and purest of the moral virtues so beautifully, as the swearing -an alibi? Here are fortitude and a love of freedom resisting oppression; -for it is well known that all law is oppression in Ireland. - -There is compassion for the peculiar state of the poor boy, who, -perhaps, only burned a family in their beds; benevolence to prompt the -generous effort in his behalf; disinterestedness to run the risk of -becoming an involuntary absentee; fortitude in encountering a host -of brazen-faced lawyers; patience under the unsparing gripe of a -cross-examiner; perseverance in conducting the oath to its close against -a host of difficulties; and friendship, which bottoms and crowns them -all. - -Paddy's merits, however, touching the alibi, rest not here. Fiction on -these occasions only teaches him how to perform a duty. It may be, -that he is under the obligation of a previous oath not to give evidence -against certain of his friends and associates. Now, could anything in -the whole circle of religion or ethics be conceived that renders the -epic style of swearing so incumbent upon Paddy? There is a kind of moral -fitness in all things; for where the necessity of invention exists, it -is consolatory to reflect that the ability to invent is bestowed along -with it. - -Next to the alibi comes Paddy's powers in sustaining a -cross-examination. Many person thinks that this is his forte; but we -cannot yield to such an opinion, nor compromise his originality -of conception in the scope and plan of an alibi. It is marked by a -minuteness of touch, and a peculiarity of expression which give it every -appearance of real life. The circumstances are so well imagined, -the groups so naturally disposed, the coloring so finished, and the -background in such fine perspective, that the whole picture presents you -with such keeping and _vraisemblance_, as could be accomplished only by -the genius of a master. - -In point of interest, however, we must admit that his ability in a -cross-examination ranks next to his skill in planning an alibi. There -is, in the former, a versatility of talent that keeps him always ready; -a happiness of retort, generally disastrous to the wit of the most -established cross-examiner; an apparent simplicity, which is quite as -impenetrable as the lawyer's assurance; a _vis comica_, which puts the -court in tears; and an originality of sorrow, that often convulses it -with laughter. His resources, when he is pressed, are inexhaustible; and -the address, with which he contrives to gain time, that he may suit his -reply to the object of his evidence, is beyond all praise. And yet his -appearance when he mounts the table is anything but prepossessing; a -sheepish look, and a loose-jointed frame of body, wrapped in a frieze -great-coat, do not promise much. Nay, there is often a rueful blank -expression in his visage, which might lead a stranger to anticipate -nothing but blunders and dulness. This, however, is hypocrisy of the -first water. Just observe the tact with which he places his caubeen upon -the table, his kippeen across it, and the experienced air with which he -pulls up the waistbands of his breeches, absolutely girding his loins -for battle. 'Tis true his blue eye has at present nothing remarkable in -it, except a drop or to of the native; but that is not remarkable. - -[Illustration: PAGE 919-- A rueful blank expression in his visage] - -When the direct examination has been concluded, nothing can be finer -than the simplicity with which he turns round to the lawyer who is to -cross-examine him. Yet, as if conscious that firmness and caution are -his main guards, he again pulls up his waistbands with a more vigorous -hitch, looks shyly into the very eyes of his opponent, and awaits the -first blow. - -The question at length comes; and Paddy, after having raised the collar -of his big coat on his shoulder, and twisted up the shoulder along -with it, directly puts the query back to the lawyer, without altering a -syllable of it, for the purpose of ascertaining more accurately whether -that is the precise question that has been put to him; for Paddy is -conscientious. Then is the science displayed on both sides. The one, -a veteran, trained in all the technicalities of legal puzzles, -irony, blarney, sarcasm, impudence, stock jokes, quirks, rigmarolery, -brow-beating, ridicule, and subtlety; the other a poor peasant, relying -only upon the justice of a good cause and the gifts of nature; without -either experience, or learning, and with nothing but his native modesty -to meet the forensic effrontery of his antagonist. - -Our readers will perceive that the odds are a thousand to one against -Paddy; yet, when he replies to a hackneyed genius at cross-examination, -how does it happen that he uniformly elicits those roars of laughter -which rise in the court, and convulse it from the judge to the crier? In -this laugh, which is usually at the expense of the cross-examiner, Paddy -himself always joins, so that the counsel has the double satisfaction of -being made not only the jest of the judge and his brother lawyers, but -of the ragged witness whom he attempted to make ridiculous. - -It is not impossible that this merry mode of dispensing justice may -somewhat encourage Paddy in that independence of mind which relishes -not the idea of being altogether bound by oaths that are too often -administered with a jocular spirit. To most of the Irish in general an -oath is a solemn, to some, an awful thing. Of this wholesome reverence -for its sanction, two or three testimonies given in a court of justice -usually cured them. The indifferent, business-like manner in which the -oaths are put, the sing-song tone of voice, the rapid utterance of the -words, give to this solemn act an appearance of excellent burlesque, -which ultimately renders the whole proceedings remarkable for the -absence of truth and reality; but, at the same time, gives them -unquestionable merit as a dramatic representation, abounding with -fiction, well related and ably acted. - -Thumb-kissing is another feature in Paddy's adroitness too important to -be passed over in silence. Here his tact shines out again! It would -be impossible for him, in many cases, to meet the perplexities of a -cross-examination so cleverly as he does, if he did not believe that he -had, by kissing his thumb instead of the book, actually taken no oath, -and consequently given to himself a wider range of action. We must -admit, however, that this very circumstance involves him in difficulties -which are sometimes peculiarly embarrassing. Taking everything into -consideration, the prospect of freedom for his sixth cousin, the -consciousness of having kissed his thumb, or the consoling reflection -that he swore only on a Law Bible, it must be granted that the -opportunities presented by a cross-examination are well calculated to -display his wit, humor, and fertility of invention. He is accordingly -great in it; but still we maintain that his execution of an alibi is -his ablest performance, comprising, as it does, both the conception and -construction of the work. - -Both the oaths and imprecations of the Irish display, like those who use -them, indications of great cruelty and great humor. Many of the -former exhibit that ingenuity which comes out when Paddy is on his -cross-examination in a court of justice. Every people, it is true, -have resorted to the habit of mutilating or changing in their oaths -the letters which form the Creator's name; but we question if any have -surpassed the Irish in the cleverness with which they accomplish it. -Mock oaths are habitual to Irishmen in ordinary conversation; but the -use of any or all of them is not considered to constitute an oath: on -the contrary, they are in the mouths of many who would not, except upon -a very solemn occasion indeed, swear by the name of the Deity in its -proper form. - -The ingenuity of their mock oaths is sufficient to occasion much -perplexity to any one disposed to consider it in connection with the -character and moral feelings of the people. Whether to note it as a -reluctance on their part to incur the guilt of an oath, or as a proof of -habitual tact in evading it by artifice, is manifestly a difficulty hard -to be overcome. We are decidedly inclined to the former; for although -there is much laxity of principle among Irishmen, naturally to -be expected from men whose moral state has been neglected by the -legislature, and deteriorated by political and religious asperity, -acting upon quick passions and badly regulated minds--yet we know -that they possess, after all, a strong, but vague undirected sense of -devotional feeling and reverence, which are associated with great crimes -and awfully dark shades of character. This explains one chief cause of -the sympathy which is felt in Ireland for criminals from whom the law -exacts the fatal penalty of death; and it also accounts, independently -of the existence of any illegal association, for the terrible -retribution inflicted upon those who come forward to prosecute them. -It is not in Ireland with criminals as in other countries, where the -character of a murderer or incendiary is notoriously bad, as resulting -from a life of gradual profligacy and villany. Far from it. In Ireland -you will find those crimes perpetrated by men who are good fathers, good -husbands, good sons, and good neighbors--by men who would share -their last morsel or their last shilling with a fellow-creature in -distress--who would generously lose their lives for a man who had -obliged them, provided he had not incurred their enmity--and who would -protect a defenseless stranger as far as lay in their power. There are -some mock oaths among Irishmen which must have had their origin amongst -those whose habits of thought were much more elevated than could be -supposed to characterize the lower orders. “By the powers of death” is -never now used as we have written it; but the ludicrous travestie of it, -“by the powdhors o' delf,” is quite common. Of this and other mock oaths -it may be right to observe, that those who swear by them are in general -ignorant of their proper origin. There are some, however, of this -description whose original form is well known. One of these Paddy -displays considerable ingenuity in using. “By the cross” can scarcely be -classed under the mock oaths, but the manner in which it is pressed into -asseverations is amusing. When Paddy is affirming a truth he swears -“by the crass” simply, and this with him is an oath of considerable -obligation. He generally, in order to render it more impressive, -accompanies it with suitable action, that is, he places the forefinger -of each hand across, that he may assail you through two senses instead -of one. On the contrary, when he intends to hoax you by asserting what -is not true, he ingeniously multiplies the oath, and swears “by the five -crashes,” that is by his own five fingers, placing at the same time his -four fingers and his thumbs across each other in a most impressive and -vehement manner. Don't believe him then--the knave is lying as fast as -possible, and with no remorse. “By the crass o' Christ” is an oath of -much solemnity, and seldom used in a falsehood. Paddy also often places -two bits of straws across, and sometimes two sticks, upon which he -swears with an appearance of great heat and sincerity--_sed caveto!_ - -Irishmen generally consider iron as a sacred metal. In the interior of -the country, the thieves (but few in number) are frequently averse to -stealing it. Why it possesses this hold upon their affections it is -difficult to say, but it is certain that they rank it among their sacred -things, consider that to find it is lucky, and nail it over their doors -when found in the convenient shape of a horse-shoe. It is also used as -a medium of asserting truth. We believe, however, that the sanction it -imposes is not very strong. “By this blessed iron!”--“by this blessed -an' holy iron!” are oaths of an inferior grade; but if the circumstance -on which they are founded be a matter of indifference, they seldom -depart from truth in using them. - -We have said that Paddy, when engaged in a fight, is never at a loss for -a weapon, and we may also affirm that he is never at a loss for an -oath. When relating a narrative, or some other circumstance of his own -invention, if contradicted, he will corroborate it, in order to sustain -his credit or produce the proper impression, by an abrupt oath upon the -first object he can seize. “Arrah, nonsense! by this pipe in my hand, -it's as thrue as”--and then, before he completes the illustration, he -goes on with a fine specimen of equivocation--“By the stool I'm sittin' -an, it is; an' what more would, you have from me barrin' I take my book -oath of it?” Thus does he, under the mask of an insinuation, induce you -to believe that he has actually sworn it, whereas the oath is always -left undefined and incomplete. - -Sometimes he is exceedingly comprehensive in his adjurations, and swears -upon a magnificent scale; as, for instance,--“By the contints of all -the books that ever wor opened an' shut, it's as thrue as the sun to -the dial.” This certainly leaves “the five crasses” immeasurably behind. -However, be cautious, and not too confident in taking so sweeping and -learned an oath upon trust, notwithstanding its imposing effect. We -grant, indeed, that an oath which comprehends within its scope all the -learned libraries of Europe, including even the Alexandrian of old, is -not only an erudite one, but establishes in a high degree the taste of -the swearer, and displays on his part an uncommon grasp of intellect. -Still we recommend you, whenever you hear an alleged fact substantiated -by it, to set your ear as sharply as possible; for, after all, it -is more than probable that every book by which he has sworn might be -contained in a nutshell. The secret may be briefly explained:--Paddy is -in the habit of substituting the word never for ever. “By all the books -that never wor opened or shut,” the reader perceives, is only a nourish -of trumpets--a mere delusion of the enemy. - -In fact, Paddy has oaths rising gradually from the lying ludicrous to -the superstitious solemn, each of which finely illustrates the nature of -the subject to which it is applied. When he swears “By the contints o' -Moll Kelly's Primer,” or “By the piper that played afore Moses,” you -are, perhaps, as strongly inclined to believe him as when he draws upon -a more serious oath; that is, you almost regret the thing is not the -gospel that Paddy asserts it to be. In the former sense, the humorous -narrative which calls forth the laughable burlesque of “By the piper o' -Moses,” is usually the richest lie in the whole range of fiction. - -Paddy is, in his ejaculatory, as well as in all his other mock oaths, a -kind, of smuggler in morality, imposing as often as he can upon his own -conscience, and upon those who exercise spiritual authority over him. -Perhaps more of his oaths are blood-stained than would be found among -the inhabitants of all Christendom put together. - -Paddy's oaths in his amours are generally rich specimens of humorous -knavery and cunning. It occasionally happens--but for the honor of -our virtuous countrywomen, we say but rarely--that by the honey of his -flattering and delusive tongue, he succeeds in placing some unsuspecting -girl's reputation in rather a hazardous predicament. When the priest -comes to investigate the affair, and to cause him to make compensation -to the innocent creature who suffered by his blandishments, it is almost -uniformly ascertained that, in order to satisfy her scruples as to -the honesty of his promises, he had sworn marriage to her on a book -of ballads!!! In other cases blank books have been used for the same -purpose. - -If, however, you wish to pin Paddy up in a corner, get him a Relic, a -Catholic prayer-book, or a Douay Bible to swear upon. Here is where the -fox--notwithstanding all his turnings and windings upon heretic Bibles, -books, or ballads, or mock oaths--is caught at last. The strongest -principle in him is superstition. It may be found as the prime mover in -his best and worst actions. An atrocious man, who is superstitious, will -perform many good and charitable actions, with a hope that their merit -in the sight of God may cancel the guilt of his crimes. On the other -hand, a good man, who is superstitiously the slave of his religious -opinions, will lend himself to those illegal combinations, whose object -is, by keeping ready a system of organized opposition to an heretical -government, to fulfil, if a political crisis should render it -practicable, the absurd prophecies of Pastorini and Columbkil. Although -the prophecies of the former would appear to be out of date to a -rational reader, yet Paddy, who can see farther into prophecy than any -rational reader, honestly believes that Pastorini has left for those who -are superstitiously given, sufficient range of expectation in several -parts of his work. - -We might enumerate many other oaths in frequent use among the peasantry; -but as our object is not to detail them at full length, we trust that -those already specified may be considered sufficient to enable our -readers to get a fuller insight into their character, and their moral -influence upon the people. - -The next thing which occurs to us in connection with the present -subject, is cursing; and here again Paddy holds the first place. His -imprecations are often full, bitter, and intense. Indeed, there is more -poetry and epigrammatic point in them than in those of any other country -in the world. - -We find it a difficult thing to enumerate the Irish curses, so as to do -justice to a subject so varied and so liable to be shifted and improved -by the fertile genius of those who send them abroad. Indeed, to reduce -them into order and method would be a task of considerable difficulty. -Every occasion, and every fit of passion, frequently produce a new -curse, perhaps equal in bitterness to any that has gone before it. - -Many of the Irish imprecations are difficult to be understood, having -their origin in some historical event, or in poetical metaphors that -require a considerable process of reasoning to explain them. Of this -twofold class is that general one, “The curse of Cromwell on you!” which -means, may you suffer all that a tyrant like Cromwell would inflict! and -“The curse o'the crows upon you!” which is probably an allusion to -the Danish invasion--a raven being the symbol of Denmark; or it may be -tantamount to “May you rot on the hills, that the crows may feed upon -your carcass!” Perhaps it may thus be understood to imprecate death upon -you or some member of your house--alluding to the superstition of rooks -hovering over the habitations of the sick, when the malady with which -they are afflicted is known to be fatal. Indeed, the latter must -certainly be the meaning of it, as is evident from the proverb of “Die, -an' give the crow a puddin'.” - -“Hell's cure to you!--the devil's luck to you!--high hanging to -you!--hard feeling to you!--a short coorse to you!” are all pretty -intense, and generally used under provocation and passion. In these -cases the curses just mentioned are directed immediately to the -offensive object, and there certainly is no want of the _malus animus_ -to give them energy. It would be easy to multiply the imprecations -belonging to this class among the peasantry, but the task is rather -unpleasant. There are a few, however, which, in consequence of their -ingenuity, we cannot pass over: they are, in sooth, studies for the -swearer. “May you never die till you see your own funeral!” is a very -beautiful specimen of the periphrasis: it simply means, may you be -hanged; for he who is hanged is humorously said to be favored with a -view of that sombre spectacle, by which they mean the crowd that attends -an execution. To the same purpose is, “May you die wid a caper in your -heel!”--“May you die in your pumps!”--“May your last dance be a hornpipe -on the air!” These are all emblematic of hanging, and are uttered -sometimes in jest, and occasionally in earnest. “May the grass grow -before your door!” is highly imaginative and poetical. Nothing, indeed, -can present the mind with a stronger or more picturesque emblem of -desolation and ruin. Its malignity is terrible. - -There are also mock imprecations as well as mock oaths. Of this -character are, “The devil go with you an' sixpence, an' thin you'll -want neither money nor company!” This humorous and considerate curse -is generally confined to the female sex. When Paddy happens to be in a -romping mood, and teases his sweetheart too much, she usually utters it -with a countenance combating with smiles and frowns, while she stands in -the act of pinning up her dishevelled hair; her cheeks, particularly the -one next Paddy, deepened into a becoming blush. - -“Bad scran to you!” is another form seldom used in anger: it is the same -as “Hard feeding to you!” “Bad win' to you!” is “Ill health to you!” - it is nearly the same as “Consumin' (consumption) to you!” Two other -imprecations come under this head, which we will class together, because -they are counterparts of each other, with this difference, that one of -them is the most subtilely and intensely withering in its purport that -can well be conceived. The one is that common curse, “Bad 'cess to you!” - that is, bad success to you: we may identify it with “Hard fortune to -you!” The other is a keen one, indeed--“Sweet bad luck to you!” Now, -whether we consider the epithet sweet as bitterly ironical, or deem it -as a wish that prosperity may harden the heart to the accomplishment of -future damnation, as in the case of Dives, we must in either sense grant -that it is an oath of powerful hatred and venom. Occasionally the curse -of “Bad luck to you!” produces an admirable retort, which is pretty -common. When one man applies it to another, he is answered with “Good -luck to you, thin; but may neither of thim ever happen.” - -“Six eggs to you, an' half-a-dozen o' them rotten!”--like “The devil go -with you an' sixpence!” is another of those pleasantries which mostly -occur in the good-humored badinage between the sexes. It implies -disappointment. - -There is a species of imprecation prevalent among Irishmen which we may -term neutral. It is ended by the word bit, and merely results from a -habit of swearing where there is no malignity of purpose. An Irishman, -when corroborating an assertion, however true or false, will often -say, “Bad luck to the bit but it is;”--“Divil fire the bit but it's -thruth!”--“Damn the bit but it is!” and so on. In this form the mind is -not moved, nor the passions excited: it is therefore probably the most -insipid of all their imprecations. - -Some of the most dreadful maledictions are to be heard among the -confirmed mendicants of Ireland. The wit, the gall, and the poetry -of these are uncommon. “May you melt off the earth like snow off the -ditch!” is one of a high order and intense malignity; but it is not -exclusively confined to mendicants, although they form that class among -which it is most prevalent. Nearly related to this is, “May you melt -like butther before a summer sun!” These are, indeed, essentially -poetical; they present the mind with appropriate imagery, and exhibit a -comparison perfectly just and striking. The former we think unrivalled. - -Some of the Irish imprecations would appear to have come down to us from -the Ordeals. Of this class, probably, are the following: “May this be -poison to me!”--“May I be roasted on red hot iron!” Others of them, -from their boldness of metaphor, seem to be of Oriental descent. One -expression, indeed, is strikingly so. When a deep offence is offered -to an Irishman, under such peculiar circumstances that he cannot -immediately retaliate, he usually replies to his enemy--“You'll sup -sorrow for this!”--“You'll curse the day it happened!”--“I'll make you -rub your heels together!” All those figurative denunciations are used -for the purpose of intimating the pain and agony he will compel his -enemy to suffer. - -We cannot omit a form of imprecation for good, which is also habitual -among the peasantry of Ireland. It is certainly harmless, and argues -benevolence of heart. We mean such expressions as the following: -“Salvation to me!--May I never do harm!--May I never do an ill -turn!--May I never sin!” These are generally used by men who are -blameless and peaceable in their lives--simple and well-disposed in -their intercourse with the world. - -At the head of those Irish imprecations which are dreaded by the people, -the Excommunication, of course, holds the first and most formidable -place. In the eyes of men of sense it is as absurd as it is illiberal: -but to the ignorant and superstitious, who look upon it as anything but -a _brutum fulmen_, it is terrible indeed. - -Next in order are the curses of priests in their private capacity, -pilgrims, mendicants, and idiots. Of those also Paddy entertains a -wholesome dread; a circumstance which the pilgrim and mendicant turn -with great judgment to their own account. Many a legend and anecdote do -such chroniclers relate, when the family, with whom they rest for -the night, are all seated around the winter hearth. These are often -illustrative of the baneful effects of the poor man's curse. Of course -they produce a proper impression; and, accordingly, Paddy avoids -offending such persons in any way that might bring him under their -displeasure. - -A certain class of cursers much dreaded in Ireland are those of -the widow and the orphan. There is, however, something touching and -beautiful in this fear of injuring the sorrowful and unprotected. It -is, we are happy to say, a becoming and prominent feature in Paddy's -character; for, to do him justice in his virtues as well as in his -vices, we repeat that he cannot be surpassed in his humanity to the -lonely widow and her helpless orphans. He will collect a number of his -friends, and proceed with them in a body to plant her bit of potato -ground, to reap her oats, to draw home her turf, or secure her hay. Nay, -he will beguile her of her sorrows with a natural sympathy and delicacy -that do him honor; his heart is open to her complaints, and his hand -ever extended to assist her. - -There is a strange opinion to be found in Ireland upon the subject of -curses. The peasantry think that a curse, no matter how uttered, will -fall on something; but that it depends upon the person against whom it -is directed, whether or not it will descend on him. A curse, we have -heard them say, will rest for seven years in the air, ready to alight -upon the head of the person who provoked the malediction. It hovers -over him, like a kite over its prey, watching the moment when he may -be abandoned by his guardian angel: if this occurs, it shoots with the -rapidity of a meteor on his head, and clings to him in the shape of -illness, temptation, or some other calamity. - -They think, however, that the blessing of one person may cancel the -curse of another; but this opinion does not affect the theory we have -just mentioned. When a man experiences an unpleasant accident, they will -say, “He has had some poor body's curse;” and, on the contrary, when he -narrowly escapes it, they say, “He has had some poor body's blessing.” - -There is no country in which the phrases of good-will and affection are -so strong as in Ireland. The Irish language actually flows with the milk -and honey of love and friendship. Sweet and palatable is it to the other -sex, and sweetly can Paddy, with his deluding ways, administer it to -them from the top of his mellifluous tongue, as a dove feeds her young, -or as a kind mother her babe, shaping with her own pretty mouth every -morse of the delicate viands before it goes into that of the infant. In -this manner does Paddy, seated behind a ditch, of a bright Sunday, when -he ought to be at Mass, feed up some innocent girl, not with “false -music,” but with sweet words; for nothing more musical or melting than -his brogue ever dissolved a female heart. Indeed, it is of the danger -to be apprehended from the melody of his voice, that the admirable and -appropriate proverb speaks; for when he addresses his sweetheart, under -circumstances that justify suspicion, it is generally said--“Paddy's -feedin' her up wid false music.” - -What language has a phrase equal in beauty and tenderness to _cushla -machree_--_pulse of my heart?_ Can it be paralleled in the whole -range of all that are, ever were, or ever will be spoken, for music, -sweetness, and a knowledge of anatomy? If Paddy is unrivalled at -swearing, he fairly throws the world behind him at the blarney. In -professing friendship, and making love, give him but a taste of the -native, and he is a walking honey-comb, that every woman who sees him -wishes to have a lick at; and Heaven knows, that frequently, at all -times, and in all places, does he get himself licked on their account. - -Another expression of peculiar force is _vick machree_--or, son of my -heart. This is not only elegant, but affectionate, beyond almost any -other phrase except the foregoing. It is, in a sense, somewhat different -from that in which the philosophical poet has used it, a beautiful -comment upon the sentiment of “the child's the father of the man,” - uttered by the great, we might almost say, the glorious, Wordsworth. - -We have seen many a youth, on more occasions than one, standing in -profound affliction over the dead body of his aged father, exclaiming, -“_Ahir, vick machree--vick machree--wuil thu marra wo'um? Wuil thu marra -wo'um?_ Father, son of my heart, son of my heart, art thou dead -from me--art thou dead from me?” An expression, we think, under -any circumstances, not to be surpassed in the intensity of domestic -affection which it expresses; but under those alluded to, we consider -it altogether elevated in exquisite and poetic beauty above the most -powerful symbols of Oriental imagery. - -A third phrase peculiar to love and affection, is “_Manim asthee -hu--or_, My soul's within you.” Every person acquainted with languages -knows how much an idiom suffers by a literal translation. How beautiful, -then, how tender and powerful, must those short expressions be, uttered, -too, with a fervor of manner peculiar to a deeply feeling people, when, -even after a literal translation, they carry so much of their tenderness -and energy into a language whose genius is cold when compared to the -glowing beauty of the Irish. - -_Mauourneen dheelish_, too, is only a short phrase, but, coming warm and -mellowed from Paddy's lips into the ear of his _colleen dhas_, it is -a perfect spell--a sweet murmur, to which the _lenis susurrus_ of the -Hybla bees is, with all their honey, jarring discord. How tame is -“My sweet darling,” its literal translation, compared to its soft and -lulling intonations. There is a dissolving, entrancing, beguiling, -deluding, flattering, insinuating, coaxing, winning, inveigling, -roguish, palavering, come-overing, comedhering, consenting, blarneying, -killing, willing, charm in it, worth all the philters that ever the -gross knavery of a withered alchemist imposed upon the credulity of -those who inhabit the other nations of the earth--for we don't read that -these shrivelled philter-mongers ever prospered in Ireland. - -No, no--let Paddy alone. If he hates intensely and effectually, he loves -intensely, comprehensively, and gallantly. To love with power is a proof -of a large soul, and to hate well is, according to the great moralist, -a thing in itself to be loved. Ireland is, therefore, through all its -sects, parties, and religions, an amicable nation. Their affections are, -indeed, so vivid, that they scruple not sometimes to kill each other -with kindness: but we hope that the march of love and friendship will -not only keep pace with, but outstrip, the march of intellect. - -***** - -Peter Cornell was for many years of his life a pattern and proverb -for industry and sobriety. He first began the world as keeper of a -shebeen-house at the cross-roads, about four miles from the town of -Ballypoteen. He was decidedly an honest man to his neighbors, but a -knave to excisemen, whom he hated by a kind of instinct that he had, -which prompted him, in order to satisfy his conscience, to render -them every practicable injury within the compass of his ingenuity. -Shebeen-house keepers and excisemen have been, time out of mind, -destructive of each other; the exciseman pouncing like a beast or bird -of prey upon the shebeen man and his illicit spirits; the shebeen man -staving in the exciseman, like a barrel of doublings, by a knock -from behind a hedge, which sometimes sent him to that world which is -emphatically the world of spirits. For this, it some happened that the -shebeen man was hanged; but as his death only multiplied that of the -excisemen in a geometrical ratio, the sharp-scented fraternity resolved, -if possible, not to risk their lives, either by exposing themselves to -the necessity of travelling by night, or prosecuting by day. In this -they acted wisely and prudently: fewer of the unfortunate peasantry -were shot in their rencounters with the yeomanry or military on such -occasions, and the retaliations became by degrees less frequent, until, -at length, the murder of a gauger became a rare occurrence in the -country. - -Peter, before his marriage, had wrought as laboring servant to a man -who kept two or three private stills in those caverns among the remote -mountains, to which the gauger never thought of penetrating, because he -supposed that no human enterprise would have ever dreamt of advancing -farther into them than appeared to him to be practicable. In this he -was frequently mistaken: for though the still-house was in many cases -inaccessible to horses, yet by the contrivance of slipes--a kind of -sledge--a dozen men could draw a couple of sacks of barley with less -trouble, and at a quicker pace, than if horses only had been employed. -By this, and many other similar contrivances, the peasantry were often -able to carry on the work of private distillation in places so distant, -that few persons could suspect them as likely to be chosen for such -purposes. The uncommon personal strength, the daring spirit, and great -adroitness of Peter Connell, rendered him a very valuable acquisition -to his master in the course of his illicit occupations. Peter was, -in addition to his other qualities, sober and ready-witted, so that -whenever the gauger made his appearance, his expedients to baffle him -were often inimitable. Those expedients did not, however, always arise -from the exigency of the moment; they were often deliberately, and with -much exertion of ingenuity, planned by the proprietors and friends -of such establishments, perhaps for weeks before the gauger's visit -occurred. But, on the other hand, as the gauger's object was to -take them, if possible, by surprise, it frequently happened that his -appearance was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. It was then that the -prompt ingenuity of the people was fully seen, felt, and understood -by the baffled exciseman, who too often had just grounds for bitterly -cursing their talent at outwitting him. - -Peter served his master as a kind of superintendent in such places, -until he gained the full knowledge of distilling, according to the -processes used by the most popular adepts in the art. Having acquired -this, he set up as a professor, and had excellent business. In the -meantime, he had put together by degrees a small purse of money, to -the amount of about twenty guineas--no inconsiderable sum for a -young Irishman who intends to begin the world on his own account. He -accordingly married, and, as the influence of a wife is usually not to -be controlled during the honey-moon, Mrs. Connell prevailed on Peter -to relinquish his trade of distiller, and to embrace some other mode of -life that might not render their living so much asunder necessary. Peter -suffered himself to be prevailed upon, and promised to have nothing more -to do with private distillation, as a distiller. One of the greatest -curses attending this lawless business, is the idle and irregular habit -of life which it gradually induces. Peter could not now relish the -labor of an agriculturist, to which he had been bred, and yet he was -too prudent to sit down and draw his own and his wife's support from so -exhaustible a source as twenty guineas. Two or three days passed, during -which “he cudgelled his brains,” to use his own expression, in plans for -future subsistence; two or three consultations were held with Ellish, -in which their heads were laid together, and, as it was still the -honey-moon, the subject-matter of the consultation, of course, was -completely forgotten. Before the expiration of a second month, however, -they were able to think of many other things, in addition to the -fondlings and endearments of a new-married couple. Peter was every day -becoming more his own man, and Ellish by degrees more her own woman. -“The purple light of love,” which had changed Peter's red head into -a rich auburn, and his swivel eye into a knowing wink, exceedingly -irresistible in his bachelorship, as he made her believe, to the country -girls, had passed away, taking the aforesaid auburn along with it and -leaving nothing but the genuine carrot behind. Peter, too, on opening -his eyes one morning about the beginning of the third month, perceived -that his wife was, after all, nothing more than a thumping red-cheeked -wench, with good eyes, a mouth rather large, and a nose very much -resembling, in its curve, the seat of a saddle, allowing the top to -correspond with the pummel. - -“Pether,” said she, “it's like a dhrame to me that you're neglectin' -your business, alanna.” - -“Is it you, beauty? but, maybe, you'd first point out to me what -business, barrin' buttherin' up yourself, I have to mind, you phanix -bright?” - -“Quit yourself, Pether! it's time for you to give up your ould ways; you -caught one bird wid them, an' that's enough. What do you intind to do! -It's full time for you to be lookin' about you.” - -“Lookin' about me! What do you mane Ellish?” - -“The dickens a bit o' me thought of it,” replied the wife, laughing -at the unintentional allusion to the circumspect character of Peter's -eyes,--“upon my faix, I didn't--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Why, thin, but you're full o'your fun, sure enough, if that's what -you're at. Maybe, avourneen, if I had looked right afore me, as I ought -to do, it's Katty Murray an' her snug farm I'd have, instead of”-- - -Peter hesitated. The rapid feelings of a woman, and an Irishwoman, quick -and tender, had come forth and subdued him. She had not voluntarily -alluded to his eyes; but on seeing Peter offended, she immediately -expressed that sorrow and submission which are most powerful when -accompanied by innocence, and when meekly assumed, to pacify rather than -to convince. A tear started to her eye, and with a voice melted into -unaffected tenderness, she addressed him, but he scarcely gave her time -to speak. - -“No, avourneen, no, I won't say what I was goin' to mintion. I won't -indeed, Ellish, dear; an' forgive me for woundin' your feelin's _alanna -dhas_. (* My pretty child.) Hell resave her an' her farm! I dunna what -put her into my head at all; but I thought you wor jokin' me about my -eyes: an' sure if you war, acushla, that's no rason that I'd not allow -you to do that an' more wid your own Pether. Give me a slewsther, (* a -kiss of fondness) agrah--a sweet one, now!” - -He then laid his mouth to hers, and immediately a sound, nearly -resembling a pistol-shot, was heard through every part of the house. It -was, in fact, a kiss upon a scale of such magnitude, that the Emperor -of Morocco might not blush to be charged with it. A reconciliation took -place, and in due time it was determined that Peter, as he understood -poteen, should open a shebeen house. The moment this resolution was -made, the wife kept coaxing him, until he took a small house at the -cross-roads before alluded to, where, in the course of a short time, -he was established, if not in his own line, yet in a mode of life -approximating to it as nearly as the inclination of Ellish would permit. -The cabin which they occupied had a kitchen in the middle, and a room at -each end of it, in one of which was their own humble chaff bed, with its -blue quilted drugget cover; in the other stood a couple of small tables, -some stools, a short form, and one chair, being a present from his -father-in-law. These constituted Peter's whole establishment, so far +as -it defied the gauger. To this we must add! a five-gallon keg of spirits -hid in the garden, and a roll of smuggled tobacco. From the former he -bottled, over night, as much as was usually drank the following day; -and from the tobacco, which was also kept under ground, he cut, with the -same caution, as much as to-morrow's exigencies might require. This he -kept in his coat-pocket, a place where the gauger would never think -of searching for it, divided into halfpenny and pennyworths, ounces or -half-ounces, according as it might be required; and as he had it without -duty, the liberal spirit in which he dealt it out to his neighbors soon -brought him a large increase of custom. - -Peter's wife was an excellent manager, and he himself a pleasant, -good-humored man, full of whim and inoffensive mirth. His powers of -amusement were of a high order, considering his station in life and his -want of education. These qualities contributed, in a great degree, to -bring both the young and old to his house during the long winter nights, -in order to hear the fine racy humor with which he related his frequent -adventures and battles with excisemen. In the summer evenings, he -usually engaged a piper or a fiddler, and had a dance, a contrivance by -which he not only rendered himself popular, but increased his business. - -In this mode of life, the greatest source of anxiety to Peter and Ellish -was the difficulty of not offending their friends by refusing to give -them credit. Many plans, were, with great skill and forethought, devised -to obviate this evil; but all failed. A short board was first procured, -on which they got written with chalk-- - -“No credit giv'n--barrin' a thrifle to Pether's friends.” - -Before a week passed, after this intimation, the number of “Pether's -friends” increased so rapidly, that neither he nor Ellish knew the half -of them. Every scamp in the parish was hand and glove with him: the -drinking tribe, particularly, became desperately attached to him and -Ellish. Peter was naturally kind-hearted, and found that his firmest -resolutions too often gave way before the open flattery with which he -was assailed. He then changed his hand, and left Ellish to bear the -brunt of their blarney. Whenever any person or persons were seen -approaching the house, Peter, if he had reason to suspect an attack upon -his indulgence, prepared himself for a retreat. He kept his eye to -the window, and if they turned from the direct line of the road, he -immediately slipped into bed, and lay close in order to escape them. In -the meantime they enter. - -“God save all here. Ellish, agra machree, how are you?” - -“God save you kindly! Faix, I'm mid-dim', I thank you, Condy: how is -yourself, an' all at home?” - -“Devil a heartier, barrin' my father, that's touched wid a loss of -appetite afther his meals--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Musha, the dickens be an you, Condy, but you're your father's son, any -way; the best company in Europe is the same man. Throth, whether you're -jokin' or not, I'd be sarry to hear of anything to his disadvantage, -dacent man. Boys, won't you go down to the other room?” - -“Go way wid yez, boys, till I spake to Ellish here about the affairs -o' the nation. Why, Ellish, you stand the cut all to pieces. By the -contints o' the book, you do; Pether doesn't stand it half so well. How -is he, the thief?” - -“Throth, he's not well, to-day, in regard of a smotherin' about the -heart he tuck this mornin' afther his breakfast. He jist laid himself -on the bed a while, to see if it would go off of him--God be praised for -all his marcies!” - -“Thin, upon my _sole_vation, I'm sarry to hear it, and so will all at -home, for there's not in the parish we're sittin' in a couple that our -family has a greater regard an' friendship for, than him and yourself. -Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued down -Bartle Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest -weemen that comes into the chapel. God forgive myself, I was near -quarrelin' wid Bartle on the head of it, bekase I tuck my modher's part, -as I had a good right to do.” - -“Thrath, I'm thankful to you both, Condy, for your kindness.” - -“Oh, the sarra taste o' kindness was in it at all, Ellish, 'twas only -the truth; an' as long as I live, I'll stand up for that.” - -“Arrah, how is your aunt down at Carntall?” - -“Indeed, thin, but middlin', not gettin' her health: she'll soon give -the crow a puddin', any way; thin, Ellish, you thief, I'm in for the -yallow boys. Do you know thim that came in wid me?” - -“Why, thin, I can't say I do. Who are they, Condy?” - -“Why one o' them's a bachelor to my sisther Norah, a very dacent boy, -indeed--him wid the frieze jock upon him, an' the buckskin breeches. -The other three's from Teernabraighera beyant. They're related to my -brother-in-law, Mick Dillon, by his first wife's brother-in-law's uncle. -They're come to this neighborhood till the 'Sizes, bad luck to them, -goes over; for you see, they're in a little throuble.” - -“The Lord grant them safe out of it, poor boys!” - -“I brought them up here to treat them, poor fellows; an', Ellish, -avourneen, you must credit me for whatsomever we may have. The thruth -is, you see, that when we left home, none of us had any notion of -drinkin' or I'd a put somethin' in my pocket, so that I'm taken at an -average.--Bud-an'-age! how is little Dan? Sowl, Ellish, that goorsoon, -when he grows up, will be a credit to you. I don't think there's a finer -child in Europe of his age, so there isn't.” - -“Indeed, he's a good child, Condy. But Condy, avick, about givin' -credit:--by thim five crasses, if I could give score to any boy in the -parish, it 'ud be to yourself. It was only last night that I made a -promise against doin' such a thing for man or mortual. We're a'most -broken an' harrish'd out o' house an' home by it; an' what's more, -Condy, we intend to give up the business. The landlord's at us every day -for his rint, an' we owe for the two last kegs we got, but hasn't a -rap to meet aither o' thim; an' enough due to us if we could get -it together: an' whisper, Condy, atween ourselves, that's what ails -Pettier, although he doesn't wish to let an to any one about it.” - -“Well, but you know I'm safe, Ellish?” - -“I know you are, avourneen, as the bank itself; an' should have what you -want wid a heart an' a half, only for the promise I made an my two knees -last night, aginst givin' credit to man or woman. Why the dickens didn't -you come yistherday?” - -“Didn't I tell you, woman alive, that it was by accident, an' that I -wished to sarve the house, that we came at all. Come, come, Ellish; -don't disgrace me afore my sisther's bachelor an' the sthrange boys -that's to the fore. By this staff in my hand, I wouldn't for the best -cow in our byre be put to the blush afore thim; an' besides, there's a -_cleeveen_ (* a kind of indirect relationship) atween your family an' -ours.” - -“Condy, avourneen, say no more: if you were fed from the same breast wid -me, I couldn't, nor wouldn't break my promise. I wouldn't have the sin -of it an me for the wealth o' the three kingdoms.” - -“Beclad, you're a quare woman; an' only that my regard for you is great -entirely, we would be two, Ellish; but I know you're dacent still.” - -He then left her and joined his friends in the little room that was -appropriated for drinking, where, with a great deal of mirth, he related -the failure of the plan they had formed for outwitting Peter and Ellish. - -“Boys,” said he, “she's too many for us! St. Pettier himself wouldn't -make a hand of her. Faix, she's a cute one. I palavered her at the -rate of a hunt, an' she ped me back in my own coin, with dacent -intherest--but no whiskey!--Now to take a rise out o' Pettier. Jist sit -where ye are, till I come back.” - -He left them enjoying the intended “spree,” and went back to Ellish. - -“Well, I'm sure, Ellish, if any one had tuck their book oath that you'd -refuse my father's son such a thrifle, I wouldn't believe them. It's not -wid Pettier's knowledge you do it, I'll be bound. But bad as you thrated -us, sure we must see how the poor fellow is, at an rate.” - -As he spoke, and before Ellish had time to prevent him, he pressed into -the room where Peter lay. - -“Why, tare alive, Pether, is it in bed you are at this hour of the day?” - -“Eh? Who's that--who's that? oh!” - -“Why thin, the sarra lie undher you, is that the way wid you?” - -“Oh!--oh! Eh? Is that Condy?” - -“All that's to the fore of him. What's asthray wid you man alive?” - -“Throth, Condy, I don't know, rightly. I went out, wantin' my coat, -about a week ago, an' got cowld in the small o' the back; I've a pain in -it ever since. Be sittin'.” - -“Is your heart safe? You have no smotherin' or anything upon it?” - -“Why thin, thank goodness, no; it's all about my back an' my inches.” - -“Divil a thing it is but a complaint they call an _alloverness_ ails -you, you shkaimer o' the world wide. 'Tis the oil o' the hazel, or a -rubbin' down wid an oak towel you want. Get up, I say, or, by this an' -by that, I'll flail you widin an inch o' your life.” - -“Is it beside yourself you are, Condy?” - -“No, no, faix; I've found you out: Ellish is afther tellin' me that it -was a smotherin' on the heart; but it's a pain in the small o' the back -wid yourself. Oh, you born desaver! Get up, I say agin, afore I take the -stick to you!” - -“Why, thin, all sorts o' fortune to you, Condy--ha, ha, ha!--but you're -the sarra's pet, for there's no escapin' you. What was that I hard -atween you an' Ellish?” said Peter, getting up. - -“The sarra matther to you. If you behave yourself, we may let you into -the wrong side o' the sacret afore you die. Go an' get us a pint of what -you know,” replied Condy, as he and Peter entered the kitchen. - -“Ellish,” said Peter, “I suppose we must give it to thim. Give it--give -it, avourneen. Now, Condy, whin 'ill you pay me for this?” - -“Never fret yourself about that; you'll be ped. Honor bright, as the -black said whin he stole the boots.” - -“Now Pettier,” said the wife, “sure it's no use axin' me to give it, -afther the promise I made last night. Give it yourself; for me, I'll -have no hand in such things good or bad. I hope we'll soon get out of it -altogether, for myselfs sick an' sore of it, dear knows!” - -Pettier accordingly furnished them with the liquor, and got a promise -that Condy would certainly pay him at mass on the following Sunday, -which was only three days distant. The fun of the boys was exuberant -at Condy's success: they drank, and laughed, and sang, until pint after -pint followed in rapid succession. - -Every additional inroad upon the keg brought a fresh groan from Ellish; -and even Peter himself began to look blank as their potations deepened. -When the night was far advanced they departed, after having first -overwhelmed Ellish with professions of the warmest friendship, promising -that in future she exclusively should reap whatever benefit was to be -derived from their patronage. - -In the meantime, Condy forgot to perform his promise. The next Sunday -passed, but Peter was not paid, nor was his clever debtor seen at mass, -or in the vicinity of the shebeen-house, for many a month afterwards--an -instance of ingratitude which mortified his creditor extremely. The -latter, who felt that it was a take in, resolved to cut short all hopes -of obtaining credit from them in future. In about a week after the -foregoing hoax, he got up a board, presenting a more vigorous refusal -of score than the former. His friends, who were more in number than he -could have possibly imagined, on this occasion, were altogether wiped -out of the exception. The notice ran to the following effect:-- - -“Notice to the Public, _and to Pether Connell's friends in -particular_.--Divil resave the morsel of credit will be got or given in -this house, while there is stick or stone of it together, barrin' them -that axes it has the ready money. - - “Pettier X his mark Connell, - “Ellish X her mark Connell.” - -This regulation, considering everything, was a very proper one. It -occasioned much mirth among Peter's customers; but Peter cared little -about that, provided he made the money. - -The progress of his prosperity, dating it from so small a beginning, was -decidedly slow. He owed it principally to the careful habits of Ellish, -and his own sobriety. He was prudent enough to avoid placing any sign in -his window, by which his house could be known as a shebeen; for he was -not ignorant that there is no class of men more learned in this species -of hieroglyphics than excisemen. At all events, he was prepared for -them, had they come to examine his premises. Nothing that could bring -him within the law was ever kept visible. The cask that contained the -poteen was seldom a week in the same place of concealment, which was -mostly, as we have said, under ground. The tobacco was weighed and -subdivided into small quantities, which, in addition to what he carried -in his pocket, were distributed in various crevices and crannies of -the house; sometimes under the thatch; sometimes under a dish on the -dresser, but generally in a damp place. - -When they had been about two or three years thus employed, Peter, at the -solicitation of the wife, took a small farm. - -“You're stout an' able,” said she; “an' as I can manage the house widout -you, wouldn't it be a good plan to take a bit o' ground--nine or -ten acres, suppose--an' thry your hand at it? Sure you wor wanst the -greatest man in the parish about a farm. Surely that 'ud be dacenter nor -to be slungein' about, invintin' truth and lies for other people, whin -they're at their work, to make thim laugh, an you doin' nothin' but -standin' over thim, wid your hands down to the bottom o' your pockets? -Do, Pether, thry it, avick, an' you'll see it 'ill prosper wid us, plase -God?' - -“Faix I'm ladin' an asier life, Ellish.” - -“But are you ladin' a dacenter or a more becominer life?” - -“Why, I think, widout doubt, that it's more becominer to walk about like -a gintleman, nor to be workin' like a slave.” - -“Gintleman! Musha, is it to the fair you're bringin' yourself? Why, you -great big bosthoon, isn't it both a sin an' a shame to see you sailin' -about among the neighbors, like a sthray turkey, widout a hand's turn to -do? But, any way, take my advice, avillish,--will you, aroon?--an' faix -you'll see how rich we'll get, wid a blessin'?” - -“Ellish, you're a deludher!” - -“Well, an' what suppose? To be sure I am. Usen't you be followin' me -like a calf afther the finger?--ha, ha, ha!--Will you do my biddin', -Pether darlin'?” - -Peter gave her a shrewd, significant wink, in contradiction to what he -considered the degrading comparison she had just made. - -“Ellish, you're beside the mark, you beauty; always put the saddle on -the right horse, woman alive! Didn't you often an' I often swear to me, -upon two green ribbons, acrass one another, that you liked a red head -best, an' that the redder it was you liked it the betther?” - -“An' it was thruth, too; an' sure, by the same a token, whore could -I get one half so red as your own? Faix, I knew what I was about! I -wouldn't give you yet for e'er a young man in the parish, if I was a -widow to-morrow. Will you take the land?” - -“So thin, afther all, if the head hadn't been an me, I wouldn't be a -favorite wid you?--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Get out wid you, and spake sinse. Throth, if you don't say aither ay or -no, I'll give myself no more bother about it, There we are now wid some -guineas together, an'--Faix, Pettier, you're vexin' me!” - -“Do you want an answer?” - -“Why, if it's plasin' to your honor, I'd have no objection.” - -“Well, will you have my new big coat made agin Shraft?” (* Shrovetide) - -“Ay, will I, in case you do what I say; but if you don't the sarra -stitch of it 'll go to your back this twelvemonth, maybe, if you vex me. -Now!” - -“Well, I'll tell you what: my mind's made up--I will take the land; an' -I'll show the neighbors what Pether Connell can do yit.” - -“Augh! augh! mavoumeen, that you wor! Throth I'll fry a bit o' the bacon -for our dinner to-day, on the head o' that, although I didn't intind to -touch it till Sunday. Ay, faix, an' a pair o' stockins, too, along wid -the coat; an' somethin' else, that you didn't hear of yit.” - -Ellish, in fact, was a perfect mistress of the science of wheedling; -but as it appears instinctive in the sex, this is not to be wondered at. -Peter himself was easy, or rather indolent, till properly excited by -the influence of adequate motives; but no sooner were the energies that -slumbered in him called into activity, than he displayed a firmness of -purpose, and a perseverance in action, that amply repaid his exertions. - -The first thing he did, after taking, his little farm, was to prepare -for its proper cultivation, and to stock it. His funds were not, -however, sufficient for this at the time. A horse was to be bought, but -the last guinea they could spare had been already expended, and this -purchase was, therefore, out of the question. The usages of the small -farmers, however, enabled him to remedy this inconvenience. Peter made -a bargain with a neighbor, in which he undertook to repay him by an -exchange of labor, for the use of his plough and horses in getting -down his crop. He engaged to give him, for a stated period in the slack -season, so many days' mowing as would cover the expenses of ploughing -and harrowing his land. There was, however, a considerable portion -of his holding potato-ground; this Peter himself dug with his spade, -breaking it as he went along into fine mould. He then planted the -seed--got a hatchet, and selecting the best thorn-bush he could find, -cut it down, tied a rope to the trunk, seized the rope, and in this -manner harrowed his potato-ground. Thus did he proceed, struggling to -overcome difficulties by skill, and substituting for the more efficient -modes of husbandry, such rude artificial resources as his want of -capital compelled him to adopt. - -In the meantime, Ellish, seeing Peter acquitting himself in his -undertaking with such credit, determined not to be outdone in her -own department. She accordingly conceived the design of extending her -business, and widening the sphere of her exertions. This intention, -however, she kept secret from Peter, until by putting penny to penny, -and shilling to shilling, she was able to purchase a load of crockery. -Here was a new source of profit opened exclusively by her own address. -Peter was astonished when he saw the car unloaded, and the crockery -piled in proud array by Ellish's own hands. - -“I knew,” said she, “I'd take a start out o' you. Faix, Pether, you'll -see how I'll do, never fear, wid the help o' Heaven! I'll be off to the -market in the mornin', plase God, where I'll sell rings around me * o' -them crocks and pitchers. An' now, Pether, the sarra one o' me would do -this, good or bad, only bekase your managin' the farm so cleverly. Tady -Gormley's goin' to bring home his meal from the mill, and has promised -to lave these in the market for me, an' never fear but I'll get some o' -the neighbors to bring them home, so that there's car-hire saved. Faix, -Pether, there's nothin' like givin' the people sweet words, any way; -sure they come chape.” - - * This is a kind of hyperbole for selling a grout - quantity. - -“Faith, an' I'll back you for the sweet words agin any woman in the -three kingdoms, Ellish, you darlin'. But don't you know the proverb, -'sweet words butther no parsnips.'” - -“In throth, the same proverb's a lyin' one, and ever was; but it's not -parsnips I'll butther wid 'em, you gommoch.” - -“Sowl, you butthered me wid 'em long enough, you deludher--devil a lie -in it; but thin, as you say, sure enough, I was no parsnip--not so soft -as that either, you phanix.” - -“No? Thin I seldom seen your beautiful head without thinkin' of a -carrot, an' it's well known they're related--ha, ha, ha!--Behave, -Pether--behave, I say--Pether, Pether--ha, ha, ha!--let me alone! Katty -Hacket, take him away from me--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Will ever you, you shaver wid the tongue that you are? Will ever you, I -say? Will ever you make delusion to my head again--eh?” - -“Oh, never, never--but let me go, an' me go full o' tickles! Oh, Pether, -avourneen, don't, you'll hurt me, an' the way I'm in--quit, avillish!” - -“Bedad, if you don't let my head alone, I'll--will ever you?” - -“Never, never. There now--ha, ha, ha!--oh, but I'm as wake as wather wid -what I laughed. Well now, Pether, didn't I manage bravely--didn't I?” - -“Wait till we see the profits first, Ellish--crockery's very tindher -goods.” - -“Ay!--just wait, an'I'll engage I'll turn the penny. The family's risin' -wid us.”-- - -“Very thrue,” replied Peter, giving a sly wink at the wife--“no doubt of -it.” - -“--Kisin' wid us--I tell you to have sinse, Pether; an' it's our duty to -have something for the crathurs when they grow up.” - -“Well, that's a thruth--sure I'm not sayin' against it.” - -“I know that; but what I say is, if we hould an, we may make money. -Everything, for so far, has thruv wid us, God be praised for it. There's -another thing in my mind, that I'll be tellin' you some o' these days.” - -“I believe, Ellish, you dhrame about makin' money.” - -“Well, an' I might do worse; when I'm dhramin' about it, I'm doin' no -sin to any one. But, listen, you must keep the house to-morrow while I'm -at the market. Won't you, Pether?” - -“An' who's to open the dhrain in the bottom below?” - -“That can be done the day afther. Won't you, abouchal?” - -“Ellish, you're a deludher, I tell you. Sweet words;--sowl, you'd -smooth a furze bush wid sweet words. How-an-ever, I will keep the house -to-morrow, till we see the great things you'll do wid your crockery.” - -Ellish's success was, to say the least of it, quite equal to, her -expectations. She was certainly an excellent wife, full of acuteness, -industry, and enterprise. Had Peter been married to a woman of a -disposition resembling his own, it is probable that he would have sunk -into indolence, filth, and poverty, these miseries might have soured -their tempers, and driven them into all the low excesses and crimes -attendant upon pauperism. Ellish, however, had sufficient spirit to act -upon Peter's natural indolence, so as to excite it to the proper pitch. -Her mode of operation was judiciously suited to his temper. Playfulness -and kindness were the instruments by which she managed him. She knew -that violence, or the assumption of authority, would cause a man who, -like him, was stern when provoked, to react, and meet her with an -assertion of his rights and authority not to be trifled with. This she -consequently avoided, not entirely from any train of reasoning on the -subject; but from that intuitive penetration which taught her to know -that the plan she had resorted to was best calculated to make him -subservient to her own purposes, without causing him to feel that he was -governed. - -Indeed, every day brought out her natural cleverness more clearly. Her -intercourse with the world afforded her that facility of understanding -the tempers and dispositions of others, which can never be acquired -when it has not been bestowed as a natural gift. In her hands it was -a valuable one. By degrees her house improved in its appearance, both -inside and outside. From crockery she proceeded to herrings, then to -salt, in each of which she dealt with surprising success. There was, -too, such an air of bustle, activity, and good-humor about her that -people loved to deal with her. Her appearance was striking, if not -grotesque. She was tall and strong, walked rapidly, and when engaged -in fair or market disposing of her coarse merchandise, was dressed in a -short red petticoat, blue stockings, strong brogues, wore a blue cloak, -with the hood turned up, over her head, on the top of which was a man's -hat, fastened by a, ribbon under her chin. As she thus stirred about, -with a kind word and a joke for every one, her healthy cheek in full -bloom, and her blue-gray eye beaming with an expression of fun and -good-nature, it would be difficult to conceive a character more -adapted for intercourse with, a laughter-loving people. In fact, she -soon became a favorite, and this not the less that she was as ready to -meet her rivals in business with a blow as with a joke. Peter witnessed -her success with unfeigned pleasure; and although every feasible -speculation was proposed by her, yet he never felt that he was a mere -nonentity when compared to his wife. 'Tis true, he was perfectly capable -of executing her agricultural plans when she proposed them, but his own -capacity for making a lucky hit was very limited. Of the two, she was -certainly the better farmer; and scarcely an improvement took place in -his little holding which might not be traced to Ellish. - -In the course of a couple of years she bought him a horse, and Peter was -enabled, to join with a neighbor, who had another. Each had a plough -and tackle, so that here was a little team made up, the half of which -belonged to Peter. By this means they ploughed week about, until their -crops were got down. Peter finding his farm doing well, began to feel a -kind of rivalship with his wife--that is to say, she first suggested -the principle, and afterwards contrived to make him imagine that it was -originally his own. - -“The sarra one o' you, Pettier,” she exclaimed to him one day, “but's -batin' me out an' out. Why, you're the very dickins at the farmin', so -you are. Faix, I suppose, if you go an this way much longer, that -you'll be thinkin' of another farm, in regard that we have some guineas -together. Pettier, did you ever think of it, abouchal?” - -“To be sure, I did, you beauty; an' amn't I in fifty notions to take -Harry Neal's land, that jist lies alongside of our own.” - -“Faix, an' you're right, maybe; but if it's strivin' again me you are, -you may give it over: I tell you, I'll have more money made afore this -time twelvemonth than you will.” - -“Arrah, is it jokin' you are? More money? Would you advise me to take -Harry's land? Tell me that first, you phanix, an' thin I'm your man!” - -“Faix, take your own coorse, avourneen. If you get a lase of it at a -fair rint, I'll buy another horse, any how. Isn't that doin' the thing -dacent'?” - -“More power to you, Ellish! I'll hold you a crown, I pay you the price -o' the horse afore this time twelvemonth.” - -“Done! The sarra be off me but done!--an' here's Barny Dillon an' Katty -Hacket to bear witness.” - -“Sure enough we will,” said Barny, the servant. - -“I'll back the misthress any money,” replied the maid. - -“Two to one on the masther,” said the man. “Whoo! our side o' the house -for ever! Come, Pether, hould up your head, there's money bid for you!” - -“Ellish, I'll fight for you ankle deep,” said Katty--“depind your life -an me.” - -“In the name o' goodness, thin, it's a bargain,” said Ellish; “an' at -the end o' the year, if we're spared, we'll see what we'll see. We'll -have among ourselves a little sup o' tay, plase goodness, an' we'll be -comfortable. Now, Barny, go an' draw home thim phaties from the pits -while the day's fine; and Katty, a colleen, bring in some wather, till -we get the pig killed and scalded--it'll hardly have time to be good -bacon for the big markets at Christmas. I don't wish,” she continued, -“to keep it back from them that we have a thrifle o' money. One always -does betther when it's known that they're not strugglin'. There's Nelly -Cummins, an' her customers is lavin' her, an' dalin' wid me, bekase -she's goin' down in business. Ay an', Pether, ahagur, it's the way o' -the world.” - -“Well but, Ellish, don't you be givin' Nelly Cummins the harsh word, or -lanin' too heavily upon her, the crathur, merely in regard that she is -goin' down. Do you hear, acolleen?” - -“Indeed I don't do it, Pether; but you know she has a tongue like a -razor at times, and whin it gets loose she'd provoke St. Pether himself. -Thin she's takin' to the dhrink, too, the poor misfortunate vagabone!” - -“Well, well, that's no affair o' yours, or mine aither--only don't be -risin' ructions and norrations wid her. You _threwn_ a jug at her the -last day you war out, an' hot the poor ould Potticary as he was passin'. -You see I hard that, though you kept it close from me!--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Ha, ha, ha!--why you'd split if you had seen the crathur whin he fell -into Pether White's brogue-creels, wid his heels up. But what right -had she to be sthrivin' to bring away my customers afore my face? Ailey -Dogherty was buying a crock wid me, and Nelly shouts over to her from -where she sot like a queen on her stool, 'Ailey,' says she, 'here's a -betther one for three fardens less, an' another farden 'ill get you a -pennorth o' salt.' An', indeed, Ailey walks over, manely enough, an' -tuck her at her word. Why, flesh an' blood couldn't bear it.” - -“Indeed, an' you're raal flesh and blood, Ellish, if that's thrue.” - -“Well, but consarnin' what I mintioned awhile agone--hut! the poor mad -crathur, let us have no more discoorse about her--I say, that no one -ever thrives so well as when the world sees that they are gettin' an, -an' prosperin'; but if there's not an appearance, how will any one know -whether we are prosperin' or not, barrin' they see some sign of it about -us; I mane, in a quiet rasonable way, widout show or extravagance. In -the name o' goodness, thin, let us get the house brushed up, an' the -outhouses dashed. A bushel or two of lime 'ill make this as white as -an egg widin, an' a very small expinse will get it plastered, and -whitewashed widowt. Wouldn't you like it, avourneen? Eh, Pether?” - -“To be sure I'd like it. It'll give a respectful look to the house and -place.” - -“Ay, an' it'll bring customers, that's the main thing. People always -like to come to a snug, comfortable place. An', plase God, I'm thinkin' -of another plan that I'll soon mintion.” - -“An' what may that be, you skamer? Why, Ellish, you've ever and always -some skam'e or other in that head o' yours. For my part, I don't know -how you get at them.” - -“Well, no matter, acushla, do you only back me; just show me how I ought -to go on wid them, for nobody can outdo you at such things, an' I'll -engage we'll thrive yit, always wid a blessin' an us.” - -“Why, to tell God's thruth, I'd bate the devil himself at plannin' out, -an' bringin' a thing to a conclusion--eh, you deludher?” - -“The sarra doubt of it; but takin' the other farm was the brightest -thought I seen wid you yit. Will you do it, avillish?” - -“To be sure. Don't I say it? An' it'll be up wid the lark wid me. Hut, -woman, you don't see the half o' what's in me, yet.” - -“I'll buy you a hat and a pair o' stockins at Christmas.” - -“Will you, Ellish? Then, by the book, I'll work like a horse.” - -“I didn't intind to tell you, but I had it laid out for you.” - -“Faith, you're a beauty, Ellish. What'll we call this young chap that's -comin', acushla?” - -“Now, Pether, none o' your capers. It's time enough when the thing -happens to be thinkin' o' that, Glory be to God!” - -“Well, you may talk as you plase, but I'll call him Pether.” - -“An' how do you know but he'll be a girl, you omadhawn?” - -“Murdher alive, ay, sure enough! Faith, I didn't think o' that!” - -“Well, go up now an' spake to Misther Eccles about the land; maybe -somebody else 'ud slip in afore us, an' that wouldn't be pleasant. -Here's your brave big coat, put it an; faix, it makes a man of -you--gives you a bodagh* look entirely; but that's little to what you'll -be yet, wid a blessin'--a Half-Sir, any way.” - - * This word is used in Ireland sometimes in a good and - sometimes in a bad sense. For instance, the peasantry - will often say in allusion to some individual who may - happen to be talked of, “Hut! he's a dirty bodagh;” but - again, you may hear them use it in a sense directly the - reverse of this; for instance, “He's a very dacent - man, and looks the bodagh entirely.” As to the “Half - sir,” he stands about half-way between the bodagh and - the gentleman, Bodagh--signifying churl--was applied - originally as a term of reproach to the English - settlers. - -In fact, Ellish's industry had already gained a character for both -herself and her husband. He got credit for the assiduity and activity to -which she trained him: and both were respected for their cleverness in -advancing themselves from so poor a beginning to the humble state of -independence they had then reached. The farm which Ellish was so anxious -to secure was the property of the gentleman from whom they held the -other. Being a man of sense and penetration, he fortunately saw--what, -indeed, was generally well known--that Peter and Ellish were rising in -the world, and that their elevation was the consequence of their own -unceasing efforts to become independent, so that industry is in every -possible point of view its own reward. So long as the farm was open to -competition the offers for it multiplied prodigiously, and rose in equal -proportion. Persons not worth twenty shillings in the world offered -double the rent which the utmost stretch of ingenuity, even with -suitable capital, could pay. New-married couples, with nothing but the -strong imaginative hopes peculiar to their country, proposed for it in -a most liberal spirit. Men who had been ejected out of their late farms -for non-payment of rent, were ready to cultivate this at a rent much -above that which, on better land, they were unable to pay. Others, who -had been ejected from farm after farm--each of which they undertook as a -mere speculation, to furnish them with present subsistence, but without -any ultimate expectation of being able to meet their engagements--came -forward with the most laudable efforts. This gentleman, however, was -none of those landlords who are so besotted and ignorant of their own -interests, as to let their lands simply to the highest bidders, without -taking into consideration their capital, moral character, and habits -of industry. He resided at home, knew his tenants personally, took an -interest in their successes and difficulties, and instructed them in the -best modes of improving their farms. - -Peter's first interview with him was not quite satisfactory on -either side. The honest man was like a ship without her rudder, when -transacting business in the absence of his wife. The fact was, that on -seeing the high proposals which were sent in, he became alarmed lest, as -he flattered himself, that the credit of the transaction should be all -his own, the farm might go into the hands of another, and his character -for cleverness suffer with Ellish. The landlord was somewhat astounded -at the rent which a man who bore so high a name for prudence offered -him. He knew it was considerably beyond what the land was worth, and he -did not wish that any tenant coming upon his estate should have no other -prospect than that of gradually receding into insolvency. - -“I cannot give you any answer now,” said he to Peter; “but if you will -call in a day or two I shall let you know my final determination.” - -Peter, on coming home, rendered an account of his interview with the -landlord to his wife, who no sooner heard of the extravagant proposal he -made, than she raised her hands and eyes, exclaiming-- - -“Why, thin, Pether, alanna, was it beside yourself you wor, to go for to -offer a rint that no one could honestly pay! Why, man alive, it 'ud -lave us widout house or home in do time, all out! Sure Pettier, acushla, -where 'ud be the use of us or any one takin' land, barrin' they could -make somethin' by it? Faix, if the gintleman had sinse, he wouldn't give -the same farm to anybody at sich a rint; an' for good rasons too--bekase -they could never pay it, an' himself 'ud be the sufferer in the long -run.” - -“Dang me, but you're the long-headedest woman alive this day, Ellish. -Why, I never wanst wint into the rason o' the thing, at all. But you -don't know the offers he got.” - -“Don't I? Why do you think he'd let the Mullins, or the Conlans, or the -O'Donog-hoes, or the Duffys, upon his land, widout a shillin' in one o' -their pockets to stock it, or to begin workin' it properly wid. Hand me -my cloak from the pin there, an' get your hat. Katty, avourneen, have an -eye to the house till we come back; an' if Dick Murphy comes here to get -tobaccy on score, tell him I can't afford it, till he pays up what he -got. Come, Pether, in the name o' goodness--come, abouchal.” - -Ellish, during their short journey to the landlord's, commenced, in her -own way, a lecture upon agricultural economy, which, though plain and -unvarnished, contained excellent and practical sense. She also pointed -out to him when to speak and when to be silent; told him what rent to -offer, and in what manner he should offer it; but she did all this so -dexterously and sweetly, that honest Peter thought the new and corrected -views which she furnished him with, were altogether the result of his -own penetration. The landlord was at home when they arrived, and ordered -them into the parlor, where he soon made his appearance. - -“Well, Connell,” said he, smiling, “are you come to make me a higher -offer?” - -“Why thin no, plase your honor,” replied Peter, looking for confidence -to Ellish: “instead o' that, sir, Ellish here--” - -“Never heed me, alanna; tell his honor what you've to say, out o' the -face. Go an acushla.” - -“Why, your honor, to tell the blessed thruth, the dickens a bit o' -myself but had a sup in my head when I was wid your honor to-day -before.” - -Ellish was thunderstruck at this most unexpected apology from Peter; but -the fact was, that the instructions which she had given him on their -way had completely evaporated from his brain, and he felt himself thrown -altogether upon his own powers of invention. Here, however, he was at -home; for it was well known among all his acquaintances, that, however -he might be deficient in the management of a family when compared to his -wife, he was capable, notwithstanding, of exerting a certain imaginative -faculty in a very high degree. Ellish felt that to contradict him on the -spot must lessen both him and herself in the opinion of the landlord, a -circumstance that would have given her much pain. - -“I'm sorry to hear that, Connell,” said Mr. Eccles; “you bear the -character of being strictly sober in your habits. You must have been -early at the bottle, too, which makes your apology rather unhappy. Of -all tipplers, he who drinks early is the worst and most incurable.” - -“Thrue for you, sir, but this only happens me wanst a year, your honor.” - -“Once a year! But, by the by, you had no appearance of being tipsy, -Peter.” - -“Tipsy! Bud-a'-age, your honor, I was never seen tipsy in all my life,” - said Peter,--“That's a horse of another color, sir, plase your honor.” - -The reader must at once perceive that Peter here was only recovering -himself from the effects of the injurious impression which his first -admission was calculated to produce against him in the mind of his -landlord. “Tipsy! No, no, sir; but the rason of it, sir, was this: it -bein' my birthday, sir, I merely tuck a sup in the mornin', in honor o' -the day. It's altogether a lucky day to me, sir!” - -“Why, to be sure, every man's birthday may, probably, be called -such--the gift of existence being, I fear, too much undervalued.” - -“Bedad, your honor, I don't mane that, at all.” - -“Then what do you mean, Peter?” - -“Why, sir, you see, it's not that I was _entirely_ born on this day, but -partly, sir; I was marrid to Ellish here into the bargain,--one o' -the best wives, sir--however, I'll say no more, as she's to the fore -herself. But, death alive, sir, sure when we put both conclusions -together--myself bein' sich a worthy man, and Ellish such a tip-top -wife, who could blame me for smellin' the bottle?--for divil a much more -I did--about two glasses, sir--an' so it got up into my head a little -when I was wid your honor to-day before.” - -“But what is the amount of all this, Peter?” - -“Why, sir, you see only I was as I said, Sir--not tipsy, your honor, any -way, but seein' things double or so; an' that was, I suppose, what made -me offer for the farm double what I intinded. Every body knows, sir, -that the 'crathur' gives the big heart to us, any how, your honor.” - -“But you know, Peter, we entered into no terms about it. I, therefore, -have neither power nor inclination to hold you to the offer you made.” - -“Faith, sir, you're not the gintleman to do a shabby turn, nor ever was, -nor one o' your family. There's not in all Europe”-- - -Ellish, who was a point blank dealer, could endure Peter's mode of -transacting business no longer. She knew that if he once got into the -true spirit of applying the oil of flattery to the landlord, he would -have rubbed him into a perfect froth ere he quitted him. She, therefore, -took up the thread of the discourse, and finished the compliment with -much more delicacy than honest Peter could have displayed. - -“Thrue for you, Pether,” she added; “there is not a kinder family to -the poor, nor betther landlords in the country they live in. Pether an' -myself, your honor, on layin' both our 'heads together, found that he -offered more rint for the land nor any! tenant could honestly pay. So, -sir, where's the use of keepin' back God's truth--Pether, sir”-- - -Peter here trembled from an apprehension that the wife, in accomplishing -some object of her own in reference to the land, was about to undeceive -the landlord, touching the lie which he had so barefacedly palmed upon -that worthy gentleman for truth. In fact, his anxiety overcame his -prudence, and he resolved to anticipate her. - -“I'd advise you, sir,” said he, with a smile of significant good-humor, -“to be a little suspicious of her, for, to tell the truth, she draws -the”--here he illustrated the simile with his staff--“the long bow of an -odd time; faith she does. I'd kiss the book on the head of what I tould -you, sir, plase your honor. For the sacret of it is, that I tuck the -moistare afore she left her bed.” - -“Why, Peter, alanna,” said Ellish, soothingly, “what's comin' over you, -at all, an' me; goin' to explain to his honor the outs and ins I of our -opinion about the land? Faix, man, we're not thinkin' about you, good or -bad.” - -“I believe the drop has scarcely left your head yet, Peter,” said the -landlord. - -“Bud-an'-age, your honor, sure we must have our joke, any how--doesn't -she deserve it for takin' the word out o' my mouth?” - -“Whisht, avillish; you're too cute for us all, Pether. There's no use, -sir, as I was sayin', for any one to deny that when they take a farm -they do it to make by it, or at the laste to live comfortably an it. -That's the thruth, your honor, an' it's no use to keep it back from you, -sir.” - -“I perfectly agree with you,” said the landlord. “It is with these -motives that a tenant should wish to occupy land; and it is the duty of -every landlord who has his own interest truly at heart, to see that -his land be not let at such a rent as will preclude the possibility of -comfort or independence on the part of his tenantry. He who lets his -land above its value, merely because people are foolish enough to offer -more for it than it is worth, is as great an enemy to himself as he is -to the tenant.” - -“It's God's thruth, sir, an' it's nothin' else but a comfort to hear -sich words comin' from the lips of a gintleman that's a landlord -himself.” - -“Ay, an' a good one, too,” said Peter; “an' kind father for his honor to -be what he is. Divil resave the family in all Europe”-- - -“Thrue for you, avourneen, an' even' one knows that. We wor talkin' it -over, sir, betuxt ourselves, Pether an' me, an' he says very cutely, -that, upon second thoughts, he offered more nor we could honestly pay -out o' the land: so”-- - -“Faith, it's a thrue as gospel, your honor. Says I, 'Ellish, you -beauty'”-- - -“I thought,” observed Mr. Eccles, “that she sometimes drew the long bow, -Peter.” - -“Oh, murdher alive, sir, it was only in regard of her crassin' in an' -whippin' the word out o' my mouth, that I wanted to take a rise out -of her. Oh, bedad, sir, no; the crathur's thruth to the backbone, an' -farther if I'd say it.” - -“So, your honor, considherin' everything, we're willin' to offer thirty -shillin's an acre for the farm. That rint, sir, we'll be able to pay, -wid the help o' God, for sure we can do nothin' widout his assistance, -glory be to his name! You'll get many that'll offer you more, your -honor; but if it 'ud be plasin' to you to considher what manes they have -to pay it, I think, sir, you'd see, out o' your own sinse, that it's not -likely people who is gone to the bad, an' has nothin' could stand it out -long.” - -“I wish to heaven,” replied Mr. Eccles, “that every tenant in Ireland -possessed your prudence and good sense. Will you permit me to ask, Mrs. -Connell, what capital you and your husband can command provided I should -let you have it.” - -“Wid every pleasure in life, sir, for it's but a fair question to put. -An' sure, it is to God we owe it, whatever it is, plase your honor. But, -sir, if we get the land, we're able to stock it, an' to crop it well an' -dacently; an' if your honor would allow us for sartin improvements, sir, -we'd run it into snug fields, by plantin' good hedges, an' gettin' up -shelther for the outlyin' cattle in the hard seasons, plase your honor, -and you know the farm is very naked and bare of shelter at present.” - -“Sowl, will we, sir, an' far more nor that if we get it. I'll -undhertake, sir, to level”-- - -“No, Pether, we'll promise no more nor we'll do; but anything that his -honor will be plased to point out to us, if we get fair support, an' -that it remains on the farm afther us, we'll be willin' to do it.” - -“Willin'!” exclaimed Peter!--“faith, whether we're willin' or not, if -his honor but says the word”---- - -“Mrs. Connell,” said their landlord, “say no more. The farm is yours, -and you may, consider yourselves as my tenants.” - -“Many thanks to you, sir, for the priference. I hope, sir, you'll not -rue what you did in givin' it to us before them that offered a higher -rint. You'll find, sir, wid the help o' the Almighty, that we'll pay you -your rint rigular an' punctual.” - -“Why, thin, long life, an' glory, an' benedication to your honor! Faith, -it's only kind father for you, sir, to be what you are. The divil resave -the family in all Europe”-- - -“Peter, that will do,” replied the landlord, “it would be rather -hazardous for our family to compete with all Europe. Go home, Peter, -and be guided by your wife, who has more sense in her little finger than -ever your family had either in Europe or out of it, although I mean you -no offense by going beyond Europe.” - -“By all the books that never wor opened an' shut,” replied Peter, -with the intuitive quickness of perception peculiar to Irishmen, “an -innocenter boy than Andy Connell never was sent acrass the water. I -proved as clear an alibi for him as the sun in the firmanent; an' yit, -bad luck to the big-wig O'Grady, he should be puttin' in his leek an me -afore the jury, jist whin I had the poor boy cleared out dacently, an' -wid all honor. An' bedad, now, that we're spakin about it, I'll tell -your honor the whole conclusions of it. You see, sir, the Agint was shot -one night; an' above all nights in the year, your honor, a thief of a -toothache that I had kep me”-- - -“Pether, come away, abouchal: his honor kaows as much about it as you -do, Come, aroon; you know we must help to scald an' scrape the pig afore -night, an' it's late now.” - -“Bodad, sir, she's a sweet one, this.” - -“Be guided by her, Peter, if you're wise, she's a wife you ought to be -proud of.” - -“Thrue for you, sir; divil resave the word o' lie in that, any how. -Come, Ellish; come, you deludher, I'm wid you.” - -“God bless your honor, sir, an' we're ob'laged to you for you kindness -an' patience wid the likes o' us.” - -“I say ditto, your honor. Long life an' glory to you every day your -honor rises!” - -Peter, on his way home, entered into a defence of his apology for -offering so high a rent to the landlord; but although it possessed both -ingenuity and originality, it was, we must confess, grossly defective in -those principles usually inculcated by our best Ethic writers. - -“Couldn't you have tould him what we agreed upon goin' up,” observed -Ellish; “but instead o' that, to begin an' tell the gintlemen so many -lies about your bein' dhrunk, an' this bein' your birth-day, an' the -day we wor marrid, an',----Musha, sich quare stories to come into your -head?” - -“Why,” said Peter, “what harm's in all that, whin he didn't _find me -out?_” - -“But why the sarra did you go to say that I was in the custom o' tellin' -lies?” - -“Faix, bekase I thought you wor goin' to let out all, an' I thought -it best to have the first word o' you. What else?--but sure I brought -myself off bravely.” - -“Well, well, a hudh; don't be invintin' sich things another time, or -you'll bring yourself into a scrape, some way or other.” - -“Faix, an' you needn't spake, Ellish; you can let out a nate bounce -yourself, whin it's to sarve you. Come now, don't run away wid the -story!” - -“Well, if I do, it's in the way o' my business; whin I'm batin' them -down in the price o' what I'm buyin', or gettin' thim to bid up for any -thing I'm sellin': besides, it's to advance ourselves in the world that -I do it, abouchal.” - -“Go an, go an; faix, you're like the new moon, sharp at both corners: -but what matther, you beauty, we've secured the farm, at any rate, an', -by this an' by that, I'll show you tip-top farmin' an it.” - -A struggle now commenced between the husband and wife, as to which of -them should, in their respective departments, advance themselves with -greater rapidity in life. This friendly contest was kept up principally -by the address of Ellish, who, as she knew those points in her husband's -character most easily wrought upon, felt little difficulty in shaping -him to her own purposes. Her great object was to acquire wealth; and it -mostly happens, that when this is the ruling principle in life, there is -usually to be found, in association with it, all those qualities which -are best adapted to secure it. Peter, on finding that every succeeding -day brought something to their gains, began to imbibe a portion of -that spirit which wholly absorbed Ellish. He became worldly; but it -was rather the worldliness of habit than of principle. In the case -of Ellish, it proceeded from both; her mind was apt, vigorous, and -conceptive; her body active, her manners bland and insinuating, and her -penetration almost intuitive. About the time of their entering upon the -second farm, four children had been, the fruit of their marriage--two -sons and two daughters. These were now new sources of anxiety to their -mother, and fresh impulses to her industry. Her ignorance, and that of -her husband, of any kind of education, she had often, in the course -of their business, bitter cause to regret. She now resolved that their -children should be well instructed; and no time was lost in sending them -to school, the moment she thought them capable of imbibing the simplest -elements of instruction. - -“It's hard to say,” she observed to her husband, “how soon they may be -useful to us. Who knows, Pether, but we may have a full shop yit, -an' they may be able to make up bits of accounts for us, poor things? -Throth, I'd be happy if I wanst seen it.” - -“Faix, Ellish,” replied Peter, “if we can get an as we're doin', it is -hard to say. For my own part, if I had got the larnin' in time, I might -be a bright boy to-day, no doubt of it--could spake up to the best -o' thim. I never wint to school but wanst, an' I remimber I threw the -masther into a kiln-pot, an' broke the poor craythur's arm; an' from -that day to this, I never could be brought a single day to school.” - -Peter and Ellish now began to be pointed out as a couple worthy of -imitation by those who knew that perseverance and industry never fail of -securing their own reward. Others, however,--that is to say, the lazy, -the profligate, and the ignorant,--had a ready solution of the secret of -their success. - -“Oh, my dear, she's a lucky woman, an' anything she puts her hand to -prospers. Sure sho was born wid a _lucky caul_* an her head; an', be -sure, ahagur, the world will flow in upon thim. There's many a neighbor -about thim works their fingers to the stumps, an' yit you see they can't -get an: for Ellish, if she'd throw the sweepins of her hearth to the -wind, it 'ud come back to her in money. She was born to it, an' nothin' -can keep her from her luck!”** - - * The caul is a, thin membrane, about the consistence - of very fine silk, which sometimes covers the head on a - new-born infant like a cap. It is always the omen of - great good fortune to the infant and parents; and in - Ireland, when any one has unexpectedly fallen into the - receipt of property, or any other temporal good, it is - customary to say, “such a person was born with a 'lucky - caul' on his head.” - - Why these are considered lucky, it would be a very - difficult matter to ascertain. Several instances of - good fortune, happening to such as were born with them, - might, by their coincidences, form a basis for the - superstition; just as the fact of three men during one - severe winter having been found drowned, each with two - shirts on, generated an opinion which has now become - fixed and general in that parish, that it is unlucky to - wear two shirts at once. We are not certain whether the - caul is in general the perquisite of the midwife-- - sometimes we believe it is; at all events, her - integrity occasionally yields to the desire of - possessing it. In many cases she conceals its - existence, in order that she may secretly dispose of it - to good advantage, which she frequently does; for it is - considered to be the herald of good fortune to those - who can get it into their possession. Now, let not our - English neighbors smile at us for those things until - they wash their own hands clear of such practices. At - this day a caul will bring a good price in the most - civilized city in the world--to wit, the good city of - London--the British metropolis. Nay to such lengths has - the mania for cauls been carried there, that they have - been actually advertised for in the Times newspaper. - - * This doctrine of fatalism is very prevalent among the - lower orders in Ireland. - -Such are many of the senseless theories that militate against exertion -and industry in Ireland, and occasion many to shrink back from the -laudible race of honest enterprise, into filth, penury, and crime. It -is this idle and envious crew, who, with a natural aversion to domestic -industry, become adepts in politics, and active in those illegal -combinations and outrages which retard the prosperity of the country, -and bring disgrace upon the great body of its peaceable inhabitants. - -In the meantime Ellish was rapidly advancing in life, while such persons -were absurdly speculating upon the cause of her success. Her business -was not only increased, but extended. From crockery, herrings, and salt, -she advanced gradually to deal in other branches adapted to her station, -and the wants of the people. She bought stockings, and retailed them -every market-day. By and by a few pieces of soap might be seen in her -windows; starch, blue, potash, and candles, were equally profitable. -Pipes were seen stuck across each other, flanked by tape, cakes, -children's books, thimbles, and bread. In fact, she was equally clever -and expert in whatever she undertook. The consciousness of this, and the -reputation of being “a hard honest woman,” encouraged her to get a cask -or two of beer, and a few rolls of tobacco. Peter, when she proposed -the two last, consented only to sell them still as smuggled, goods--sub -silentio. With her usual prudence, however, she declined this. - -“We have gone on that way purty far,” she replied, “an' never got a -touch, (* never suffered by the exciseman) thanks to the kindness o' the -neighbors that never informed an us: but now, Pether, that we're able we -had betther do everything above boord. You know the ould say, 'long runs -the fox, but he's catched at last:' so let us give up in time, an' get -out a little bit o' license.” - -“I don't like that at all,” replied Peter: “I cain't warm my heart to -the license. I'll back you in anything but that. The gauger won't come -next or near us: he has thried it often, an' never made anything of it. -Dang me, but I'd like to have a bit o' fun with the gauger to see if my -hand's still ready for practice.” - -“Oh, thin, Pether, how can you talk that way, asthore? Now if what -I'm sayin' was left to yourself wouldn't you be apt to plan it as -I'm doin'?--wouldn't you, acushla? Throth, I know you're to cute an' -sinsible not to do it.” - -“Why thin, do you know what, Ellish--although I didn't spake it out, -upon my faix I was thinkin' of it. Divil a word o' lie in it.” - -“Oh, you thief o' the world, an' never to tell it to me. Faix, Pether, -you're a cunnin' shaver, an' as deep as a draw well.” - -“Let me alone. Why I tell you if I study an' lay myself down to it, I -can conthrive anything. When I was young, many a time my poor father, -God be good to him! said that if there was any possibility of gettin' me -to take to larnin', I'd be risin' out o' the ashes every mornin' like a -phanix.” - -“But won't you hould to your plan about the license?” - -“Hould! To be sure I will. What was I but takin' a rise out o' you. I -intinded it this good while, you phanix--faix, I did.” - -In this manner did Ellish dupe her own husband into increasing wealth. -Their business soon became so extensive, that a larger house was -absolutely necessary. To leave that, beneath whose roof she succeeded -so well in all her speculations, was a point--be it of prudence or of -prejudice--which Ellish could not overcome. Her maxim was, whereever you -find yourself doing well, stay there. She contrived, however, to remedy -this. To the old house additional apartments were, from time to time, -added, into which their business soon extended. When these again became -too small, others were also built; so that in the course of about twenty -years, their premises were so extensive, that the original shebeen-house -constituted a very small portion of Peter's residence. Peter, during -Ellish's progress within doors, had not been idle without. For every new -room added to the house, he was able to hook in a fresh farm in addition -to those he had already occupied. Unexpected success had fixed his heart -so strongly upon the accumulation of money, and the pride of rising -in the world, as it was possible for a man, to whom they were only -adventitious feelings, to experience. The points of view in which he -and his wife were contemplated by the little public about them were -peculiar, but clearly distinct. The wife was generally esteemed for -her talents and incessant application to business; but she was not so -cordially liked as Peter. He, on the other hand, though less esteemed, -was more beloved by all their acquaintances than Ellish. This might -probably originate from the more obvious congeniality which existed -between Peter's natural disposition, and the national character; for -with the latter, Ellish, except good humor, had little in common. - -The usual remarks upon both were--“she would buy an' sell him”--“'twas -she that made a man of him; but for all that, Pether's worth a ship-load -of her, if she'd give him his own way.” That is, if she would permit him -to drink with the neighbors, to be idle and extravagant. - -Every year, now that their capital was extending, added more perceptibly -to their independence. Ellish's experience in the humbler kinds of -business, trained her for a higher line; just as boys at school rise -from one form to another. She made no plunges, nor permitted Peter, who -was often, inclined to jump at conclusions, to make any. Her elevation -was gradual and cautious; for her plans were always so seasonable and -simple that every new description of business, and every new success, -seemed to arise naturally from that which went before it. - -Having once taken out a license, their house soon became a decent -country spirit establishment; from soap, and candles, and tobacco, she -rose into the full sweep of groceries; and from dealing in Connemara -stockings and tape, she proceeded in due time to sell woollen and linen -drapery. Her crockery was now metamorphosed into delf, pottery, and -hardware; her gingerbread into stout loaves, for as Peter himself grew -wheat largely, she seized the opportunity presented by the death of the -only good baker in the neighborhood, of opening an extensive bakery. - -It may be asked, how two illiterate persons, like Peter and Ellish, -could conduct business in which so much calculation was necessary, -without suffering severely by their liability to make mistakes. To this -we reply--first, that we should have liked to see any person attempting -to pass a bad note or a light guinea upon Ellish after nine or ten -years' experience; we should like to have seen a smug clerk taking his -pen from behind his ear, and after making his calculation, on inquiring -from Ellish if she had reckoned up the amount, compelled to ascertain -the error which she pointed out to him. The most remarkable point in -her whole character, was the rapid accuracy she displayed in mental -calculation, and her uncommon sagacity in detecting bad money. - -There is, however, a still more satisfactory explanation of this -circumstance to be given. She had not neglected the education of her -children. The eldest was now an intelligent boy, and a smart accountant, -who, thanks to his master, had been taught to keep their books by Double -Entry. The second was little inferior to him as a clerk, though as a -general dealer he was far his superior. The eldest had been principally -behind the counter; whilst the younger, in accompanying his mother in -all her transactions and bargain-making, had in a great measure imbibed -her address and tact. - -It is certainly a pleasing, and, we think, an interesting thing, to -contemplate the enterprise of an humble, but active, shrewd woman, -enabling her to rise, step by step, from the lowest state of poverty to -a small sense of independence; from this, by calling-fresh powers into -action, taking wider views, and following them up by increased efforts, -until her shebeen becomes a small country public-house; until her roll -of tobacco, and her few pounds of soap and starch, are lost in the -well-filled drawers of a grocery shop; and her gray Connemara stockings -transformed by the golden wand of industry into a country cloth -warehouse. To see Peter--from the time when he first harrowed part of -his farm with a thorn-bush, and ploughed it by joining his horse to that -of a neighbor--adding farm to farm, horse to horse, and cart to cart, -until we find him a wealthy and extensive agriculturist. - -The progress of Peter and Ellish was in another point of view a good -study for him who wishes to look into human nature, whilst adapting -itself to the circumstances through which it passes. When this couple -began life, their friends and acquaintancess were as poor as themselves; -as they advanced from one gradation to another, and rose up from a lower -to a higher state, their former friends, who remained in their original -poverty, found themselves left behind in cordiality and intimacy, as -well as in circumstances; whilst the subjects of our sketch continued -to make new friendships of a more respectable stamp, to fill up, as it -were, the places held in their good will by their humble, but neglected, -intimates. Let not our readers, however, condemn them for this. - -It was the act of society, and not of Peter and Ellish. On their parts, -it was involuntary; their circumstances raised them, and they were -compelled, of course, to rise with their circumstances. They were -passing through the journey of life, as it were, and those with whom -they set out, not having been able to keep up with them, soon lost their -companionship, which was given to those with whom they travelled for -the time being. Society is always ready to reward the enterprising and -industrious by its just honors, whether they are sought or not; it is so -disposed, that every man falls or rises into his proper place in it, -and that by the wisdom and harmony of its structure. The rake, who -dissipates by profligacy and extravagance that which might have secured -him an honorable place in life, is eventually brought to the work-house; -whilst the active citizen, who realizes an honest independence, is -viewed with honor and esteem. - -Peter and Ellish were now people of consequence in the parish; the -former had ceased to do anything more than superintend the cultivation -of his farms; the latter still took an active part in her own business, -or rather in the various departments of business Which she carried on. -Peter might be seen the first man abroad in the morning proceeding to -some of his farms mounted upon a good horse, comfortably dressed in -top boots, stout corduroy breeches, buff cashmere waistcoat, and -blue broad-cloth coat, to which in winter was added a strong frieze -greatcoat, with a drab velvet collar, and a glazed hat. Ellish was also -respectably dressed, but still considerably under her circumstances. -Her mode of travelling to fairs or markets was either upon a common car, -covered with a feather-bed and quilt, or behind Peter upon a pillion. -This last method flattered Peter's vanity very much; no man could ride -on these occasions with a statelier air. He kept himself as erect and -stiff as a poker, and brandished the thong of his loaded whip with the -pride of a gentleman farmer. - -'Tis true, he did not always hear the sarcastic remarks which were -passed upon him by those who witnessed his good-natured vanity: - -“There he goes,” some laboring man on the wayside would exclaim, “a -purse-proud _bodagh_ upon our hands. Why, thin, does he forget that we -remimber when he kept the shebeen-house, an' sould his smuggled to-baccy -in gits (* the smallest possible quantities) out of his pocket, for -fraid o' the gauger! Sowl, he'd show a blue nose, any way, only for the -wife--'Twas she made a man of him.” - -“Faith, an' I for one, won't hear Pether Connell run down,” his -companion would reply; “he's a good-hearted, honest man, an' obligin' -enough; an' for that matter so is the wife, a hard honest woman, that -made what they have, an' brought herself an' her husband from nothin' to -somethin'.” - -“Thrue for you, Tim; in throth, they do desarve credit. Still, you see, -here's you an' me, an' we've both been slavin' ourselves as much as they -have, an' yet you see how we are! However, _its their luck_, and there's -no use in begrudgin' it to them.” - -When their children were full-grown, the mother did not, as might have -been supposed, prevent them from making a respectable appearance. -With excellent judgment, she tempered their dress, circumstances, and -prospects so well together, that the family presented an admirable -display of economy, and a decent sense of independence. From the moment -they were able to furnish solid proofs of their ability to give a -comfortable dinner occasionally, the priest of the parish began to -notice them; and this new intimacy, warmed by the honor conferred on -one side, and by the good dinners on the other, ripened into a strong -friendship. For many a long year, neither Peter nor Ellish, God forgive -them, ever troubled themselves about going to their duty. They soon -became, however, persons of too much importance to be damned without -an effort made for their salvation. The worthy gentleman accordingly -addressed them on the subject, and as the matter was one of perfect -indifference to both, they had not the slightest hesitation to go to -confession--in compliment to the priest. We do not blame the priest for -this; God forbid that we should quarrel with a man for loving a good -dinner. If we ourselves were a priest, it is very probable,--nay, from -the zest with which we approach a good dinner, it is quite certain--that -we would have cultivated honest Peter's acquaintance, and drawn him -out to the practice of that most social of virtues--hospitality. The -salvation of such a man's soul was worth looking after; and, indeed, -we find a much warmer interest felt, in all churches, for those who are -able to give good dinners, than for those poor miserable sinners who can -scarcely get even a bad one. - -But besides this, there was another reason for the Rev. Mr. Mulcahy's -anxiety to cultivate a friendship with Peter and his wife--which -reason consisted in a very laudable determination to bring about a match -between his own niece, Miss Granua Mulcahy, and Peter's eldest son, Dan. -This speculation he had not yet broached to the family, except by broken -hints, and jocular allusions to the very flattering proposals that had -been made by many substantial young men for Miss Granua. - -In the mean time the wealth of the Connells had accumulated to -thousands; their business in the linen and woollen drapery line was -incredible. There was scarcely a gentleman within many miles of them, -who did not find it his interest to give them his custom. In the -hardware, flour, and baking concerns they were equally fortunate. The -report of their wealth had gone far and near, exaggerated, however, -as everything of the kind is certain to be; but still there were ample -grounds for estimating it at a very high amount. - -Their stores were large, and well filled with many a valuable bale; -their cellars well stocked with every description of spirits; and their -shop, though not large in proportion to their transactions, was well -filled, neat, and tastefully fitted up. There was no show, however--no -empty glare to catch the eye; on the contrary, the whole concern was -marked by an air of solid, warm comfort, that was much more indicative -of wealth and independence than tawdry embellishment would have been. - -“Avourneen,” said Ellish, “the way to deck out your shop is to keep -the best of goods. Wanst the people knows that they'll get betther -money-worth here than they'll get anywhere else, they'll come here, -whether the shop looks well or ill. Not savin' but every shop ought to -be clane an' dacent, for there's rason in all things.” - -This, indeed, was another secret of their success. Every article in -their shop was of the best description, having been selected by Ellish's -own eye and hand in the metropolis, or imported directly from the place -of its manufacture. Her periodical visits to Dublin gave her great -satisfaction; for it appears that those with whom she dealt, having -had sufficient discrimination to appreciate her talents and integrity, -treated her with marked respect. - -Peter's farm-yard bore much greater evidence of his wealth than did -Ellish's shop. It was certainly surprising to reflect, that by the -capacity of two illiterate persons, who began the world with nothing, -all the best and latest improvements in farming were either adopted or -anticipated. The farmyard was upon a great scale; for Peter cultivated -no less than four hundred acres of land--to such lengths had his -enterprise carried him. Threshing machines, large barns, corn kilns, -large stacks, extensive stables, and immense cow-houses, together with -the incessant din of active employment perpetually going on--all gave -a very high opinion of their great prosperity, and certainly reflected -honor upon those whose exertions had created such a scene about them. -One would naturally suppose, when the family of the Connells had arrived -to such unexpected riches, and found it necessary to conduct a system -whose machinery was so complicated and extensive that Ellish would have -fallen back to the simple details of business, from a deficiency of -that comprehensive intelligence which is requisite to conduct the higher -order of mercantile transactions; especially as her sons were admirably -qualified by practice, example, and education, to ease her of a task -which would appear one of too much difficulty for an unlettered farmer's -wife. Such a supposition would be injurious to this excellent woman. So -far from this being the case, she was still the moving spirit, the -chief conductor of the establishment. Whenever any difficulty arose -that required an effort of ingenuity and sagacity, she was able in the -homeliest words to disentangle it so happily, that those who heard her -wondered that it should at all have appeared to them as a difficulty. -She was everywhere. In Peter's farm-yard her advice was as excellent -and as useful as in her own shop. On his farms she was the better -agriculturist, and she frequently set him right in his plans and -speculations for the ensuing year. - -She herself was not ignorant of her skill. Many a time has she surveyed -the scene about her with an eye in which something like conscious pride -might be seen to kindle. On those occasions she usually shook her head, -and exclaimed, either in soliloquy, or by way of dialogue, to some -person near her:-- - -“Well, avourneen, all's very right, an' goin' an bravely; but I only -hope that when I'm gone I won't be missed!” - -“Missed,” Peter would reply, if he happened to hear her; “oh, upon my -credit”--he was a man of too much consequence to swear “by this and -by that” now--“upon my credit, Ellish, if you die soon, you'll see the -genteel wife I'll have in your place.” - -“Whisht, avourneen! Although you're but jokin', I don't like to hear it, -avillish! No, indeed; we wor too long together, Pether, and lived too -happily wid one another, for you to have the heart to think of sich a -thing!” - -“No, in troth, Ellish, I would be long sarry to do it. It's displasin' -to you, achree, an' I won't say it. God spare you to us! It was you put -the bone in us, an' that's what all the country says, big an' little, -young and ould; an' God He knows it's truth, and nothin' else.” - -“Indeed, no, thin, Pether, it's not altogether thruth, you desarve your -full share of it. You backed me well, acushla, in everything, an' if you -had been a dhrinkin', idle, rollikin' vagabone, what 'ud signify all, -that me or the likes o' me could do.” - -“Faith, an' it was you made me what I am, Ellish; you tuck the soft -side o' me, you beauty; an' it's well you did, for by this--hem, upon -my reputation, if you had gone to cross purposes with me you'd find -yourself in the wrong box. An', you phanix of beauty, you managed the -childhre, the crathurs, the same way--an' a good way it is, in throth.” - -“Pether, wor you ever thinkin' o' Father Muloahy's sweetness to us of -late?” - -“No, thin, the sorra one o' me thought of it. Why, Ellish?” - -“Didn't you obsarve that for the last three or four months he's full of -attintions to us? Every Sunday he brings you up, an' me, if I'd go, to -the althar,--an' keeps you there by way of showin' you respect. Pether, -it's not you, but your money he respects; an' I think there ought to be -no respect o' persons in the chapel, any how. You're not a bit nearer -God by bein' near the althar; for how do we know but the poorest crathur -there is nearer to heaven than we are!” - -“Faith, sure enough, Ellish; but what deep skame are you penethratin' -now, you desaver?” - -“I'd lay my life, you'll have a proposial o' marriage from Father -Mulcahy, atween our Dan an' Miss Granua. For many a day he's hintin' to -us, from time to time, about the great offers she had; now what's the -rason, if she had these great offers, that he didn't take them?” - -“Bedad, Ellish, you're the greatest headpiece in all Europe. Murdher -alive, woman, what a fine counsellor you'd make. An' suppose he did -offer, Ellish, what 'ud you be sayin' to him?” - -“Why, that 'ud depind entirely upon what he's able to give her--they say -he has money. It 'ud depind, too, upon whether Dan has any likin' for -her or not.” - -“He's often wid her, I know; an' I needn't tell you, Ellish, that afore -we wor spliced together, I was often wid somebody that I won't mintion. -At all evints, he has made Dan put the big O afore the Connell, so that -he has him now full namesake to the Counsellor; an', faith, that itself' -'ud get him a wife.” - -“Well, the best way is to say nothin', an' to hear nothin', till his -Reverence spates out, an' thin we'll see what can be done.” - -Ellish's sagacity had not misled her. In a few months afterwards Father -Mulcahy was asked by young Dan Connell to dine; and as he and holiest -Ellish were sitting together, in the course of the evening, the priest -broached the topic as follows:-- - -“Mrs. Connell, I think this whiskey is better than my four-year old, -that I bought at the auction the other day, although Dan says mine's -better. Between ourselves, that Dan is a clever, talented young fellow; -and if he happens upon a steady, sensible wife, there is no doubt but he -will die a respectable man. But, by the by, Mrs. Connell, you've never -tried my whiskey; and upon my credit, you must soon, for I know your -opinion would decide the question.” - -“Is it worth while to decide it, your Reverence? I suppose the thruth -is, sir, that both is good enough for anyone; an' I think that's as much -as we want.” - -Thus far she went, but never alluded to Dan, judiciously throwing the -onus of introducing that subject upon the priest. - -“Dan says mine's better,” observed Father Mulcahy; “and I would -certainly give a great deal for his opinion upon that or any other -subject, except theology.” - -“You ought,” replied Ellish, “to be a bether judge of whiskey nor either -Dan nor me; an' I'll tell you why--you dhrink it in more places, and can -make comparishment one wid another; but Dan an' me is confined mostly to -our own, an' of that same we take very little, an' the less the betther -for people in business, or indeed for anybody.” - -“Very true, Mrs. Connell! But for all that, I won't give up Dan's -judgment in anything within his own line of business, still excepting -theology, for which, he hasn't the learning.” - -“He's a good son, without _tay_ology--as good as ever broke the world's -bread,” said Peter, “glory be to God! Although, for that matther, he -ought to be as well acquainted wid _tay_ology as your Reverence, in -regard that he _sells_ more of it nor you do.” - -“A good son, they say, Mrs. Connell, will make a good husband. I wonder -you don't think of settling him in life. It's full time.” - -“Father, avourneen, we must lave that wid himself. I needn't be tellin' -you, that it 'ud be hard to find a girl able to bring what the girl that -'ud expect Dan ought to bring.” - -This was a staggerer to the priest, who recruited his ingenuity by -drinking Peter's health, and Ellish's. - -“Have you nobody in your eye for him, Mrs. Connell?” - -“Faith, I'll engage she has,” replied Peter, with a ludicrous -grin--“I'll venture for to say she has that.” - -“Very right, Mrs. Connell; it's all fair. Might one ask who she is; for, -to tell you the truth, Dan is a favorite of mine, and must make it a -point to see him well settled.” - -“Why, your Reverence,” replied Peter again, “jist the one you -mintioned.” - -“Who? I? Why I mentioned nobody.” - -“An' that's the very one she has in her eye for him, plase your -Reverence--ha, ha, ha! What's the world widout a joke, Docthor? beggin' -your pardon for makin' so free wid you.” - -“Peter, you're still a wag,” replied the priest; “but, seriously, Mrs. -Connell, have you selected any female, of respectable connections, as a -likely person to be a wife for Dan?” - -“Indeed no, your Reverence, I have not. Where could I pitch upon a -girl--barrin' a Protestant, an' that 'ud never do--who has a fortune to -meet what Dan's to get?” - -The priest moved his chair a little, and drank their healths a second -time. - -“But you know, Mrs. Connell, that Dan needn't care so much about -fortune, if he got a girl of respectable connections. He has an -independence himself.” - -“Thrue for you, father; but what right would any girl have to expect to -be supported by the hard arnin' of me an' my husband, widout bringin' -somethin' forrid herself? You know, sir, that the fortune always goes -wid the wife; but am I to fortune off my son to a girl that has nothin'? -If my son, plase your Reverence, hadn't a coat to his back, or a guinea -in his pocket--as, God be praised, he has both--but, supposin' he -hadn't, what right would he have to expect a girl wid a handsome fortune -to marry him? There's Paddy Neil your sarvint-boy; now, if Paddy, who's -an honest man's son, axed your niece, wouldn't you be apt to lose your -timper?” - -“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Connell, I think your fire's rather hot--allow -me to drawback a little. Mrs. Connell, your health again!--Mr. Connell, -your fireside!” - -“Thank you, Docthor; but faith I think you ought hardly to dhrink the -same fireside, becase it appears to be rather hot for your Reverence, at -the present time--ha, ha, ha! Jokin' still, Docthor, we must be. Well, -what harm! I wish we may never do worse!” - -“And what fortune would you expect with a girl of genteel connexion--a -girl that's accomplished, well say in music, plain work, and Irish, -vernacularly?--hem! What fortune would you be expecting with such a -girl?” - -“Why, Docthor, ahagur, the only music I'd wish for my son's wife is a -good timper; an' that's what their music-masthers can't tache thim. -The plain work, although I don't know what you mane by it, sounds well -enough; an' as to Irish, whick-whacku-larly, if you mane our own ould -tongue, he may get thousands that can spake it whackinly, an' nothin' -else.” - -“You're a wealthy woman, certainly, Mrs. Connell, and what's more, I'm -not at all surprised at it. Your health, once more, and long life to -you! Suppose, however, that Dan got a fitting wife, what would you -expect as a proper portion? I have a reason for asking.” - -“Dan, plase your Reverence, will get four thousand to begin the world -wid; an', as he's to expect none but a Catholic, I suppose if he gets -the fourth part of that, it's as much as he ought to look for.” - -“A thousand pounds!--hut tut! The woman's beside herself. Why look about -you and try where you can find a Catholic girl with a thousand pounds -fortune, except in a gentleman's family, where Dan could never think of -going.” - -“That's thrue, any how, your Reverence,” observed Peter.--“A thousand -pounds! Ellish! you needn't look for it. Where is it to be had out of a -gintleman's family, as his Reverence says thrue enough.” - -“An' now, Docthor,” said Ellish, “what 'ud you think a girl ought to -bring a young man like Dan, that's to have four thousand pounds?” - -“I don't think any Catholic girl of his own rank in the county, could -get more than a couple of hundred.” - -“That's one shillin' to every pound he has,” replied Ellish, almost -instantaneously. “But, Father, you may as well spake out at wanst,” she -continued, for she was too quick and direct in all her dealings to be -annoyed by circumlocution; “you're desairous of a match between Dan an' -Miss Granua?” - -“Exactly,” said the priest; “and what is more, I believe they are fond -of each other. I know Dan is attached to her, for he told me so. -But, now that we have mentioned her, I say that there is not a more -accomplished girl of her persuasion in the parish we sit in. She can -play on the bagpipes better than any other piper in the province, for -I taught her myself; and I tell you that in a respectable man's wife -a knowledge of music is a desirable thing. It's hard to tell, Mrs. -Connell, how they may rise in the World, and get into fashionable -company, so that accomplishments, you persave, are good, she can make a -shirt and wash it, and she can write Irish. As for dancing, I only wish -you'd see her at a hornpipe. All these things put together, along with -her genteel connections, and the prospect of what I may be able to lave -her--I say your son may do worse.” - -“It's not what you'd lave her, sir, but what you'd give her in the first -place, that I'd like to hear. Spake up, your Reverence, an' let us know -how far you will go.” - -“I'm afeard, sir,” said Peter, “if it goes to a clane bargain atween -yez, that Ellish will make you bid up for Dan. Be sharp; sir, or you'll -have no chance; faix, you won't.” - -“But, Mrs. Connell;” replied the priest, “before I spake up, consider -her accomplishments. I'll undertake to say, that the best bred girl in -Dublin cannot perform music in such style, or on such an instrument as -the one she uses. Let us contemplate Dan and her after marriage, in an -elegant house, and full business, the dinner over, and they gone up to -the drawing-room. Think how agreeable and graceful it would be for Mrs. -Daniel O'Connell to repair to the sofa, among a few respectable friends, -and, taking up her bagpipes, set her elbow a-going, until the drone -gives two or three broken groans, and the chanter a squeak or two, like -a child in the cholic, or a cat that you had trampled on by accident. -Then comes the real ould Irish music, that warms the heart. Dan -looks upon her graceful position, until the tears of love, taste, and -admiration are coming down his cheeks. By and by, the toe of him moves: -here another foot is going; and, in no time, there is a hearty dance, -with a light heart and a good conscience. You or I, perhaps, drop in to -see them, and, of course, we partake of the enjoyment.” - -“Divil a pleasanter,” said Peter: “I tell you, I'd like it well; an', -for my own part, if the deludher here has no objection, I'm not goin' to -spoil sport.” - -Ellish looked hard at the priest; her keen blue eye glittered with -a sparkling light, that gave decided proofs of her sagacity being -intensely excited. - -“All that you've said,” she replied, “is very fine; but in regard o' -the bag-pipes, an' Miss Granua Mulcahy's squeezin' the music out o' -thim--why, if it plased God to bring my son to the staff an' bag--a -common beggar--indeed, in that case, Miss Granua's bagpipes might sarve -both o' thim, an' help, maybe, to get them a night's lodgin' or so; -but until that time comes, if you respect your niece, you'll burn her -bagpipes, dhrone, chanther, an' all. If you are for a match, which I -doubt, spake out, as I said, and say what fortune you'll pay down on -the nail wid her, otherwise we're losin' our time, an' that's a loss one -can't make up.” - -The priest, who thought he could have bantered Ellish into an alliance, -without pledging himself to pay any specific fortune, found that it -was necessary for him to treat the matter seriously, if he expected to -succeed. He was certainly anxious for the match; and as he really -wished to see his niece--who, in truth, was an excellent girl, and -handsome--well settled, he resolved to make a stretch and secure Dan if -possible. - -“Mrs. Connell,” said he, “I will be brief with you. The most I can give -her is three hundred pounds, and even that by struggling and borrowing: -I will undertake to pay it as you say--on the nail! for I am really -anxious that my niece should be connected with so worthy and industrious -a family. What do you say?” - -“I'm willin' enough,” replied Peter. It's not asy to get that and a -Catholic girl.” - -“There's some thruth in what you say, aroon, sure enough,” observed -Ellish; “an' if his Reverence puts another hundhre to it, why, in -the name of goodness, let them go together. If you don't choose that, -Docthor, never breathe the subject to me agin. Dan's not an ould man -yit, an' has time enough to get wives in plenty.” - -“Come,” replied the priest, “there's my hand, it's a bargain; although -I must say there's no removing you from your point. I will give four -hundred, hook or crook; but I'll have sad scrambling to get it together. -Still I'll make it good.” - -“Down on the nail?” inquired Ellish. - -“Ay! ay! Down on the nail,” replied the priest. - -“Well, in the name o' Goodness, a bargain be it,” said Peter; “but, upon -my credit, Ellish, I won't have the bag-pipes burnt, anyhow. Faith, I -must hear an odd tune, now an' thin, when I call to see the childhre.” - -“Pether, acushla, have sinse. Would you wish to see your daughter-in-law -playin' upon the bag-pipes, when she ought to be mindin' her business, -or attendin' her childhre? No, your Reverence, the pipes must be laid -aside. I'll have no pipery connection for a son of mine.” - -The priest consented to this, although Peter conceded it with great -reluctance. Further preliminaries were agreed upon, and the evening -passed pleasantly, until it became necessary for Mr. Mulcahy to bid them -good-night. - -When they were gone, Peter and Ellish talked over the matter between -themselves in the following dialogue: - -“The fortune's a small one,” said Ellish to her husband; “an' I suppose -you wondher that I consinted to take so little.” - -“Sure enough, I wondhered at it,” replied Peter, “but, for my own -part, I'd give my son to her widout a penny o' fortune, in ordher to -be connected wid the priest; an' besides, she's a fine, handsome, good -girl--ay, an' his fill of a wife, if she had but the shift to her back.” - -“Four hundhre wid a priest's niece, Pether, is before double the money -wid any other. Don't you know, that when they set up for themselves, -he can bring the custom of the whole parish to them? It's unknown the -number o' ways he can sarve them in. Sure, at stations an' weddins, -wakes, marriages, and funerals, they'll all be proud to let the priest -know that they purchased whatever they wanted from his niece an' her -husband. Betther!--faix, four hundhre from him is worth three times as -much from another.” - -“Glory to you, Ellish!--bright an' cute for ever! Why, I'd back you for -a woman' that could buy an' sell Europe, aginst the world. Now, isn't it -odd that I never think of these long-headed skames?” - -“Ay do you, often enough, Pether; but you keep them to yourself, -abouchal.” - -“Faith, I'm close, no doubt of it; an'--but there's no use in sayin' any -more about it--you said whatsomever came into my own head consarnin' it. -Faith, you did, you phanix.” - -In a short time the marriage took place. - -Dan, under the advice of his mother, purchased a piece of ground most -advantageously located, as the site of a mill, whereon an excellent -one was built; and as a good mill had been long a desideratum in the -country, his success was far beyond his expectations. Every speculation, -in fact, which Ellish touched, prospered. Fortune seemed to take -delight, either in accomplishing or anticipating her wishes. At least, -such was the general opinion, although nothing could possibly be more -erroneous than to attribute her success to mere chance. The secret of -all might be ascribed to her good sense, and her exact knowledge of the -precise moment when to take the tide of fortune at its flow. Her son, -in addition to the mill, opened an extensive mercantile establishment in -the next town, where he had ample cause to bless the instructions of -his mother, and her foresight in calculating upon the advantage of being -married to the priest's niece. - -Soon after his marriage, the person who had for many years kept the -head inn of the next town died, and the establishment was advertised -for sale. Ellish was immediately in action. Here was an opportunity of -establishing the second son in a situation which had enabled the late -proprietor of it to die nearly the richest man in the parish. A few -days, therefore, before that specified for the sale, she took her -featherbed car, and had an interview with the executors of the late -proprietor. Her character was known, her judgment and integrity duly -estimated, and, perhaps, what was the weightiest argument in her favor, -her purse was forthcoming to complete the offer she had made. After some -private conversation between the executors, her proposal was accepted, -and before she returned home, the head inn, together with its fixtures -and furniture, was her property. - -The second son, who was called after his father, received the -intelligence with delight. One of his sisters was, at his mother's -suggestion, appointed to conduct the housekeeping department, and -keep the bar, a duty for which she was pretty well qualified by her -experience at home. - -“I will paint it in great style,” said Peter the Younger. “It must be a -head Inn no longer; I'll call it a Hotel, for that's the whole fashion.” - -“It wants little, avourneen,” said his mother; “it was well kept--some -paintin' an other improvements it does want, but don't be extravagant. -Have it clane an' dacent, but, above all things, comfortable, an' -the attindance good. That's what'll carry you, an--not a flourish o' -paintin' outside, an' dirt, an' confusion, an' bad attindance widin. -Considher, Pether darlin', that the man who owned it last, feathered -his nest well in it, but never called it a Hotill. Let it appear on the -outside jist as your old customers used to see it; but improve it widin -as much as you can, widout bein' lavish an it, or takin' up the place -wid nonsense.” - -“At all evints, I'll have a picture of the Liberator over the door, an' -O'Connell' written under it. It's both our names, and besides it will be -'killin' two birds with one stone.'” - -“No, avourneen. Let me advise you, if you wish to prosper in life, to -keep yourself out of party-work. It only stands betune you an' your -business; an' it's surely wiser for you to mind your own affairs than -the affairs of the nation. There's rason in everything. No man in trade -has a right, widout committin' a sin, to neglect his family for politics -or parties. There's Jack Cummins that was doin' well in his groceries -till he began to make speeches, an' get up public meetins, an' write -petitions, an' now he has nothin' to throuble him but politics, for his -business is gone. Every one has liberty to think as they plase. We can't -expect Protestants to think as we do, nor Protestants can't suppose that -we ought to think as they'd wish; an' for that same rason, we should -make allowance on both sides, an' not be like many we know, that have -their minds up, expectin' they don't know, what, instead of workin' for -themselves and their families as they ought to do. Pether, won't you -give that up, avillish?” - -“I believe you're right, mother. I didn't see it before in the light -you've placed it in.” - -“Then, Pether darlin', lose no time in gettin' into your place--you an' -Alley; an' faix, if you don't both manage it cleverly, I'll never spake -to yez.” - -Here was a second son settled, and nothing remained but to dispose -of their two daughters in marriage to the best and most advantageous -offers. This, in consequences of their large fortunes, was not a matter -of much difficulty. The eldest, Alley, who assisted her brother to -conduct the Inn, became the wife of an extensive grazier, who lived in -an adjoining county. The younger, Mary, was joined to Father Mulcahy's -nephew, not altogether to the satisfaction of the mother, who feared -that two establishments of the same kind, in the same parish, supported -by the same patronage, must thrive at the expense of each other. As it -was something of a love-match, however, she ultimately consented. - -“Avourneen,” said she, “the parish is big enough, an' has customers -enough to support two o' them; an' I'll engage his Reverence will do -what he can for them both.” - -In the meantime, neither she nor her husband was dependent upon their -children. Peter still kept the agricultural department in operation; -and although the shop and warehouse were transferred to Mr. Mulcahy, in -right of his wife, yet it was under the condition of paying a yearly sum -to Mrs. Connell and her husband, ostensibly as a provision, but really -as a spur to their exertions. A provision they could not want, for their -wealth still amounted to thousands, independently of the large annual -profits arising out of their farms. - -For some time after the marriage of her youngest daughter, Mrs. Connell -took a very active part in her son-in-law's affairs. He possessed -neither experience, nor any knowledge of business whatsoever, though he -was not deficient in education, nor in capacity to acquire both. -This pleased Mrs. Connell very much, who set herself to the task of -instructing him in the principles of commercial life, and in the best -methods of transacting business. - -“The first rules,” said she to him, “for you to obsarve is these: tell -truth; be sober; be punctual; rise early; persavere; avoid extravagance; -keep your word; an watch your health. Next: don't be proud; give no -offince; talk sweetly; be ready to oblage, when you can do it widout -inconvanience, but don't put yourself or your business out o' your ways -to sarve anybody. - -“Thirdly: keep an appearance of substance an' comfort about your place, -but don't go beyant your manes in doin' it; when you make a bargain, -think what a corrocther them you dale wid bears, an' whether or not you -found them honest before, if you ever had business wid them. - -“When you buy a thing, appear to know your own mind, an' don't be -hummin' an' hawin', an' higglin', an' longin' as if your teeth wor -watherin' afther it; but be manly, downright, an' quick; they'll then -see that you know your business, an' they won't be keepin' off an' an, -but will close wid you at wanst. - -“Never drink at bargain makin'; an' never pay money in a public-house if -you can help it; if you must do it, go into an inn, or a house that you -know to be dacent. - -“Never stay out late in a fair or market; don't make a poor mouth; on -the other hand, don't boast of your wealth; keep no low company; don't -be rubbin' yourself against your betthers, but keep wid your aquils. -File your loose papers an' accounts, an' keep your books up to the day. -Never put off anything that can be done, when it ought to be done. Go -early to bed; but be the last up at night, and the first in the mornin', -and there's no fear o' you.” - -Having now settled all her children in comfort and independence, with -each a prospect of rising still higher in the world, Mrs. Connell felt -that the principal duties devolving upon her had been discharged. It was -but reasonable, she thought, that, after the toil of a busy life, her -husband and herself should relax a little, and enjoy with lighter minds -the ease for which they had labored so long and unremittingly. - -“Do you know what I'm thinkin' of, Pether?” said she, one summer evening -in their farm-yard. - -“Know, is it?” replied Peter--“some long-headed plan that none of us 'ud -ever think of, but that will stare us in the face the moment you mintion -it. What is it, you ould sprig o' beauty?” - -“Why, to get a snug jauntin'-car, for you an' me. I'd like to see you -comfortable in your old days, Peter. You're gettin' stiff, ahagur, an' -will be good for nothin' by an' by.” - -“Stiff! Arrah, by this an' by--my reputation, I'm younger nor e'er a one -o' my sons yet, you----eh?” said Peter, pausing-- - -“Faith, then I dunna that. Upon my credit, I think, on second thoughts, -that a car 'ud be a mighty comfortable thing for me. Faith, I do, an' -for you, too, Ellish.” - -“The common car,” she continued, “is slow and throublesome, an' joults -the life out o' me.” - -“By my reputation, you're not the same woman since you began to use it, -that you wor before at all. Why, it'll shorten your life. The pillion's -dacent enough; but the jauntin'-car!--faix, it's what 'ud make a fresh -woman o' you--divil a lie in it.” - -“You're not puttin' in a word for yourself now, Pether?” - -“To be sure I am, an' for both of us. I'd surely be proud to see -yourself an' myself sittin' in our glory upon our own jauntin'-car. Sure -we can afford it, an' ought to have it, too. Bud-an'-ager! what's the -rason I didn't, think of it long ago?” - -“Maybe you did, acushla; but you forgot, it. Wasn't that the way wid -you, Pether? Tell the thruth.” - -“Why, thin, bad luck to the lie in it, since you must know. About this -time twelve months--no, faix, I'm wrong, it was afore Dan's marriage--I -had thoughts o' spakin' ta you about it, but somehow it left my head. -Upon my word, I'm in airnest, Ellish.” - -“Well, avick, make your mind asy; I'll have one from Dublin in less nor -a fortnight. I can thin go about of an odd time, an' see how Dan an' -Pether's comin' an. It'll be a pleasure to me to advise an' direct them, -sure, as far an' as well as I can. I only hope? God will enable thim to -do as much for their childher, as he enabled us to do for them, glory be -to his name!” - -Peter's eye rested upon her as she spoke--a slight shade passed over -his face, but it was the symptom of deep feeling and affection, whose -current had run smooth and unbroken during the whole life they had spent -together. - -“Ellish,” said he, in a tone of voice that strongly expressed what -he felt, “you wor one o' the best wives that ever the Almighty gev to -mortual man. You wor, avourneen---you wor, you wor!” - -“I intind, too, to begin an' make my sowl, a little,” she continued; “we -had so much to do, Pether, aroon, that, indeed, we hadn't time to think -of it all along; but now, that everything else is settled, we ought to -think about that, an' make the most of our time--while we can.” - -“Upon my conscience, I've strong notions myself o' the same thing,” - replied Peter. “An' I'll back you in that, as well as in every thing -else. Never fear, if we pull together, but we'll bring up the lost time. -Faith, we will! Sowl, if you set about it, let me see them that 'ud -prevint you goin' to heaven!” - -“Did Paddy Donovan get the bay filly's foot aised, Pether?” - -“He's gone down wid her to the forge: the poor crathur was very lame -to-day.” - -“That's right; an' let Andy Murtagh bring down the sacks from Drumdough -early to-morrow. That what ought to go to the market on Thursday, an' -the other stacks ought to be thrashed out of hand.” - -“Well, well; so it will be all done. Tare alive! if myself knows how -you're able to keep an eye on everything. Come in, an' let us have our -tay.” - -For a few months after this, Ellish was perfectly in her element. The -jaunting-car was procured; and her spirits seemed to be quite elevated. -She paid regular visits to both her sons, looked closely into their -manner of conducting business, examined their premises, and subjected -every fixture and improvement made or introduced without her sanction, -to the most rigorous scrutiny. In fact, what, between Peter's farm, her -daughter's shop, and the establishments of her sons, she never found -herself more completely encumbered with business. She had intended “to -make her soul,” but her time was so fully absorbed by the affairs of -those in whom she felt so strong an interest, that she really forgot the -spiritual resolution in the warmth of her secular pursuits. - -One evening, about this time, a horse belonging to Peter happened to -fall into a ditch, from which he was extricated with much difficulty -by the laborers. Ellish, who thought it necessary to attend, had been -standing for some time directing them how to proceed; her dress was -rather thin, and the hour, which was about twilight, chilly, for it was -the middle of autumn. Upon returning home she found herself cold, and -inclined to shiver. At first she thought but little of these symptoms; -for having never had a single day's sickness, she was scarcely competent -to know that they were frequently the forerunners of very dangerous and -fatal maladies. She complained, however, of slight illness, and went -to bed without taking anything calculated to check what she felt. Her -sufferings during the night were dreadful: high fever had set in with a -fury that threatened to sweep the powers of life like a wreck before -it. The next morning the family, on looking into her state more closely, -found it necessary to send instantly for a physician. - -On arriving, he pronounced her to be in a dangerous pleurisy, from -which, in consequence of her plethoric habit, he expressed but faint -hopes of her recovery. This was melancholy intelligence to her sons and -daughters: but to Peter, whose faithful wife she had been for thirty -years, it was a dreadful communication indeed. - -“No hopes, Docthor!” he exclaimed, with a bewildered air: “did you say -no hopes, sir?--Oh! no, you didn't--you couldn't say that there's no -hopes!” - -“The hopes of her recovery, Mr. Connell, are but slender,--if any.” - -“Docthor, I'm a rich man, thanks be to God an' to----” he hesitated, -cast back a rapid and troubled look towards the bed whereon she lay, -then proceeded--“no matther, I'm a rich man: but if you can spare her to -me, I'll divide what I'm worth in the world wid you: I will, sir; an' if -that won't do, I'll give up my last shillin' to save her, an' thin I'd -beg my bit an' sup through the counthry, only let me have her wid me.” - -“As far as my skill goes,” said the doctor, “I shall, of course, exert -it to save her; but there are some diseases which we are almost always -able to pronounce fatal at first sight. This, I fear, is one of them. -Still I do not bid you despair--there is, I trust, a shadow of hope.” - -“The blessin' o' the Almighty be upon you, sir, for that word! The best -blessing of the heavenly Father rest upon you an' yours for it!” - -“I shall return in the course of the day,” continued the physician; “and -as you feel the dread of her loss so powerfully, I will bring two other -medical gentlemen of skill with me.” - -“Heavens reward you for that, sir! The heavens above reward you an' them -for it! Payment!--och, that signifies but little: but you and them 'll -be well paid. Oh, Docthor, achora, thry an' save her!--Och, thry an' -save her!” - -“Keep her easy,” replied the doctor, “and let my directions be -faithfully followed. In the meantime, Mr. Connell, be a man and display -proper fortitude under a dispensation which is common to all men in your -state.” - -To talk of resignation to Peter was an abuse of words. The poor man -had no more perception of the consolation arising from a knowledge of -religion than a child. His heart sank within him, for the prop on which -his affections had rested was suddenly struck down from under them. - -Poor Ellish was in a dreadful state. Her malady seized her in the very -midst of her worldly-mindedness; and the current of her usual thoughts, -when stopped by the aberrations of intellect peculiar to her illness, -bubbled up, during the temporary returns of reason, with a stronger -relish of the world. It was utterly impossible for a woman like her, -whose habits of thought and the tendency of whose affections had been -all directed towards the acquisition of wealth, to wrench them for ever -and at once from the objects on which they were fixed. This, at any -time, would have been to her a difficult victory to achieve; but now, -when stunned by the stroke of disease, and confused by the pangs of -severe suffering, tortured by a feverish pulse and a burning brain, to -expect that she could experience the calm hopes of religion, or feel the -soothing power of Christian sorrow, was utter folly. 'Tis true, her life -had been a harmless one: her example, as an industrious and enterprising -member of society, was worthy of imitation. She was an excellent mother, -a good neighbor, and an admirable wife; but the duties arising out of -these different relations of life, were all made subservient to, and -mixed up with, her great principle of advancing herself in the world, -whilst that which is to come never engaged one moment's serious -consideration. - -When Father Mulcahy came to administer the rites of the church to -Ellish, he found her in a state of incoherency. Occasional gleams of -reason broke out through the cloud that obscured her intellect, but they -carried with them the marks of a mind knit indissolubly to wealth and -aggrandizement. The same tenor of thought, and the same broken fragments -of ambitious speculation, floated in rapid confusion through the -tempests of delirium which swept with awful darkness over her spirit. - -“Mrs. Connell,” said he, “can you collect yourself? Strive to compose -your mind, so far as to be able to receive the aids of religion.” - -“Oh, oh!--my blood's boilin'! Is that--is that Father Mulcahy?” - -“It is, dear: strive now to keep your mind calm, till you prepare -yourself for judgment.” - -“Keep up his head, Paddy--keep up his head, or he'll be smothered undher -the wather an' the sludge. Here, Mike, take this rope: pull, man,--pull, -or the horse will be lost! Oh, my head!--I'm boilin'--I'm burnin'!” - -“Mrs. Connell, let me entreat you to remember that you are on the -point of death, and should raise your heart to God, for the pardon and -remission of your sins.” - -“Oh! Father dear, I neglected that, but I intinded--I intinded--Where's -Pether!--bring, bring--Pether to me!” - -“Turn your thoughts to God, now, my dear. Are you clear enough in your -mind for confession?” - -“I am, Father! I am, avourneen. Come, come here, Pether! Pether, I'm -goin' to lave you, asthore machree! I could part wid them all but--but -you.” - -“Mrs. Connell, for Heaven's sake.”--. - -“Is this--is this--Father Mulcahy? Oh! I'm ill--ill!”-- - -“It is, dear; it is. Compose yourself and confess your sins.” - -“Where's Mary? She'll neglect--neglect to lay in a stock o' linen, -although I--I--Oh, Father, avourneen! won't you pity me! I'm sick--oh, -I'm very sick!” - -“You are, dear--you are, God help you, very sick, but you'll be better -soon. Could you confess, dear?--do you think you could?” - -“Oh, this pain--this pain!--it's killin' me!--Pether--Pether, _a -suillish, machree_, (* The light of my heart) have, have you des--have -you desarted me.” - -The priest, conjecturing that if Peter made his appearance she might -feel soothed, and perhaps sufficiently composed to confess, called him -in from the next room. - -“Here's Peter,” said the priest, presenting him to her view--“Here's -Peter, dear.” - -“Oh! what a load is on me! this pain--this pain is killin' me--won't you -bring me, Pether? Oh, what will I do? Who's there?” - -The mental pangs of poor Peter were, perhaps, equal in intensity to -those which she suffered physically. - -“Ellish,” said he, in smothered sobs--“Ellish, acushla machree, sure I'm -wid you here; here I'm sittin' on the bed wid you, achora machree.” - -“Catch my hand, thin. Ah, Pether! won't you pity your Ellish?--Won't you -pity me--won't you pity me? Oh! this pain--this pain--is killin' me!” - -“It is, it is, my heart's delight--it's killin' us both. Oh, Ellish, -Ellish! I wish I was dead sooner nor see you in this agony. I ever loved -you!--I ever an' always loved you, avourneen dheelish; but now I would -give my heart's best blood, if it'ud save you. Here's Father Mulcahy -come.” - -“About the mon--about the money--Pether--what do you intind----Oh! my -blood--my blood's a-fire!--Mother o'Heaven!--Oh! this pain is--is takin' -me from all--faix!--Rise me up!” - -“Here, my darlin'--treasure o' my heart here--I'm puttin' your head -upon my breast--upon my breast, Ellish, ahagur. Marciful Virgin--Father -dear,” said Peter, bursting into bitter tears--“her head's like fire! O! -Ellish, Ellish, Ellish!--but my heart's brakin' to feel this! Have -marcy on her, sweet God--have marcy on her! Bear witness, Father of -heaven--bear witness, an' hear the vow of a brakin' heart. I here -solemnly promise before God, to make, if I'm spared life an' health to -do it, a Station on my bare feet to Lough Derg, if it plases you, sweet -Father o' pity, to spare her to me this day! Oh! but the hand o' God, -Father dear, is terrible!--feel her brow!--Oh! but it's terrible!” - -“It is terrible,” said the priest; “and terribly is it laid upon her, -poor woman! Peter, do not let this scene be lost. Remember it.” - -“Oh, Father dear, can I ever forget it?--can I ever forget seein' my -darlin' in sich agony?” - -“Pether,” said the sick woman, “will you get the car ready for -to-mor--to-morrow--till I look at that piece o' land that Dan bought, -before he--he closes the bargain?” - -“Father, jewel!” said Pether, “can't you get the world banished out of -her heart? Oh, I'd give all I'm worth to see that heart fixed upon God! -I could bear to part wid her, for she must die some time; but to go -wid this world's thoughts an' timptations ragin' strong in her -heart--mockin' God, an' hope, an' religion, an' everything:--oh!--that -I can't bear! Sweet Jasus, change her heart!--Queen o' Heaven, have pity -on her, an' save her!” - -The husband wept with great sorrow as he uttered these words. - -“Neither reasoning nor admonition can avail her,” replied the priest; -“she is so incoherent that no train of thought is continued for a single -minute in her mind. I will, however, address her again. Mrs. Connell, -will you make a straggle to pay attention to me for a few minutes? Are -you not afraid to meet God? You are about to die!--prepare yourself for -judgment.” - -“Oh, Father dear! I can't--I can't--I am af--afraid--Hooh!--hooh!--God! -You must do some thin'for--for me! I never done anything for myself.” - -“Glory be to God! that she has that much sinse, any way,” exclaimed her -husband. “Father, ahagur, I trust my vow was heard.” - -“Well, my dear--listen to me,” continued the priest--“can you not make -the best confession possible? Could you calm yourself for it?” - -“Pether, avick machree--Pether,”-- - -“Ellish, avourneen, I'm here!--my darlin', I am your vick machree, an' -ever was. Oh, Father! my heart's brakin'! I can't bear to part wid her. -Father of heaven, pity us this day of throuble?” - -“Be near me, Pether; stay wid me--I'm very lonely. Is this you keepin' -my head up?” - -“It is, it is! I'll never lave you till--till”-- - -“Is the carman come from Dublin wid--wid the broadcloth?” - -“Father of heaven! she's gone back again!” exclaimed the husband. - -“Father, jewel! have you no prayers that you'd read for her? You wor -ordained for these things, an' comin' from you, they'll have more -stringth. Can you do nothin' to save my darlin'?” - -“My prayers will not be wanting,” said the priest: “but I am watching -for an interval of sufficient calmness to hear her confession; and I -very much fear that she will pass in darkness. At all events, I will -anoint her by and by. In the meantime, we must persevere a little -longer; she may become easier, for it often happens that reason gets -clear immediately before death.” - -Peter sobbed aloud, and wiped away the tears that streamed from -his cheeks. At this moment her daughter and son-in-law stole in, to -ascertain how she was, and whether the rites of the church had in any -degree soothed or composed her. - -“Come in, Denis,” said the priest to his nephew, “you may both come in. -Mrs. Mulcahy, speak to your mother: let us try every remedy that might -possibly bring her to a sense of her awful state.” - -“Is she raving still?” inquired the daughter, whose eyes were red with -weeping. - -The priest shook his head; “Ah, she is--she is! and I fear she will -scarcely recover her reason before the judgment of heaven opens upon -her!” - -“Oh thin may the Mother of Glory forbid that!” exclaimed her -daughter--“anything at all but that! Can you do nothin' for her, uncle?” - -“I'm doing all I can for her, Mary,” replied the priest; “I'm watching a -calm moment to get her confession, if possible.” - -The sick woman had fallen into a momentary silence, during which, she -caught the bed-clothes like a child, and felt them, and seemed to handle -their texture, but with such an air of vacancy as clearly manifested -that no corresponding association existed in her mind. - -The action was immediately understood by all present. Her daughter again -burst into tears; and Peter, now almost choked with grief, pressing the -sick woman to his heart, kissed her burning lips. - -“Father, jewel,” said the daughter, “there it is, and I feard it--the -sign, uncle--the sign!--don't you see her gropin' the clothes? Oh, -mother, darlin', darlin'!--are we going to lose you for ever?” - -“Oh! Ellish, Ellish--won't you spake one word to me afore you go? Won't -you take one farewell of me--of me, aroon asthore, before you depart -from us for ever!” exclaimed her husband. - -“Feeling the bed-clothes,” said the priest, “is not always a, sign of -death; I have known many to recover after it. - -“Husht,” said Peter--“husht!--Mary--Mary! Come hear--hould your tongues! -Oh, it's past--it's past!--it's all past, an' gone--all hope's over! -Heavenly fither!” - -The daughter, after listening for a moment, in a paroxysm of wild grief, -clasped her mother's recumbent body in her arms, and kissed hen lips -with a vehemence almost frantic. “You won't go, my darlin'--is it from -your own Mary that you'd go? Mary, that you loved best of all your -childhre!--Mary that you always said, an' every body said, was your own -image! Oh, you won't go without one word, to say you know her!” - -“For Heaven's sake,” said Father Mulcahy, “what do you mean?--are you -mad?” - -“Oh! uncle dear! don't you hear?--don't you hear?--listen an' sure you -will--all hope's gone now--gone--gone! The dead rattle!--listen!--the -dead rattle's in her throat!”-- - -The priest bent his ear a moment, and distinctly heard the gurgling -noise produced by the phlegm, which is termed with wild poetical -accuracy, by the peasantry--the “dead rattle,” or “death rattle,” - because it is the immediate and certain forerunner of death. - -“True,” said the priest--“too true; the last shadow of hope is gone. We -must now make as much of the time as possible. Leave the room for a few -minutes till I anoint her, I will then call you in.” - -They accordingly withdrew, but in about fifteen or twenty minutes he -once more summoned them to the bed of the dying woman. - -“Come in,” said he, “I have anointed her--come in, and kneel down till -we offer up a Rosary to the Blessed Virgin, under the hope that she may -intercede with God for her, and cause her to pass out of life happily. -She was calling for you, Peter, in your absence; you had better stay -with her.” - -“I will,” said Peter, in a broken voice; “I'll stay nowhere else.” - -“An'I'll kneel at the bed-side,” said the daughter. “She was the kind -mother to me, and to us all; but to me in particular. 'Twas with me she -took her choice to live, when they war all striving for her. Oh,” said -she, taking her mother's hand between hers, and kneeling-down to kiss -it, “a Vahr dheelish! (* sweet mother) did we ever think to see you -departing from us this way! snapped away without a minute's warning! If -it was a long-sickness, that you'd be calm and sinsible in, but to be -hurried away into eternity, and your mind dark! Oh, Vhar dheelish, my -heart is broke to see you this way!” - -“Be calm,” said the priest; “be quiet till I open the Rosary.” - -He then offered up the usual prayers which precede its repetition, -and after having concluded them, commenced what is properly called the -Rosary itself, which consists of fifteen Decades, each Decade containing -the Hail Mary repeated ten times, and the Lord's Prayer once. In this -manner the Decade goes round from one to another, until, as we have said -above, it is repeated fifteen times; or, in all, the Ave Maria's one -hundred and sixty-five times, without variation. From the indistinct -utterance, elevated voice, and rapid manner in which it is pronounced, -it certainly has a wild effect, and is more strongly impressed with -the character of a mystic rite, or incantation, than with any other -religious ceremony with which we could compare it. - -“When the priest had repeated the first part, he paused for the -response: neither the husband nor daughter, however, could find -utterance. - -“Denis,” said he, to his nephew, “do you take up the next.” - -His nephew complied; and with much difficulty Peter and his daughter -were able to join in it, repeating here and there a word or two, as well -as their grief and sobbings would permit them. - -The heart must indeed have been an unfeeling one, to which a scene like -this would not have been deeply touching and impressive. The poor dying -woman reclined with her head upon her husband's bosom; the daughter -knelt at the bed-side, with her mother's hand pressed against her lips, -she herself convulsed with sorrow--the priest was in the attitude of -earnest supplication, having the stole about his neck, his face and arms -raised towards heaven--the son-in-law was bent over a chair, with his -face buried in his hands. Nothing could exceed the deep, the powerful -expression of entreaty, which marked every tone and motion of the -parties, especially those of the husband and daughter. They poured an -energy into the few words which they found voice to utter, and displayed -such a concentration of the faculties of the soul in their wild -unregulated attitudes, and streaming, upturned eyes, as would seem to -imply that their own salvation depended upon that of the beloved object -before them. Their words, too, were accompanied by such expressive -tokens of their attachment to her, that the character of prayer was -heightened by the force of the affection which they bore her. When -Peter, for instance, could command himself to utter a word, he pressed -his dying wife to his bosom, and raised his eyes to heaven in a manner -that would have melted any human heart; and the daughter, on joining -occasionally in the response, pressed her mother's hand to her heart, -and kissed it with her lips, conscious that the awful state of her -parent had rendered more necessary the performance of the two tenderest -duties connected with a child's obedience--prayer and affection. - -When the son-in-law had finished his Decade, a pause followed, for there -was none now to proceed but her husband, or her daughter. - -“Mary, dear,” said the priest, “be a woman; don't let your love for -your mother prevent you from performing a higher duty. Go on with the -prayer--you see she is passing fast.” - -“I'll try, uncle,” she replied--“I'll try; but--but--it's hard, hard, -upon me.” - -She commenced, and by an uncommon effort so far subdued her grief, as -to render her words intelligible. Her eyes, streaming with tears, were -fixed with a mixture of wildness, sorrow, and devotedness, upon the -countenance of her mother, until she had completed her Decade. - -Another pause ensued. It was now necessary, according to the order -and form of the Prayer, that Peter should commence and offer up his -supplications for the happy passage from life to eternity of her who -had been his inward idol during a long period. Peter knew nothing about -sentiment, or the philosophy of sorrow; but he loved his wife with the -undivided power of a heart in which nature had implanted her strongest -affections. He knew, too, that his wife had loved him with a strength of -heart equal to his own. He loved her, and she deserved his love. - -The pause, when the prayer had gone round to him, was long; those who -were present at length turned their eyes towards him, and the priest, -now deeply affected, cleared his voice, and simply said, “Peter,” to -remind him that it was his duty to proceed with the Rosary. - -Peter, however, instead of uttering the prayer, burst out into a tide -of irrepressible sorrow.--“Oh!” said he, enfolding her in his arms, and -pressing his lips to hers: “Ellish, ahagur machree! sure when I think of -all the goodness, an' kindness, an' tendherness that you showed me--whin -I think of your smiles upon me, whin you wanted me to do the right, an' -the innocent plans you made out, to benefit me an' mine!--Oh! where -was your harsh word, avillish?--where was your could brow, or your -bad tongue? Nothin' but goodness--nothin' but kindness, an' love, an' -wisdom, ever flowed from these lips! An' now, darlin', pulse o' my -broken heart! these same lips can't spake to me--these eyes don't know -me--these hands don't feel me--nor your ears doesn't hear me!” - -“Is--is--it you?” replied his wife feebly--“is it--you?--come--come near -me--my heart--my heart says it misses you--come near me!” - -Peter again pressed her in an embrace, and, in doing so, unconsciously -received the parting breath of a wife whose prudence and affection had -saved him from poverty, and, probably, from folly or crime. - -The priest, on turning round to rebuke Peter for not proceeding with the -prayer, was the first who discovered that she had died; for the grief of -her husband was too violent to permit him to notice anything with much -accuracy. - -“Peter,” said he, “I beg your pardon; let me take the trouble of -supporting her for a few minutes, after which I must talk to you -seriously--very seriously.” - -The firm, authoritative tone in which the priest spoke, together with -Peter's consciousness that he had acted wrongly by neglecting to join in -the Rosary, induced him to retire from the bed with a rebuked air. The -priest immediately laid back the head' of Mrs. Connell on the pillow, -and composed the features of her lifeless face with his own hands. Until -this moment none of them, except himself, knew that she was dead. - -“Now,” continued he, “all her cares, and hopes, and speculations, -touching this world, are over--so is her pain; her blood will soon -be cold enough, and her head will ache no more. She is dead. Grief is -therefore natural; but let it be the grief of a man, Peter. Indeed, -it is less painful to look upon her now, than when she suffered such -excessive agony. Mrs. Mulcahy, hear me! Oh, it's in vain! Well, well, it -is but natural; for it was an unexpected and a painful death!” - -The cries of her husband and daughter soon gave intimation to her -servants that her pangs were over. From the servants it immediately went -to the neighbors, and thus did the circle widen until it reached the -furthest ends of the parish. In a short time, also, the mournful sounds -of the church-bell, in slow and measured strokes, gave additional notice -that a Christian soul had passed into eternity. - -It is in such scenes as these that the Roman Catholic clergy knit -themselves so strongly into the affections of the people. All men are -naturally disposed to feel the offices of kindness and friendship more -deeply, when tendered at the bed of death or of sickness, than under -any other circumstances. Both the sick-bed and the house of death are -necessarily the sphere of a priest's duty, and to render them that -justice which we will ever render, when and wheresoever it may be due, -we freely grant that many shining, nay, noble instances of Christian -virtue are displayed by them on such occasions. - -When the violence of grief produced by Ellish's death had subsided, the -priest, after giving them suitable exhortations to bear the affliction -which had just befallen them with patience, told Peter, that as God, -through the great industry and persevering exertions of her who had then -departed to another world, had blessed him abundantly with wealth and -substance, it was, considering the little time which had been allowed -her to repent in a satisfactory manner for her transgressions, his -bounden and solemn duty to set aside a suitable portion of that wealth -for the delivery of her soul from purgatory, where, he trusted, in the -mercy of God, it was permitted to remain. - -“Indeed, your Reverence,” replied Peter, “it wasn't necessary to mintion -it, considherin' the way she was cut off from among us, widout even time -to confess.” - -“But blessed be God,” said the daughter, “she received the ointment at -any rate, and that of itself would get her to purgatory.” - -“And I can answer for her,” said Peter, “that she intended, as soon -as she'd get everything properly settled for the childhre, to make her -sowl.” - -“Ah! good intentions,” said the priest, “won't do. I, however, have -forewarned you of your duty, and must now leave the guilt or the merit -of relieving her departed spirit, upon you and the other members of her -family, who are all bound to leave nothing undone that may bring her -from pain and fire, to peace and happiness.” - -“Och! och! asthore, asthore! you're lyin' there--an', oh, Ellish, -avourneen, could you think that I--I--would spare money--trash--to bring -you to glory wid the angels o' heaven! No, no, Father dear. It's good, -an' kind, an' thoughtful of you to put it into my head; but I didn't -intind to neglect or forget it. Oh, how will I live wantin' her, -Father? When I rise in the mornin', avillish, where 'ud be your smile -and your voice? We won't hear your step, nor see you as we used to do, -movin' pleasantly about the place. No--you're gone, avoumeen--gone--an' -we'll see you and hear you no more!” - -His grief was once more about to burst forth, but the priest led him out -of the room, kindly chid him for the weakness of his immoderate sorrow, -and after making arrangements about the celebration of mass for the -dead, pressed his hand, and bade the family farewell. - -The death of Ellish excited considerable surprise, and much conversation -in the neighborhood. Every point of her character was discussed freely, -and the comparisons instituted between her and Peter were anything but -flattering to the intellect of her husband. - -“An' so Ellish is whipped off, Larry,” said a neighbor to one of Peter's -laboring men, “Faix, an' the best feather in their wing is gone.” - -“Ay, sure enough, Risthard, you may say that. It was her cleverness made -them what they are. She was the best manager in the three kingdoms.” - -“Ah, she was the woman could make a bargain. I only hope she hasn't -brought the luck o' the family away wid her!” - -“Why, man alive, she made the sons and daughters as clever as -herself--put them up to everything. Indeed, it's quare to think of how -that one woman brought them ris them to what they are!” - -“They shouldn't forget themselves as they're doin', thin; for betune -you an' me, they're as proud as Turks, an' God he sees it ill becomes -them--sits very badly on them, itself, when everything knows that their -father an' mother begun the world wid a bottle of private whiskey an' -half a pound of smuggled tobaccy.” - -“Poor Pether will break his heart, any way. Oh, man, but she was the -good wife. I'm livin' wid them going an seven year, an' never hard a -cross word from the one to the other. It's she that had the sweet tongue -all out, an' did manage him; but, afther all, he was worth the full o' -the Royal George of her. Many a time, when some poor craythur 'ud come -to ax whiskey on score to put over* some o' their friends, or for a -weddin', or a christenin', maybe, an' when the wife 'ud refuse it, -Pether 'ud send what whiskey they wanted afther them, widout lettin' her -know anything about it. An', indeed, he never lost anything by that; for -if they wor to sell their cow, he should be ped, in regard of the kindly -way he gave it to them.” - - * To put over--the corpse of a friend, to be drunk at - the wake and funeral. - -“Well, we'll see how they'll manage now that she's gone; but Pether an' -the youngest daughter, Mary, is to be pitied.” - -“The sarra much; barrin' that they'll miss her at first from about the -place. You see she has left them above the world, an' full of it. -Wealth and substance enough may they thank her for; and that's very good -comfort for sorrow, Risthard.” - -“Faith, sure enough, Larry. There's no lie in that, any way!” - -“Awouh! Lie! I have you about it.” - -Such was the view which had been taken of their respective characters -through life. Yet, notwithstanding that the hearts of their -acquaintances never warmed to her--to use a significant expression -current among the peasantry--as they did to Peter, still she was -respected almost involuntarily for the indefatigable perseverance with -which she pushed forward her own interests through life. Her funeral was -accordingly a large one; and the conversation which took place at it, -turning, as it necessarily did, upon her extraordinary talents and -industry, was highly to the credit of her memory and virtues. Indeed, -the attendance of many respectable persons of all creeds and opinions, -gave ample proof that the qualities she possessed had secured for her -general respect and admiration. - -Poor Peter, who was an object of great compassion, felt himself -completely crushed by the death of his faithful partner. The reader -knows that he had hitherto been a sober, and, owing to Ellish's prudent -control, an industrious man. To thought or reflection he was not, -however, accustomed; he had, besides, never received any education; if -his morals were correct, it was because a life of active employment had -kept him engaged in pursuits which repressed immorality, and separated -him from those whose society and influence might have been prejudicial -to him. He had scarcely known calamity, and when it occurred he was -prepared for it neither by experience nor a correct view of moral duty. -On the morning of his wife's funeral, such was his utter prostration -both of mind and body, that even his own sons, in order to resist the -singular state of collapse into which he had sunk, urged him to take -some spirits. He was completely passive in their hands, and complied. -This had the desired effect, and he found himself able to attend the -funeral. When the friends of Ellish assembled, after the interment, as -is usual, to drink and talk together, Peter, who could scarcely join -in the conversation, swallowed glass after glass of punch with great -rapidity. In the mean time, the talk became louder and more animated; -the punch, of course, began to work, and as they sat long, it was -curious to observe the singular blending of mirth and sorrow, singing -and weeping, laughter and tears, which characterized this remarkable -scene. Peter, after about two hours' hard drinking, was not an exception -to the influence of this trait of national manners. His heart having -been deeply agitated, was the more easily brought under the effects of -contending emotions. He was naturally mirthful, and when intoxication -had stimulated the current of his wonted humor, the influence of this -and his recent sorrow produced such an anomalous commixture of fun and -grief as could seldom, out of Ireland, be found checkering the mind of -one individual. - -It was in the midst of this extraordinary din that his voice was heard -commanding silence in its loudest and best-humored key: - -“Hould yer tongues,” said he; “bad win to yees, don't you hear me -wantin' to sing! Whist wid yees. Hem--och--'Eise up'--Why, thin, Phil -Callaghan, you might thrate me wid more dacency, if you had gumption in -you; I'm sure no one has a betther right to sing first in this company -nor myself; an' what's more, I will sing first. Hould your tongues! -Hem!” - -He accordingly commenced a popular song, the air of which, though -simple, was touchingly mournful. - - “Och, rise up, Willy Reilly, an' come wid me, - I'm goin' for to go wid you, and lave this counteree; - I'm goin' to lave my father, his castles and freelands-- - An' away what Willy Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn. - - “Och, they wint o'er hills an' mountains, and valleys that was - fair, - An' fled before her father as you may shortly hear; - Her father followed afther wid a well-chosen armed band, - Och, an' taken was poor Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn.” - -The simple pathos of the tune, the affection implied by the words, and -probably the misfortune of Willy Reilly, all overcame him, He finished -the second verse with difficulty, and on attempting to commence a third -he burst into tears. - -“Colleen bawn! (fair, or fair-haired girl)--Colleen bawn!” he exclaimed; -“she's lyin' low that was my colleen bawn! Oh, will ye hould your -tongues, an' let me think of what has happened me? She's gone: Mary, -avourneen, isn't she gone from us? I'm alone, an' I'll be always lonely. -Who have I now to comfort me? I know I have good childhre, neighbors; -but none o' them, all of them, if they wor ten times as many, isn't -aqual to her that's in the grave. Her hands won't be about me--there was -tindherness in their very touch. An', of a Sunday mornin', how she'd tie -an my handkerchy, for I never could rightly tie it an myself, the knot -was ever an' always too many for me; but, och, och, she'd tie it an so -snug an' purty wid her own hands, that I didn't look the same man! The -same song was her favorite, Here's your healths; an' sure it's the first -time ever we wor together that she wasn't wid us: but now, avillish, -your voice is gone--you're silent and lonely in the grave; an' why -shouldn't I be sarry for the wife o' my heart that never angered me? -Why shouldn't I? Ay, Mary, asthore, machree, good right you have to cry -afther her; she was the kind mother to you; her heart was fixed in you; -there's her fatures on your face; her very eyes, an' fair hair, too, an' -I'll love you, achora, ten times more nor ever, for her sake. Another -favorite song of hers, God rest her, was 'Brian O'Lynn.' Troth an' I'll -sing it, so I will, for if she was livin' she'd like it. - - 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, - A two-lugged porringer wanfcin' a tail.' - -Oh, my head's through other! The sarra one o' me I bleeve, but's out o' -the words, or, as they say, there's a hole in the ballad. Send round -the punch will ye? By the hole o' my coat, Parra Gastha, I'll whale you -wid-in an inch of your life, if you don't Shrink. Send round the -punch, Dan; an' give us a song, Parra Gastha. Arrah, Paddy, do you -remimber--ha, ha, ha--upon my credit, I'll never forget it, the fun we -had catchin' Father Soolaghan's horse, the day he gave his shirt to the -sick man in the ditch. The Lord rest his sowl in glory--ha, ha, ha--I'll -never forget it. Paddy, the song, you thief?” - -“No, but tell them about that, Misther Connell.” - -“Throth, an' I will; but don't be Mitherin me. Faith, this is The height -o' good punch. You see--ha, ha, ha! You see, it was one hard summer -afore I was married to Ellish--mavourneen, that you wor, asthore! Och, -och, are we parted at last? Upon my sowl, my heart's breakin'--breakin', -(weeps) an' no wondher! But as I was sayin'--all your healths! faith, -it is tip-top punch that--the poor man fell sick of a faver, an' sure -enough, when it was known what ailed him, the neighbors built a little -shed on the roadside for him, in regard that every one was afeard to let -him into their place. Howsomever--ha, ha, ha--Father Soolaghan was one -day ridin' past upon his horse, an' seein' the crathur lyin' undher the -shed, on a whisp o' straw, he pulls bridle, an' puts the spake on the -poor sthranger. So, begad, it came out, that the neighbors were very -kind to him, an' used to hand over whatsomever they thought best for him -from the back o' the ditch, as well as they could. - -“'My poor fellow,' said the priest, 'you're badly off for linen.' - -“'Thrue for you, sir,' said the sick man, 'I never longed for anything -so much in my life, as I do for a clane shirt an' a glass o' whiskey.' - -“'The devil a glass o' whiskey I have about me, but you shall have -the clane shirt, you poor compassionate crathur,' said the priest, -stretchin' his neck up an' down to make sure there was no one comin' on -the road--ha, ha, ha! - -“Well an' good--'I have three shirts,' says his Reverence, 'but I have -only one o' them an me, an' that you shall have.' - -“So the priest peels himself on the spot, an' lays his black coat and -waistcoat afore him acrass the saddle, thin takin' off his shirt, he -threw it acrass the ditch to the sick man. Whether it was the white -shirt, or the black coat danglin' about the horse's neck, the divil a -one o' myself can say, but any way, the baste tuck fright, an' made off -wid Father Soolaghan, in the state I'm tellin' yez, upon his back--ha, -ha, ha! - -“Parra Gastha, here, an' I war goin' up at the time to do a little in -the distillin' way for Tom Duggan of Aidinasamlagh, an' seen what was -goin' an. So off we set, an we splittin' our sides laughin'--ha, ha, -ha--at the figure the priest cut. However, we could do no good, an' -he never could pull up the horse, till he came full flight to his own -house, opposite the pound there below, and the whole town in convulsions -when they seen him. We gother up his clothes, an' brought them home to -him, an' a good piece o' fun-we had wid him, for he loved the joke as -well as any man. Well, he was the good an' charitable man, the same -Father Soolaghan; but so simple that he got himself into fifty scrapes, -God rest him! Och, och, she's lyin' low that often laughed at that, an' -I'm here--ay, I have no one, no one that 'ud show me sich a warm heart -as she would. (Weeps.) However, God's will be done. I'll sing yez a song -she liked:-- - - 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, - A two-lugged porringer wantin' a tail.' - -Musha, I'm out agin--ha, ha, ha! Why, I b'lieve there's pishthrogues -an me, or I'd remember it. Bud-an-age, dhrink of all ye. Lie in to the -liquor, I say; don't spare it. Here, Mike, send us up another gallon, -Faith, we'll make a night of it. - - 'Och, three maidens a milkin' did go - An' three maidens a milkin' did go; - An' the winds they blew high - An' the winds they blew low, - An' they dashed their milkin' pails to an' fro.' - -All your healths, childhre! Neighbors, all your healths! don't spare -what's before ye. It's long since I tuck a jorum myself an--come, I say, -plase God, we'll often meet ins' way, so we will. Faith, I'll take a sup -from this forrid, with a blessin'. Dhrink, I say, dhrink!” - -By the time he had arrived at this patch, he was able to engross no -great portion either of the conversation or attention. Almost every one -present had his songs, his sorrows, his laughter, or his anecdotes, as -well as himself. Every voice was loud; and every tongue busy. Intricate -and entangled was the talk, which, on the present occasion, presented -a union of all the extremes which the lights and shadows of the Irish -character alone could exhibit under such a calamity as that which -brought the friends of the deceased together. - -Peter literally fulfilled his promise of taking a jorum in future. He -was now his own master; and as he felt the loss of his wife deeply, -he unhappily had recourse to the bottle, to bury the recollection of a -woman, whose death left a chasm in his heart, which he thought nothing -but the whiskey could fill up. - -His transition from a life of perfect sobriety to one of habitual, nay, -of daily intoxication, was immediate. He could not bear to be sober; -and his extraordinary bursts of affliction, even in his cups, were often -calculated to draw tears from the eyes of those who witnessed them. He -usually went out in the morning with a flask of whiskey in his pocket, -and sat down to weep behind a ditch--where, however, after having -emptied his flask, he might be heard at a great distance, singing the -songs which Ellish in her life-time was accustomed to love. In fact, he -was generally pitied; his simplicity of character, and his benevolence -of heart, which was now exercised without fear of responsibility, made -him more a favorite than he ever had been. His former habits of industry -were thrown aside; as he said himself, he hadn't heart to work; his -farms were neglected, and but for his son-in-law, would have gone to -ruin. Peter himself was sensible of this. - -“Take them,” said he, “into your own hands, Denis; for me, I'm not able -to do anything more at them; she that kep me up is gone, an' I'm broken -down. Take them--take them into your own hands. Give me my bed, bit, an' -sup, an' that's all I Want.” - -Six months produced an incredible change in his appearance. -Intemperance, whilst it shattered his strong frame, kept him in frequent -exuberance of spirits; but the secret grief preyed on him within. -Artificial excitement kills, but it never cures; and Peter, in the midst -of his mirth and jollity, was wasting away into a shadow. His children, -seeing him go down the hill of life so rapidly, consulted among each -other on the best means of winning him back to sobriety. This was a -difficult task, for his powers of bearing liquor were prodigious. He has -often been known to drink so many as twenty-five, and sometimes thirty -tumblers of punch, without being taken off his legs, or rendered -incapable of walking about. His friends, on considering who was most -likely to recall him to a more becoming life, resolved to apply to his -landlord--the gentleman whom we have already introduced to our readers. -He entered warmly into their plan, and it was settled, that Peter should -be sent for, and induced, if possible, to take an oath against liquor. -Early the following-day a liveried servant came down to inform him that -his master wished to speak with him. “To be sure,” said Peter; “divil -resave the man in all Europe I'd do more for than the same gintleman, if -it was only on account of the regard he had for her that's gone. Come, -I'll go wid you in a minute.” - -He accordingly returned with the flask in his hand, saying, “I never -thravel widout a pocket-pistol, John. The times, you see, is not overly -safe, an' the best way is to be prepared!--ha, ha, ha! Och, och! It -houlds three half-pints.” - -“I think,” observed the servant, “you had better not taste that till -after your return.” - -“Come away, man,” said Peter; “we'll talk upon it as we go along: I -couldn't do readily widout it. You hard that I lost Ellish?” - -“Yes,” replied the servant, “and I was very sorry to hear it.” - -“Did you attind the berrin?” - -“No, but my master did,” replied the man; “for, indeed, his respect for -your wife was very great, Mr. Connell.” - -This was before ten o'clock in the forenoon, and about one in the -afternoon a stout countryman was seen approaching the gentleman's house, -with another man bent round his neck, where he hung precisely as a calf -hangs round the shoulders of a butcher, when he is carrying it to his -stall. - -“Good Heavens!” said the owner of the mansion to his lady, “what has -happened to John Smith, my dear? Is he dead?” - -“Dead!” said his lady, going in much alarm to the drawing-room window: -“I protest I fear so, Frank. He is evidently dead! For God's sake go -down and see what has befallen him.” - -Her husband went hastily to the hall-door, where he met Peter with his -burden. - -“In the name of Heaven, what has happened, Connell?--what is the matter -with John? Is he living or dead?” - -“First, plase your honor, as I have him on my shouldhers, will you tell -me where his bed is?” replied Peter. “I may as well lave him snug, as my -hand's in, poor fellow. The devil's bad head he has, your honor. Faith, -it's a burnin' shame, so it is, an' nothin' else--to be able to bear so -little!” - -The lady, children, and servants, were now all assembled about the dead -footman, who hung, in the mean time, very quietly round Peter's neck. - -“Gracious Heaven! Connell, is the man dead?” she inquired. - -“Faith, thin, he is, ma'am,--for a while, any how; but, upon my credit, -it's a burnin' shame, so it is,”-- - -“The man is drunk, my dear,” said her husband--“he's only drunk.” - -“--a burnin' shame, so it is--to be able to bear no more nor about six -glasses, an' the whiskey good, too. Will you ordher one o' thim to show -me his bed, ma'am, if you plase,” continued Peter, “while he's an me? -It'll save throuble.” - -“Connell is right,” observed his landlord. “Gallagher, show him John's -bed-room.” - -Peter accordingly followed another servant, who pointed out his bed, and -assisted to place the vanquished footman in a somewhat easier position -than that in which Peter had carried him. - -“Connell,” said his landlord, when he returned, “how did this happen?” - -“Faith, thin, it's a burnin' shame,” said Connell, “to be able only to -bear”-- - -“But how did it happen? for he has been hitherto a perfectly sober man.” - -“Faix, plase your honor, asy enough,” replied Peter; “he began to -lecthur me about! dhrinkin' so, says I, 'Come an' sit down behind the -hedge here, an' we'll talk it over between us;' so we went in, the two -of us, a-back o' the ditch--an' he began to advise me agin dhrink, an' -I began to tell him about her that's gone, sir. Well, well! och, och! -no matther!--So, sir, one story an' one pull from the bottle, brought -on another, for divil a glass we had at all, sir. Faix, he's a -tindher-hearted boy, anyhow; for as myself I begun to let the tears -down, whin the bottle was near out, divil resave the morsel of him but -cried afther poor Ellish, as if she had been his mother. Faix, he did! -An' it won't be the last sup we'll have together, plase goodness! But -the best of it was, sir, that the dhrunker he got, he abused me the more -for dhrinkin'. Oh, thin, but he's the pious boy whin he gets a sup -in his head! Faix, it's a pity ever he'd be sober, he talks so much -scripthur an' devotion in his liquor!” - -“Connell,” said the landlord, “I am exceedingly sorry to hear that you -have taken so openly and inveterately to drink as you have done, -ever since the death of your admirable wife. This, in fact, was what -occasioned me to send for you. Come into the parlor. Don't go, my dear; -perhaps your influence may also be necessary. Gallagher, look to Smith, -and see that every attention is paid him, until he recovers the effects -of his intoxication.” - -He then entered the parlor, where the following dialogue took place -between him and Peter:-- - -“Connell, I am really grieved to hear that you have become latterly so -incorrigible a drinker; I sent for you to-day, with the hope of being -able to induce you to give it up.” - -“Faix, your honor, it's jist what I'd expect from your father's -son--kindness, an' dacency, an' devotion, wor always among yez. Divil -resave the family in all Europe I'd do so much for as the same family:” - -The gentleman and lady looked at each other, and smiled. They knew that -Peter's blarney was no omen of their success in the laudable design they -contemplated. - -“I thank you, Peter, for your good opinion; but in the meantime allow me -to ask, what can you propose to yourself by drinking so incessantly as -you do?” - -“What do I propose to myself by dhrinkin', is it? Why thin to banish -grief, your honor. Surely you'll allow that no man has reason to -complain who's able to banish the thief for two shillins a-day. I reckon -the whiskey at first cost, so that it doesn't come to more nor that at -the very outside.” - -“That is taking a commercial view of affliction, Connell; but you must -promise me to give up drinking.” - -“Why thin upon my credit, your honor astonishes me. Is it to give up -banishin' grief? I have a regard for you, sir, for many a dalin we had -together; but for all that, faix, I'd be miserable for no man, barrin' -for her that's gone. If I'd be so to oblage any one, I'd do it for your -family; for divil the family in all Europe “-- - -“Easy, Connell--I am not to be palmed off in that manner; I really have -a respect for the character which you bore, and wish you to recover it -once more. Consider that you are disgracing yourself and your children -by drinking so excessively from day to day--indeed, I am told, almost -from hour to hour.” - -“Augh! don't believe the half o' what you hear, sir. Faith, somebody -has been dhraw-in' your honor out! Why I'm never dhrunk, sir; faith, I'm -not.” - -“You will destroy your health, Connell, as well as your character; -besides, you are not to be told that it is a sin, a crime against. God, -and an evil example to society.” - -“Show me the man, plase your honor, that ever seen me incapable. That's -the proof o' the thing.” - -“But why do you drink at all? It is not-necessary.” - -“An' do you never taste a dhrop yourself, sir, plase your honor? I'll be -bound you do, sir, raise your little finger of an odd time, as well as -another. Eh, Ma'am? That's comin' close to his honor! An' faix, small -blame to him, an' a weeshy sup o' the wine to the misthress herself, to -correct the tindherness of her dilicate appetite.” - -“Peter, this bantering must not pass: I think I have a claim upon your -respect and deference. I have uniformly been your friend and the friend -of your children and family, but more especially of your late excellent -and exemplary wife.” - -“Before God an' man I acknowledge that, sir--I do--I do. But, sir; -to spake sarious--it's thruth, Ma'am, downright--to spake sarious, my -heart's broke, an' every day it's brakin' more an' more. She's gone, -sir, that used to manage me; an' now I can't turn myself to anything, -barrin' the dhrink--God help me!” - -“I honor you, Connell, for the attachment which you bear towards the -memory of your wife, but I utterly condemn the manner in which you -display it. To become a drunkard is to disgrace her memory. You know it -was a character she detested.” - -“I know it all, sir, an' that you have thruth an rason on your side; -but, sir, you never lost a wife that you loved; an' long may you be so, -I pray the heavenly Father this day! Maybe if you did, sir, plase your -honor, that, wid your heart sinkin' like a stone widin you, you'd thry -whether or not something couldn't rise it. Sir, only for the dhrink I'd -be dead.” - -“There I totally differ from you, Connell. The drink only prolongs -your grief, by adding to it the depression of spirits which it always -produces. Had you not become a drinker, you would long before this have -been once more a cheerful, active, and industrious man. Your -sorrow would have worn away gradually, and nothing but an agreeable -melancholy--an affectionate remembrance of your excellent wife--would -have remained. Look at other men.” - -“But where's the man, sir, had sich a wife to grieve for as she was? -Don't be hard on me, sir. I'm not a dhrunkard. It's thrue I dhrink -a great dale; but thin I can bear a great dale, so that I'm never -incapable.” - -“Connell,” said the lady, “you will break down your constitution, and -bring yourself to an earlier death than you would otherwise meet.” - -“I care very little, indeed, how soon I was dead, not makin' you, Ma'am, -an ill answer.” - -“Oh fie, Connell, for you, a sensible man and a Christian, to talk in -such a manner!” - -“Throth, thin, I don't, Ma'am. She's gone, an' I'd be glad to folly her -as soon as I could. Yes, asthore, you're departed from me! an' now -I'm gone asthray--out o' the right an' out o' the good! Oh, Ma'am,” he -proceeded, whilst the tears rolled fast down his cheeks, “if you knew -her--her last words, too--Oh, she was--she was--but where's the use o' -sayin' what she was?--I beg your pardon, Ma'am,--your honor, sir, 'ill -forgive my want o' manners, sure I know it's bad breedin', but I can't -help it.” - -“Well, promise,” said his landlord, “to give up drink. Indeed, I wish -you would take an oath against it: you are a conscientious man, and -I know would keep it, otherwise I should not propose it, for I -discountenance such oaths generally. Will you promise me this, Connell?” - -“I'll promise to think of it, your honor,--aginst takin' a sartin -quantity, at any rate.” - -“If you refuse it, I'll think you are unmindful of the good feeling -which we have ever shown your family.” - -“What?--do you think, sir, I'm ungrateful to you? That's a sore cut, -sir, to make a villain o' me. Where's the book?--I'll swear this minute. -Have you a Bible, Ma'am?--I'll show you that I'm not mane, any way.” - -“No, Connell, you shall not do it rashly; you must be cool and composed: -but go home, and turn it in your mind,” she replied; “and remember, that -it is the request of me and my husband, for your own good.” - -“Neither must you swear before me,” said his landlord, “but before Mr. -Mulcahy, who, as it is an oath connected with your moral conduct, is the -best person to be present. It must be voluntary, however. Now, good-bye, -Connell, and think of what we said; but take care never to carry home -any of my servants in the same plight in which you put John Smith -to-day.” - -“Faix thin, sir, he had no business, wid your honor's livery upon his -back, to begin lecthurin' me again dhrinkin', as he did. We may all do -very well, sir, till the timptation crasses us--but that's what thries -us. It thried him, but he didn't stand it--faix he didn't!--ha, ha, ha! -Good-mornin', sir--God bless you, Ma'am! Divil resave the family in all -Europe”-- - -“Good-morning, Connell--good-morning! --Pray remember what we said.” - -Peter, however, could not relinquish the whiskey. His sons, daughters, -friends, and neighbors, all assailed him, but with no success. He either -bantered them in his usual way, or reverted to his loss, and sank -into sorrow. This last was the condition in which they found him most -intractable; for a man is never considered to be in a state that admits -of reasoning or argument, when he is known to be pressed by strong -gushes of personal feeling. A plan at length struck Father Mulcahy, -which lie resolved to put into immediate execution. - -“Peter,” said he, “if you don't abandon drink, I shall stop the masses -which I'm offering up for the repose of your wife's soul, and I will -also return you the money I received for saying them.” - -This was, perhaps, the only point on which Peter was accessible. He -felt staggered at such an unexpected intimation, and was for some time -silent. - -“You will then feel,” added the priest, “that your drunkenness is -prolonging the sufferings of your wife, and that she is as much -concerned in your being sober as you are yourself.” - -“I will give in,” replied Peter; “I didn't see the thing in that light. -No--I will give it up; but if I swear against it, you must allow me a -rasonable share every day, an' I'll not go beyant it, of coorse. The -truth is, I'd die soon if I gev it up altogether.” - -“We have certainly no objection against that,” said the priest, -“provided you keep within what would injure your health, or make you -tipsy. Your drunkenness is not only sinful but disreputable; besides, -you must not throw a slur upon the character of your children, who hold -respectable and rising situations in the world.” - -“No,” said Peter, in a kind of soliloquy, “I'd lay down my life, -avoumeen, sooner nor I'd cause you a minute's sufferin'. Father Mulcahy, -go an wid the masses. I'll get an oath drawn up, an' whin it's done, -I'll swear to it. I know a man that'll do it for me.” - -The priest then departed, quite satisfied with having accomplished his -object; and Peter, in the course of that evening, directed his steps to -the house of the village schoolmaster, for the purpose of getting him to -“draw up” the intended oath. - -“Misther O'Flaherty,” said he, “I'm comin' to ax a requist of you an' -I hope you'll grant it to me. I brought down a sup in this flask, an' -while we're takin' it, we can talk over what I want.” - -“If it be anything widin the circumference of my power, set it down, -Misther Connell, as already operated upon. I'd drop a pen to no man at -keepin' books by double enthry, which is the Italian method invinted by -Pope Gregory the Great. The Three sets bear a theological ratio to the -three states of a thrue Christian. 'The Waste-book,' says Pope Gregory, -'is this world, the Journal is purgatory, an' the Ledger is heaven. Or -it may be compared,' he says, in the priface of the work, 'to the three -states of the Catholic church--the church Militant, the church Suffering -and the church Triumphant.' The larnin' of that man was beyant the reach -of credibility.” - -“Arra, have you a small glass, Masther? You see, Misther O'Flaherty, -it's consarnin' purgatory, this that I want to talk about.” - -“Nancy, get us a glass--oh, here it is! Thin if it be, it's a wrong -enthry in the Journal.” - -“Here's your health, Masther!--Not forgetting you, Mrs. O'Flaherty. -No, indeed, thin it's not in the Journal, but an oath I'm goin' to take -against liquor.” - -“Nothin' is asier to post than it is. We must enter it it undher the -head of--let me see!--it must go in the spirit account, undher the head -of Profit an' Loss, Your good health, Mr. Connell!--Nancy, I dhrink ta -your improvement in imperturbability! Yes, it must be enthered undher -the”---- - -“Faix, undher the rose, I think,” observed Pether; “don't you know the -smack, of it? You see since I took to it, I like the smell o' what I -used to squeeze out o' the barley myself, long ago. Mr. O'Flaherty, I -only want you to dhraw up an oath against liquor for me; but it's not -for the books, good or bad. I promised to Father Mulcahy, that I'd do -it. It's regardin' my poor Ellish's sowl in purgatory.” - -“Nancy, hand me a slate an' cutter. Faith, the same's a provident -resolution; but how is it an' purgatory concatenated?” - -“The priest, you see, won't go an wid the masses for her till I take the -oath.” - -“That's but wake logic, if you ped him for thim.” - -“Faix, an' I did--an' well, too;--but about the oath? Have you the -pencil?” - -“I have; jist lave the thing to me.” - -“Asy, Masther--you don't undherstand it yit. Put down two tumblers for -me at home.” - -“How is that, Misther Connell?--It's mysterious, if you're about to -swear against liquor!” - -“I am. Put down, as I said, two tumblers for me at home--Are they down?” - -“They are down--but”-- - -“Asy!--very good!--Put down two more for me at Dan's. Let me see!--two -more; behind the garden. Well!--put down one at Father Mulcahy's;--two -more at, Frank M'Carrol's of Kilclay. How many's that?” - -“Nine!!!” - -“Very good. Now put down one wid ould' Bartle Gorman, of Cargah; an' two -over wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey. How-many have you now?” - -“Twelve in all!!!! But, Misther Connelly there's a demonstration badly -wanted here. I must confis I was always bright, but at present I'm as -dark as Nox. I'd thank you for a taste of explanation.” - -“Asy, man alive! Is there twelve in all?” - -“Twelve in all: I've calculated them.” - -“Well, we'll hould to that. Och, och!--I'm sure, avourneen, afore -I'd let you suffer one minute's pain, I'd not scruple to take an oath -against liquor, any way. He may go an wid the masses now for you, as -soon as he likes! Mr. O'Flaherty, will you put that down on paper,--an' -I'll swear to it, wid a blessin', to-morrow.” - -“But what object do you wish to effectuate by this?” - -“You see, Masther, I dhrink one day wid another from a score to two -dozen tumblers, an' I want to swear to no more nor twelve in the -twenty-four hours.” - -“Why, there's intelligibility in that!--Wid great pleasure, Mr. -Connell, I'll indite it. Katty, tare me a lafe out o' Brian Murphy's -copy there.” - -“You see, Masther, it's for Ellish's sake I'm doin' this. State that in -the oath.” - -“I know it; an' well she desarved that specimen of abstinence from you, -Misther Connell. Thank you!--Your health agin! an' God grant you grace -an' fortitude to go through wid the same oath!--An' so he will, or I'm -greviously mistaken in you.” - - “OATH AGAINST LIQUOR, - - made by me, Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath, on behalf - of Mr. Peter Connell, of the cross-roads, Merchant, on - one part--and of the soul of Mrs. Ellish Connell, now - in purgatory, Merchantess, on the other. - - “I solemnly and meritoriously, and soberly swear, that - a single tumbler of whiskey punch shall not cross my - lips during the twenty-four hours of the day, barring - twelve, the locality of which is as followeth: - - “Imprimis--Two tumblers at home, 2 - Secundo--Two more ditto at my son Dan's, 2 - Tertio--Two more ditto behind my own garden, 2 - Quarto--One ditto at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's, 1 - Quinto--Two more ditto at Frank M'Carroll s, of Kilclay, 2 - Sexto--One ditto wid ould Bartle Gorman, of Cargah, 1 - Septimo--Two more ditto wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey, 2 - ==== - 12 - N.B.--Except in case any Docthor of Physic might - think it right and medical to ordher me more for my - health; or in case I could get Father Mulcahy to take - the oath off of me for a start, at a wedding, or a - christening, or at any other meeting of friends where - there's drink. - - his - Peter X Connell. - mark. - - Witness present, - Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath. - _June the 4th, 18--_ - - I certify that I have made and calculated this oath for - Misther Pettier Connell, Merchant, and that it is - strictly and arithmetically proper and correct. - - “Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath. - “_Dated this Mh day of June, 18--_.” - - -“I think, Misther O'Flaherty, it's a dacent oath as it stands. Plase -God, I'll swear to it some time to-morrow evenin'.” - -“Dacent! Why I don't wish to become eulogistically addicted; but I'd -back tha same oath, for both grammar and arithmetic, aginst any that -ever was drawn up by a lawyer--ay, by the great Counsellor himself!--but -faith, I'd not face him at a Vow, for all that; he's the greatest man at -a Vow in the three kingdoms.” - -“I'll tell you what I'm thinkin', Masther--as my hand's in, mightn't I -as well take another wid an ould friend of mine, Owen Smith, of Lisbuy? -He's a dacent ould residenther, an' likes it. It'll make the baker's or -the long dozen.” - -“Why, it's not a bad thought; but won't thirteen get into your head?” - -“No, nor three more to the back o' that. I only begin to get hearty -about seventeen, so that the long dozen, afther all, is best; for--God -he knows, I've a regard for Owen Smith this many a year, an' I wouldn't -wish to lave him out.” - -“Very well,--I'll add it up to the other part of the oath. - - 'Octavo--One ditto out of respect for dacent Owen Smith, of - Lisbuy, 1 - -Now I must make the total amount thirteen, an' all will be right.” - -“Masther, have you a prayer-book widin?--bekase if you have, I may as -well swear here, and you can witness it.” - -“Katty, hand over the Spiritual Exercises--a book aquil to the Bible -itself for piety an' devotion.” - -“Sure they say, Masther, any book that, the name o' God's in, is good -for an oath. Now, wid the help o' goodness, repate the words afore me, -an' I'll sware thim.” - -O'Flaherty hemmed two or three times, and complied with Peter's wishes, -who followed him in the words until the oath was concluded. He then -kissed the book, and expressed himself much at ease, as well, he said, -upon the account of Ellish's soul, as for the sake of his children. - -For some time after this, his oath was the standing jest of the -neighborhood: even to this day, Peter Connell's oath against liquor is a -proverb in that part of the country. Immediately after he had sworn, -no one could ever perceive that he violated it in the slightest degree; -indeed there could be no doubt as to literally fulfilling it. A day -never passed in which he did not punctually pay a visit to those whose -names wore dotted down, with whom he sat, pulled out his flask, and -drank his quantum. In the meantime the poor man was breaking down -rapidly; so much so, that his appearance generally excited pity, if not -sorrow, among his neighbors. His character became simpler every day, and -his intellect evidently more exhausted. The inoffensive humor, for which -he had been noted, was also completely on the wane; his eye waxed dim, -his step feeble, but the benevolence of his heart never failed him. Many -acts of his private generosity are well known, and still remembered with -gratitude. - -In proportion as the strength of his mind and constitution diminished, -so did his capacity for bearing liquor. When he first bound himself -by the oath not to exceed the long dozen, such was his vigor, that the -effects of thirteen tumblers could scarcely be perceived on him. This -state of health, however, did not last. As he wore away, the influence -of so much liquor was becoming stronger, until at length he found that -it was more than he could bear, that he frequently confounded the -names of the men, and the number of tumblers mentioned in the oath, and -sometimes took in, in his route, persons and places not to be found in -it at all. This grieved him, and he resolved to wait upon O'Flaherty -for the purpose of having some means devised of guiding him during his -potations. - -“Masther,” said he, “we must thry an' make this oath somethin' plainer. -You see when I get confused, I'm not able to remimber things as I ought. -Sometimes, instid o' one tumbler, I take two at the wrong place; an' -sarra bit o' me but called in an' had three wid ould Jack Rogers, that -isn't in it at all. On another day I had a couple wid honest Barney -Casey, an my way acrass to Bartle Gorman's. I'm not what I was, Masther, -ahagm; so I'd thank you to dhraw it out more clearer, if you can, nor it -was.” - -“I see, Mr. Connell; I comprehend wid the greatest ase in life, the -very plan for it. We must reduce the oath to Geography, for I'm at home -there, bein' a Surveyor myself. I'll lay down a map o' the parish, an' -draw the houses of your friends at their proper places, so that you'll -never be out o' your latitude at all.” - -“Faix, I doubt that, Masther--ha, ha, ha!” replied Peter; “I'm afeard I -will, of an odd time, for I'm not able to carry what I used to do; but -no matther: thry what you can do for me this time, any how. I think I -could bear the long dozen still if I didn't make mistakes.” - -O'Flaherty accordingly set himself to work; and as his knowledge, not -only of the parish, but of every person and house in it, was accurate, -he soon had a tolerably correct skeleton map of it drawn for Peter's -use. - -“Now,” said he, “lend me your ears.” - -“Faix, I'll do no sich thing,” replied Peter--“I know a thrick worth two -of it. Lend you my ears, inagh!--catch me at it! You have a bigger pair -of your own nor I have--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Well, in other words, pay attintion. Now, see this dot--that's your own -house.” - -“Put a crass there,” said Peter, “an' thin I'll know it's the -Crass-roads.” - -“Upon my reputation, you're right; an' that's what I call a good -specimen of ingenuity. I'll take the hint from that, an' we'll make it -a Hieroglyphical as well as a Geographical oath. Well, there's a crass, -wid two tumblers. Is that clear?” - -“It is, it is! faix” - -“Now here we draw a line to your son Dan's. Let me see; he keeps a mill, -an' sells cloth. Very good. I'll dhraw a mill-wheel an' a yard-wand. -There's two tumblers. Will you know that?” - -“I see it: go an, nothin' can be clearer. So far, I can't go asthray.” - -“Well, what next? Two behind your own garden. What metaphor for the -garden? Let me see!--let me cogitate! A dragon--the Hesperides! That's -beyant you. A bit of a hedge will do, an' a gate.” - -“Don't put a gate in, it's not lucky. You know, when a man takes to -dhrink, they say he's goin' a gray gate, or a black gate, or a bad -gate. Put that out, an' make the hedge longer, an' it'll do--wid the two -tumblers, though.” - -“They're down. One at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's. How will we -thranslate the priest?” - -“Faix, I doubt that will be a difficquilt business.” - -“Upon my reputation, I agree wid you in that, especially whin he repates -Latin. However, we'll see. He writes P.P. afther his name;--pee-pee is -what we call the turkeys wid. What 'ud you think o' two turkeys?” - -“The priest would like them roasted, but I couldn't undherstand that. -No; put down the sign o' the horsewhip, or the cudgel; for he's handy, -an' argues well wid both?” - -“Good! I'll put down the horsewhip first, an' the cudgel alongside of -it; then the tumbler, an' there'll be the sign o' the priest.” - -“Ay, do, Masther, an' faix the priest 'll be complate--there can be no -mistakin' him thin. Divil a one but that's a good thought!” - -“There it is in black an' white. Who comes next? Frank M'Carroll. He's -a farmer. I'll put down a spade an' a harrow. Well, that's done--two -tumblers.” - -“I won't mistake that, aither. It's clear enough.” - -“Bartle Gorman's of Cargah. Bartle's a little lame, an' uses a staff wid -a cross on the end that he houlds in his hand. I'll put down a staff wid -a cross on it.” - -“Would there be no danger of me mistakin' that for the priest's cudgel?” - -“Divil the slightest. I'll pledge my knowledge of geography, they're two -very different weapons.” - -“Well, put it down--I'll know it.” - -“Roger M'Gaugy of Nurchasy. What for him? Roger's a pig-driver. I'll put -down pig. You'll comprehend that?” - -“I ought; for many a pig I sould in my day. Put down the pig; an' if you -could put two black spots upon his back, I'd know it to be one I sould -him about four years agone--the fattest ever was in the country--it had -to be brought home on a car, for it wasn't able to walk wid fat.” - -“Very good; the spots are on it. The last is Owen Smith of Lisbuy. Now, -do you see that I've drawn a line from place to place, so that you have -nothing to do only to keep to it as you go. What for Owen?” - -“Owen! Let me see--Owen! Pooh! What's come over me, that I've nothin' -for Owen? Ah! I have it. He's a horse-jockey: put down a gray mare I -sould him about five years agone.” - -“I'll put down a horse; but I can't make a gray mare wid black ink.” - -“Well, make a mare of her, any way.” - -“Faith, an' that same puzzles me. Stop, I have it; I'll put a foal along -wid her.” - -“As good as the bank. God bless you, Misther O'Flaherty. I think this -'ll keep me from mistakes. An' now, if you'll slip up to me afther dusk, -I'll send you down a couple o' bottles and a flitch. Sure you desarve -more for the throuble you tuck.” - -Many of our readers, particularly of our English readers, will be -somewhat startled to hear that, except the change of names and places, -there is actually little exaggeration in the form of this oath; so just -is the observation, that the romance of truth frequently exceeds that of -fiction. - -Peter had, however, over-rated his own strength in supposing that he -could bear the long dozen in future; ere many months passed he was -scarcely able to reach the half of that number without sinking into -intoxication. Whilst in this state, he was in the habit of going to the -graveyard in which his wife lay buried, where he sat, and wept like a -child, sang her favorite songs, or knelt and offered up his prayers for -the repose of her soul. None ever mocked him for this; on the contrary, -there was always some kind person to assist him home. And as he -staggered on, instead of sneers and ridicule, one might hear such -expressions as these:-- - -“Poor Pether! he's nearly off; an' a dacent, kind neighbor he ever was. -The death of the wife broke his heart--he never ris his head since.” - -“Ay, poor man! God pity him! Hell soon be sleepin' beside her, beyant -there, where she's lyin'. It was never known of Peter Connell that he -offinded man, woman, or child since he was born, barrin' the gaugers, -bad luck to thim, afore he was marrid--but that was no offince. Sowl, he -was their match, any how. When he an' the wife's gone, they won't lave -their likes behind them. The sons are bodaghs--gintlemen, now; an' -it's nothin' but dinners an' company. Ahagur, that wasn't the way their -hardworkin' father an' mother made the money that they're houldin' their -heads up wid such consequence upon.” - -The children, however, did not give Peter up as hopeless. Father -Mulcahy, too, once-more assailed him on his weak side. One morning, when -he was sober, nervous, and depressed, the priest arrived, and finding -him at home, addressed him as follows:-- - -“Peter, I'm sorry, and vexed, and angry this morning; and you are the -cause of it” - -“How is that, your Reverence?” said Peter. “God help me,” he added, -“don't be hard an me, sir, for I'm to be pitied. Don't be hard on me, -for the short time I'll be here. I know it won't be long--I'll be wid -her soon. Asthore machree, we'll' be together, I hope, afore long--an', -oh! if it was the will o' God, I would be glad if it was afore night!” - -The poor, shattered, heart-broken creature wept bitterly, for he felt -somewhat sensible of the justice of the reproof which he expected from -the priest, as well as undiminished sorrow for his wife. - -“I'm not going to be hard on you,” said the good-natured priest; “I only -called to tell you a dream that your son Dan had last night about you -and his mother.” - -“About Ellish! Oh, for heaven's sake what about her, Father, avourneen?” - -“She appeared to him, last night,” replied Father Mulcahy, “and told him -that your drinking kept her out of happiness.” - -“Queen of heaven!” exclaimed Peter, deeply affected, “is that true? Oh,” - said he, dropping on his knees, “Father, ahagur machree, pardon me--oh, -forgive me! I now promise, solemnly and seriously, to drink neither -in the house nor out of it, for the time to come, not one drop at all, -good, bad, or indifferent, of either whiskey, wine, or punch--barrin' -one glass. Are you now satisfied? an' do you think she'll get to -happiness?” - -“All will be well, I trust,” said the priest. “I shall mention this to -Dan and the rest, and depend upon it, they, too, will be happy to hear -it.” - -“Here's what Mr. O'Flaherty an' myself made up,” said Peter: “burn it, -Father; take it out of my sight, for it's now no use to me.” - -“What is this at all?” said Mr. Mulcahy, looking into it. “Is it an -oath?” - -“It's the Joggraphy of one I swore some time ago; but it's now out of -date--I'm done wid it.” - -The priest could not avoid smiling when he perused it, and on getting -from Peter's lips an explanation of the hieroglyphics, he laughed -heartily at the ingenious shifts they had made to guide his memory. - -Peter, for some time after this, confined himself to one glass, as -he had promised; but he felt such depression and feebleness, that he -ventured slowly, and by degrees, to enlarge the “glass” from which he -drank. His impression touching the happiness of his wife was, that as he -had for several months strictly observed his promise, she had probably -during that period gone to heaven. He then began to exercise his -ingenuity gradually, as we have said, by using, from time to time, a -glass larger than the preceding one; thus receding from the spirit of -his vow to the letter, and increasing the quantity of his drink from a -small glass to the most capacious tumbler he could find. The manner in -which he drank this was highly illustrative of the customs which prevail -on this subject in Ireland. He remembered, that in making the vow, he -used the words, “neither in the house nor out of it;” but in order -to get over this dilemma, he usually stood with one foot outside the -threshold, and the other in the house, keeping himself in that position -which would render it difficult to determine whether he was either -out or in. At other times, when he happened to be upstairs, he usually -thrust one-half of his person out of the window, with the same ludicrous -intention of keeping the letter of his vow. - -Many a smile this adroitness of his occasioned to the lookers-on: but -further ridicule was checked by his wobegone and afflicted look. He was -now a mere skeleton, feeble and tottering. - -One night, in the depth of winter, he went into the town where his two -sons resided; he had been ill in mind and body during the day, and he -fancied that change of scene and society might benefit him. His daughter -and son-in-law, in consequence of his illness, watched him so closely, -that he could not succeed in getting his usual “glass.” This offended -him, and he escaped without their knowledge to the son who kept the inn. -On arriving there, he went upstairs, and by a douceur to the waiter, -got a large tumbler filled with spirits. The lingering influences of -a conscience that generally felt strongly on the side of a moral duty, -though poorly instructed, prompted him to drink it in the usual manner, -by keeping one-half of his body, as, nearly as he could guess, out of -the window, that it might be said he drank it neither in nor out of the -house. He had scarcely finished his draught, however, when he lost his -balance, and was precipitated upon the pavement. The crash of his fall -was heard in the bar, and his son, who had just come in, ran, along with -several others, to ascertain what had happened. They found him, however, -only severely stunned. He was immediately brought in, and medical aid -sent for; but, though he recovered from the immediate effects of the -fall, the shock it gave to his broken constitution, and his excessive -grief, carried him off in a few months afterwards. He expired in the -arms of his son and daughter, and amidst the tears of those who knew his -simplicity of character, his goodness of heart, and his attachment to -the wife by whose death that heart had been broken. - -Such was the melancholy end of the honest and warm-hearted Peter -Connell, who, unhappily, was not a solitary instance of a man driven to -habits of intoxication and neglect of business by the force of sorrow, -which time and a well-regulated mind might otherwise have overcome. We -have held him up, on the one hand, as an example worthy of imitation -in that industry and steadiness which, under the direction of his wife, -raised him from poverty to independence and wealth; and, on the other, -as a man resorting to the use of spirituous liquors that he might -be enabled to support affliction--a course which, so far from having -sustained him under it, shattered his constitution, shortened his life, -and destroyed his happiness. In conclusion, we wish our countrymen of -Peter's class would imitate him in his better qualities, and try to -avoid his failings. - - - - - -THE LIANHAN SHEE. - - -One summer evening Mary Sullivan was sitting at her own well-swept -hearthstone, knitting feet to a pair of sheep's gray stockings for -Bartley, her husband. It was one of those serene evenings in the -month of June, when the decline of day assumes a calmness and repose, -resembling what we might suppose to have irradiated Eden, when our first -parents sat in it before their fall. The beams of the sun shone through -the windows in clear shafts of amber light, exhibiting millions of those -atoms which float to the naked eye within its mild radiance. The dog lay -barking in his dreams at her feet, and the gray cat sat purring placidly -upon his back, from which even his occasional agitation did not dislodge -her. - -Mrs. Sullivan was the wife of a wealthy farmer, and niece to the Rev. -Felix O'Rourke; her kitchen was consequently large, comfortable, and -warm. Over where she sat, jutted out the “brace” well lined with bacon; -to the right hung a well-scoured salt-box, and to the left was the jamb, -with its little gothic paneless window to admit the light. Within it -hung several ash rungs, seasoning for flail-sooples, or boulteens, a -dozen of eel-skins, and several stripes of horse-skin, as hangings for -them. The dresser was a “parfit white,” and well furnished with the -usual appurtenances. Over the door and on the “threshel,” were nailed, -“for luck,” two horse-shoes, that had been found by accident. In a -little “hole” in the wall, beneath the salt-box, lay a bottle of holy -water to keep the place purified; and against the cope-stone of the -gable, on the outside, grew a large lump of house-leek, as a specific -for sore eyes and other maladies. - -In the corner of the garden were a few stalks of tansy “to kill the -thievin' worms in the childhre, the crathurs,” together with a little -Rose-noble, Solomon's Seal, and Bu-gloss, each for some medicinal -purpose. The “lime wather” Mrs. Sullivan could make herself, and the -“bog bane” for the Unh roe, (* Literally, red water) or heart-burn, grew -in their own meadow drain; so that, in fact, she had within her reach a -very decent pharmacopoeia, perhaps as harmless as that of the profession -itself. Lying on the top of the salt-box was a bunch of fairy flax, and -sewed in the folds of her own scapular was the dust of what had once -been a four-leaved shamrock, an invaluable specific “for seein' the good -people,” if they happened to come within the bounds of vision. Over the -door in the inside, over the beds, and over the cattle in the outhouses, -were placed branches of withered palm, that had been consecrated by the -priest on Palm Sunday; and when the cows happened to calve, this good -woman tied, with her own hands, a woollen thread about their tails, to -prevent them from being overlooked by evil eyes, or elf-shot* by the -fairies, who seem to possess a peculiar power over females of every -species during the period of parturition. It is unnecessary to mention -the variety of charms which she possessed for that obsolete malady the -colic, the toothache, headache, or for removing warts, and taking motes -out of the eyes; let it suffice to inform our readers that she was well -stocked with them; and that, in addition to this, she, together with her -husband, drank a potion made up and administered by an herb-doctor, for -preventing forever the slightest misunderstanding or quarrel between man -and wife. Whether it produced this desirable object or not our readers -may conjecture, when we add, that the herb-doctor, after having taken a -very liberal advantage of their generosity, was immediately compelled to -disappear from the neighborhood, in order to avoid meeting with Bartley, -who had a sharp lookout for him, not exactly on his own account, but -“in regard,” he said, “that it had no effect upon Mary, at all, at all;” - whilst Mary, on the other hand, admitted its efficacy upon herself, but -maintained, “that Bartley was worse nor ever afther it.” - - * This was, and in remote parts of the country still - is, one of the strongest instances of belief in the - power of the Fairies. The injury, which, if not - counteracted by a charm from the lips of a “Fairy-man,” - or “Fairy-woman,” was uniformly inflicted on the animal - by what was termed an elf-stone--which was nothing - more nor less than a piece of sharp flint, from three - to four or five ounces in weight. The cow was supposed - to be struck upon the loin with it by these mischievous - little beings, and the nature of the wound was indeed - said to be very peculiar--that is, it cut the midriff - without making any visible or palpable wound on the - outward skin. All animals dying of this complaint, - were supposed to be carried to the good people, and - there are many in the country who would not believe - that the dead carcass of the cow was that of the real - one at all, but an old log or block of wood, made to - resemble it. All such frauds, however, and deceptions - were inexplicable to every one, but such as happened to - possess a four-leaved shamrock, and this enabled its - possessor to see the block or log in its real shape, - although to others it appeared to be the real carcass. - -Such was Mary Sullivan, as she sat at her own hearth, quite alone, -engaged as we have represented her. What she may have been meditating on -we cannot pretend to ascertain; but after some time, she looked sharply -into the “backstone,” or hob, with an air of anxiety and alarm. By -and by she suspended her knitting, and listened with much earnestness, -leaning her right ear over to the hob, from whence the sounds to which -she paid such deep attention proceeded. At length she crossed herself -devoutly, and exclaimed, “Queen of saints about us!--is it back ye are? -Well sure there's no use in talkin', bekase they say you know what's -said of you, or to you--an' we may as well spake yez fair.--Hem--musha, -yez are welcome back, crickets, avourneenee! I hope that, not like the -last visit ye ped us, yez are comin' for luck now! Moolyeen (* a cow -without horns) died, any way, soon afther your other kailyee, (* short -visit) ye crathurs ye. Here's the bread, an' the salt, an' the male for -yez, an' we wish ye well. Eh?--saints above, if it isn't listenin' they -are jist like a Christhien! Wurrah, but ye are the wise an' the quare -crathurs all out!” - -She then shook a little holy water over the hob, and muttered to herself -an Irish charm or prayer against the evils which crickets are often -supposed by the peasantry to bring with them, and requested, still in -the words of the charm, that their presence might, on that occasion, -rather be a presage of good fortune to man and beast belonging to her. - -“There now, ye _dhonans_ (* a diminuitive, delicate little thing) ye, -sure ye can't say that ye're ill-thrated here, anyhow, or ever was -mocked or made game of in the same family. You have got your hansel, an' -full an' plenty of it; hopin' at the same time that you'll have no rason -in life to cut our best clothes from revinge. Sure an' I didn't desarve -to have my brave stuff long body (* an old-fashioned Irish gown) riddled -the way it was, the last time ye wor here, an' only bekase little Barny, -that has but the sinse of a gorsoon, tould yez in a joke to pack off wid -yourself somewhere else. Musha, never heed what the likes of him says; -sure he's but a caudy, (* little boy) that doesn't mane ill, only the -bit o' divarsion wid yez.” - -She then resumed her knitting, occasionally stopping, as she changed her -needles, to listen, with her ear set, as if she wished to augur from the -nature of their chirping, whether they came for good or for evil. This, -however, seemed to be beyond her faculty of translating their language; -for--after sagely shaking her head two or three times, she knit more -busily than before.* - - * Of the origin of this singular superstition I can - find no account whatsoever; it is conceived, however, - in a mild, sweet, and hospitable spirit. The visits of - these migratory little creatures, which may be termed - domestic grasshoppers, are very capricious and - uncertain, as are their departures; and it is, I should - think, for this reason, that they are believed to be - cognizant of the ongoings of human life. We can easily - suppose, for instance, that the coincidence of their - disappearance from a family, and the occurrence of a - death in that family, frequently multiplied as such - coincidences must be in the country at large, might - occasion the people, who are naturally credulous, to - associate the one event with the other; and on that - slight basis erect the general superstition. Crickets, - too, when chirupping, have a habit of suddenly ceasing, - so that when any particularly interesting conversation - happens to go on about the rustic hearth, this stopping - of their little chaunt looks so like listening, that it - is scarcely to be wondered at that the country folks - think they understand every word that is spoken. They - are thought, also, to foresee both good and evil, and - are considered vindictive, but yet capable of being - conciliated by fair words and kindness. They are also - very destructive among wearing-apparel, which they - frequently nibble into holes; and this is always looked - upon as a piece of revenge, occasioned by some - disrespectful language used towards them, or some - neglect of their little wants. This note was necessary - in order to render the conduct and language of Mary - Sullivan perfectly intelligible. - -At this moment, the shadow of a person passing the house darkened the -window opposite which she sat, and immediately a tall female, of a wild -dress and aspect, entered the kitchen. - -“_Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr!_ the blessin' o' goodness upon -you, dacent woman,” said Mrs. Sullivan, addressing her in those kindly -phrases so peculiar to the Irish language. - -Instead of making her any reply, however, the woman, whose eye glistened -with a wild depth of meaning, exclaimed in low tones, apparently of much -anguish, “_Husht, husht', dherum!_ husht, husht, I say--let me alone--I -will do it--will you husht? I will, I say--I will--there now--that's -it--be quiet, an' I will do it--be quiet!” and as she thus spoke, she -turned her face back over her left shoulder, as if some invisible being -dogged her steps, and stood bending over her. - -“_Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr, dherhum areesh!_ the blessin' o' God -on you, honest woman, I say again,” said Mrs. Sullivan, repeating that -sacred form of salutation with which the peasantry address each other. -“'Tis a fine evenin', honest woman, glory be to him that sent the same, -and amin! If it was cowld, I'd be axin' you to draw your chair in to the -fire: but, any way, won't you sit down?” - -As she ceased speaking, the piercing eye of the strange woman became -riveted on her with a glare, which, whilst it startled Mrs. Sullivan, -seemed full of an agony that almost abstracted her from external -life. It was not, however, so wholly absorbing as to prevent it from -expressing a marked interest, whether for good or evil, in the woman who -addressed her so hospitably. - -“Husht, now--husht,” she said, as if aside--“husht, won't you--sure I -may speak the thing to her--you said it--there now, husht!” And then -fastening her dark eyes on Mrs. Sullivan, she smiled bitterly and -mysteriously. - -“I know you well,” she said, without, however, returning the blessing -contained in the usual reply to Mrs. Sullivan's salutation--“I know you -well, Mary Sullivan--husht, now, husht--yes, I know you well, and the -power of all that you carry about you; but you'd be better than you -are--and that's well enough now--if you had sense to know--ah, ah, -ah!--what's this!” she exclaimed abruptly, with three distinct shrieks, -that seemed to be produced by sensations of sharp and piercing agony. - -“In the name of goodness, what's over you, honest woman?” inquired Mrs. -Sullivan, as she started from her chair, and ran to her in a state of -alarm, bordering on terror--“Is it sick you are?” - -The woman's face had got haggard, and its features distorted; but in a -few minutes they resumed their peculiar expression of settled wildness -and mystery. “Sick!” she replied, licking her parched lips, “awirck, -awirek! look! look!” and she pointed with a shudder that almost -convulsed her whole frame, to a lump that rose on her shoulders; this, -be it what it might, was covered with a red cloak, closely pinned and -tied with great caution about her body--“'tis here! I have it!” - -“Blessed mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan, tottering over to her chair, -as finished a picture of horror as the eye could witness, “this day's -Friday: the saints stand betwixt me an' all harm! Oh, holy Mary -protect me! _Nhanim an airh_,” in the name of the Father, etc., and she -forthwith proceeded to bless herself, which she did thirteen times in -honor of the blessed virgin and the twelve apostles. - -“Ay, it's as you see!” replied the stranger, bitterly. “It is -here--husht, now--husht, I say--I will say the thing to her, mayn't I? -Ay, indeed, Mary Sullivan, 'tis with me always--always. Well, well, no, -I won't. I won't--easy. Oh, blessed saints, easy, and I won't.” - -In the meantime Mrs. Sullivan had uncorked a bottle of holy water, and -plentifully bedewed herself with it, as a preservative against this -mysterious woman and her dreadful secret. - -“Blessed mother above!” she ejaculated, “the _Lianhan Shee_” And as -she spoke, with the holy water in the palm of her hand, she advanced -cautiously, and with great terror, to throw it upon the stranger and the -unearthly thing she bore. - -“Don't attempt it!” shouted the other, in tones of mingled fierceness -and terror, “do you want to give me pain without keeping yourself -anything at all safer? Don't you know it doesn't care about your holy -water? But I'd suffer for it, an' perhaps so would you.” - -Mrs. Sullivan, terrified by the agitated looks of the woman, drew back -with affright, and threw the holy water with which she intended to -purify the other on her own person. - -“Why thin, you lost crathur, who or what are you at all?--don't, -don't--for the sake of all the saints and angels of heaven, don't come -next or near me--keep your distance--but what are you, or how did you -come to get that 'good thing' you carry about wid you?” - -“Ay, indeed!” replied the woman bitterly, “as if I would or could tell -you that! I say, you woman, you're doing what's not right in asking me -a question you ought not let to cross your lips--look to yourself, and -what's over you.” - -The simple woman, thinking her meaning literal, almost leaped off her -seat with terror, and turned up her eyes to ascertain whether or not any -dreadful appearance had approached her, or hung over her where she sat. - -“Woman,” said she, “I spoke you kind an' fair, an' I wish you -well--but”-- - -“But what?” replied the other--and her eyes kindled into deep and -profound excitement, apparently upon very slight grounds. - -“Why--hem--nothin' at all sure, only”-- - -“Only what?” asked the stranger, with a face of anguish that seemed to -torture every feature out of its proper lineaments. - -“Dacent woman,” said Mrs. Sullivan, whilst the hair began to stand -with terror upon her head, “sure it's no wondher in life that I'm in a -perplexity, whin a _Lianhan Shee_ is undher the one roof wid me. 'Tisn't -that I want to know anything' at all about it--the dear forbid I should; -but I never hard of a person bein' tormented wid it as you are. I always -used to hear the people say that it thrated its friends well.” - -“Husht!” said the woman, looking wildly over her shoulder, “I'll not -tell: it's on myself I'll leave the blame! Why, will you never pity me? -Am I to be night and day tormented? Oh, you're wicked an' cruel for no -reason!” - -“Thry,” said Mrs. Sullivan, “an' bless yourself; call on God.” - -“Ah!” shouted the other, “are you going to get me killed?” and as she -uttered the words, a spasmodic working which must have occasioned great -pain, even to torture, became audible in her throat: her bosom heaved -up and down, and her head was bent repeatedly on her breast, as if by -force. - -“Don't mention that name,” said she, “in my presence, except you mean -to drive me to utter distraction. I mean,” she continued, after a -considerable effort to recover her former tone and manner--“hear me with -attention--I mean, woman--you, Mary Sullivan--that if you mention that -holy name, you might as well keep plunging sharp knives into my heart! -Husht! peace to me for one minute, tormentor! Spare me something, I'm in -your power!” - -“Will you ate anything?” said Mrs. Sullivan; “poor crathur, you look -like hunger an' distress; there's enough in the house, blessed be them -that sent it! an' you had betther thry an' take some nourishment, any -way;” and she raised her eyes in a silent prayer of relief and ease for -the unhappy woman, whose unhallowed association had, in her opinion, -sealed her doom. - -“Will I?--will I?--oh!” she replied, “may you never know misery for -offering it! Oh, bring me something--some refreshment--some food--for -I'm dying with hunger.” - -Mrs. Sullivan, who, with all her superstition, was remarkable for -charity and benevolence, immediately placed food and drink before her, -which the stranger absolutely devoured--taking care occasionally to -secrete under the protuberance which appeared behind her neck, a portion -of what she ate. This, however, she did, not by stealth, but openly; -merely taking means to prevent the concealed thing, from being, by any -possible accident discovered. - -When the craving of hunger was satisfied, she appeared to suffer less -from the persecution of her tormentor than, before; whether it was, as -Mrs. Sullivan thought, that the food with which she plied it, appeased -in some degree its irritability, or lessened that of the stranger, it -was difficult to say; at all events, she became more composed; her eyes -resumed somewhat of a natural expression; each sharp ferocious glare, -which shot, from them! with such intense and rapid flashes, partially -disappeared; her knit brows dilated, and part of a forehead, which had -once been capacious and handsome, lost the contractions which deformed -it by deep wrinkles. Altogether the change was evident, and very-much -relieved Mrs. Sullivan, who could not avoid observing it. - -“It's not that I care much about it, if you'd think it not right o' me, -but it's odd enough for you to keep the lower part of your face muffled -up in that black cloth, an' then your forehead, too, is covered down on -your face a bit? If they're part of the bargain,”--and she shuddered at -the thought--“between you an' anything that's not good--hem!--I think -you'd do well to throw thim off o' you, an' turn to thim that can -protect you from everything that's bad. Now a scapular would keep all -the divils in hell from one; an' if you'd”-- - -On looking at the stranger she hesitated, for the wild expression of her -eyes began to return. - -“Don't begin my punishment again,” replied the woman; “make no -allus--don't make mention in my presence of anything that's good. -Husht,--husht,--it's beginning--easy now--easy! No,” said she, “I came -to tell you, that only for my breakin' a vow I made to this thing upon -me, I'd be happy instead of miserable with it. I say, it's a good thing -to have, if the person will use this bottle,” she added, producing one, -“as I will direct them.” - -“I wouldn't wish, for my part,” replied Mrs. Sullivan, “to have anything -to do wid it--neither act nor part;” and she crossed herself devoutly, -on contemplating such an unholy alliance as that at which her companion -hinted. - -“Mary Sullivan,” replied the other, “I can put good fortune and -happiness in the way of you and yours. It is for you the good is -intended; if you don't get both, no other can,” and her eyes kindled as -she spoke, like those of the Pythoness in the moment of inspiration. - -Mrs. Sullivan looked at her with awe, fear, and a strong mixture of -curiosity; she had often heard that the _Lianhan Shee_ had, through -means of the person to whom it was bound, conferred wealth upon several, -although it could never render this important service to those who -exercised direct authority over it. She therefore experienced something -like a conflict between her fears and a love of that wealth, the -possession of which was so plainly intimated to her. - -“The money,” said she, “would be one thing, but to have the _Lianhan -Shee_ planted over a body's shouldher--och; the saints preserve us!--no, -not for oceans' of hard goold would I have it in my company one minnit. -But in regard to the money--hem!--why, if it could be managed widout -havin' act or part wid that thing, people would do anything in rason and -fairity.” - -“You have this day been kind to me,” replied the woman, “and that's -what I can't say of many--dear help me!--husht! Every door is shut in -my face! Does not every cheek get pale when I am seen? If I meet a -fellow-creature on the road, they turn into the field to avoid me; if I -ask for food, it's to a deaf ear I speak; if I am thirsty, they send -me to the river. What house would shelter me? In cold, in hunger, in -drought, in storm, and in tempest, I am alone and unfriended, hated, -feared, an' avoided; starving in the winter's cold, and burning in the -summer's heat. All this is my fate here; and--oh! oh! oh!--have mercy, -tormentor--have mercy! I will not lift my thoughts there--I'll keep the -paction--but spare me now!” - -She turned round as she spoke, seeming to follow an invisible object, -or, perhaps, attempting to get a more complete view of the mysterious -being which exercised such a terrible and painful influence over her. -Mrs. Sullivan, also, kept her eye fixed upon the lump, and actually -believed that she saw it move. Fear of incurring the displeasure of what -it contained, and a superstitious reluctance harshly to thrust a person -from her door who had eaten of her food, prevented her from desiring the -woman to depart. - -“In the name of Goodness,” she replied, “I will have nothing to do wid -your gift. Providence, blessed be his name, has done well for me an' -mine, an' it mightn't be right to go beyant what it has pleased him to -give me.” - -“A rational sentiment!--I mean there's good sense in what you say,” - answered the stranger: “but you need not be afraid,” and she accompanied -the expression by holding up the bottle and kneeling: “now,” she added, -“listen to me, and judge for yourself, if what I say, when I swear it, -can be a lie.” She then proceeded to utter oaths of the most solemn -nature, the purport of which Was to assure Mrs. Sullivan that drinking -of the bottle would be attended with no danger. “You see this little -bottle, drink it. Oh, for my sake and your own drink it; it will give -wealth without end to you and to all belonging to you. Take one-half of -it before sunrise, and the other half when he goes down. You must stand -while drinking it, with your face to the east, in the morning; and at -night, to the west. Will you promise to do this?” - -“How would drinkin' the bottle get me money?” inquired Mrs. Sullivan, -who certainly felt a strong tendency of heart to the wealth. - -“That I can't tell you now, nor would you understand it, even if I -could; but you will know all when what I say is complied with.” - -“Keep your bottle, dacent woman. I wash my hands of it: the saints above -guard me from the timptation! I'm sure it's not right, for as I'm a -sinner, 'tis getting stronger every minute widin me? Keep it! I'm loth -to bid any one that ett o' my bread to go from my hearth, but if you go, -I'll make it worth your while. Saints above, what's comin' over me. In -my whole life I never had such a hankerin' afther money! Well, well, but -it's quare entirely!” - -“Will you drink it?” asked her companion. “If it does hurt or harm -to you or yours, or anything but good, may what is hanging over me be -fulfilled!” and she extended a thin, but, considering her years, -not ungraceful arm, in the act of holding out the bottle to her kind -entertainer. - -“For the sake of all that's good and gracious take it without -scruple--it is not hurtful, a child might drink every drop that's in it. -Oh, for the sake of all you love, and of all that love you, take it!” - and as she urged her, the tears streamed down her cheeks. - -“No, no,” replied Mrs. Sullivan, “it'll never cross my lips; not if it -made me as rich as ould Hendherson, that airs his guineas in the sun, -for fraid they'd get light by lyin' past.” - -“I entreat you to take it?” said the strange woman. - -“Never, never!--once for all--I say, I won't; so spare your breath.” - -The firmness of the good housewife was not, in fact to be shaken; so, -after exhausting all the motives and arguments with which she could urge -the accomplishments of her design, the strange woman, having again put -the bottle into her bosom, prepared to depart. - -She had now once more become calm, and resumed her seat with the languid -air of one who has suffered much exhaustion and excitement. She put -her hand upon her forehead for a few moments, as if collecting her -faculties, or endeavoring to remember the purport of their previous -conversation. A slight moisture had broken through her skin, and -altogether, notwithstanding her avowed criminality in entering into an -unholy bond, she appeared an object of deep compassion. - -In a moment her manner changed again, and her eyes blazed out once more, -as she asked her alarmed hostess:-- - -“Again, Mary Sullivan, will you take the gift that I have it in my power -to give you? ay or no? speak, poor mortal, if you know what is for your -own good?” - -Mrs. Sullivan's fears, however, had overcome her love of money, -particularly as she thought that wealth obtained in such a manner could -not prosper; her only objection being to the means of acquiring it. - -“Oh!” said the stranger, “am I doomed never to meet with any one who -will take the promise off me by drinking of this bottle? Oh! but I am -unhappy! What it is to fear--ah! ah!--and keep his commandments. Had -I done so in my youthful time, I wouldn't now--ah--merciful mother, is -there no relief? kill me, tormentor; kill me outright, for surely the -pangs of eternity cannot be greater than those you now make me suffer. -Woman,” said she, and her muscles stood out in extraordinary energy-- -“woman, Mary Sullivan--ay, if you should kill me--blast me--where I -stand, I will say the word--woman--you have daughters--teach them--to -fear-” - -Having got so far, she stopped--her bosom heaved up and down--her frame -shook dreadfully--her eyeballs became lurid and fiery--her hands were -clenched, and the spasmodic throes of inward convulsion worked the white -froth up to her mouth; at length she suddenly became like a statue, with -this wild, supernatural expression intense upon her, and with an awful -calmness, by far more dreadful than excitement could be, concluded by -pronouncing, in deep, husky tones, the name of God. - -Having accomplished this with such a powerful struggle, she turned -round, with pale despair in her countenance and manner, and with -streaming eyes slowly departed, leaving Mrs. Sullivan in a situation not -at all to be envied. - -In a short time the other members of the family, who had been out -at their evening employments, returned. Bartley, her husband, having -entered somewhat sooner than his three daughters from milking, was the -first to come in; presently the girls followed, and in a few minutes -they sat down to supper, together with the servants, who dropped in -one by one, after the toil of the day. On placing themselves about the -table, Bartley, as usual, took his seat at the head; but Mrs. Sullivan, -instead of occupying hers, sat at the fire in a state of uncommon -agitation. Every two or three minutes she would cross herself devoutly, -and mutter such prayers against spiritual influences of an evil nature, -as she could compose herself to remember. - -“Thin, why don't you come to your supper, Mary,” said the husband, -“while the sowans are warm? Brave and thick they are this night, any -way.” - -His wife was silent; for so strong a hold had the strange woman and her -appalling secret upon her mind, that it was not till he repeated his -question three or four times--raising his head with surprise, and -asking, “Eh, thin, Mary, what's come over you--is it unwell you -are?”--that she noticed what he said. - -“Supper!” she exclaimed, “unwell! 'tis a good right I have to be -unwell,--I hope nothin' bad will happen, any way. Feel my face, Nanny,” - she added, addressing one of her daughters, “it's as cowld an' wet as a -lime-stone--ay, an' if you found me a corpse before you, it wouldn't be -at all strange.” - -There was a general pause at the seriousness of this intimation. The -husband rose from his supper, and went up to the hearth where she sat. - -“Turn round to the light,” said he; “why, Mary dear, in the name of -wondher, what ails you? for you're like a corpse, sure enough. Can't -you tell us what has happened, or what put you in such a state? Why, -childhre, the cowld sweat's teemin' off her!” - -The poor woman, unable to sustain the shock produced by her interview -with the stranger, found herself getting more weak, and requested a -drink of water; but before it could be put to her lips, she laid her -head upon the back of the chair and fainted. Grief, and uproar, and -confusion followed this alarming incident. The presence of mind, so -necessary on such occasions, was wholly lost; one ran here, and another -there, all jostling against each other, without being cool enough to -render her proper assistance. The daughters were in tears, and Bartley -himself was dreadfully shocked by seeing his wife apparently lifeless -before him. - -She soon recovered, however, and relieved them from the apprehension of -her death, which they thought had actually taken place. “Mary,” said the -husband, “something quare entirely has happened, or you wouldn't be in -this state!” - -“Did any of you see a strange woman lavin' the house, a minute or two -before ye came in?” she inquired. - -“No,” they replied, “not a stim of any one did we see.” - -“_Wurrah dheelish!_ No?--now is it possible ye didn't?” She then -described her, but all declared they had seen no such person. - -“Bartley, whisper,” said she, and beckoning him over to her, in a -few words she revealed the secret. The husband grew pale, and crossed -himself. “Mother of Saints! childhre,” said he, “a _Lianhan Shee!_” - The words were no sooner uttered than every countenance assumed the -pallidness of death: and every right hand was raised in the act of -blessing the person, and crossing the forehead. “The _Lianhan Shee!!_” - all exclaimed in fear and horror--“This day's Friday, God betwixt us -an' harm!”* - - * This short form is supposed to be a safeguard against - the Fairies. The particular day must be always named. - -It was now after dusk, and the hour had already deepened into the -darkness of a calm, moonless, summer night; the hearth, therefore, in a -short time, became surrounded by a circle, consisting of every person in -the house; the door was closed and securely bolted;--a struggle for the -safest seat took place, and to Bartley's shame be it spoken, he lodged -himself on the hob within the jamb, as the most distant situation -from the fearful being known as the _Lianhan Shee_. The recent terror, -however, brooded over them all; their topic of conversation was the -mysterious visit, of which Mrs. Sullivan gave a painfully accurate -detail; whilst every ear of those who composed her audience was set, -and every single hair of their heads bristled up, as if awakened into -distinct life by the story. Bartley looked into the fire soberly, except -when the cat, in prowling about the dresser, electrified him into a -start of fear, which sensation went round every link of the living chain -about the hearth. - -The next day the story spread through the whole neighborhood, -accumulating in interest and incident as it went. Where it received the -touches, embellishments, and emendations, with which it was amplified, -it would be difficult to say; every one told it, forsooth, exactly as -he heard it from another; but indeed it is not improbable, that those -through whom it passed were unconscious of the additions it had received -at their hands. It is not unreasonable to suppose that imagination -in such cases often colors highly without a premeditated design of -falsehood. Fear and dread, however, accompanied its progress; such -families as had neglected to keep holy water in their houses borrowed -some from their neighbors; every old prayer which had become rusty -from disuse, was brightened up--charms were hung about the necks of -cattle--and gospels about those of children--crosses were placed over -the doors and windows;--no unclean water was thrown out before sunrise -or after dusk-- - - “E'en those prayed now who never prayed before. - And those who always prayed, still prayed the more.” - -The inscrutable woman who caused such general dismay in the parish was -an object of much pity. Avoided, feared, and detested, she could find -no rest for her weary feet, nor any shelter for her unprotected head. If -she was seen approaching a house, the door and windows were immediately -closed against her; if met on the way she was avoided as a pestilence. -How she lived no one could tell, for none would permit themselves to -know. It was asserted that she existed without meat or drink, and that -she was doomed to remain possessed of life, the prey of hunger and -thirst, until she could get some one weak enough to break the spell by -drinking her hellish draught, to taste which, they said, would be to -change places with herself, and assume her despair and misery. - -There had lived in the country about six months before her appearance -in it, a man named Stephenson. He was unmarried, and the last of his -family. This person led a solitary and secluded life, and exhibited -during the last years of his existence strong symptoms of eccentricity, -which, for some months before his death, assumed a character of -unquestionable derangement. He was found one morning hanging by a halter -in his own stable, where he had, under the influence of his malady, -committed suicide. At this time the public press had not, as now, -familiarized the minds of the people to that dreadful crime, and it was -consequently looked upon then with an intensity of horror, of which -we can scarcely entertain any adequate notion. His farm remained -unoccupied, for while an acre of land could be obtained in any other -quarter, no man would enter upon such unhallowed premises. The house was -locked up, and it was currently reported that Stephenson and the devil -each night repeated the hanging scene in the stable; and that when the -former was committing the “hopeless sin,” the halter slipped several -times from the beam of the stable-loft, when Satan came, in the shape of -a dark complexioned man with a hollow voice, and secured the rope until -Stephenson's end was accomplished. - -In this stable did the wanderer take up her residence at night; and when -we consider the belief of the people in the night-scenes, which were -supposed to occur in it, we need not be surprised at the new feature -of horror which this circumstance super-added to her character. Her -presence and appearance, in the parish were dreadful; a public outcry -was soon raised against her, which, were it not from fear of her power -over their lives and cattle, might have ended in her death. None, -however, had courage to grapple with her, or to attempt expelling her -by violence, lest a signal vengeance might be taken on any who dared -to injure a woman that could call in the terrible aid of the _Lianhan -Shee_. - -In this state of feeling they applied to the parish priest, who, -on hearing the marvellous stories related concerning her, and on -questioning each man closely upon his authority, could perceive, that, -like most other reports, they were to be traced principally to the -imagination and fears of the people. He ascertained, however, enough -from Bartley Sullivan to justify a belief that there was something -certainly uncommon about the woman; and being of a cold, phlegmatic -disposition, with some humor, he desired them to go home, if they were -wise--he shook his head mysteriously as he spoke--“and do the woman no -injury, if they didn't wish--” and with this abrupt hint he sent them -about their business. - -This, however, did not satisfy them. In the same parish lived a -suspended priest, called Father Philip O'Dallaghy, who supported -himself, as most of them do, by curing certain diseases of the -people--miraculously! He had no other means of subsistence, nor indeed -did he seem strongly devoted to life, or to the pleasures it -afforded. He was not addicted to those intemperate habits which -characterize “Blessed Priests” in general; spirits he never tasted, nor -any food that could be termed a luxury, or even a comfort. His communion -with the people was brief, and marked by a tone of severe contemptuous -misanthropy. He seldom stirred abroad except during morning, or in -the evening twilight, when he might be seen gliding amidst the coming -darkness, like a dissatisfied spirit. His life was an austere one, -and his devotional practices were said to be of the most remorseful -character. Such a man, in fact, was calculated to hold a powerful sway -over the prejudices and superstitions of the people. This was true. His -power was considered almost unlimited, and his life one that would not -disgrace the highest saint in the calendar. There were not wanting some -persons in the parish who hinted that Father Felix O'Rourke, the parish -priest, was himself rather reluctant to incur the displeasure, or -challenge the power, of the _Lianhan Shee_, by, driving its victim -out of the parish. The opinion of these persons was, in its distinct -unvarnished reality, that Father Felix absolutely showed the white -feather on this critical occasion--that he became shy, and begged -leave to decline being introduced to this intractable pair--seeming to -intimate that he did not at all relish adding them to the stock of his -acquaintances. - -Father Philip they considered as a decided contrast to him on this -point. His stern and severe manner, rugged, and, when occasion demanded, -daring, they believed suitable to the qualities requisite for sustaining -such an interview. They accordingly waited, on him; and after Bartley -and his friends had given as faithful a report of the circumstances as, -considering all things, could be expected, he told Bartley he would hear -from Mrs. Sullivan's own lips the authentic narrative. This was quite -satisfactory, and what was expected from him. As for himself, he -appeared to take no particular interest in the matter, further than that -of allaying the ferment and alarm which had spread through the parish. -“Plase your Reverence,” said Bartley, “she came in to Mary, and she -alone in the house, and for the matther o' that, I believe she laid -hands upon her, and tossed and tumbled the crathur, and she but a sickly -woman, through the four corners of the house. Not that Mary lets an so -much, for she's afeard; but I know from her way, when she spakes about -her, that it's thruth, your Reverence.” - -“But didn't the _Lianhan Shee_,” said one of them, “put a sharp-pointed -knife to her breast, wid a divilish intintion of makin' her give the -best of aitin' an' dhrinkin' the house afforded?” - -“She got the victuals, to a sartinty,” replied Bartley, “and 'overlooked' -my woman for her pains; for she's not the picture of herself since.” - -Every one now told some magnified and terrible circumstance, -illustrating the formidable power of the _Lianhan Shee_. - -When they had finished, the sarcastic lip of the priest curled into an -expression of irony and contempt; his brow, which was naturally black -and heavy, darkened; and a keen, but rather a ferocious-looking eye, -shot forth a glance, which, while it intimated disdain for those to whom -it was directed, spoke also of a dark and troubled spirit in himself. -The man seemed to brook with scorn the degrading situation of a -religious quack, to which some incontrollable destiny had doomed him. - -“I shall see your wife to-morrow,” said he to Bartley; “and after -hearing the plain account of what happened, I will consider what is best -to be done with this dark, perhaps unhappy, perhaps guilty character; -but whether dark, or unhappy, or guilty, I, for one, should not and will -not avoid her. Go, and bring me word to-morrow evening, when I can see -her on the following day. Begone!” - -When they withdrew, Father Philip paced his room for some time in -silence and anxiety. - -“Ay,” said he, “infatuated people! sunk in superstition and ignorance, -yet, perhaps, happier in your degradation than those who, in the pride -of knowledge, can only look back upon a life of crime and misery. What -is a sceptic? What is an infidel? Men who, when they will not submit to -moral restraint, harden themselves into scepticism and infidelity, until -in the headlong career of guilt, that which was first adopted to -lull the outcry of conscience, is supported by the pretended pride of -principle. Principle in a sceptic! Hollow and devilish lie! Would I have -plunged into scepticism, had I not first violated the moral sanctions of -religion? Never. I became an infidel, because I first became a villain! -Writhing under a load of guilt, that which I wished might be true I soon -forced myself to think true: and now”--he here clenched his hands and -groaned--“now--ay--now--and hereafter--oh, that hereafter! Why can I -not shake the thoughts of it from my conscience? Religion! Christianity! -With all the hardness of an infidel's heart I feel your truth; because, -if every man were the villain that infidelity would make him, then -indeed might every man curse God for his existence bestowed upon him--as -I would, but dare not do. Yet why can I not believe?--Alas! why should -God accept an unrepentant heart? Am I not a hypocrite, mocking him by -a guilty pretension to his power, and leading the dark into thicker -darkness? Then these hands--blood!--broken vows!--ha! ha! ha! Well, -go--let misery have its laugh, like the light that breaks from the -thunder-cloud. Prefer Voltaire to Christ; sow the wind, and reap the -whirlwind, as I have done--ha, ha, ha! Swim, world--swim about me! I -have lost the ways of Providence, and am dark! She awaits me; but I -broke the chain that galled us: yet it still rankles--still rankles!” - -The unhappy man threw himself into a chair in a paroxysm of frenzied -agony. For more than an hour he sat in the same posture, until he became -gradually hardened into a stiff, lethargic insensibility, callous and -impervious to feeling, reason, or religion--an awful transition from a -visitation of conscience so terrible as that which he had just suffered. -At length he arose, and by walking moodily about, relapsed into his -usual gloomy and restless character. - -When Bartley went home, he communicated to his wife Father Philip's -intention of calling on the following day, to hear a correct account of -the Lianhan Shee. - -“Why, thin,” said she, “I'm glad of it, for I intinded myself to go to -him, any way, to get my new scapular consecrated. How-an'-ever, as he's -to come, I'll get a set of gospels for the boys an' girls, an' he can -consecrate all when his hand's in. Aroon, Bartley, they say that man's -so holy that he can do anything--ay, melt a body off the face o' the -earth, like snow off a ditch. Dear me, but the power they have is -strange all out!” - -“There's no use in gettin' him anything to ate or dhrink,” replied -Bartley; “he wouldn't take a glass o' whiskey once in seven years. -Throth, myself thinks he's a little too dry; sure he might be holy -enough, an' yet take a sup of an odd time. There's Father Felix, an' -though we all know he's far from bein' so blessed a man as him, yet he -has friendship an' neighborliness in him, an' never refuses a glass in -rason.” - -“But do you know what I was tould about Father Philip, Bartley?” - -“I'll tell you that afther I hear it, Mary, my woman; you won't expect -me to tell what I don't know?--ha, ha, ha!” - -“Behave, Bartley, an' quit your jokin' now, at all evints; keep it till -we're talkin' of somethin' else, an' don't let us be committin' sin, -maybe, while we're spakin' of what we're spakin' about; but they say -it's as thrue as the sun to the dial:--the Lent afore last itself it -was,--he never tasted mate or dhrink durin' the whole seven weeks! Oh, -you needn't stare! it's well known by thim that has as much sinse -as you--no, not so much as you'd carry on the point o' this -knittin'-needle. Well, sure the housekeeper an' the two sarvants -wondhered--faix, they couldn't do less--an' took it into their heads -to watch him closely; an' what do you think--blessed be all the saints -above!--what do you think they seen?” - -“The Goodness above knows; for me--I don't.” - -“Why, thin, whin he was asleep they seen a small silk thread in his -mouth, that came down through the ceilin' from heaven, an' he suckin' -it, just as a child would his mother's breast whin the crathur 'ud -be asleep: so that was the way he was supported by the angels! An' I -remimber myself, though he's a dark, spare, yallow man at all times, yet -he never looked half so fat an' rosy as he did the same Lent!” - -“Glory be to Heaven! Well, well--it is sthrange the power they have! As -for him, I'd as fee meet St. Pettier, or St. Pathrick himself, as him; -for one can't but fear him, somehow.” - -“Fear him! Och, it 'ud be the pity o' thim that 'ud do anything to -vex or anger that man. Why, his very look 'ud wither thim, till there -wouldn't be the thrack* o' thim on the earth; an' as for his curse, why -it 'ud scorch thim to ashes!” - - * Track, foot-mark, put for life - -As it was generally known that Father Philip was to visit Mrs. Sullivan -the next day, in order to hear an account of the mystery which filled -the parish with such fear, a very great number of the parishioners were -assembled in and about Bartley's long before he made his appearance. At -length he was seen walking slowly down the road, with an open book in -his hand, on the pages of which he looked from time to time. When he -approached the house, those who were standing about it assembled in -a body, and, with one consent, uncovered their heads, and asked his -blessing. His appearance bespoke a mind ill at ease; his face was -haggard, and his eyes bloodshot. On seeing the people kneel, he -smiled with his usual bitterness, and, shaking his hand with an air -of impatience over them, muttered some words, rather in mockery of the -ceremony than otherwise. They then rose, and blessing themselves, put -on their hats, rubbed the dust off their knees, and appeared to think -themselves recruited by a peculiar accession of grace. - -On entering the house the same form was repeated; and when it was over, -the best chair was placed for him by Mary's own hands, and the fire -stirred up, and a line of respect drawn, within which none was to -intrude, lest he might feel in any degree incommoded. - -“My good neighbor,” said he to Mrs. Sullivan, “what strange woman is -this, who has thrown the parish into such a ferment? I'm told she paid -you a visit? Pray sit down.” - -“I humbly thank your Reverence,” said Mary, curtseying lowly, “but I'd -rather not sit, sir, if you plase. I hope I know what respect manes, -your Reverence. Barny Bradagh, I'll thank you to stand up, if you plase, -an' his Reverence to the fore, Barny.” - -“I ax your Reverence's pardon, an' yours, too, Mrs. Sullivan: sure we -didn't mane the disrespect, any how, sir, plase your Reverence.” - -“About this woman, and the _Lianhan Shee?_” said the priest, without -noticing Barny's apology. “Pray what do you precisely understand by a -_Lianhan Shee?_” - -“Why, sir,” replied Mary, “some sthrange bein' from the good people, -or fairies, that sticks to some persons. There's a bargain, sir, your -Reverence, made atween thim; an' the divil, sir, that is, the ould -boy--the saints about us!--has a hand in it. The _Lianhan Shee_, your -Reverence, is never seen only by thim it keeps wid; but--hem!--it -always, with the help of the ould boy, conthrives, sir, to make the -person brake the agreement, an' thin it has thim in its power; but if -they don't brake the agreement, thin it's in their power. If they can -get any body to put in their place, they may get out o' the bargain; for -they can, of a sartainty, give oceans o' money to people, but can't take -any themselves, plase your Reverence. But sure, where's the use o' me -to be tellin' your Reverence what you know betther nor myself?--an' why -shouldn't you, or any one that has the power you have?” - -He smiled again at this in his own peculiar manner, and was proceeding -to inquire more particularly into the nature of the interview between -them, when the noise of feet, and sounds of general alarm, accompanied -by a rush of people into the house, arrested his attention, and he -hastily inquired into the cause of the commotion. Before he could -receive a reply, however, the house was almost crowded; and it was not -without considerable difficulty, that, by the exertions of Mrs. Sullivan -and Bartley, sufficient order and quiet were obtained to hear distinctly -what was said. - -“Plase your Reverence,” said several voices at once, “they're comin', -hot-foot, into the very house to us! Was ever the likes seen! an' they -must know right well, sir, that you're widin in it.” - -“Who are coming?” he inquired. “Why the woman, sir, an' her good pet, -the _Lianhan Shee_, your Reverence.” - -“Well,” said he, “but why should you all appear so blanched with terror? -Let her come in, and we shall see how far she is capable of injuring her -fellow-creatures: some maniac,” he muttered, in a low soliloquy, “whom -the villany of the world has driven into derangement--some victim to a -hand like m----. Well, they say there is a Providence, yet such things -are permitted!” - -“He's sayin' a prayer now,” observed one of them; “haven't we a good -right to be thankful that he's in the place wid us while she's in it, -or dear knows what harm she might do us--maybe rise the wind!”* As the -latter speaker concluded, there was a dead silence. The persons about -the door crushed each other backwards, their feet set out before them, -and their shoulders laid with violent pressure against those who stood -behind, for each felt anxious to avoid all danger of contact with a -being against whose power even a blessed priest found it necessary to -guard himself by a prayer. - - * It is generally supposed by the people, that persons - who have entered into a compact with Satan can raise - the wind by calling him up, and that it cannot be laid - unless by the death of a black cock, a black dog, or an - unchristened child. - -At length a low murmur ran among the people--“Father O'Rourke!--here's -Father O'Rourke!--he has turned the corner after her, an' they're both -comin' in.” Immediately they entered, but it was quite evident from the -manner of the worthy priest that he was unacquainted with the person -of this singular being. When they crossed the threshold, the priest -advanced, and expressed his surprise at the throng of people assembled. - -“Plase your Reverence,” said Bartley, “that's the woman,” nodding -significantly towards her as he spoke, but without looking at her -person, lest the evil eye he dreaded so much might meet his, and give -him “the blast.” - -The dreaded female, on seeing the house in such a crowded state, -started, paused, and glanced with some terror at the persons assembled. -Her dress was not altered since her last visit; but her countenance, -though more meagre and emaciated, expressed but little of the unsettled -energy which then flashed from her eyes, and distorted her features by -the depth of that mysterious excitement by which she had been agitated. -Her countenance was still muffled as before, the awful protuberance rose -from her shoulders, and the same band which Mrs. Sullivan had alluded to -during their interview, was bound about the upper part of her forehead. - -She had already stood upwards of two minutes, during which the fall of -a feather might be heard, yet none bade God bless her--no kind hand was -extended to greet her--no heart warmed in affection towards her; on -the contrary, every eye glanced at her, as a being marked with enmity -towards God. Blanched faces and knit brows, the signs of fear and -hatred, were turned upon her; her breath was considered pestilential, -and her touch paralysis. There she stood, proscribed, avoided, and -hunted like a tigress, all fearing to encounter, yet wishing to -exterminate her! Who could she be?--or what had she done, that the -finger of the Almighty marked her out for such a fearful weight of -vengeance? - -Father Philip rose and advanced a few steps, until he stood confronting -her. His person was tall, his features dark, severe, and solemn: and -when the nature of the investigation about to take place is considered, -it need not be wondered at, that the moment was, to those present, one -of deep and impressive interest--such as a visible conflict between -a supposed champion of God and a supernatural being was calculated to -excite. - -“Woman,” said he, in his deep stern voice, “tell me who and what you -are, and why you assume a character of such a repulsive and mysterious -nature, when it can entail only misery, shame, and persecution on -yourself? I conjure you, in the name of Him after whose image you are -created, to speak truly?” - -He paused, and the tall figure stood mute before him. The silence was -dead as death--every breath was hushed and the persons assembled stood -immovable as statues! Still she spoke not; but the violent heaving of -her breast evinced the internal working of some dreadful struggle. Her -face before was pale--it was now ghastly; her lips became blue, and her -eyes vacant. - -“Speak!” said he, “I conjure you in the name of the power by whom we -live!” - -It is probable that the agitation under which she labored was produced -by the severe effort made to sustain the unexpected trial she had to -undergo. - -For some minutes her struggle continued; but having begun at its highest -pitch, it gradually subsided until it settled in a calmness which -appeared fixed and awful as the resolution of despair. With breathless -composure she turned round, and put back that part of her dress which -concealed her face, except the band on her forehead, which she did not -remove; having done this she turned again, and walked calmly towards -Father Philip, with a deadly smile upon her thin lips. When within -a step of where he stood, she paused, and riveting her eyes upon him -exclaimed-- - -“Who and what am I? The victim of infidelity and you, the bearer of a -cursed existence, the scoff and scorn of the world, the monument of a -broken vow and a guilty life, a being scourged by the scorpion lash -of conscience, blasted by periodical insanity, pelted by the winter's -storm, scorched by the summer's heat, withered by starvation, hated by -man, and touched into my inmost spirit by the anticipated tortures of -future misery. I have no rest for the sole of my foot, no repose for a -head distracted by the contemplation of a guilty life; I am the unclean -spirit which walketh to seek rest and findeth none; I am--_what you have -made me!_ Behold,” she added, holding up the bottle, “this failed, and I -live to accuse you. But no, you are my husband--though our union was but -a guilty form, and I will bury that in silence. You thought me dead, and -you flew to avoid punishment--did you avoid it? No; the finger of God -has written pain and punishment upon your brow. I have been in all -characters, in all shapes, have spoken with the tongue of a peasant, -moved in my natural sphere; but my knees were smitten, my brain -stricken, and the wild malady which banishes me from society has been -upon me for years. Such I am, and such, I say, have you made me. As -for you, kind-hearted woman, there was nothing in this bottle but pure -water. The interval of reason returned this day, and having remembered -glimpses of our conversation, I came to apologize to you, and to explain -the nature of my unhappy distemper, and to beg a little bread, which I -have not tasted for two days. I at times conceive myself attended by -an evil spirit shaped out by a guilty conscience, and this is the only -familiar which attends me, and by it I have been dogged into madness -through every turning of life. Whilst it lasts I am subject to spasms -and convulsive starts which are exceedingly painful. The lump on my back -is the robe I wore when innocent in my peaceful convent.” - -The intensity of general interest was now transferred to Father Philip; -every face was turned towards him, but he cared not. A solemn stillness -yet prevailed among all present. From the moment she spoke, her eye drew -his with the power of a basilisk. His pale face became like marble, not -a muscle moved; and when she ceased speaking, his blood-shot eyes were -still fixed upon her countenance with a gloomy calmness like that which -precedes a tempest. They stood before each other, dreadful counterparts -in guilt, for truly his spirit was as dark as hers. - -At length he glanced angrily around him;--“Well,” said he, “what is it -now, ye poor infatuated wretches, to trust in the sanctity of man. -Learn from me to place the same confidence in God which you place in -his guilty creatures, and you will not lean on a broken reed. Father -O'Rourke, you, too, witness my disgrace, but not my punishment. It -is pleasant, no doubt, to have a topic for conversation at your -Conferences; enjoy it. As for you, Margaret, if society lessen -misery, we may be less miserable. But the band of your order, and the -remembrance of your vow is on your forehead, like the mark of Cain--tear -it off, and let it not blast a man who is the victim of prejudice -still,--nay of superstition, as well as of guilt; tear it from my -sight.” His eyes kindled fearfully, as he attempted to pull it away by -force. - -She calmly took it off, and he immediately tore it into pieces, and -stamped upon the fragments as he flung them on the ground. - -“Come,” said the despairing man--“come--there is a shelter for you, but -no peace!--food, and drink, and raiment, but no peace!--no peace!” As he -uttered these words, in a voice that sank to its deepest pitch, he took -her hand, and they both departed to his own residence. - -The amazement and horror of those who were assembled in Bartley's house -cannot be described. Our readers may be assured that they deepened in -character as they spread through the parish. An undefined, fear of this -mysterious pair seized upon the people, for their images were associated -in their minds with darkness and crime, and supernatural communion. The -departing words of Father Philip rang in their ears: they trembled, -and devoutly crossed themselves, as fancy again repeated the awful -exclamation of the priest--“No peace! no peace!” - -When Father Philip and his unhappy associate went home, he instantly -made her a surrender of his small property; but with difficulty did -he command sufficient calmness to accomplish even this. He was -distracted--his blood seemed to have been turned to fire--he clenched -his hands, and he gnashed his teeth, and exhibited the wildest symptoms -of madness. About ten o'clock he desired fuel for a large fire to be -brought into the kitchen, and got a strong cord, which he coiled and -threw carelessly on the table. The family were then ordered to bed. -About eleven they were all asleep; and at the solemn hour of twelve he -heaped additional fuel upon the living turf, until the blaze shone with -scorching light upon everything around. Dark and desolating was the -tempest within him, as he paced, with agitated steps, before the -crackling fire. - -“She is risen!” he exclaimed--“the spectre of all my crimes is risen to -haunt me through life! I am a murderer--yet she lives, and my guilt -is not the less! The stamp of eternal infamy is upon me--the finger of -scorn will mark me out--the tongue of reproach will sting me like that -of a serpent--the deadly touch of shame will cover me like a leper--the -laws of society will crush the murderer, not the less that his -wickedness in blood has miscarried: after that comes the black and -terrible tribunal of the Almighty's vengeance--of his fiery indignation! -Hush!--What sounds are those? They deepen--they deepen! Is it thunder? -It cannot be the crackling of the blaze! It is thunder!--but it speaks -only to my ear! Hush!--Great God, there is a change in my voice! It is -hollow and supernatural! Could a change have come over me? Am I living? -Could I have----Hah!--Could I have departed? and am I now at length -given over to the worm that never dies? If it be at my heart, I may feel -it. God!--I am damned! Here is a viper twined about my limbs trying to -dart its fangs into my heart! Hah!--there are feet pacing in the -room, too, and I hear voices! I am surrounded by evil spirits! Who's -there?--What are you?--Speak!--They are silent!--There is no answer! -Again comes the thunder! But perchance this is not my place of -punishment, and I will try to leave these horrible spirits!” - -[Illustration: PAGE 975-- Who's there?--What are you?--Speak!] - -He opened the door, and passed out into a small green field that lay -behind the house. The night was calm, and the silence profound as death. -Not a cloud obscured the heavens; the light of the moon fell upon the -stillness of the scene around him, with all the touching beauty of a -moonlit midnight in summer. Here he paused a moment, felt his brow, -then his heart, the palpitations of which fell audibly upon his ear. He -became somewhat cooler; the images of madness which had swept through -his stormy brain disappeared, and were succeeded by a lethargic vacancy -of thought, which almost deprived him of the consciousness of his own -identity. From the green field he descended mechanically to a little -glen which opened beside it. It was one of those delightful spots to -which the heart clingeth. Its sloping sides were clothed with patches of -wood, on the leaves of which the moonlight glanced with a soft lustre, -rendered more beautiful by their stillness. That side on which the light -could not fall, lay in deep shadow, which occasionally gave to the rocks -and small projecting precipices an appearance of monstrous and unnatural -life. Having passed through the tangled mazes of the glen, he at length -reached its bottom, along which ran a brook, such as in the description -of the poet,-- - - ----In the leafy month of June, - Unto the sleeping woods all night, - Singeth a quiet tune.” - -Here he stood, and looked upon the green winding margin of the -streamlet--but its song he heard not. With the workings of a guilty -conscience, the beautiful in nature can have no association. He looked -up the glen, but its picturesque windings, soft vistas, and wild -underwood mingling with gray rocks and taller trees, all mellowed by the -moonbeams, had no charms for him. He maintained a profound silence--but -it was not the silence of peace or reflection. He endeavored to recall -the scenes of the past day, but could not bring them back to his memory. -Even the fiery tide of thought, which, like burning lava, seared his -brain a few moments before, was now cold and hardened. - -He could remember nothing. The convulsion of his mind was over, and his -faculties were impotent and collapsed. - -In this state he unconsciously retraced his steps, and had again reached -the paddock adjoining his house, where, as he thought, the figure of his -paramour stood before him. In a moment his former paroxysm returned, and -with it the gloomy images of a guilty mind, charged with the extravagant -horrors of brain-stricken madness. - -“What!” he exclaimed, “the band still on your forehead! Tear it off!” - -He caught at the form as he spoke, but there was no resistance to his -grasp. On looking again towards the spot it had ceased to be visible. -The storm within him arose once more; he rushed into the kitchen, -where the fire blazed out with fiercer heat; again he imagined that the -thunder came to his ears, but the thunderings which he heard were only -the voice of conscience. Again his own footsteps and his voice sounded -in his fancy as the footsteps and voices of fiends, with which his -imagination peopled the room. His state and his existence seemed to -him a confused and troubled dream; he tore his hair--threw it on the -table--and immediately started back with a hollow groan; for his locks, -which but a few hours before had been as black as a raven's wing, were -now white as snow! - -On discovering this, he gave a low but frantic laugh. “Ha, ha, ha!” he -exclaimed; “here is another mark--here is food for despair. Silently, -but surely, did the hand of God work this, as proof that I am hopeless! -But I will bear it; I will bear the sight! I now feel myself a man -blasted by the eye of God Himself! Ha, ha, ha! Food for despair! Food -for despair!” - -Immediately he passed into his own room, and approaching the -looking-glass beheld a sight calculated to move a statue. His hair -had become literally white, but the shades of his dark complexion, now -distorted by terror and madness, flitted, as his features worked -under the influence of his tremendous passions, into an expression so -frightful, that deep fear came over himself. He snatched one of his -razors, and fled from the glass to the kitchen. He looked upon the fire, -and saw the white ashes lying around its edge. - -“Ha!” said he, “the light is come! I see the sign. I am directed, and I -will follow it. There is yet one hope. The immolation! I shall be saved, -yet so as by fire. It is for this my hair has become white;--the sublime -warning for my self-sacrifice! The color of ashes!--white--white! It is -so! I will sacrifice my body in material fire, to save my soul from that -which is eternal! But I had anticipated the sign. The self-sacrifice is -accepted!”* - - * As the reader may be disposed to consider the nature - of the priest's death an unjustifiable stretch of - fiction, I have only to say in reply, that it is no - fiction at all. It is not, I believe, more than forty, - or perhaps fifty, years since a priest committed his - body to the flames, for the purpose of saving his soul - by an incrematory sacrifice. The object of the suicide - being founded on the superstitious belief, that a - priest guilty of great crimes possesses the privilege - of securing salvation by self-sacrifice. We have heard - two or three legends among the people in which this - principle predominated. The outline of one of these, - called “The Young Priest and Brian Braar,” was as - follows:-- - - A young priest on his way to the College of Valladolid, - in Spain, was benighted; but found a lodging in a small - inn on the roadside. Here he was tempted by a young - maiden of great beauty, who, in the moment of his - weakness, extorted from him a bond signed with his - blood, binding himself to her forever. She turned out - to be an evil spirit: and the young priest proceeded to - Valladolid with a heavy heart, confessed his crime to - the Superior, who sent him to the Pope, who sent him to - a Friar in the County of Armagh, called Brian Braar, - who sent him to the devil. The devil, on the strength - of Brian Braar's letter, gave him a warm reception, - held a cabinet council immediately, and laid the - despatch before his colleagues, who agreed that the - claimant should get back his bond from the brimstone - lady who had inveigled him. She, however, obstinately - refused to surrender it, and stood upon her bond, until - threatened with being thrown three times into Brian - Braar's furnace. This tamed her: the man got his bond, - and returned to Brian Braar on earth. Now Brian Braar - had for three years past abandoned God, and taken to - the study of magic with the devil; a circumstance which - accounts for his influence below. The young priest, - having possessed himself of his bond, went to Lough - Derg to wash away his sins; and Brian Braar, having - also become penitent, the two worthies accompanied each - other to the lake. On entering the boat, however, to - cross over to the island, such a storm arose as drove - them back. Brian assured his companion that he himself - was the cause of it. - - “There is now,” said he, “but one more chance for me; - and we must have recourse to it.” He then returned - homewards, and both had reached a hill-side near - Bryan's house, when the latter desired the young priest - to remain there a few minutes, and he would return to - him; which he did with a hatchet in his hand. - - “Now,” said he, “you must cut me into four quarters, - and mince my body into small bits, then cast them into - the air, and let them go with the wind.” - - The priest, after much entreaty, complied with his - wishes, and returned to Lough Derg, where he afterwards - lived twelve years upon one meal of bread and water per - diem. Having thus purified himself, he returned home; - but, on passing the hill where he had minced the Friar, - he was astonished to see the same man celebrating mass, - attended by a very penitential looking congregation of - spirits. - - “Ah,” said Brian Braar, when mass was over, “you are - now a happy man. With regard to my state for the - voluntary sacrifice I have made of myself, I am to be - saved; but I must remain on this mountain until the Day - of Judgment.” So saying, he disappeared. - - There is little to be said about the superstition of - the _Lianhan Shee_, except that it existed as we have - drawn it, and that it is now fading fast away. There is - also something appropriate in associating the heroine - of this little story with the being called the _Lianhan - Shee_, because, setting the superstition aside, any - female who fell into her crime was called _Lianhan - Shee_. _Lianhan Shee an Sogarth_ signifies a priest's - paramour, or, as the country people say, “Miss.” Both - terms have now nearly become obsolete. - -We must here draw a veil over that which ensued, as the description of -it would be both unnatural and revolting. Let it be sufficient to -say, that the next morning he was found burned to a cinder, with the -exception of his feet and legs, which remained as monuments of, perhaps, -the most dreadful suicide that ever was committed by man. His razor, -too, was found bloody, and several clots of gore were discovered about -the hearth; from which circumstances it was plain that he had reduced -his strength so much by loss of blood, that when he committed himself to -the flames, he was unable, even had he been willing, to avoid the fiery -and awful sacrifice of which he made himself the victim. If anything -could deepen the the impression of fear and awe, already so general -among the people, it was the unparalleled nature of his death. Its -circumstances are yet remembered in the parish and county wherein it -occurred--for it is no fiction, gentle reader! and the titular bishop -who then presided over the diocese, declared, that while he lived, no -person bearing the unhappy man's name should ever be admitted to the -clerical order. - -The shock produced by his death struck the miserable woman into the -utter darkness of settled derangement. She survived him some years, -but wandered about through the province, still, according to the -superstitious belief of the people, tormented by the terrible enmity of -the _Lianhan Shee_. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The -Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee, by William Carleton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER *** - -***** This file should be named 16015.txt or 16015.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16015/ - -Produced by David Widger - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/16015-0.zip b/old/16015-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0ef4a34..0000000 --- a/old/16015-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/16015-h.zip b/old/16015-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fac4816..0000000 --- a/old/16015-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/16015-h/16015-h.htm b/old/16015-h/16015-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 6c69b13..0000000 --- a/old/16015-h/16015-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8260 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry, Part 4 by William Carleton - </title> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; - margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; - text-align: right;} - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The Geography -Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee, by William Carleton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee - Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of - William Carleton, Volume Three - -Author: William Carleton - -Illustrator: M. L. Flanery - -Release Date: June 7, 2005 [EBook #16015] -Last Updated: March 2, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - -</pre> - - <h1> - TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY - </h1> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <h2> - BY WILLIAM CARLETON - </h2> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h3> - PART IV. - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> - <!-- IMG --></a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> - <img src="images/page919.jpg" alt="Frontispiece " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> - <!-- IMG --></a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> - <img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="Titlepage " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <br /> - </p> - <blockquote> - <h2> - CONTENTS - </h2> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE GEOGRAPHY OF AN IRISH OATH. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE LIANHAN SHEE. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h2> - List of Illustrations - </h2> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linkimage-0001"> Frontispiece </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linkimage-0002"> Titlepage </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linkimage-0003"> Page 911— These Be Not Hirish Pigs at - Oll </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linkimage-0004"> Page 919— A Rueful Blank Expression in - his Visage </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#linkimage-0005"> Page 975— Who's There?—What Are - You?—Speak! </a> - </p> - </blockquote> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h2> - PART IV. - </h2> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER. - </h2> - <p> - Phil Purcel was a singular character, for he was never married; but - notwithstanding his singularity, no man ever possessed, for practical - purposes, a more plentiful stock of duplicity. All his acquaintances knew - that Phil was a knave of the first water, yet was he decidedly a general - favorite. Now as we hate mystery ourselves, we shall reveal the secret of - this remarkable popularity; though, after all, it can scarcely be called - so, for Phil was not the first cheat who has been popular in his day. The - cause of his success lay simply in this; that he never laughed; and, none - of our readers need be told, that the appearance of a grave cheat in - Ireland is an originality which almost runs up into a miracle. This - gravity induced every one to look upon him as a phenomenon. The assumed - simplicity of his manners was astonishing, and the ignorance which he - feigned, so apparently natural, that it was scarcely possible for the most - keen-sighted searcher into human motives to detect him. The only way of - understanding the man was to deal with him: if, after that, you did not - comprehend him thoroughly, the fault was not Phil's, but your own. - Although not mirthful himself, he was the cause of mirth in others; for, - without ever smiling at his own gains, he contrived to make others laugh - at their losses. His disposition, setting aside laughter, was strictly - anomalous. The most incompatible, the most unamalgamatible, and the most - uncomeatable qualities that ever refused to unite in the same individual, - had no scruple at all to unite in Phil. But we hate metaphysics, which we - leave to the mechanical philosophers, and proceed to state that Phil was a - miser, which is the best explanation we can give of his gravity. - </p> - <p> - Ireland, owing to the march of intellect, and the superiority of modern - refinement, has been for some years past, and is at present, well supplied - with an abundant variety of professional men, every one of whom will - undertake, for proper considerations, to teach us Irish all manner of - useful accomplishments. The drawing-master talks of his profession; the - dancing-master of his profession; the fiddler, tooth-drawer, and - corn-cutter (who by the way, reaps a richer harvest than we do), since the - devil has tempted the schoolmaster to go abroad, are all practising in his - absence, as professional men. - </p> - <p> - Now-Phil must be included among this class of grandiloquent gentlemen, for - he entered life as a Professor of Pig-driving; and it is but justice - towards him to assert, that no corn-cutter of them all ever elevated his - profession so high as Phil did that in which he practised. In fact, he - raised it to the most exalted pitch of improvement of which it was then - susceptible; or to use the cant of the day, he soon arrived at “the head - of his profession.” - </p> - <p> - In Phil's time, however, pig-driving was not so general, nor had it made - such rapid advances as in modern times. It was, then, simply, pig-driving, - unaccompanied by the improvements of poverty, sickness, and famine. - Political economy had not then taught the people how to be poor upon the - most scientific principles; free trade had not shown the nation the most - approved plan of reducing itself to the lowest possible state of distress; - nor liberalism enabled the working classes to scoff at religion, and - wisely to stop at the very line that lies between outrage and rebellion. - Many errors and inconveniences, now happily exploded, were then in - existence. The people, it is true, were somewhat attached to their - landlords, but still they were burdened with the unnecessary appendages of - good coats and stout shoes; were tolerably industrious, and had the - mortification of being able to pay their rents, and feed in comfort. They - were not, as they are now, free from new coats and old prejudices, nor - improved by the intellectual march of politics and poverty. When either a - man or a nation starves, it is a luxury to starve in an enlightened - manner; and nothing is more consolatory to a person acquainted with public - rights and constitutional privileges, than to understand those liberal - principles upon which he fasts and goes naked. - </p> - <p> - From all we have said, the reader sees clearly that pig-driving did not - then proceed upon so extensive a scale as it does at present. The people, - in fact, killed many of them for their own use; and we know not how it - happened, but political ignorance and good bacon kept them in more flesh - and comfort than those theories which have since succeeded so well in - introducing the science of starvation as the basis of national prosperity. - Irishmen are frequently taxed with extravagance, in addition to their - other taxes; but we should be glad to know what people in Europe reduce - economy in the articles of food and clothing to such close practice as - they do. - </p> - <p> - Be this as it may, there was, in Ireland, an old breed of swine, which is - now nearly extinct, except in some remote parts of the country, where they - are still useful in the hunting season, particularly if dogs happen to be - scarce.* They were a tall, loose species, with legs of an unusual length, - with no flesh, short ears, as if they had been cropped for sedition, and - with long faces of a highly intellectual cast. They were also of such - activity that few greyhounds could clear a ditch or cross a field with - more agility or speed. Their backs formed a rainbow arch, capable of being - contracted or extended to an inconceivable degree; and their usual rate of - travelling in droves was at mail-coach speed, or eight Irish miles an - hour, preceded by an outrider to clear the way, whilst their rear was - brought up by another horseman, going at a three-quarter gallop. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * We assure John Bull, on the authority of Purcel - himself, that this is a fact. -</pre> - <p> - In the middle of summer, when all nature reposed under the united - influence of heat and dust, it was an interesting sight to witness a drove - of them sweeping past, like a whirlwind, in a cloud of their own raising; - their sharp and lengthy outlines dimly visible through the shining haze, - like a flock of antelopes crossing the deserts of the East. - </p> - <p> - But alas! for those happy days! This breed is now a curiosity—few - specimens of it remaining except in the mountainous parts of the country, - whither these lovers of liberty, like the free natives of the back - settlements of America, have retired to avoid the encroachments of - civilization, and exhibit their Irish antipathy to the slavish comforts of - steamboat navigation, and the relaxing luxuries of English feeding. - </p> - <p> - Indeed, their patriotism, as evinced in an attachment to Ireland and Irish - habits, was scarcely more remarkable than their sagacity. There is not an - antiquary among the members of that learned and useful body, the Irish - Academy, who can boast such an intimate knowledge of the Irish language in - all its shades of meaning and idiomatic beauty, as did this once - flourishing class of animals. Nor were they confined to the Irish tongue - alone, many of them understood English too; and it was said of those that - belonged to a convent, the members of which, in their intercourse with - each other, spoke only in Latin, that they were tolerable masters of that - language, and refused to leave a potato field or plot of cabbages, except - when addressed in it. To the English tongue, however, they had a - deep-rooted antipathy; whether it proceeded from the national feeling, or - the fact of its not being sufficiently guttural, I cannot say; but be this - as it may, it must be admitted that they were excellent Irish scholars, - and paid a surprising degree of deference and obedience to whatever was - addressed to them in their own language. In Munster, too, such of them as - belonged to the hedge-schoolmasters were good proficients in Latin; but it - is on a critical knowledge of their native tongue that I take my stand. On - this point they were unrivalled by the most learned pigs or antiquaries of - their day; none of either class possessing, at that period, such a - knowledge of Irish manners, nor so keen a sagacity in tracing out Irish - roots. - </p> - <p> - Their education, it is true, was not neglected, and their instructors had - the satisfaction of seeing that it was not lost. Nothing could present a - finer display of true friendship founded upon a sense of equality, mutual - interest, and good-will, than the Irishman and his pig. The Arabian and - his horse are proverbial; but had our English neighbors known as much of - Ireland as they did of Arabia, they would have found as signal instances - of attachment subsisting between the former as between the latter; and, - perhaps, when the superior comforts of an Arabian hut are contrasted with - the squalid poverty of an Irish cabin, they would have perceived a heroism - and a disinterestedness evinced by the Irish parties, that would have - struck them with greater admiration. - </p> - <p> - The pigs, however, of the present day are a fat, gross, and degenerate - breed; and more like well-fed aldermen, than Irish pigs of the old school. - They are, in fact, a proud, lazy, carnal race, entirely of the earth, - earthy. John Bull assures us it is one comfort, however, that we do not - eat, but ship them out of the country; yet, after all, with, great respect - to John, it is not surprising that we should repine a little on thinking - of the good old times of sixty years since, when every Irishman could kill - his own pig, and eat it when he pleased. We question much whether any - measure that might make the eating of meat compulsory upon us, would - experience from Irishmen a very decided opposition. But it is very - condescending in John to eat our beef and mutton; and as he happens to - want both, it is particularly disinterested in him to encourage us in the - practice of self-denial. It is possible, however, that we may ultimately - refuse to banquet by proxy on our own provisions; and that John may not be - much longer troubled to eat for us in that capacity. - </p> - <p> - The education of an Irish pig, at the time of which we write, was an - important consideration to an Irishman. He, and his family, and his pig, - like the Arabian and his horse, all slept in the same bed; the pig - generally, for the sake of convenience, next the “stock” (* at the - outside). At meals the pig usually was stationed at the <i>serahag</i>, or - potato-basket; where the only instances of bad temper he ever displayed - broke out in petty and unbecoming squabbles with the younger branches of - the family. Indeed, if he ever descended from his high station as a member - of the domestic circle, it was upon these occasions, when, with a want of - dignity, accounted for only by the grovelling motive of self-interest, he - embroiled himself in a series of miserable feuds and contentions about - scraping the pot, or carrying off from the jealous urchins about him more - than came to his share. In these heart-burnings about the good things of - this world, he was treated with uncommon forbearance: in his owner he - always had a friend, from whom, when he grunted out his appeal to him, he - was certain of receiving redress: “Barney, behave, avick: lay down the - potstick, an' don't be batin' the pig, the crathur.” - </p> - <p> - In fact, the pig was never mentioned but with this endearing epithet of - “crathur” annexed. “Barney, go an' call home the pig, the crathur, to his - dinner, before it gets cowld an him.” “Barney, go an' see if you can see - the pig, the crathur, his buckwhist will soon be ready.” “Barney, run an' - dhrive the pig, the crathur, out of Larry Neil's phatie-field: an', - Barney, whisper, a bouchal bawn, don't run <i>too</i> hard, Barney, for - fraid you'd lose your breath. What if the crathur does get a taste o' the - new phaties—small blame to him for the same!” - </p> - <p> - In short, whatever might have been the habits of the family, such were - those of the pig. The latter was usually out early in the morning to take - exercise, and the unerring regularity with which he returned at mealtime - gave sufficient proof that procuring an appetite was a work of - supererogation on his part. If he came before the meal was prepared, his - station was at the door, which they usually shut to keep him out of the - way until it should be ready. In the meantime, so far as a forenoon - serenade and an indifferent voice could go, his powers of melody were - freely exercised on the outside. But he did not stop here: every stretch - of ingenuity was tried by which a possibility of gaining admittance could - be established. The hat and rags were repeatedly driven in from the - windows, which from practice and habit he was enabled to approach on his - hind legs; a cavity was also worn by the frequent grubbings of his snout - under the door, the lower part of which was broken away by the sheer - strength of his tusks, so that he was enabled, by thrusting himself - between the bottom of it and the ground, to make a most unexpected - appearance on the hearth, before his presence was at all convenient or - acceptable. - </p> - <p> - But, independently of these two modes of entrance, i. e., the door and - window, there was also a third, by which he sometimes scrupled not to make - a descent upon the family. This was by the chimney. There are many of the - Irish cabins built for economy's sake against slopes in the ground, so - that the labor of erecting either a gable or side-wall is saved by the - perpendicular bank that remains after the site of the house is scooped - away. Of the facilities presented by this peculiar structure, the pig - never failed to avail himself. He immediately mounted the roof (through - which, however, he sometimes took an unexpected flight), and traversing it - with caution, reached the chimney, into which he deliberately backed - himself, and with no small share of courage, went down precisely as the - northern bears are said to descend the trunks of trees during the winter, - but with far different motives. - </p> - <p> - In this manner he cautiously retrograded downwards with a hardihood, which - set furze bushes, brooms, tongs, and all other available weapons of the - cabin at defiance. We are bound, however, to declare, that this mode of - entrance, which was only resorted to when every other failed, was usually - received by the cottager and his family with a degree of mirth and - good-humor that were not lost upon the sagacity of the pig. In order to - save him from being scorched, which he deserved for his temerity, they - usually received him in a creel, often in a quilt, and sometimes in the - tattered blanket, or large pot, out of which he looked with a humorous - conception of his own enterprise, that was highly diverting. We must - admit, however, that he was sometimes received with the comforts of a hot - poker, which Paddy pleasantly called, “givin' him a warm welcome.” - </p> - <p> - Another trait in the character of these animals, was the utter scorn with - which they treated all attempts to fatten them. In fact, the usual - consequences of good feeding were almost inverted in their case; and - although I might assert that they became leaner in proportion to what they - received, yet I must confine myself to truth, by stating candidly that - this was not the fact; that there was a certain state of fleshlessness to - which they arrived, but from which they neither advanced nor receded by - good feeding or bad. At this point, despite of all human ingenuity, they - remained stationary for life, received the bounty afforded them with a - greatness of appetite resembling the fortitude of a brave man, which rises - in energy according to the magnitude of that which it has to encounter. - The truth is, they were scandalous hypocrites; for with the most - prodigious capacity for food, they were spare as philosophers, and fitted - evidently more for the chase than the sty; rather to run down a buck or a - hare for the larder, than to have a place in it themselves. If you starved - them, they defied you to diminish their flesh; and if you stuffed them - like aldermen, they took all they got, but disdained to carry a single - ounce more than if you gave them whey thickened with water. In short, they - gloried in maceration and liberty; were good Irish scholars, sometimes - acquainted with Latin; and their flesh, after the trouble of separating it - from a superfluity of tough skin, was excellent venison so far as it went. - </p> - <p> - Now Phil Purcel, whom we will introduce more intimately to the reader by - and by, was the son of a man who always kept a pig. - </p> - <p> - His father's house had a small loft, to which the ascent was by a - step-ladder through a door in the inside gable. The first good thing ever - Phil was noticed for he said upon the following occasion. His father - happened to be called upon, one morning before breakfast, by his landlord, - who it seems occasionally visited his tenantry to encourage, direct, - stimulate, or reprove them, as the case might require. Phil was a boy - then, and sat on the hob in the corner, eyeing the landlord and his father - during their conversation. In the mean time the pig came in, and - deliberately began to ascend the ladder with an air of authority that - marked him as one in the exercise of an established right. The landlord - was astonished at seeing the animal enter the best room in the house and - could not help expressing his surprise to old Purcel: - </p> - <p> - “Why, Purcel, is your pig in the habit of treating himself to the comforts - of your best room?” - </p> - <p> - “The pig is it, the crathur? Why, your haner,” said Purcel, after a little - hesitation, “it sometimes goes up of a mornin' to waken the childhre, - particularly when the buckwhist happens to be late. It doesn't like to be - waitin'; and sure none of us likes to be kept from the male's mate, your - haner, when we want it, no more than it, the crathur!” - </p> - <p> - “But I wonder your wife permits so filthy an animal to have access to her - rooms in this manner.” - </p> - <p> - “Filthy!” replied Mrs. Purcel, who felt herself called upon to defend the - character of the pig, as well as her own, “why, one would think, sir, that - any crathur that's among Christyen childhre, like one o' themselves, - couldn't be filthy. I could take it to my dyin' day, that there's not a - claner or dacenter pig in the kingdom, than the same pig. It never - misbehaves, the crathur, but goes out, as wise an' riglar, jist by a look, - an' that's enough for it, any day—a single look, your haner, the - poor crathur!” - </p> - <p> - “I think,” observed Phil, from the hob, “that nobody has a betther right - to the run of the house, whedher up stairs or down stairs, <i>than him - that pays the rint</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Well said, my lad!” observed the landlord, laughing at the quaint - ingenuity of Phil's defence. “His payment of the rent is the best defence - possible, and no doubt should cover a multitude of his errors.” - </p> - <p> - “A multitude of his shins, you mane, sir,” said Phil, “for thruth he's all - shin.” - </p> - <p> - In fact, Phil from his infancy had an uncommon attachment to these - animals, and by a mind naturally shrewd and observing, made himself as - intimately acquainted with their habits and instincts, and the best modes - of managing them, as ever the celebrated <i>Cahir na Cappul</i>* did with - those of the horse. Before he was fifteen, he could drive the most vicious - and obstinate pig as quietly before him as a lamb; yet no one knew how, - nor by what means he had gained the secret that enabled him to do it. - Whenever he attended a fair, his time was principally spent among the - pigs, where he stood handling, and examining, and pretending to buy them, - although he seldom had half-a-crown in his pocket. At length, by hoarding - up such small sums as he could possibly lay his hand on, he got together - the price of a “slip,” which he bought, reared, and educated in a manner - that did his ingenuity great credit. When this was brought to its <i>ne - plus ultra</i> of fatness, he sold it, and purchased two more, which he - fed in the same way. On disposing of these, he made a fresh purchase, and - thus proceeded, until, in the course of a few years, he was a well-known - pig-jobber. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * I subjoin from Townsend's Survey of the county of - Cork a short but authentic account of this most - extraordinary character:—“James Sullivan was a native - of the county of Cork, and an awkward ignorant rustic - of the lowest class, generally known by the appellation - of the <i>Whisperer</i>, and his profession was horse- - breaking. The credulity of the vulgar bestowed that - epithet upon him, from an opinion that he communicated - his wishes to the animal by means of a whisper; and the - singularity of his method gave some color to the - superstitious belief. As far as the sphere of his - control extended, the boast of <i>Veni, Vidi, Vici</i>, was - more justly claimed by James Sullivan, than by Caesar, - or even Bonaparte himself. How his art was acquired, or - in what it consisted, is likely to remain for ever - unknown, as he has lately left the world without - divulging it. His son, who follows the same occupation, - possesses but a small portion of the art, having either - never learned its true secret, or being incapable of - putting it in practice. The wonder of his skill - consisted in the short time requisite to accomplish his - design, which was performed in private, and without any - apparent means of coercion. Every description of horse, - or even mule, whether previously broke, or unhandled, - whatever their peculiar vices or ill habits might have - been, submitted, without show of resistance, to the - magical influence of his art, and, in the short space - of half an hour, became gentle and tractable. The - effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally - durable. Though more submissive to him than to others, - yet they seemed to have acquired a docility, unknown - before. When sent for to tame a vicious horse, he - directed the stable in which he and the object of his - experiment were placed, to be shut, with orders not to - open the door until a signal given. After a <i>tete-a- - tete</i> between him and the horse for about half an hour, - during which little or no bustle was heard, the signal - was made; and upon opening the door, the horse was - seen, lying down, and the man by his side, playing - familiarly with him, like a child with a puppy dog. - From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit - to discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. - Some saw his skill tried on a horse, which could never - be brought to stand for a smith to shoe him. The day - after Sullivan's half hour lecture, I went, not without - some incredulity, to the smith's shop, with many other - curious spectators, where we were eye-witnesses of the - complete success of his art. This, too, had been a - troop-horse; and it was supposed, not without reason, - that after regimental discipline had failed, no other - would be found availing. I observed that the animal - seemed afraid, whenever Sullivan either spoke or looked - at him. How that extraordinary ascendancy could have - been obtained, it is difficult to conjecture, in common - eases, this mysterious preparation was unnecessary. He - seemed to possess an instinctive power of inspiring - awe, the result, perhaps, of natural intrepidity, in - which, I believe, a great part of his art consisted; - though the circumstance of his tete-a-tete shows, that, - upon particular occasions, something more must have - been added to it. A faculty like this would, in other - hands, have made a fortune, and great offers have been - made to him for the exercise of his art abroad; but - hunting, and attachment to his native soil, were his - ruling passions. He lived at home, in the style most - agreeable to his disposition, and nothing could induce - him to quit Dunhalow and the fox-hounds.” - </pre> - <p> - Phil's journeys as a pig-driver to the leading seaport towns nearest him, - were always particularly profitable. In Ireland, swine are not kept in - sties, as they are among English feeders, but permitted, to go at liberty - through pasture fields, commons, and along roadsides, where they make up - as well as they can for the scanty pittance allowed them at home during - meal-times. We do not, however, impeach Phil's honesty; but simply content - ourselves with saying, that when his journey was accomplished, he mostly - found the original number with which he had set out increased by three or - four, and sometimes by half a dozen. Pigs in general resemble each other, - and it surely was not Phil's fault if a stray one, feeding on the roadside - or common, thought proper to join his drove and see the world. Phil's - object, we presume, was only to take care that his original number was not - diminished, its increase being a matter in which he felt little concern. - He now determined to take a professional trip to England, and that this - might be the more productive, he resolved to purchase a lot of the animals - we have been describing. No time was lost in this speculation. The pigs - were bought up as cheaply as possible, and Phil sat out, for the first - time in his life, to try with what success he could measure his skill - against that of a Yorkshireman. On this occasion, he brought with him a - pet, which he had with considerable pains trained up for purposes - hereafter to be explained. - </p> - <p> - There was nothing remarkable in the passage, unless that every creature on - board was sea-sick, except the pigs; even to them, however, the change was - a disagreeable one; for to be pent up in the hold of a ship was a - deprivation of liberty, which, fresh as they were from their native hills, - they could not relish. They felt, therefore, as patriots, a loss of - freedom, but not a whit of appetite; for, in truth, of the latter no - possible vicissitude short of death could deprive them. - </p> - <p> - Phil, however, with an assumed air of simplicity absolutely stupid, - disposed of them to a Yorkshire dealer at about twice the value they would - have brought in Ireland, though as pigs went in England it was low enough. - He declared that they had been fed on tip-top feeding: which was literally - true, as he afterwards admitted that the tops of nettles and potato stalks - constituted the only nourishment they had got for three weeks before. - </p> - <p> - The Yorkshireman looked with great contempt upon what he considered a - miserable essay to take him in. - </p> - <p> - “What a fule this Hirishmun mun bea;” said he, “to think to teake me in! - Had he said that them there Hirish swoine were badly feade, I'd ha' - thought it fairish enough on un; but to seay that they was oll weal feade - on tip-top feeadin'! Nea, nea! I knaws weal enough that they was noat - feade on nothin' at oll, which meakes them loak so poorish! Howsomever, I - shall fatten them. I'se warrant—I'se warrant I shall!” - </p> - <p> - When driven home to sties somewhat more comfortable than the cabins of - unfortunate Irishmen, they were well supplied with food which would have - been very often considered a luxury by poor Paddy himself, much less by - his pigs. - </p> - <p> - “Measter,” said the man who had seen them fed, “them there Hirish pigs ha' - not feasted nout for a moonth yet: they feade like nout I seed o' my - laife!!” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! ay!” replied the master, “I'se warrant they'll soon fatten—I'se - warrant they shall, Hodge—they be praime feeders—I'se warrant - they shall; and then, Hodge, we've bit the soft Hirishmun.” - </p> - <p> - Hodge gave a knowing look at his master, and grinned at this observation. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Hodge repaired to the sties to see how they were - thriving; when, to his great consternation, he found the feeding-troughs - clean as if they had been washed, and, not a single Irish pig to be seen - or heard about the premises; but to what retreat the animals could have - betaken themselves, was completely beyond his comprehension. He scratched - his head, and looked about him in much perplexity. - </p> - <p> - “Dang un!” he exclaimed, “I never seed nout like this.” - </p> - <p> - He would have proceeded in a strain of cogitation equally enlightened, had - not a noise of shouting, alarm, and confusion in the neighborhood, excited - his attention. He looked about him, and to his utter astonishment saw that - some extraordinary commotion prevailed, that the country was up, and the - hills alive with people, who ran, and shouted, and wheeled at full flight - in all possible directions. His first object was to join the crowd, which - he did as soon as possible, and found that the pigs he had shut up the - preceding night in sties whose enclosures were at least four feet high, - had cleared them like so many chamois, and were now closely pursued by the - neighbors, who rose <i>en masse</i> to hunt down and secure such dreadful - depredators. - </p> - <p> - The waste and mischief they had committed in one night were absolutely - astonishing. Bean and turnip fields, and vegetable enclosures of all - descriptions, kitchen-gardens, corn-fields, and even flower-gardens, were - rooted up and destroyed with an appearance of system which would have done - credit to Terry Alt himself. - </p> - <p> - Their speed was the theme of every tongue. Hedges were taken in their - flight, and cleared in a style that occasioned the country people to turn - up their eyes, and scratch their heads in wonder. Dogs of all degrees bit - the dust, and were caught up dead in stupid amazement by their owners, who - began to doubt whether or not these extraordinary animals were swine at - all. The depredators in the meantime had adopted the Horatian style of - battle. Whenever there was an ungenerous advantage taken in the pursuit, - by slipping dogs across or before their path, they shot off, at a tangent - through the next crowd; many of whom they prostrated in their flight; by - this means they escaped the dogs until the latter were somewhat exhausted, - when, on finding one in advance of the rest, they turned, and, with - standing bristles and burning tusks, fatally checked their pursuer in his - full career. To wheel and fly until another got in advance, was then the - plan of fight; but, in fact the conflict was conducted on the part of the - Irish pigs with a fertility of expediency that did credit to their - country, and established for those who displayed it, the possession of - intellect far superior to that of their opponents. The pigs now began to - direct their course towards the sties in which they had been so well fed - the night before. This being their last flight they radiated towards one - common centre, with a fierceness and celerity that occasioned the woman - and children to take shelter within doors. On arriving at the sties, the - ease with which they shot themselves over the four-feet walls was - incredible. The farmer had caught the alarm, and just came out in time to - witness their return; he stood with his hands driven down into the pockets - of his red, capacious waistcoat, and uttered not a word. When the last of - them came bounding into the sty, Hodge approached, quite breathless and - exhausted: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, measter,” he exclaimed, “these be not Hirish pigs at oll, they be - Hirish devils; and yau mun ha' bought 'em fra a cunning mon!” - </p> - <p> - <a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> - <!-- IMG --></a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> - <img src="images/page911.jpg" - alt="Page 911-- These Be Not Hirish Pigs at Oll " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - “Hodge,” replied his master, “I'se be bit—I'se heard feather talk - about un. That breed's true Hirish: but I'se try and sell 'em to Squoire - Jolly to hunt wi' as beagles, for he wants a pack. They do say all the - swoine that the deevils were put into ha' been drawn; but for my peart, - I'se sure that some on un must ha' escaped to Hireland.” - </p> - <p> - Phil during the commotion excited by his knavery in Yorkshire, was - traversing the country, in order to dispose of his remaining pig; and the - manner in which he effected his first sale of it was as follows: - </p> - <p> - A gentleman was one evening standing with some laborers by the wayside - when a tattered Irishman, equipped in a pair of white dusty brogues, - stockings without feet, old patched breeches, a bag slung across his - shoulder, his coarse shirt lying open about a neck tanned by the sun into - a reddish yellow, a hat nearly the color of the shoes, and a hay rope tied - for comfort about his waist; in one hand he also held a straw rope, that - depended from the hind leg of a pig which he drove before him; in the - other was a cudgel, by the assistance of which he contrived to limp on - after it, his two shoulder-blades rising and falling alternately with a - shrugging motion that indicated great fatigue. - </p> - <p> - When he came opposite where the gentleman stood he checked the pig, which - instinctively commenced feeding upon the grass by the edge of the road. - </p> - <p> - “Och,” said he, wiping his brow with the cuff of his coat, “<i>mavrone - orth a muck</i>,* but I'm kilt wit you. Musha, Gad bless yer haner, an' - maybe ye'd buy a slip of a pig fwhrom me, that has my heart bruck, so she - has, if ever any body's heart was bruck wit the likes of her; an' sure so - there was, no doubt, or I wouldn't be as I am wid her. I'll give her a - dead bargain, sir; for it's only to get her aff av my hands I'm wanting - plase yer haner—<i>husth amuck—husth, a veehone!</i>** Be asy, - an' me in conwersation wid his haner here!” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * My sorrow on you for a pig. - - ** Silence pig! Silence, you pig! Silence, you - vagabond! -</pre> - <p> - “You are an Irishman?” the gentleman inquired. - </p> - <p> - “I am, sir, from Connaught, yer haner, an' ill sell the crathur dag cheap, - all out. Asy, you thief!” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want the pig, my good fellow,” replied the Englishman, without - evincing curiosity enough to inquire how he came to have such a commodity - for sale. - </p> - <p> - “She'd be the darlint in no time wid you, sir; the run o' your kitchen 'ud - make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit no trouble to the sarvints - about sweepin' it, or any thing. You'd only have to lay down the - potato-basket on the flure, or the misthress, Gad bless her, could do it, - an' not lave a crumblin' behind her, besides sleepin, your haner, in the - carner beyant, if she'd take the throuble.” - </p> - <p> - The sluggish phlegm of the Englisman was stirred up a little by the - twisted, and somewhat incomprehensible nature of these instructions. - </p> - <p> - “How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “The sarra one o' myself knows, plaze yer haner: sure we've an ould sayin' - of our own in Ireland beyant—that he's a wise man can I tell how far - he'll go, sir, till he comes to his journey's ind. I'll give this crathur - to you at more nor her value, yer haner.” - </p> - <p> - “More!—why the man knows not what he's saying,” observed the - gentleman; “less you mean, I suppose, Paddy?” - </p> - <p> - “More or less, sir: you'll get her a bargain; an' Gad bless you, sir!” - </p> - <p> - “But it is a commodity which I don't want at present. I am very well - stocked with pigs, as it is. Try elsewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “She'd flog the counthry side, sir; an' if the misthress herself, sir, 'ud - shake the wishp o' sthraw fwor her in the kitchen, sir, near the whoire. - Yer haner could spake to her about it; an' in no time put a knife into her - whin you plazed. In regard o' the other thing, sir—she's like a - Christyeen, yer haner, an' no throuble, sir, if you'd be seein' company or - any thing.” - </p> - <p> - “It's an extraordinary pig, this, of yours.” - </p> - <p> - “It's no lie fwhor you, sir; she's as clane an' dacent a crathur, sir! - Och, if the same pig 'ud come into the care o' the misthress, Gad bliss - her! an' I'm sure if she has as much gudness in her face as the hanerable - <i>dinnha ousahl</i> (* gentleman)—the handsome gintleman she's - married upon!—you'll have her thrivin' bravely, sir, shartly, plase - Gad, if you'll take courage. Will I dhrive her up the aveny fwor you, sir? - A good gintlewoman I'm sure, is the same misthriss! Will I dhrive her up - fwor you, sir? <i>Shadh amuck—shadh dherin!</i>”* - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - *Behave yourself pig—behave, I say! -</pre> - <p> - “No, no; I have no further time to lose; you may go forward.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank your haner; is it whorid toarst the house abow, sir? I wouldn't be - standin' up, sir, wit you about a thrifle; an you'll have her, sir, fwhor - any thing you plase beyant a pound, yer haner; an' 'tis throwin' her away - it is: but one can't be hard wit a rale gintleman any way.” - </p> - <p> - “You only annoy me, man; besides I don't want the pig; you lose time; I - don't want to buy it, I repeat to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Gad bliss you, sir—Gad bliss you. Maybe if I'd make up to the - mishthress, yer haner! Thrath she wouldn't turn the crathur from the - place, in regard that the tindherness ow the feelin' would come ower her—the - rale gintlewoman, any way! 'Tis dag chape you have her at what I said, - sir; an' Gad bliss you!” - </p> - <p> - “Do you want to compel me to purchase it whether I will or no?” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath, it's whor next to nothin' I'm giv-in' her to you, sir; but sure - you can make your own price at any thing beyant a pound. <i>Huerish amuck—sladh - anish!</i>—be asy, you crathur, sure you're gettin' into good - quarthers, any how—go into the hanerable English gintleman's - kitchen, an' God knows it's a pleasure to dale wit 'em. Och, the world's - differ there is betuxt them, an' our own dirty Irish buckeens, that 'ud - shkin a bad skilleen, an' pay their debts wit the remaindher. The gateman - 'ud let me in, yer haner, an' I'll meet you at the big house, abow.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my honor this is a good jest,” said the gentleman, absolutely teased - into a compliance; “you are forcing me to buy that which I don't want.” - </p> - <p> - “Sure you will, sir; you'll want more nor that yit, please Gad, if you be - spared. Come, amuck—come, you crathur; faix you're in luck so you - are—gettin' so good a place wit his haner, here, that you won't know - yourself shortly, plase God.” - </p> - <p> - He immediately commenced driving his pig towards the gentleman's residence - with such an air of utter simplicity, as would have imposed upon any man - not guided by direct inspiration. Whilst he approached the house, its - proprietor arrived there by another path a few minutes before him, and, - addressing his lady, said: - </p> - <p> - “My dear, will you come and look at a purchase which an Irishman has - absolutely compelled me to make? You had better come and see himself, too, - for he is the greatest simpleton of an Irishman I have ever met with.” - </p> - <p> - The lady's curiosity was more easily excited than that of her husband. She - not only came out, but brought with her some ladies who had been on a - visit, in order to hear the Irishman's brogue, and to amuse themselves at - his expense. Of the pig, too, it appeared she was determined to know - something. - </p> - <p> - “George, my love, is the pig also from Ireland?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know, my dear; but I should think so from its fleshless - appearance. I have never seen so spare an animal of that class in this - country.” - </p> - <p> - “Juliana,” said one of the ladies to her companion, “don't go too near - him. Gracious! look at the bludgeon, or beam, or something he carries in - his hand, to fight' and beat the people, I suppose: yet,” she added, - putting up her glass, “the man is actually not ill-looking; and, though - not so tall as the Irishman in Sheridan's Rivals, he is well made.” - </p> - <p> - “His eyes are good,” said her companion—“a bright gray, and keen; - and were it not that his nose is rather short and turned up, he would be - handsome.” - </p> - <p> - “George, my love,” exclaimed the lady of the mansion, “he is like most - Irishmen of his class that I have seen; indeed, scarcely so intelligent, - for he does appear quite a simpleton, except, perhaps, a lurking kind of - expression, which is a sign of their humor, I suppose. Don't you think so, - my love?” - </p> - <p> - “No, my dear; I think him a bad specimen of the Irishman. Whether it is - that he talks our language but imperfectly, or that he is a stupid - creature, I cannot say; but in selling the pig just now, he actually told - me that he would let me have it for more than it was worth.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that was so laughable! We will speak to him, though.” - </p> - <p> - The degree of estimation in which these civilized English held Phil was so - low, that this conversation took place within a few yards of him, - precisely as if he had been an animal of an inferior species, or one of - the aborigines of New Zealand. - </p> - <p> - “Pray what is your name?” inquired the matron. - </p> - <p> - “Phadhrumshagh Corfuffle, plase yer haner: my fadher carried the same name - upon him. We're av the Corfuflies av Leatherum Laghy, my lady; but my - grandmudher was a Dornyeen, an' my own mudher, plase yer haner, was o' the - Shudhurthagans o' Ballymadoghy, my ladyship, <i>Sladh anish, amuck - bradagh!</i>*—be asy, can't you, an' me in conwersation wit the - beauty o' the world that I'm spakin' to.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * Be quiet now, you wicked pig. -</pre> - <p> - “That's the Negus language,” observed,one of the young ladies, who - affected to be a wit and a blue-stocking; “it's Irish and English mixed.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath, an' but that the handsome young lady's so purty,” observed Phil, - “I'd be sayin' myself that that's a quare remark upon a poor unlarned man; - but, Gad bless her, she is so purty what can one say for lookin' an her!” - </p> - <p> - “The poor man, Adelaide, speaks as well as he can,” replied the lady, - rather reprovingly: “he is by no means so wild as one would have - expected.” - </p> - <p> - “Candidly speaking, much <i>tamer</i> than I expected,” rejoined the wit. - Indeed, I meant the poor Irishman no offence.” - </p> - <p> - “Where did you get the pig, friend? and how came you to have it for sale - so far from home?” - </p> - <p> - “Fwhy it isn't whor sale, my lady,” replied Phil, evading the former - question; “the masther here, Gad bless him an' spare him to you, ma'am!—thrath, - an' it's his four quarthers that knew how to pick out a wife, any how, - whor beauty an' all hanerable whormations o' grandheur—so he did; - an' well he desarves you, my lady: faix, it's a fine houseful o' thim - you'll have, plase Gad—an' fwhy not? whin it's all in the coorse o' - Providence, bein' both so handsome:—he gev me a pound note whor her - my ladyship, an' his own plisure aftherwards; an' I'm now waitin' to be - ped.” - </p> - <p> - “What kind of a country is Ireland, as I understand you are an Irishman?” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath, my lady, it's like fwhat maybe you never seen—a fool's - purse, ten guineas goin' out whor one that goes in.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word that's wit,” observed the young blue-stocking. - </p> - <p> - “What's your opinion of Irishwomen?” the lady continued; “are they - handsomer than the English ladies, think you?” - </p> - <p> - “Murdher, my lady,” says Phil, raising his caubeen, and scratching his - head in pretended perplexity, with his linger and thumb, “fwhat am I to - say to that, ma'am, and all of yez to the fwhore? But the sarra one av me - will give it agin the darlin's beyant.” - </p> - <p> - “But which do you think the more handsome?” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath, I do, my lady; the Irish and English women would flog the world, - an' sure it would be a burnin' shame to go to sot them agin one another - fwhor beauty.” - </p> - <p> - “Whom do you mean by the 'darlin's beyant?'” inquired the blue-stocking, - attempting to pronounce the words. - </p> - <p> - “Faix, miss, who but the crathers ower the wather, that kills us entirely, - so they do.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot comprehend him,” she added to the lady of the mansion. - </p> - <p> - “Arrah, maybe I'd make bould to take up the manners from you fwhor a - while, my lady, Plase yer haner?” said Phil, addressing the latter. - </p> - <p> - “I do not properly understand you,” she replied, “speak plainer.” - </p> - <p> - “Troth, that's fwhat they do, yer haner; they never go about the bush wit - yez—the gintlemen, ma'am, of our country, fwhin they do be coortin' - yez; an' I want to ax, ma'am, if you plase, fwhat you think of thim, that - is if ever any of them had the luck to come acrass you, my lady?” - </p> - <p> - “I have not been acquainted with many Irish gentlemen,” she replied, “but - I hear they are men of a remarkable character.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, 'tis you may say that,” replied Phil; “sowl, my lady, 'tis well for - the masther here, plase yer haner, sir, that none o' them met wit the - misthress before you was both marrid, or, wit riverence be it spoken, 'tis - the sweet side o' the tongue they'd be layin' upon you, ma'am, an' the - rough side to the masther himself, along wit a few scrapes of a pen on a - slip o' paper, jist to appoint the time and place, in regard of her - ladyship's purty complexion—an' who can deny that, any way? Faix, - ma'am, they've a way wit them, my counthrymen, that the ladies like well - enough to thravel by. Asy, you deludher, an' me in conwersaytion wit the - quality.” - </p> - <p> - “I am quite anxious to know how you came by the pig, Paddy,” said the wit. - </p> - <p> - “Arrah, miss, sure 'tisn't pigs you're thinkin' on, an' us discoorsin' - about the gintlemen from Ireland, that you're all so fond ow here; faix, - miss, they're the boys that fwoight for yees, an' 'ud rather be bringing - an Englishman to the sad fwhor your sakes, nor atin' bread an' butther. - Fwhy, now, miss, if you were beyant wit us, sarra ounce o' gunpqwdher we'd - have in no time, for love or money.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word I should like to see Ireland!” exclaimed the blue-stocking; - “but why would the gunpowder get scarce, pray?” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, fightin' about you, miss, an' all of yez, sure; for myself sees no - differ at all in your hanerable fwhormations of beauty and grandheur, an' - all high-flown admirations.” - </p> - <p> - “But tell us where you got the pig, Paddy?” persisted the wit, struck - naturally enough with the circumstance. “How do you come to have an Irish - pig so far from home?” - </p> - <p> - “Fwhy thin, miss, 'twas to a brother o' my own I was bringing it, that was - livin' down the counthry here, an' fwhin I came to fwhere he lived, the - sarra one o' me knew the place, in regard o' havin' forgotten the name of - it entirely, an' there was I wit the poor crathur an my hands, till his - haner here bought it from me—Gad bless you, sir!” - </p> - <p> - “As I live, there's a fine Irish blunder,” observed the wit; “I shall put - in my commonplace-book—it will be so genuine. I declare I'm quite - delighted!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Paddy,” said the gentleman, “here's your money. There's a pound for - you, and that's much more than the miserable animal is worth.” - </p> - <p> - “Troth, sir, you have the crathur at what we call in Ireland a bargain.* - Maybe yer haner 'ud spit upon the money fwhor luck, sir. It's the way we - do, sir, beyant.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * Ironically—a take in. -</pre> - <p> - “No, no, Paddy, take it as it is. Good heavens! what barbarous habits - these Irish have in all their modes of life, and how far they are removed - from anything like civilization!” - </p> - <p> - “Thank yer haner. Faix, sir, this'll come so handy for the landlord at - kome, in regard o' the rint for the bit o' phatie ground, so it will, if I - can get home agin widout brakin' it. Arrah, maybe yer haner 'ud give me - the price o' my bed, an' a bit to ate, sir, an' keep me from brakin' in - upon this, sir, Gad bless the money! I'm thinkin' o' the poor wife an' - childher, sir—strivin', so I am, to do fwhor the darlins.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor soul,” said the lady, “he is affectionate in the midst of his - wretchedness and ignorance.” - </p> - <p> - “Here—here,” replied the Englishman, anxious to get rid of him, - “there's a shilling, which I give because you appear to be attached to - your family.” - </p> - <p> - “Och, och, fwhat can I say, sir, only that long may you reign ower your - family, an' the hanerable ladies to the fwore, sir. Gad fwhorever bliss - you, sir, but you're the kind, noble gintleman, an' all belongin' to you, - sir!” - </p> - <p> - Having received the shilling, he was in the act of departing, when, after - turning it deliberately in his hand, shrugging his shoulders two or three - times, and scratching his head, with a vacant face he approached the lady. - </p> - <p> - “Musha, ma'am, an maybe ye'd have the tindherness in your heart, seein' - that the gudness is in yer hanerable face, any way, an' it would save the - skillyeen that the masther gev'd for payin' my passage, so it would, jist - to bid the steward, my ladyship, to ardher me a bit to ate in the kitchen - below. The hunger, ma'am, is hard upon me, my lady; an' fwhat I'm doin', - sure, is in regard o' the wife at home, an' the childher, the crathurs, - an' me far fwhrom them, in a sthrange country, Gad help me!” - </p> - <p> - “What a singular being, George! and how beautifully is the economy of - domestic affection exemplified, notwithstanding his half-savage state, in - the little plans he devises for the benefit of his wife and children!” - exclaimed the good lady, quite unconscious that Phil was a bachelor. - “Juliana, my love, desire Timmins to give him his dinner. Follow this - young lady, good man, and she will order you refreshment.” - </p> - <p> - “Gad's blessin' upon your beauty an' gudness, my lady; an' a man might - thravel far afore he'd meet the likes o' you for aither o' them. Is it the - other handsome young lady I'm to folly, ma'am?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the young wit, with an arch smile; “come after me.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath, miss, an' it's an asy task to do that, any way; wit a heart an' a - half I go, acushla; an' I seen the day, miss, that it's not much of mate - an' dhrink would thruble me, if I jist got lave to be lookin' at you, wit - nothing but yourself to think an. But the wife an' childher, miss, makes - great changes in us entirely.” - </p> - <p> - “Why you are quite gallant, Paddy.” - </p> - <p> - “Trath, I suppose I am now, miss; but you see, my honerable young lady, - that's our fwhailin' at home: the counthry's poor, an' we can't help it, - whedor or not. We're fwhorced to it, miss, whin we come ower here, by you, - an' the likes o' you, mavourneen!” - </p> - <p> - Phil then proceeded to the house, was sent to the kitchen by the young - lady, and furnished through the steward with an abundant supply of cold - meat, bread, and beer, of which he contrived to make a meal that somewhat - astonished the servants. Having satisfied his hunger, he deliberately—but - with the greatest simplicity of countenance—filled the wallet which - he carried slung across his back, with whatever he had left, observing as - he did it:— - </p> - <p> - “Fwhy, thin, 'tis sthrange it is, that the same custom is wit us in - Ireland beyant that is here: fwhor whinever a thraveller is axed in, he - always brings fwhat he doesn't ate along wit him. An sure enough it's the - same here amongst yez,” added he, packing up the bread and beef as he - spoke, “but Gad bliss the custom, any how, fwhor it's a good one!” - </p> - <p> - When he had secured the provender, and was ready to resume his journey, he - began to yawn, and to exhibit the most unequivocal symptoms of fatigue. - </p> - <p> - “Arrah, sir,” said he to the steward, “you wouldn't have e'er an ould barn - that I'd throw myself in fwhor the night? The sarra leg I have to put - undher me, now that I've got stiff with the sittin' so lang; that, an' a - wishp o' sthraw, to sleep an, an' Gad bliss you!” - </p> - <p> - “Paddy, I cannot say,” replied the steward; “but I shall ask my master, - and if he orders it, you shall have the comfort of a hard floor and clean - straw, Paddy—that you shall.” - </p> - <p> - “Many thanks to you, sir: it's in your face, in thrath, the same gudness - an' ginerosity.” - </p> - <p> - The gentleman, on hearing Phil's request to be permitted a sleeping-place - in the barn, was rather surprised at his wretched notion of comfort than - at the request itself. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, Timmins, let him sleep there,” he replied; “give him sacks and - straw enough. I dare say he will feel the privilege a luxury, poor devil, - after his fatigue. Give him his breakfast in the morning, Timmins. Good - heavens,” he added, “what a singular people! What an amazing progress - civilization must make before these Irish can be brought at all near the - commonest standard of humanity!” - </p> - <p> - At this moment Phil, who was determined to back the steward's request, - approached them. - </p> - <p> - “Paddy,” said the gentleman, anticipating him, “I have ordered you sacks - and straw in the barn, and your breakfast in the morning before you set - out.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath,” said Phil, “if there's e'er a stray blissin' goin', depind an - it, sir, you'll get it fwhor your hanerable ginerosity to the sthranger. - But about the 'slip,' sir—if the misthress herself 'ud shake the - whisp o' sthraw fwhor her in the far carner o' the kitchen below, an' see - her gettin' her supper, the crathur, before she'd put her to bed, she'd be - thrivin' like a salmon, sir, in less than no time; and to ardher the - sarwints, sir, if you plase, not to be defraudin' the crathur of the big - phaties. Fwhor in regard it cannot spake fwhor itself, sir, it frets as - wise as a Christyeen, when it's not honestly thrated.” - </p> - <p> - “Never fear, Paddy; we shall take good care of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, sir, but I aften heered, sir, that you dunno how to feed pigs - in this counthry in ardher to mix the fwhat an' lane, lair (layer) about.” - </p> - <p> - “And how do you manage that in Ireland, Paddy?” - </p> - <p> - “Fwhy, sir, I'll tell you how the misthress Gad bless her, will manage it - fwhor you. Take the crathur, sir, an' feed it to-morrow, till its as full - as a tick—that's for the fwhat, sir; thin let her give it nothin' at - all the next day, but keep it black fwhastin'—that's fwhor the lane - (leap). Let her stick to that, sir, keepin' it atin' one day an' fastin' - an-odher, for six months, thin put a knife in it, an' if you don't have - the fwhat an' lane, lair about, beautiful all out, fwhy nirer bl'eve - Phadrumshagh Corfuffle agin. Ay, indeed!” - </p> - <p> - The Englishman looked keenly at Phil, but could only read in his - countenance a thorough and implicit belief in his own recipe for mixing - the fat and lean. It is impossible to express his contempt for the sense - and intellect of Phil; nothing could surpass it but the contempt which - Phil entertained for him. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said he to the servant, “I have often heard of the barbarous - habits of the Irish, but I must say that the incidents of this evening - have set my mind at rest upon the subject. Good heavens! when will ever - this besotted country rise in the scale of nations! Did ever a human being - hear of such a method of feeding swine! I should have thought it - incredible had I heard it from any but an Irishman!” - </p> - <p> - Phil then retired to the kitchen, where his assumed simplicity highly - amused the servants, who, after an hour or two's fun with “Paddy,” - conducted him in a kind of contemptuous procession to the barn, where they - left him to his repose. - </p> - <p> - The next morning he failed to appear at the hour of breakfast, but his - non-appearance was attributed to his fatigue, in consequence of which he - was supposed to have overslept himself. On going, however, to call him - from the barn, they discovered that he had decamped; and on looking after - the “slip,” it was found that both had taken French leave of the - Englishman. Phil and the pig had actually travelled fifteen miles that - morning, before the hour on which he was missed—Phil going at a - dog's trot, and the pig following at such a respectful distance as might - not appear to identify them as fellow-travellers. In this manner Phil sold - the pig to upwards of two dozen intelligent English gentlemen and farmers, - and after winding up his bargains successfully, both arrived in Liverpool, - highly delighted by their commercial trip through England. - </p> - <p> - The passage from Liverpool to Dublin, in Phil's time, was far different to - that which steam and British enterprise have since made it. A vessel was - ready to sail for the latter place on the very day of Phil's arrival in - town; and, as he felt rather anxious to get out of England as soon as he - could, he came, after selling his pig in good earnest, to the aforesaid - vessel to ascertain if it were possible to get a deck passage. The year - had then advanced to the latter part of autumn; so that it was the season - when those inconceivable hordes of Irishmen who emigrate periodically for - the purpose of lightening John Bull's labor, were in the act of returning - to that country in which they find little to welcome them—but - domestic affection and misery. - </p> - <p> - When Phil arrived at the vessel, he found the captain in a state of - peculiar difficulty. About twelve or fourteen gentlemen of rank and - property, together with a score or upwards of highly respectable persons, - but of less consideration, were in equal embarrassment. The fact was, that - as no other vessel left Liverpool that day, about five hundred Irishmen, - mostly reapers and mowers, had crowded upon deck, each determined to keep - his place at all hazards. The captain, whose vessel was small, and none of - the stoutest, flatly refused to put to sea with such a number. He told - them it was madness to think of it; he could not risk the lives of the - other passengers, nor even their own, by sailing with five hundred on the - deck of so small a vessel. If the one-half of them would withdraw - peaceably, he would carry the other half, which was as much as he could - possibly accomplish. They were very willing to grant that what he said was - true; but in the meantime, not a man of them would move, and to clear out - such a number of fellows, who loved nothing better than fighting, armed, - too, with sickles and scythes, was a task beyond either his ability or - inclination to execute. He remonstrated with them, entreated, raged, - swore, and threatened; but all to no purpose. His threats and entreaties - were received with equal good-humor. Gibes and jokes were broken on him - without number, and as his passion increased, so did their mirth, until - nothing could be seen but the captain in vehement gesticulation, the - Irishmen huzzaing him so vociferously, that his damns and curses, uttered - against them, could not reach even his own ears. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” said he to his cabin passengers, “for the love of Heaven, tax - your invention to discover some means whereby to get one-half of these men - out of the vessel, otherwise it will be impossible that we can sail - to-day. I have already proffered to take one-half of them by lot, but they - will not hear of it; and how to manage I am sure I don't know.” - </p> - <p> - The matter, however, was beyond their depth; the thing seemed utterly - impracticable, and the chances of their putting to sea were becoming - fainter and fainter. - </p> - <p> - “Bl—t their eyes!” he at length exclaimed, “the ragged, hungry - devils! If they heard me with decency I could bear their obstinacy bettor: - but no, they must turn me into ridicule, and break their jests, and turn - their cursed barbarous grins upon me in my own vessel. I say, boys,” he - added, proceeding to address them once more—“I say, savages, I have - just three observations to make. The first is,”— - </p> - <p> - “Arrah, Captain, avourneen, hadn't you betther get upon a stool,” said a - voice, “an' put a text before it, thin divide it dacently into three - halves, an' make a sarmon of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Captain, you wor intended for the church,” added another. “You're the - moral (* model) of a Methodist preacher, if you wor dressed in black.” - </p> - <p> - “Let him alone,” said a third; “he'd be a jinteel man enough in a - wildherness, an' 'ud make an illigant dancin'-masther to the bears.” - </p> - <p> - “He's as graceful as a shaved pig on its hind legs, dancin' the - 'Baltithrum Jig.'” - </p> - <p> - The captain's face was literally black with passion: he turned away with a - curse, which produced another huzza, and swore that he would rather - encounter the Bay of Biscay in a storm, than have anything to do with such - an unmanageable mob. - </p> - <p> - “Captain,” said a little, shrewd-looking Connaught man, “what 'ud you be - willin' to give anybody, ower an' abow his free passage, that 'ud tell you - how to get one half o' them out?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll give him a crown,” replied the captain, “together with grog and - rations to the eyes: I'll be hanged if I don't.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I'll do it fwhor you, sir, if you keep your word wit me.” - </p> - <p> - “Done!” said the captain; “it's a bargain, my good fellow, if you - accomplish it; and, what's more, I'll consider you a knowing one.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm a poor Cannaught man, your haner,” replied our friend Phil; “but - what's to prevent me thryin'? Tell thim,” he continued, “that you must go; - purtind to be for takin' thim all wit you, sir. Put Munster agin - Connaught, one-half on this side, an' the odher an that, to keep the - crathur of a ship steady, your haner; an' fwhin you have thim half an' - half, wit a little room betuxt thim, 'now,' says yer haner, 'boys, you're - divided into two halves; if one side kicks the other out o' the ship, I'll - bring the conquirors.'” - </p> - <p> - The captain said not a word in reply to Phil, but immediately ranged the - Munster and Connaught men on each side of the deck—a matter which he - found little difficulty in accomplishing, for each party, hoping that he - intended to take themselves, readily declared their province, and stood - together. When they were properly separated, there still remained about - forty or fifty persons belonging to neither province; but, at Phil's - suggestion, the captain paired them off to each division, man for man, - until they were drawn up into two bodies. - </p> - <p> - “Now” said he, “there you stand: let one-half of you drub the other out of - the vessel, and the conquerors shall get their passage.” - </p> - <p> - Instant was the struggle that ensued for the sake of securing a passage, - and from the anxiety to save a shilling, by getting out of Liverpool on - that day. The saving of the shilling is indeed a consideration with Paddy - which drives him to the various resources of begging, claiming kindred - with his resident countrymen in England, pretended illness, coming to be - passed from parish to parish, and all the turnings and shiftings which his - reluctance to part with money renders necessary. Another night, therefore, - and probably another day, in Liverpool, would have been attended with - expense. This argument prevailed with all: with Munster as well as with - Connaught, and they fought accordingly. - </p> - <p> - When the attack first commenced, each, party hoped to be able to expel the - other without blows. This plan was soon abandoned. In a few minutes the - sticks and fists were busy. Throttling, tugging, cuffing, and knocking - down—shouting, hallooing, huzzaing, and yelling, gave evident proofs - that the captain, in embracing Phil's proposal, had unwittingly applied - the match to a mine, whose explosion was likely to be attended with - disastrous consequences. As the fight became warm, and the struggle more - desperate, the hooks and scythes were resorted to; blood began to flow, - and men to fall, disabled and apparently dying. The immense crowd which - had now assembled to witness the fight among the Irishmen, could not stand - tamely by, and see so many lives likely to be lost, without calling in the - civil authorities. A number of constables in a few minutes attended; but - these worthy officers of the civil authorities experienced very uncivil - treatment from the fists, cudgels, and sickles of both parties. In fact, - they were obliged to get from among the rioters with all possible - celerity, and to suggest to the magistrates the necessity of calling ir - the military. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime the battle rose into a furious and bitter struggle for - victory. The deck of the vessel was actually slippery with blood, and many - were lying in an almost lifeless state. Several were pitched into the - hold, and had their legs and arms broken by the fall; some were tossed - over the sides of the vessel, and only saved from drowning by the activity - of the sailors; and not a few of those who had been knocked down in the - beginning of the fray were trampled into insensibility. - </p> - <p> - The Munster men at length gave way; and their opponents, following up - their advantage, succeeded in driving them to a man out of the vessel, - just as the military arrived. Fortunately their interference was - unnecessary. The ruffianly captain's object was accomplished; and as no - lives were lost, nor any injury more serious than broken bones and - flesh-wounds sustained, he got the vessel in readiness, and put to sea. - </p> - <p> - Who would not think that the Irish were a nation of misers, when our - readers are informed that all this bloodshed arose from their - unwillingness to lose a shilling by remaining in Liverpool another night? - Or who could believe that these very men, on reaching home, and meeting - their friends in a fair or market, or in a public-house after mass on a - Sunday, would sit down and spend, recklessly and foolishly, that very - money which in another country they part with as if it were their very - heart's blood? Yet so it is! Unfortunately, Paddy is wiser anywhere than - at home, where wisdom, sobriety, and industry are best calculated to - promote his own interests. - </p> - <p> - This slight sketch of Phil Purcel we have presented to our readers as a - specimen of the low, cunning Connaught-man; and we have only to add, that - neither the pig-selling scene, nor the battle on the deck of the vessel in - Liverpool, is fictitious. On the contrary, we have purposely kept the tone - of our description of the latter circumstance beneath the reality. Phil, - however, is not drawn as a general portrait, but as one of that knavish - class of men called “jobbers,” a description of swindlers certainly not - more common in Ireland than in any other country. We have known - Connaughtmen as honest and honorable as it was possible to be; yet there - is a strong prejudice entertained against them in every other province of - Ireland, as is evident by the old adage, “Never trust a Connaugtaman.” - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE GEOGRAPHY OF AN IRISH OATH. - </h2> - <p> - No pen can do justice to the extravagance and frolic inseparable from the - character of of the Irish people; nor has any system of philosophy been - discovered that can with moral fitness be applied to them. Phrenology - fails to explain it; for, so far as the craniums of Irishmen are - concerned, according to the most capital surveys hitherto made and - reported on, it appears that, inasmuch as their moral and intellectual - organs predominate over the physical and sensual, the people ought, - therefore, to be ranked at the very tip-top of morality. We would warn the - phrenologists, however, not to be too sanguine in drawing inferences from - an examination of Paddy's head. Heaven only knows the scenes in which it - is engaged, and the protuberances created by a long life of hard fighting. - Many an organ and development is brought out on it by the cudgel, that - never would have appeared had Nature been left to herself. - </p> - <p> - Drinking, fighting, and swearing, are the three great characteristics of - every people. Paddy's love of fighting and of whiskey has been long - proverbial; and of his tact in swearing much has also been said. But there - is one department of oath-making in which he stands unrivalled and - unapproachable; I mean the alibi. There is where he shines, where his - oath, instead of being a mere matter of fact or opinion, rises up into the - dignity of epic narrative, containing within itself, all the complexity of - machinery, harmony of parts, and fertility of invention, by which your - true epic should be characterized. - </p> - <p> - The Englishman, whom we will call the historian in swearing, will depose - to the truth of this or that fact, but there the line is drawn; he swears - his oath so far as he knows, and stands still. “I'm sure, for my part, I - don't know; I've said all I knows about it,” and beyond this his besotted - intellect goeth not. - </p> - <p> - The Scotchman, on the other hand, who is the metaphysician in swearing, - sometimes borders on equivocation. He decidedly goes farther than the - Englisman, not because he has less honesty, but more prudence. He will - assent to, or deny a proposition; for the Englishman's “I don't know,” and - the Scotchman's “I dinna ken,” are two very distinct assertions when - properly understood. The former stands out a monument of dulness, an - insuperable barrier against inquiry, ingenuity, and fancy; but the latter - frequently stretches itself so as to embrace hypothetically a particular - opinion. - </p> - <p> - But Paddy! Put him forward to prove an alibi for his fourteenth or - fifteenth cousin, and you will be gratified by the pomp, pride, and - circumstance of true swearing. Every oath with him is an epic—pure - poetry, abounding with humor, pathos, and the highest order of invention - and talent. He is not at ease, it is true, under facts; there is something - too commonplace in dealing with them, which his genius scorns. But his - flights—his flights are beautiful; and his episodes admirable and - happy. In fact, he is an improvisatore at oath-taking; with this - difference, that his extempore oaths possess all the ease and correctness - of labor and design. - </p> - <p> - He is not, however, <i>altogether</i> averse to facts: but, like your true - poet, he veils, changes, and modifies them with such skill, that they - possess all the merit and graces of fiction. If he happen to make an - assertion incompatible with the plan of the piece, his genius acquires - fresh energy, enables him to widen the design, and to create new - machinery, with such happiness of adaptation, that what appeared out of - proportion of character is made, in his hands, to contribute to the - general strength and beauty of the oath. - </p> - <p> - 'Tis true, there is nothing perfect under the sun; but if there were, it - would certainly be Paddy at an <i>alibi</i>. Some flaws, no doubt, occur; - some slight inaccuracies may be noticed by a critical eye; an occasional - anachronism stands out, and a mistake or so in geography; but let it be - recollected that Paddy's alibi is but a human production; let us not judge - him by harsher rules than those which we apply to Homer, Virgil, or - Shakspeare. - </p> - <p> - “Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus,” is allowed on all hands. Virgil made - Dido and AEneas contemporary, though they were not so; and Shakspeare, by - the creative power of his genius, changed an inland town into a seaport. - Come, come, have bowels. Let epic swearing be treated with the same - courtesy shown to epic poetry, that is, if both are the production of a - rare genius. I maintain, that when Paddy commits a blemish he is too - harshly admonished for it. When he soars out of sight here, as - occasionally happens, does he not frequently alight somewhere about Sydney - Bay, much against his own inclination? And if he puts forth a hasty - production, is he not compelled, for the space of seven or fourteen years, - to revise his oath? But, indeed, few words of fiction are properly - encouraged in Ireland. - </p> - <p> - It would be unpardonable in us, however, to overlook the beneficial - effects of Paddy's peculiar genius in swearing alibis. Some persons, who - display their own egregious ignorance of morality, may be disposed to - think that it tends to lessen the obligation of an oath, by inducing a - habit among the people of swearing to what is not true. We look upon such - persons as very dangerous to Ireland and to the repeal of the Union; and - we request them not to push their principles too far in the disturbed - parts of the country. Could society hold together a single day, if nothing - but truth were spoken, would not law and lawyers soon become obsolete, if - nothing but truth were sworn what would become of parliament if truth - alone were uttered there? Its annual proceedings might be dispatched in a - month. Fiction is the basis of society, the bond of commercial prosperity, - the channel of communication between nation and nation, and not - unfrequently the interpreter between a man and his own conscience. - </p> - <p> - For these, and many other reasons which we could adduce, we say with - Paddy, “Long life to fiction!” When associated with swearing, it shines in - its brightest colors. What, for instance, is calculated to produce the - best and purest of the moral virtues so beautifully, as the swearing an - alibi? Here are fortitude and a love of freedom resisting oppression; for - it is well known that all law is oppression in Ireland. - </p> - <p> - There is compassion for the peculiar state of the poor boy, who, perhaps, - only burned a family in their beds; benevolence to prompt the generous - effort in his behalf; disinterestedness to run the risk of becoming an - involuntary absentee; fortitude in encountering a host of brazen-faced - lawyers; patience under the unsparing gripe of a cross-examiner; - perseverance in conducting the oath to its close against a host of - difficulties; and friendship, which bottoms and crowns them all. - </p> - <p> - Paddy's merits, however, touching the alibi, rest not here. Fiction on - these occasions only teaches him how to perform a duty. It may be, that he - is under the obligation of a previous oath not to give evidence against - certain of his friends and associates. Now, could anything in the whole - circle of religion or ethics be conceived that renders the epic style of - swearing so incumbent upon Paddy? There is a kind of moral fitness in all - things; for where the necessity of invention exists, it is consolatory to - reflect that the ability to invent is bestowed along with it. - </p> - <p> - Next to the alibi comes Paddy's powers in sustaining a cross-examination. - Many person thinks that this is his forte; but we cannot yield to such an - opinion, nor compromise his originality of conception in the scope and - plan of an alibi. It is marked by a minuteness of touch, and a peculiarity - of expression which give it every appearance of real life. The - circumstances are so well imagined, the groups so naturally disposed, the - coloring so finished, and the background in such fine perspective, that - the whole picture presents you with such keeping and <i>vraisemblance</i>, - as could be accomplished only by the genius of a master. - </p> - <p> - In point of interest, however, we must admit that his ability in a - cross-examination ranks next to his skill in planning an alibi. There is, - in the former, a versatility of talent that keeps him always ready; a - happiness of retort, generally disastrous to the wit of the most - established cross-examiner; an apparent simplicity, which is quite as - impenetrable as the lawyer's assurance; a <i>vis comica</i>, which puts - the court in tears; and an originality of sorrow, that often convulses it - with laughter. His resources, when he is pressed, are inexhaustible; and - the address, with which he contrives to gain time, that he may suit his - reply to the object of his evidence, is beyond all praise. And yet his - appearance when he mounts the table is anything but prepossessing; a - sheepish look, and a loose-jointed frame of body, wrapped in a frieze - great-coat, do not promise much. Nay, there is often a rueful blank - expression in his visage, which might lead a stranger to anticipate - nothing but blunders and dulness. This, however, is hypocrisy of the first - water. Just observe the tact with which he places his caubeen upon the - table, his kippeen across it, and the experienced air with which he pulls - up the waistbands of his breeches, absolutely girding his loins for - battle. 'Tis true his blue eye has at present nothing remarkable in it, - except a drop or to of the native; but that is not remarkable. - </p> - <p> - <a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> - <!-- IMG --></a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> - <img src="images/page919.jpg" - alt="Page 919-- A Rueful Blank Expression in his Visage " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - When the direct examination has been concluded, nothing can be finer than - the simplicity with which he turns round to the lawyer who is to - cross-examine him. Yet, as if conscious that firmness and caution are his - main guards, he again pulls up his waistbands with a more vigorous hitch, - looks shyly into the very eyes of his opponent, and awaits the first blow. - </p> - <p> - The question at length comes; and Paddy, after having raised the collar of - his big coat on his shoulder, and twisted up the shoulder along with it, - directly puts the query back to the lawyer, without altering a syllable of - it, for the purpose of ascertaining more accurately whether that is the - precise question that has been put to him; for Paddy is conscientious. - Then is the science displayed on both sides. The one, a veteran, trained - in all the technicalities of legal puzzles, irony, blarney, sarcasm, - impudence, stock jokes, quirks, rigmarolery, brow-beating, ridicule, and - subtlety; the other a poor peasant, relying only upon the justice of a - good cause and the gifts of nature; without either experience, or - learning, and with nothing but his native modesty to meet the forensic - effrontery of his antagonist. - </p> - <p> - Our readers will perceive that the odds are a thousand to one against - Paddy; yet, when he replies to a hackneyed genius at cross-examination, - how does it happen that he uniformly elicits those roars of laughter which - rise in the court, and convulse it from the judge to the crier? In this - laugh, which is usually at the expense of the cross-examiner, Paddy - himself always joins, so that the counsel has the double satisfaction of - being made not only the jest of the judge and his brother lawyers, but of - the ragged witness whom he attempted to make ridiculous. - </p> - <p> - It is not impossible that this merry mode of dispensing justice may - somewhat encourage Paddy in that independence of mind which relishes not - the idea of being altogether bound by oaths that are too often - administered with a jocular spirit. To most of the Irish in general an - oath is a solemn, to some, an awful thing. Of this wholesome reverence for - its sanction, two or three testimonies given in a court of justice usually - cured them. The indifferent, business-like manner in which the oaths are - put, the sing-song tone of voice, the rapid utterance of the words, give - to this solemn act an appearance of excellent burlesque, which ultimately - renders the whole proceedings remarkable for the absence of truth and - reality; but, at the same time, gives them unquestionable merit as a - dramatic representation, abounding with fiction, well related and ably - acted. - </p> - <p> - Thumb-kissing is another feature in Paddy's adroitness too important to be - passed over in silence. Here his tact shines out again! It would be - impossible for him, in many cases, to meet the perplexities of a - cross-examination so cleverly as he does, if he did not believe that he - had, by kissing his thumb instead of the book, actually taken no oath, and - consequently given to himself a wider range of action. We must admit, - however, that this very circumstance involves him in difficulties which - are sometimes peculiarly embarrassing. Taking everything into - consideration, the prospect of freedom for his sixth cousin, the - consciousness of having kissed his thumb, or the consoling reflection that - he swore only on a Law Bible, it must be granted that the opportunities - presented by a cross-examination are well calculated to display his wit, - humor, and fertility of invention. He is accordingly great in it; but - still we maintain that his execution of an alibi is his ablest - performance, comprising, as it does, both the conception and construction - of the work. - </p> - <p> - Both the oaths and imprecations of the Irish display, like those who use - them, indications of great cruelty and great humor. Many of the former - exhibit that ingenuity which comes out when Paddy is on his - cross-examination in a court of justice. Every people, it is true, have - resorted to the habit of mutilating or changing in their oaths the letters - which form the Creator's name; but we question if any have surpassed the - Irish in the cleverness with which they accomplish it. Mock oaths are - habitual to Irishmen in ordinary conversation; but the use of any or all - of them is not considered to constitute an oath: on the contrary, they are - in the mouths of many who would not, except upon a very solemn occasion - indeed, swear by the name of the Deity in its proper form. - </p> - <p> - The ingenuity of their mock oaths is sufficient to occasion much - perplexity to any one disposed to consider it in connection with the - character and moral feelings of the people. Whether to note it as a - reluctance on their part to incur the guilt of an oath, or as a proof of - habitual tact in evading it by artifice, is manifestly a difficulty hard - to be overcome. We are decidedly inclined to the former; for although - there is much laxity of principle among Irishmen, naturally to be expected - from men whose moral state has been neglected by the legislature, and - deteriorated by political and religious asperity, acting upon quick - passions and badly regulated minds—yet we know that they possess, - after all, a strong, but vague undirected sense of devotional feeling and - reverence, which are associated with great crimes and awfully dark shades - of character. This explains one chief cause of the sympathy which is felt - in Ireland for criminals from whom the law exacts the fatal penalty of - death; and it also accounts, independently of the existence of any illegal - association, for the terrible retribution inflicted upon those who come - forward to prosecute them. It is not in Ireland with criminals as in other - countries, where the character of a murderer or incendiary is notoriously - bad, as resulting from a life of gradual profligacy and villany. Far from - it. In Ireland you will find those crimes perpetrated by men who are good - fathers, good husbands, good sons, and good neighbors—by men who - would share their last morsel or their last shilling with a - fellow-creature in distress—who would generously lose their lives - for a man who had obliged them, provided he had not incurred their enmity—and - who would protect a defenseless stranger as far as lay in their power. - There are some mock oaths among Irishmen which must have had their origin - amongst those whose habits of thought were much more elevated than could - be supposed to characterize the lower orders. “By the powers of death” is - never now used as we have written it; but the ludicrous travestie of it, - “by the powdhors o' delf,” is quite common. Of this and other mock oaths - it may be right to observe, that those who swear by them are in general - ignorant of their proper origin. There are some, however, of this - description whose original form is well known. One of these Paddy displays - considerable ingenuity in using. “By the cross” can scarcely be classed - under the mock oaths, but the manner in which it is pressed into - asseverations is amusing. When Paddy is affirming a truth he swears “by - the crass” simply, and this with him is an oath of considerable - obligation. He generally, in order to render it more impressive, - accompanies it with suitable action, that is, he places the forefinger of - each hand across, that he may assail you through two senses instead of - one. On the contrary, when he intends to hoax you by asserting what is not - true, he ingeniously multiplies the oath, and swears “by the five - crashes,” that is by his own five fingers, placing at the same time his - four fingers and his thumbs across each other in a most impressive and - vehement manner. Don't believe him then—the knave is lying as fast - as possible, and with no remorse. “By the crass o' Christ” is an oath of - much solemnity, and seldom used in a falsehood. Paddy also often places - two bits of straws across, and sometimes two sticks, upon which he swears - with an appearance of great heat and sincerity—<i>sed caveto!</i> - </p> - <p> - Irishmen generally consider iron as a sacred metal. In the interior of the - country, the thieves (but few in number) are frequently averse to stealing - it. Why it possesses this hold upon their affections it is difficult to - say, but it is certain that they rank it among their sacred things, - consider that to find it is lucky, and nail it over their doors when found - in the convenient shape of a horse-shoe. It is also used as a medium of - asserting truth. We believe, however, that the sanction it imposes is not - very strong. “By this blessed iron!”—“by this blessed an' holy - iron!” are oaths of an inferior grade; but if the circumstance on which - they are founded be a matter of indifference, they seldom depart from - truth in using them. - </p> - <p> - We have said that Paddy, when engaged in a fight, is never at a loss for a - weapon, and we may also affirm that he is never at a loss for an oath. - When relating a narrative, or some other circumstance of his own - invention, if contradicted, he will corroborate it, in order to sustain - his credit or produce the proper impression, by an abrupt oath upon the - first object he can seize. “Arrah, nonsense! by this pipe in my hand, it's - as thrue as”—and then, before he completes the illustration, he goes - on with a fine specimen of equivocation—“By the stool I'm sittin' - an, it is; an' what more would, you have from me barrin' I take my book - oath of it?” Thus does he, under the mask of an insinuation, induce you to - believe that he has actually sworn it, whereas the oath is always left - undefined and incomplete. - </p> - <p> - Sometimes he is exceedingly comprehensive in his adjurations, and swears - upon a magnificent scale; as, for instance,—“By the contints of all - the books that ever wor opened an' shut, it's as thrue as the sun to the - dial.” This certainly leaves “the five crasses” immeasurably behind. - However, be cautious, and not too confident in taking so sweeping and - learned an oath upon trust, notwithstanding its imposing effect. We grant, - indeed, that an oath which comprehends within its scope all the learned - libraries of Europe, including even the Alexandrian of old, is not only an - erudite one, but establishes in a high degree the taste of the swearer, - and displays on his part an uncommon grasp of intellect. Still we - recommend you, whenever you hear an alleged fact substantiated by it, to - set your ear as sharply as possible; for, after all, it is more than - probable that every book by which he has sworn might be contained in a - nutshell. The secret may be briefly explained:—Paddy is in the habit - of substituting the word never for ever. “By all the books that never wor - opened or shut,” the reader perceives, is only a nourish of trumpets—a - mere delusion of the enemy. - </p> - <p> - In fact, Paddy has oaths rising gradually from the lying ludicrous to the - superstitious solemn, each of which finely illustrates the nature of the - subject to which it is applied. When he swears “By the contints o' Moll - Kelly's Primer,” or “By the piper that played afore Moses,” you are, - perhaps, as strongly inclined to believe him as when he draws upon a more - serious oath; that is, you almost regret the thing is not the gospel that - Paddy asserts it to be. In the former sense, the humorous narrative which - calls forth the laughable burlesque of “By the piper o' Moses,” is usually - the richest lie in the whole range of fiction. - </p> - <p> - Paddy is, in his ejaculatory, as well as in all his other mock oaths, a - kind, of smuggler in morality, imposing as often as he can upon his own - conscience, and upon those who exercise spiritual authority over him. - Perhaps more of his oaths are blood-stained than would be found among the - inhabitants of all Christendom put together. - </p> - <p> - Paddy's oaths in his amours are generally rich specimens of humorous - knavery and cunning. It occasionally happens—but for the honor of - our virtuous countrywomen, we say but rarely—that by the honey of - his flattering and delusive tongue, he succeeds in placing some - unsuspecting girl's reputation in rather a hazardous predicament. When the - priest comes to investigate the affair, and to cause him to make - compensation to the innocent creature who suffered by his blandishments, - it is almost uniformly ascertained that, in order to satisfy her scruples - as to the honesty of his promises, he had sworn marriage to her on a book - of ballads!!! In other cases blank books have been used for the same - purpose. - </p> - <p> - If, however, you wish to pin Paddy up in a corner, get him a Relic, a - Catholic prayer-book, or a Douay Bible to swear upon. Here is where the - fox—notwithstanding all his turnings and windings upon heretic - Bibles, books, or ballads, or mock oaths—is caught at last. The - strongest principle in him is superstition. It may be found as the prime - mover in his best and worst actions. An atrocious man, who is - superstitious, will perform many good and charitable actions, with a hope - that their merit in the sight of God may cancel the guilt of his crimes. - On the other hand, a good man, who is superstitiously the slave of his - religious opinions, will lend himself to those illegal combinations, whose - object is, by keeping ready a system of organized opposition to an - heretical government, to fulfil, if a political crisis should render it - practicable, the absurd prophecies of Pastorini and Columbkil. Although - the prophecies of the former would appear to be out of date to a rational - reader, yet Paddy, who can see farther into prophecy than any rational - reader, honestly believes that Pastorini has left for those who are - superstitiously given, sufficient range of expectation in several parts of - his work. - </p> - <p> - We might enumerate many other oaths in frequent use among the peasantry; - but as our object is not to detail them at full length, we trust that - those already specified may be considered sufficient to enable our readers - to get a fuller insight into their character, and their moral influence - upon the people. - </p> - <p> - The next thing which occurs to us in connection with the present subject, - is cursing; and here again Paddy holds the first place. His imprecations - are often full, bitter, and intense. Indeed, there is more poetry and - epigrammatic point in them than in those of any other country in the - world. - </p> - <p> - We find it a difficult thing to enumerate the Irish curses, so as to do - justice to a subject so varied and so liable to be shifted and improved by - the fertile genius of those who send them abroad. Indeed, to reduce them - into order and method would be a task of considerable difficulty. Every - occasion, and every fit of passion, frequently produce a new curse, - perhaps equal in bitterness to any that has gone before it. - </p> - <p> - Many of the Irish imprecations are difficult to be understood, having - their origin in some historical event, or in poetical metaphors that - require a considerable process of reasoning to explain them. Of this - twofold class is that general one, “The curse of Cromwell on you!” which - means, may you suffer all that a tyrant like Cromwell would inflict! and - “The curse o'the crows upon you!” which is probably an allusion to the - Danish invasion—a raven being the symbol of Denmark; or it may be - tantamount to “May you rot on the hills, that the crows may feed upon your - carcass!” Perhaps it may thus be understood to imprecate death upon you or - some member of your house—alluding to the superstition of rooks - hovering over the habitations of the sick, when the malady with which they - are afflicted is known to be fatal. Indeed, the latter must certainly be - the meaning of it, as is evident from the proverb of “Die, an' give the - crow a puddin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Hell's cure to you!—the devil's luck to you!—high hanging to - you!—hard feeling to you!—a short coorse to you!” are all - pretty intense, and generally used under provocation and passion. In these - cases the curses just mentioned are directed immediately to the offensive - object, and there certainly is no want of the <i>malus animus</i> to give - them energy. It would be easy to multiply the imprecations belonging to - this class among the peasantry, but the task is rather unpleasant. There - are a few, however, which, in consequence of their ingenuity, we cannot - pass over: they are, in sooth, studies for the swearer. “May you never die - till you see your own funeral!” is a very beautiful specimen of the - periphrasis: it simply means, may you be hanged; for he who is hanged is - humorously said to be favored with a view of that sombre spectacle, by - which they mean the crowd that attends an execution. To the same purpose - is, “May you die wid a caper in your heel!”—“May you die in your - pumps!”—“May your last dance be a hornpipe on the air!” These are - all emblematic of hanging, and are uttered sometimes in jest, and - occasionally in earnest. “May the grass grow before your door!” is highly - imaginative and poetical. Nothing, indeed, can present the mind with a - stronger or more picturesque emblem of desolation and ruin. Its malignity - is terrible. - </p> - <p> - There are also mock imprecations as well as mock oaths. Of this character - are, “The devil go with you an' sixpence, an' thin you'll want neither - money nor company!” This humorous and considerate curse is generally - confined to the female sex. When Paddy happens to be in a romping mood, - and teases his sweetheart too much, she usually utters it with a - countenance combating with smiles and frowns, while she stands in the act - of pinning up her dishevelled hair; her cheeks, particularly the one next - Paddy, deepened into a becoming blush. - </p> - <p> - “Bad scran to you!” is another form seldom used in anger: it is the same - as “Hard feeding to you!” “Bad win' to you!” is “Ill health to you!” it is - nearly the same as “Consumin' (consumption) to you!” Two other - imprecations come under this head, which we will class together, because - they are counterparts of each other, with this difference, that one of - them is the most subtilely and intensely withering in its purport that can - well be conceived. The one is that common curse, “Bad 'cess to you!” that - is, bad success to you: we may identify it with “Hard fortune to you!” The - other is a keen one, indeed—“Sweet bad luck to you!” Now, whether we - consider the epithet sweet as bitterly ironical, or deem it as a wish that - prosperity may harden the heart to the accomplishment of future damnation, - as in the case of Dives, we must in either sense grant that it is an oath - of powerful hatred and venom. Occasionally the curse of “Bad luck to you!” - produces an admirable retort, which is pretty common. When one man applies - it to another, he is answered with “Good luck to you, thin; but may - neither of thim ever happen.” - </p> - <p> - “Six eggs to you, an' half-a-dozen o' them rotten!”—like “The devil - go with you an' sixpence!” is another of those pleasantries which mostly - occur in the good-humored badinage between the sexes. It implies - disappointment. - </p> - <p> - There is a species of imprecation prevalent among Irishmen which we may - term neutral. It is ended by the word bit, and merely results from a habit - of swearing where there is no malignity of purpose. An Irishman, when - corroborating an assertion, however true or false, will often say, “Bad - luck to the bit but it is;”—“Divil fire the bit but it's thruth!”—“Damn - the bit but it is!” and so on. In this form the mind is not moved, nor the - passions excited: it is therefore probably the most insipid of all their - imprecations. - </p> - <p> - Some of the most dreadful maledictions are to be heard among the confirmed - mendicants of Ireland. The wit, the gall, and the poetry of these are - uncommon. “May you melt off the earth like snow off the ditch!” is one of - a high order and intense malignity; but it is not exclusively confined to - mendicants, although they form that class among which it is most - prevalent. Nearly related to this is, “May you melt like butther before a - summer sun!” These are, indeed, essentially poetical; they present the - mind with appropriate imagery, and exhibit a comparison perfectly just and - striking. The former we think unrivalled. - </p> - <p> - Some of the Irish imprecations would appear to have come down to us from - the Ordeals. Of this class, probably, are the following: “May this be - poison to me!”—“May I be roasted on red hot iron!” Others of them, - from their boldness of metaphor, seem to be of Oriental descent. One - expression, indeed, is strikingly so. When a deep offence is offered to an - Irishman, under such peculiar circumstances that he cannot immediately - retaliate, he usually replies to his enemy—“You'll sup sorrow for - this!”—“You'll curse the day it happened!”—“I'll make you rub - your heels together!” All those figurative denunciations are used for the - purpose of intimating the pain and agony he will compel his enemy to - suffer. - </p> - <p> - We cannot omit a form of imprecation for good, which is also habitual - among the peasantry of Ireland. It is certainly harmless, and argues - benevolence of heart. We mean such expressions as the following: - “Salvation to me!—May I never do harm!—May I never do an ill - turn!—May I never sin!” These are generally used by men who are - blameless and peaceable in their lives—simple and well-disposed in - their intercourse with the world. - </p> - <p> - At the head of those Irish imprecations which are dreaded by the people, - the Excommunication, of course, holds the first and most formidable place. - In the eyes of men of sense it is as absurd as it is illiberal: but to the - ignorant and superstitious, who look upon it as anything but a <i>brutum - fulmen</i>, it is terrible indeed. - </p> - <p> - Next in order are the curses of priests in their private capacity, - pilgrims, mendicants, and idiots. Of those also Paddy entertains a - wholesome dread; a circumstance which the pilgrim and mendicant turn with - great judgment to their own account. Many a legend and anecdote do such - chroniclers relate, when the family, with whom they rest for the night, - are all seated around the winter hearth. These are often illustrative of - the baneful effects of the poor man's curse. Of course they produce a - proper impression; and, accordingly, Paddy avoids offending such persons - in any way that might bring him under their displeasure. - </p> - <p> - A certain class of cursers much dreaded in Ireland are those of the widow - and the orphan. There is, however, something touching and beautiful in - this fear of injuring the sorrowful and unprotected. It is, we are happy - to say, a becoming and prominent feature in Paddy's character; for, to do - him justice in his virtues as well as in his vices, we repeat that he - cannot be surpassed in his humanity to the lonely widow and her helpless - orphans. He will collect a number of his friends, and proceed with them in - a body to plant her bit of potato ground, to reap her oats, to draw home - her turf, or secure her hay. Nay, he will beguile her of her sorrows with - a natural sympathy and delicacy that do him honor; his heart is open to - her complaints, and his hand ever extended to assist her. - </p> - <p> - There is a strange opinion to be found in Ireland upon the subject of - curses. The peasantry think that a curse, no matter how uttered, will fall - on something; but that it depends upon the person against whom it is - directed, whether or not it will descend on him. A curse, we have heard - them say, will rest for seven years in the air, ready to alight upon the - head of the person who provoked the malediction. It hovers over him, like - a kite over its prey, watching the moment when he may be abandoned by his - guardian angel: if this occurs, it shoots with the rapidity of a meteor on - his head, and clings to him in the shape of illness, temptation, or some - other calamity. - </p> - <p> - They think, however, that the blessing of one person may cancel the curse - of another; but this opinion does not affect the theory we have just - mentioned. When a man experiences an unpleasant accident, they will say, - “He has had some poor body's curse;” and, on the contrary, when he - narrowly escapes it, they say, “He has had some poor body's blessing.” - </p> - <p> - There is no country in which the phrases of good-will and affection are so - strong as in Ireland. The Irish language actually flows with the milk and - honey of love and friendship. Sweet and palatable is it to the other sex, - and sweetly can Paddy, with his deluding ways, administer it to them from - the top of his mellifluous tongue, as a dove feeds her young, or as a kind - mother her babe, shaping with her own pretty mouth every morse of the - delicate viands before it goes into that of the infant. In this manner - does Paddy, seated behind a ditch, of a bright Sunday, when he ought to be - at Mass, feed up some innocent girl, not with “false music,” but with - sweet words; for nothing more musical or melting than his brogue ever - dissolved a female heart. Indeed, it is of the danger to be apprehended - from the melody of his voice, that the admirable and appropriate proverb - speaks; for when he addresses his sweetheart, under circumstances that - justify suspicion, it is generally said—“Paddy's feedin' her up wid - false music.” - </p> - <p> - What language has a phrase equal in beauty and tenderness to <i>cushla - machree</i>—<i>pulse of my heart?</i> Can it be paralleled in the - whole range of all that are, ever were, or ever will be spoken, for music, - sweetness, and a knowledge of anatomy? If Paddy is unrivalled at swearing, - he fairly throws the world behind him at the blarney. In professing - friendship, and making love, give him but a taste of the native, and he is - a walking honey-comb, that every woman who sees him wishes to have a lick - at; and Heaven knows, that frequently, at all times, and in all places, - does he get himself licked on their account. - </p> - <p> - Another expression of peculiar force is <i>vick machree</i>—or, son - of my heart. This is not only elegant, but affectionate, beyond almost any - other phrase except the foregoing. It is, in a sense, somewhat different - from that in which the philosophical poet has used it, a beautiful comment - upon the sentiment of “the child's the father of the man,” uttered by the - great, we might almost say, the glorious, Wordsworth. - </p> - <p> - We have seen many a youth, on more occasions than one, standing in - profound affliction over the dead body of his aged father, exclaiming, “<i>Ahir, - vick machree—vick machree—wuil thu marra wo'um? Wuil thu marra - wo'um?</i> Father, son of my heart, son of my heart, art thou dead from me—art - thou dead from me?” An expression, we think, under any circumstances, not - to be surpassed in the intensity of domestic affection which it expresses; - but under those alluded to, we consider it altogether elevated in - exquisite and poetic beauty above the most powerful symbols of Oriental - imagery. - </p> - <p> - A third phrase peculiar to love and affection, is “<i>Manim asthee hu—or</i>, - My soul's within you.” Every person acquainted with languages knows how - much an idiom suffers by a literal translation. How beautiful, then, how - tender and powerful, must those short expressions be, uttered, too, with a - fervor of manner peculiar to a deeply feeling people, when, even after a - literal translation, they carry so much of their tenderness and energy - into a language whose genius is cold when compared to the glowing beauty - of the Irish. - </p> - <p> - <i>Mauourneen dheelish</i>, too, is only a short phrase, but, coming warm - and mellowed from Paddy's lips into the ear of his <i>colleen dhas</i>, it - is a perfect spell—a sweet murmur, to which the <i>lenis susurrus</i> - of the Hybla bees is, with all their honey, jarring discord. How tame is - “My sweet darling,” its literal translation, compared to its soft and - lulling intonations. There is a dissolving, entrancing, beguiling, - deluding, flattering, insinuating, coaxing, winning, inveigling, roguish, - palavering, come-overing, comedhering, consenting, blarneying, killing, - willing, charm in it, worth all the philters that ever the gross knavery - of a withered alchemist imposed upon the credulity of those who inhabit - the other nations of the earth—for we don't read that these - shrivelled philter-mongers ever prospered in Ireland. - </p> - <p> - No, no—let Paddy alone. If he hates intensely and effectually, he - loves intensely, comprehensively, and gallantly. To love with power is a - proof of a large soul, and to hate well is, according to the great - moralist, a thing in itself to be loved. Ireland is, therefore, through - all its sects, parties, and religions, an amicable nation. Their - affections are, indeed, so vivid, that they scruple not sometimes to kill - each other with kindness: but we hope that the march of love and - friendship will not only keep pace with, but outstrip, the march of - intellect. - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - Peter Cornell was for many years of his life a pattern and proverb for - industry and sobriety. He first began the world as keeper of a - shebeen-house at the cross-roads, about four miles from the town of - Ballypoteen. He was decidedly an honest man to his neighbors, but a knave - to excisemen, whom he hated by a kind of instinct that he had, which - prompted him, in order to satisfy his conscience, to render them every - practicable injury within the compass of his ingenuity. Shebeen-house - keepers and excisemen have been, time out of mind, destructive of each - other; the exciseman pouncing like a beast or bird of prey upon the - shebeen man and his illicit spirits; the shebeen man staving in the - exciseman, like a barrel of doublings, by a knock from behind a hedge, - which sometimes sent him to that world which is emphatically the world of - spirits. For this, it some happened that the shebeen man was hanged; but - as his death only multiplied that of the excisemen in a geometrical ratio, - the sharp-scented fraternity resolved, if possible, not to risk their - lives, either by exposing themselves to the necessity of travelling by - night, or prosecuting by day. In this they acted wisely and prudently: - fewer of the unfortunate peasantry were shot in their rencounters with the - yeomanry or military on such occasions, and the retaliations became by - degrees less frequent, until, at length, the murder of a gauger became a - rare occurrence in the country. - </p> - <p> - Peter, before his marriage, had wrought as laboring servant to a man who - kept two or three private stills in those caverns among the remote - mountains, to which the gauger never thought of penetrating, because he - supposed that no human enterprise would have ever dreamt of advancing - farther into them than appeared to him to be practicable. In this he was - frequently mistaken: for though the still-house was in many cases - inaccessible to horses, yet by the contrivance of slipes—a kind of - sledge—a dozen men could draw a couple of sacks of barley with less - trouble, and at a quicker pace, than if horses only had been employed. By - this, and many other similar contrivances, the peasantry were often able - to carry on the work of private distillation in places so distant, that - few persons could suspect them as likely to be chosen for such purposes. - The uncommon personal strength, the daring spirit, and great adroitness of - Peter Connell, rendered him a very valuable acquisition to his master in - the course of his illicit occupations. Peter was, in addition to his other - qualities, sober and ready-witted, so that whenever the gauger made his - appearance, his expedients to baffle him were often inimitable. Those - expedients did not, however, always arise from the exigency of the moment; - they were often deliberately, and with much exertion of ingenuity, planned - by the proprietors and friends of such establishments, perhaps for weeks - before the gauger's visit occurred. But, on the other hand, as the - gauger's object was to take them, if possible, by surprise, it frequently - happened that his appearance was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. It was - then that the prompt ingenuity of the people was fully seen, felt, and - understood by the baffled exciseman, who too often had just grounds for - bitterly cursing their talent at outwitting him. - </p> - <p> - Peter served his master as a kind of superintendent in such places, until - he gained the full knowledge of distilling, according to the processes - used by the most popular adepts in the art. Having acquired this, he set - up as a professor, and had excellent business. In the meantime, he had put - together by degrees a small purse of money, to the amount of about twenty - guineas—no inconsiderable sum for a young Irishman who intends to - begin the world on his own account. He accordingly married, and, as the - influence of a wife is usually not to be controlled during the honey-moon, - Mrs. Connell prevailed on Peter to relinquish his trade of distiller, and - to embrace some other mode of life that might not render their living so - much asunder necessary. Peter suffered himself to be prevailed upon, and - promised to have nothing more to do with private distillation, as a - distiller. One of the greatest curses attending this lawless business, is - the idle and irregular habit of life which it gradually induces. Peter - could not now relish the labor of an agriculturist, to which he had been - bred, and yet he was too prudent to sit down and draw his own and his - wife's support from so exhaustible a source as twenty guineas. Two or - three days passed, during which “he cudgelled his brains,” to use his own - expression, in plans for future subsistence; two or three consultations - were held with Ellish, in which their heads were laid together, and, as it - was still the honey-moon, the subject-matter of the consultation, of - course, was completely forgotten. Before the expiration of a second month, - however, they were able to think of many other things, in addition to the - fondlings and endearments of a new-married couple. Peter was every day - becoming more his own man, and Ellish by degrees more her own woman. “The - purple light of love,” which had changed Peter's red head into a rich - auburn, and his swivel eye into a knowing wink, exceedingly irresistible - in his bachelorship, as he made her believe, to the country girls, had - passed away, taking the aforesaid auburn along with it and leaving nothing - but the genuine carrot behind. Peter, too, on opening his eyes one morning - about the beginning of the third month, perceived that his wife was, after - all, nothing more than a thumping red-cheeked wench, with good eyes, a - mouth rather large, and a nose very much resembling, in its curve, the - seat of a saddle, allowing the top to correspond with the pummel. - </p> - <p> - “Pether,” said she, “it's like a dhrame to me that you're neglectin' your - business, alanna.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it you, beauty? but, maybe, you'd first point out to me what business, - barrin' buttherin' up yourself, I have to mind, you phanix bright?” - </p> - <p> - “Quit yourself, Pether! it's time for you to give up your ould ways; you - caught one bird wid them, an' that's enough. What do you intind to do! - It's full time for you to be lookin' about you.” - </p> - <p> - “Lookin' about me! What do you mane Ellish?” - </p> - <p> - “The dickens a bit o' me thought of it,” replied the wife, laughing at the - unintentional allusion to the circumspect character of Peter's eyes,—“upon - my faix, I didn't—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, but you're full o'your fun, sure enough, if that's what you're - at. Maybe, avourneen, if I had looked right afore me, as I ought to do, - it's Katty Murray an' her snug farm I'd have, instead of”— - </p> - <p> - Peter hesitated. The rapid feelings of a woman, and an Irishwoman, quick - and tender, had come forth and subdued him. She had not voluntarily - alluded to his eyes; but on seeing Peter offended, she immediately - expressed that sorrow and submission which are most powerful when - accompanied by innocence, and when meekly assumed, to pacify rather than - to convince. A tear started to her eye, and with a voice melted into - unaffected tenderness, she addressed him, but he scarcely gave her time to - speak. - </p> - <p> - “No, avourneen, no, I won't say what I was goin' to mintion. I won't - indeed, Ellish, dear; an' forgive me for woundin' your feelin's <i>alanna - dhas</i>. (* My pretty child.) Hell resave her an' her farm! I dunna what - put her into my head at all; but I thought you wor jokin' me about my - eyes: an' sure if you war, acushla, that's no rason that I'd not allow you - to do that an' more wid your own Pether. Give me a slewsther, (* a kiss of - fondness) agrah—a sweet one, now!” - </p> - <p> - He then laid his mouth to hers, and immediately a sound, nearly resembling - a pistol-shot, was heard through every part of the house. It was, in fact, - a kiss upon a scale of such magnitude, that the Emperor of Morocco might - not blush to be charged with it. A reconciliation took place, and in due - time it was determined that Peter, as he understood poteen, should open a - shebeen house. The moment this resolution was made, the wife kept coaxing - him, until he took a small house at the cross-roads before alluded to, - where, in the course of a short time, he was established, if not in his - own line, yet in a mode of life approximating to it as nearly as the - inclination of Ellish would permit. The cabin which they occupied had a - kitchen in the middle, and a room at each end of it, in one of which was - their own humble chaff bed, with its blue quilted drugget cover; in the - other stood a couple of small tables, some stools, a short form, and one - chair, being a present from his father-in-law. These constituted Peter's - whole establishment, so far +as it defied the gauger. To this we must add! - a five-gallon keg of spirits hid in the garden, and a roll of smuggled - tobacco. From the former he bottled, over night, as much as was usually - drank the following day; and from the tobacco, which was also kept under - ground, he cut, with the same caution, as much as to-morrow's exigencies - might require. This he kept in his coat-pocket, a place where the gauger - would never think of searching for it, divided into halfpenny and - pennyworths, ounces or half-ounces, according as it might be required; and - as he had it without duty, the liberal spirit in which he dealt it out to - his neighbors soon brought him a large increase of custom. - </p> - <p> - Peter's wife was an excellent manager, and he himself a pleasant, - good-humored man, full of whim and inoffensive mirth. His powers of - amusement were of a high order, considering his station in life and his - want of education. These qualities contributed, in a great degree, to - bring both the young and old to his house during the long winter nights, - in order to hear the fine racy humor with which he related his frequent - adventures and battles with excisemen. In the summer evenings, he usually - engaged a piper or a fiddler, and had a dance, a contrivance by which he - not only rendered himself popular, but increased his business. - </p> - <p> - In this mode of life, the greatest source of anxiety to Peter and Ellish - was the difficulty of not offending their friends by refusing to give them - credit. Many plans, were, with great skill and forethought, devised to - obviate this evil; but all failed. A short board was first procured, on - which they got written with chalk— - </p> - <p> - “No credit giv'n—barrin' a thrifle to Pether's friends.” - </p> - <p> - Before a week passed, after this intimation, the number of “Pether's - friends” increased so rapidly, that neither he nor Ellish knew the half of - them. Every scamp in the parish was hand and glove with him: the drinking - tribe, particularly, became desperately attached to him and Ellish. Peter - was naturally kind-hearted, and found that his firmest resolutions too - often gave way before the open flattery with which he was assailed. He - then changed his hand, and left Ellish to bear the brunt of their blarney. - Whenever any person or persons were seen approaching the house, Peter, if - he had reason to suspect an attack upon his indulgence, prepared himself - for a retreat. He kept his eye to the window, and if they turned from the - direct line of the road, he immediately slipped into bed, and lay close in - order to escape them. In the meantime they enter. - </p> - <p> - “God save all here. Ellish, agra machree, how are you?” - </p> - <p> - “God save you kindly! Faix, I'm mid-dim', I thank you, Condy: how is - yourself, an' all at home?” - </p> - <p> - “Devil a heartier, barrin' my father, that's touched wid a loss of - appetite afther his meals—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Musha, the dickens be an you, Condy, but you're your father's son, any - way; the best company in Europe is the same man. Throth, whether you're - jokin' or not, I'd be sarry to hear of anything to his disadvantage, - dacent man. Boys, won't you go down to the other room?” - </p> - <p> - “Go way wid yez, boys, till I spake to Ellish here about the affairs o' - the nation. Why, Ellish, you stand the cut all to pieces. By the contints - o' the book, you do; Pether doesn't stand it half so well. How is he, the - thief?” - </p> - <p> - “Throth, he's not well, to-day, in regard of a smotherin' about the heart - he tuck this mornin' afther his breakfast. He jist laid himself on the bed - a while, to see if it would go off of him—God be praised for all his - marcies!” - </p> - <p> - “Thin, upon my <i>sole</i>vation, I'm sarry to hear it, and so will all at - home, for there's not in the parish we're sittin' in a couple that our - family has a greater regard an' friendship for, than him and yourself. - Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued down Bartle - Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest weemen - that comes into the chapel. God forgive myself, I was near quarrelin' wid - Bartle on the head of it, bekase I tuck my modher's part, as I had a good - right to do.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrath, I'm thankful to you both, Condy, for your kindness.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the sarra taste o' kindness was in it at all, Ellish, 'twas only the - truth; an' as long as I live, I'll stand up for that.” - </p> - <p> - “Arrah, how is your aunt down at Carntall?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, thin, but middlin', not gettin' her health: she'll soon give the - crow a puddin', any way; thin, Ellish, you thief, I'm in for the yallow - boys. Do you know thim that came in wid me?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, I can't say I do. Who are they, Condy?” - </p> - <p> - “Why one o' them's a bachelor to my sisther Norah, a very dacent boy, - indeed—him wid the frieze jock upon him, an' the buckskin breeches. - The other three's from Teernabraighera beyant. They're related to my - brother-in-law, Mick Dillon, by his first wife's brother-in-law's uncle. - They're come to this neighborhood till the 'Sizes, bad luck to them, goes - over; for you see, they're in a little throuble.” - </p> - <p> - “The Lord grant them safe out of it, poor boys!” - </p> - <p> - “I brought them up here to treat them, poor fellows; an', Ellish, - avourneen, you must credit me for whatsomever we may have. The thruth is, - you see, that when we left home, none of us had any notion of drinkin' or - I'd a put somethin' in my pocket, so that I'm taken at an average.—Bud-an'-age! - how is little Dan? Sowl, Ellish, that goorsoon, when he grows up, will be - a credit to you. I don't think there's a finer child in Europe of his age, - so there isn't.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, he's a good child, Condy. But Condy, avick, about givin' credit:—by - thim five crasses, if I could give score to any boy in the parish, it 'ud - be to yourself. It was only last night that I made a promise against doin' - such a thing for man or mortual. We're a'most broken an' harrish'd out o' - house an' home by it; an' what's more, Condy, we intend to give up the - business. The landlord's at us every day for his rint, an' we owe for the - two last kegs we got, but hasn't a rap to meet aither o' thim; an' enough - due to us if we could get it together: an' whisper, Condy, atween - ourselves, that's what ails Pettier, although he doesn't wish to let an to - any one about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, but you know I'm safe, Ellish?” - </p> - <p> - “I know you are, avourneen, as the bank itself; an' should have what you - want wid a heart an' a half, only for the promise I made an my two knees - last night, aginst givin' credit to man or woman. Why the dickens didn't - you come yistherday?” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't I tell you, woman alive, that it was by accident, an' that I - wished to sarve the house, that we came at all. Come, come, Ellish; don't - disgrace me afore my sisther's bachelor an' the sthrange boys that's to - the fore. By this staff in my hand, I wouldn't for the best cow in our - byre be put to the blush afore thim; an' besides, there's a <i>cleeveen</i> - (* a kind of indirect relationship) atween your family an' ours.” - </p> - <p> - “Condy, avourneen, say no more: if you were fed from the same breast wid - me, I couldn't, nor wouldn't break my promise. I wouldn't have the sin of - it an me for the wealth o' the three kingdoms.” - </p> - <p> - “Beclad, you're a quare woman; an' only that my regard for you is great - entirely, we would be two, Ellish; but I know you're dacent still.” - </p> - <p> - He then left her and joined his friends in the little room that was - appropriated for drinking, where, with a great deal of mirth, he related - the failure of the plan they had formed for outwitting Peter and Ellish. - </p> - <p> - “Boys,” said he, “she's too many for us! St. Pettier himself wouldn't make - a hand of her. Faix, she's a cute one. I palavered her at the rate of a - hunt, an' she ped me back in my own coin, with dacent intherest—but - no whiskey!—Now to take a rise out o' Pettier. Jist sit where ye - are, till I come back.” - </p> - <p> - He left them enjoying the intended “spree,” and went back to Ellish. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm sure, Ellish, if any one had tuck their book oath that you'd - refuse my father's son such a thrifle, I wouldn't believe them. It's not - wid Pettier's knowledge you do it, I'll be bound. But bad as you thrated - us, sure we must see how the poor fellow is, at an rate.” - </p> - <p> - As he spoke, and before Ellish had time to prevent him, he pressed into - the room where Peter lay. - </p> - <p> - “Why, tare alive, Pether, is it in bed you are at this hour of the day?” - </p> - <p> - “Eh? Who's that—who's that? oh!” - </p> - <p> - “Why thin, the sarra lie undher you, is that the way wid you?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!—oh! Eh? Is that Condy?” - </p> - <p> - “All that's to the fore of him. What's asthray wid you man alive?” - </p> - <p> - “Throth, Condy, I don't know, rightly. I went out, wantin' my coat, about - a week ago, an' got cowld in the small o' the back; I've a pain in it ever - since. Be sittin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Is your heart safe? You have no smotherin' or anything upon it?” - </p> - <p> - “Why thin, thank goodness, no; it's all about my back an' my inches.” - </p> - <p> - “Divil a thing it is but a complaint they call an <i>alloverness</i> ails - you, you shkaimer o' the world wide. 'Tis the oil o' the hazel, or a - rubbin' down wid an oak towel you want. Get up, I say, or, by this an' by - that, I'll flail you widin an inch o' your life.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it beside yourself you are, Condy?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, faix; I've found you out: Ellish is afther tellin' me that it was - a smotherin' on the heart; but it's a pain in the small o' the back wid - yourself. Oh, you born desaver! Get up, I say agin, afore I take the stick - to you!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, all sorts o' fortune to you, Condy—ha, ha, ha!—but - you're the sarra's pet, for there's no escapin' you. What was that I hard - atween you an' Ellish?” said Peter, getting up. - </p> - <p> - “The sarra matther to you. If you behave yourself, we may let you into the - wrong side o' the sacret afore you die. Go an' get us a pint of what you - know,” replied Condy, as he and Peter entered the kitchen. - </p> - <p> - “Ellish,” said Peter, “I suppose we must give it to thim. Give it—give - it, avourneen. Now, Condy, whin 'ill you pay me for this?” - </p> - <p> - “Never fret yourself about that; you'll be ped. Honor bright, as the black - said whin he stole the boots.” - </p> - <p> - “Now Pettier,” said the wife, “sure it's no use axin' me to give it, - afther the promise I made last night. Give it yourself; for me, I'll have - no hand in such things good or bad. I hope we'll soon get out of it - altogether, for myselfs sick an' sore of it, dear knows!” - </p> - <p> - Pettier accordingly furnished them with the liquor, and got a promise that - Condy would certainly pay him at mass on the following Sunday, which was - only three days distant. The fun of the boys was exuberant at Condy's - success: they drank, and laughed, and sang, until pint after pint followed - in rapid succession. - </p> - <p> - Every additional inroad upon the keg brought a fresh groan from Ellish; - and even Peter himself began to look blank as their potations deepened. - When the night was far advanced they departed, after having first - overwhelmed Ellish with professions of the warmest friendship, promising - that in future she exclusively should reap whatever benefit was to be - derived from their patronage. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime, Condy forgot to perform his promise. The next Sunday - passed, but Peter was not paid, nor was his clever debtor seen at mass, or - in the vicinity of the shebeen-house, for many a month afterwards—an - instance of ingratitude which mortified his creditor extremely. The - latter, who felt that it was a take in, resolved to cut short all hopes of - obtaining credit from them in future. In about a week after the foregoing - hoax, he got up a board, presenting a more vigorous refusal of score than - the former. His friends, who were more in number than he could have - possibly imagined, on this occasion, were altogether wiped out of the - exception. The notice ran to the following effect:— - </p> - <p> - “Notice to the Public, <i>and to Pether Connell's friends in particular</i>.—Divil - resave the morsel of credit will be got or given in this house, while - there is stick or stone of it together, barrin' them that axes it has the - ready money. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Pettier X his mark Connell, - “Ellish X her mark Connell.” - </pre> - <p> - This regulation, considering everything, was a very proper one. It - occasioned much mirth among Peter's customers; but Peter cared little - about that, provided he made the money. - </p> - <p> - The progress of his prosperity, dating it from so small a beginning, was - decidedly slow. He owed it principally to the careful habits of Ellish, - and his own sobriety. He was prudent enough to avoid placing any sign in - his window, by which his house could be known as a shebeen; for he was not - ignorant that there is no class of men more learned in this species of - hieroglyphics than excisemen. At all events, he was prepared for them, had - they come to examine his premises. Nothing that could bring him within the - law was ever kept visible. The cask that contained the poteen was seldom a - week in the same place of concealment, which was mostly, as we have said, - under ground. The tobacco was weighed and subdivided into small - quantities, which, in addition to what he carried in his pocket, were - distributed in various crevices and crannies of the house; sometimes under - the thatch; sometimes under a dish on the dresser, but generally in a damp - place. - </p> - <p> - When they had been about two or three years thus employed, Peter, at the - solicitation of the wife, took a small farm. - </p> - <p> - “You're stout an' able,” said she; “an' as I can manage the house widout - you, wouldn't it be a good plan to take a bit o' ground—nine or ten - acres, suppose—an' thry your hand at it? Sure you wor wanst the - greatest man in the parish about a farm. Surely that 'ud be dacenter nor - to be slungein' about, invintin' truth and lies for other people, whin - they're at their work, to make thim laugh, an you doin' nothin' but - standin' over thim, wid your hands down to the bottom o' your pockets? Do, - Pether, thry it, avick, an' you'll see it 'ill prosper wid us, plase God?' - </p> - <p> - “Faix I'm ladin' an asier life, Ellish.” - </p> - <p> - “But are you ladin' a dacenter or a more becominer life?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, I think, widout doubt, that it's more becominer to walk about like a - gintleman, nor to be workin' like a slave.” - </p> - <p> - “Gintleman! Musha, is it to the fair you're bringin' yourself? Why, you - great big bosthoon, isn't it both a sin an' a shame to see you sailin' - about among the neighbors, like a sthray turkey, widout a hand's turn to - do? But, any way, take my advice, avillish,—will you, aroon?—an' - faix you'll see how rich we'll get, wid a blessin'?” - </p> - <p> - “Ellish, you're a deludher!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, an' what suppose? To be sure I am. Usen't you be followin' me like - a calf afther the finger?—ha, ha, ha!—Will you do my biddin', - Pether darlin'?” - </p> - <p> - Peter gave her a shrewd, significant wink, in contradiction to what he - considered the degrading comparison she had just made. - </p> - <p> - “Ellish, you're beside the mark, you beauty; always put the saddle on the - right horse, woman alive! Didn't you often an' I often swear to me, upon - two green ribbons, acrass one another, that you liked a red head best, an' - that the redder it was you liked it the betther?” - </p> - <p> - “An' it was thruth, too; an' sure, by the same a token, whore could I get - one half so red as your own? Faix, I knew what I was about! I wouldn't - give you yet for e'er a young man in the parish, if I was a widow - to-morrow. Will you take the land?” - </p> - <p> - “So thin, afther all, if the head hadn't been an me, I wouldn't be a - favorite wid you?—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Get out wid you, and spake sinse. Throth, if you don't say aither ay or - no, I'll give myself no more bother about it, There we are now wid some - guineas together, an'—Faix, Pettier, you're vexin' me!” - </p> - <p> - “Do you want an answer?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, if it's plasin' to your honor, I'd have no objection.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, will you have my new big coat made agin Shraft?” (* Shrovetide) - </p> - <p> - “Ay, will I, in case you do what I say; but if you don't the sarra stitch - of it 'll go to your back this twelvemonth, maybe, if you vex me. Now!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll tell you what: my mind's made up—I will take the land; - an' I'll show the neighbors what Pether Connell can do yit.” - </p> - <p> - “Augh! augh! mavoumeen, that you wor! Throth I'll fry a bit o' the bacon - for our dinner to-day, on the head o' that, although I didn't intind to - touch it till Sunday. Ay, faix, an' a pair o' stockins, too, along wid the - coat; an' somethin' else, that you didn't hear of yit.” - </p> - <p> - Ellish, in fact, was a perfect mistress of the science of wheedling; but - as it appears instinctive in the sex, this is not to be wondered at. Peter - himself was easy, or rather indolent, till properly excited by the - influence of adequate motives; but no sooner were the energies that - slumbered in him called into activity, than he displayed a firmness of - purpose, and a perseverance in action, that amply repaid his exertions. - </p> - <p> - The first thing he did, after taking, his little farm, was to prepare for - its proper cultivation, and to stock it. His funds were not, however, - sufficient for this at the time. A horse was to be bought, but the last - guinea they could spare had been already expended, and this purchase was, - therefore, out of the question. The usages of the small farmers, however, - enabled him to remedy this inconvenience. Peter made a bargain with a - neighbor, in which he undertook to repay him by an exchange of labor, for - the use of his plough and horses in getting down his crop. He engaged to - give him, for a stated period in the slack season, so many days' mowing as - would cover the expenses of ploughing and harrowing his land. There was, - however, a considerable portion of his holding potato-ground; this Peter - himself dug with his spade, breaking it as he went along into fine mould. - He then planted the seed—got a hatchet, and selecting the best - thorn-bush he could find, cut it down, tied a rope to the trunk, seized - the rope, and in this manner harrowed his potato-ground. Thus did he - proceed, struggling to overcome difficulties by skill, and substituting - for the more efficient modes of husbandry, such rude artificial resources - as his want of capital compelled him to adopt. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime, Ellish, seeing Peter acquitting himself in his - undertaking with such credit, determined not to be outdone in her own - department. She accordingly conceived the design of extending her - business, and widening the sphere of her exertions. This intention, - however, she kept secret from Peter, until by putting penny to penny, and - shilling to shilling, she was able to purchase a load of crockery. Here - was a new source of profit opened exclusively by her own address. Peter - was astonished when he saw the car unloaded, and the crockery piled in - proud array by Ellish's own hands. - </p> - <p> - “I knew,” said she, “I'd take a start out o' you. Faix, Pether, you'll see - how I'll do, never fear, wid the help o' Heaven! I'll be off to the market - in the mornin', plase God, where I'll sell rings around me * o' them - crocks and pitchers. An' now, Pether, the sarra one o' me would do this, - good or bad, only bekase your managin' the farm so cleverly. Tady - Gormley's goin' to bring home his meal from the mill, and has promised to - lave these in the market for me, an' never fear but I'll get some o' the - neighbors to bring them home, so that there's car-hire saved. Faix, - Pether, there's nothin' like givin' the people sweet words, any way; sure - they come chape.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * This is a kind of hyperbole for selling a grout - quantity. -</pre> - <p> - “Faith, an' I'll back you for the sweet words agin any woman in the three - kingdoms, Ellish, you darlin'. But don't you know the proverb, 'sweet - words butther no parsnips.'” - </p> - <p> - “In throth, the same proverb's a lyin' one, and ever was; but it's not - parsnips I'll butther wid 'em, you gommoch.” - </p> - <p> - “Sowl, you butthered me wid 'em long enough, you deludher—devil a - lie in it; but thin, as you say, sure enough, I was no parsnip—not - so soft as that either, you phanix.” - </p> - <p> - “No? Thin I seldom seen your beautiful head without thinkin' of a carrot, - an' it's well known they're related—ha, ha, ha!—Behave, Pether—behave, - I say—Pether, Pether—ha, ha, ha!—let me alone! Katty - Hacket, take him away from me—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Will ever you, you shaver wid the tongue that you are? Will ever you, I - say? Will ever you make delusion to my head again—eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, never, never—but let me go, an' me go full o' tickles! Oh, - Pether, avourneen, don't, you'll hurt me, an' the way I'm in—quit, - avillish!” - </p> - <p> - “Bedad, if you don't let my head alone, I'll—will ever you?” - </p> - <p> - “Never, never. There now—ha, ha, ha!—oh, but I'm as wake as - wather wid what I laughed. Well now, Pether, didn't I manage bravely—didn't - I?” - </p> - <p> - “Wait till we see the profits first, Ellish—crockery's very tindher - goods.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay!—just wait, an'I'll engage I'll turn the penny. The family's - risin' wid us.”— - </p> - <p> - “Very thrue,” replied Peter, giving a sly wink at the wife—“no doubt - of it.” - </p> - <p> - “—Kisin' wid us—I tell you to have sinse, Pether; an' it's our - duty to have something for the crathurs when they grow up.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's a thruth—sure I'm not sayin' against it.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that; but what I say is, if we hould an, we may make money. - Everything, for so far, has thruv wid us, God be praised for it. There's - another thing in my mind, that I'll be tellin' you some o' these days.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe, Ellish, you dhrame about makin' money.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, an' I might do worse; when I'm dhramin' about it, I'm doin' no sin - to any one. But, listen, you must keep the house to-morrow while I'm at - the market. Won't you, Pether?” - </p> - <p> - “An' who's to open the dhrain in the bottom below?” - </p> - <p> - “That can be done the day afther. Won't you, abouchal?” - </p> - <p> - “Ellish, you're a deludher, I tell you. Sweet words;—sowl, you'd - smooth a furze bush wid sweet words. How-an-ever, I will keep the house - to-morrow, till we see the great things you'll do wid your crockery.” - </p> - <p> - Ellish's success was, to say the least of it, quite equal to, her - expectations. She was certainly an excellent wife, full of acuteness, - industry, and enterprise. Had Peter been married to a woman of a - disposition resembling his own, it is probable that he would have sunk - into indolence, filth, and poverty, these miseries might have soured their - tempers, and driven them into all the low excesses and crimes attendant - upon pauperism. Ellish, however, had sufficient spirit to act upon Peter's - natural indolence, so as to excite it to the proper pitch. Her mode of - operation was judiciously suited to his temper. Playfulness and kindness - were the instruments by which she managed him. She knew that violence, or - the assumption of authority, would cause a man who, like him, was stern - when provoked, to react, and meet her with an assertion of his rights and - authority not to be trifled with. This she consequently avoided, not - entirely from any train of reasoning on the subject; but from that - intuitive penetration which taught her to know that the plan she had - resorted to was best calculated to make him subservient to her own - purposes, without causing him to feel that he was governed. - </p> - <p> - Indeed, every day brought out her natural cleverness more clearly. Her - intercourse with the world afforded her that facility of understanding the - tempers and dispositions of others, which can never be acquired when it - has not been bestowed as a natural gift. In her hands it was a valuable - one. By degrees her house improved in its appearance, both inside and - outside. From crockery she proceeded to herrings, then to salt, in each of - which she dealt with surprising success. There was, too, such an air of - bustle, activity, and good-humor about her that people loved to deal with - her. Her appearance was striking, if not grotesque. She was tall and - strong, walked rapidly, and when engaged in fair or market disposing of - her coarse merchandise, was dressed in a short red petticoat, blue - stockings, strong brogues, wore a blue cloak, with the hood turned up, - over her head, on the top of which was a man's hat, fastened by a, ribbon - under her chin. As she thus stirred about, with a kind word and a joke for - every one, her healthy cheek in full bloom, and her blue-gray eye beaming - with an expression of fun and good-nature, it would be difficult to - conceive a character more adapted for intercourse with, a laughter-loving - people. In fact, she soon became a favorite, and this not the less that - she was as ready to meet her rivals in business with a blow as with a - joke. Peter witnessed her success with unfeigned pleasure; and although - every feasible speculation was proposed by her, yet he never felt that he - was a mere nonentity when compared to his wife. 'Tis true, he was - perfectly capable of executing her agricultural plans when she proposed - them, but his own capacity for making a lucky hit was very limited. Of the - two, she was certainly the better farmer; and scarcely an improvement took - place in his little holding which might not be traced to Ellish. - </p> - <p> - In the course of a couple of years she bought him a horse, and Peter was - enabled, to join with a neighbor, who had another. Each had a plough and - tackle, so that here was a little team made up, the half of which belonged - to Peter. By this means they ploughed week about, until their crops were - got down. Peter finding his farm doing well, began to feel a kind of - rivalship with his wife—that is to say, she first suggested the - principle, and afterwards contrived to make him imagine that it was - originally his own. - </p> - <p> - “The sarra one o' you, Pettier,” she exclaimed to him one day, “but's - batin' me out an' out. Why, you're the very dickins at the farmin', so you - are. Faix, I suppose, if you go an this way much longer, that you'll be - thinkin' of another farm, in regard that we have some guineas together. - Pettier, did you ever think of it, abouchal?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, I did, you beauty; an' amn't I in fifty notions to take Harry - Neal's land, that jist lies alongside of our own.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, an' you're right, maybe; but if it's strivin' again me you are, you - may give it over: I tell you, I'll have more money made afore this time - twelvemonth than you will.” - </p> - <p> - “Arrah, is it jokin' you are? More money? Would you advise me to take - Harry's land? Tell me that first, you phanix, an' thin I'm your man!” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, take your own coorse, avourneen. If you get a lase of it at a fair - rint, I'll buy another horse, any how. Isn't that doin' the thing - dacent'?” - </p> - <p> - “More power to you, Ellish! I'll hold you a crown, I pay you the price o' - the horse afore this time twelvemonth.” - </p> - <p> - “Done! The sarra be off me but done!—an' here's Barny Dillon an' - Katty Hacket to bear witness.” - </p> - <p> - “Sure enough we will,” said Barny, the servant. - </p> - <p> - “I'll back the misthress any money,” replied the maid. - </p> - <p> - “Two to one on the masther,” said the man. “Whoo! our side o' the house - for ever! Come, Pether, hould up your head, there's money bid for you!” - </p> - <p> - “Ellish, I'll fight for you ankle deep,” said Katty—“depind your - life an me.” - </p> - <p> - “In the name o' goodness, thin, it's a bargain,” said Ellish; “an' at the - end o' the year, if we're spared, we'll see what we'll see. We'll have - among ourselves a little sup o' tay, plase goodness, an' we'll be - comfortable. Now, Barny, go an' draw home thim phaties from the pits while - the day's fine; and Katty, a colleen, bring in some wather, till we get - the pig killed and scalded—it'll hardly have time to be good bacon - for the big markets at Christmas. I don't wish,” she continued, “to keep - it back from them that we have a thrifle o' money. One always does betther - when it's known that they're not strugglin'. There's Nelly Cummins, an' - her customers is lavin' her, an' dalin' wid me, bekase she's goin' down in - business. Ay an', Pether, ahagur, it's the way o' the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Well but, Ellish, don't you be givin' Nelly Cummins the harsh word, or - lanin' too heavily upon her, the crathur, merely in regard that she is - goin' down. Do you hear, acolleen?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I don't do it, Pether; but you know she has a tongue like a razor - at times, and whin it gets loose she'd provoke St. Pether himself. Thin - she's takin' to the dhrink, too, the poor misfortunate vagabone!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, that's no affair o' yours, or mine aither—only don't be - risin' ructions and norrations wid her. You <i>threwn</i> a jug at her the - last day you war out, an' hot the poor ould Potticary as he was passin'. - You see I hard that, though you kept it close from me!—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Ha, ha, ha!—why you'd split if you had seen the crathur whin he - fell into Pether White's brogue-creels, wid his heels up. But what right - had she to be sthrivin' to bring away my customers afore my face? Ailey - Dogherty was buying a crock wid me, and Nelly shouts over to her from - where she sot like a queen on her stool, 'Ailey,' says she, 'here's a - betther one for three fardens less, an' another farden 'ill get you a - pennorth o' salt.' An', indeed, Ailey walks over, manely enough, an' tuck - her at her word. Why, flesh an' blood couldn't bear it.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, an' you're raal flesh and blood, Ellish, if that's thrue.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, but consarnin' what I mintioned awhile agone—hut! the poor - mad crathur, let us have no more discoorse about her—I say, that no - one ever thrives so well as when the world sees that they are gettin' an, - an' prosperin'; but if there's not an appearance, how will any one know - whether we are prosperin' or not, barrin' they see some sign of it about - us; I mane, in a quiet rasonable way, widout show or extravagance. In the - name o' goodness, thin, let us get the house brushed up, an' the outhouses - dashed. A bushel or two of lime 'ill make this as white as an egg widin, - an' a very small expinse will get it plastered, and whitewashed widowt. - Wouldn't you like it, avourneen? Eh, Pether?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I'd like it. It'll give a respectful look to the house and - place.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, an' it'll bring customers, that's the main thing. People always like - to come to a snug, comfortable place. An', plase God, I'm thinkin' of - another plan that I'll soon mintion.” - </p> - <p> - “An' what may that be, you skamer? Why, Ellish, you've ever and always - some skam'e or other in that head o' yours. For my part, I don't know how - you get at them.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, no matter, acushla, do you only back me; just show me how I ought - to go on wid them, for nobody can outdo you at such things, an' I'll - engage we'll thrive yit, always wid a blessin' an us.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, to tell God's thruth, I'd bate the devil himself at plannin' out, - an' bringin' a thing to a conclusion—eh, you deludher?” - </p> - <p> - “The sarra doubt of it; but takin' the other farm was the brightest - thought I seen wid you yit. Will you do it, avillish?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. Don't I say it? An' it'll be up wid the lark wid me. Hut, - woman, you don't see the half o' what's in me, yet.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll buy you a hat and a pair o' stockins at Christmas.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you, Ellish? Then, by the book, I'll work like a horse.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't intind to tell you, but I had it laid out for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, you're a beauty, Ellish. What'll we call this young chap that's - comin', acushla?” - </p> - <p> - “Now, Pether, none o' your capers. It's time enough when the thing happens - to be thinkin' o' that, Glory be to God!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you may talk as you plase, but I'll call him Pether.” - </p> - <p> - “An' how do you know but he'll be a girl, you omadhawn?” - </p> - <p> - “Murdher alive, ay, sure enough! Faith, I didn't think o' that!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, go up now an' spake to Misther Eccles about the land; maybe - somebody else 'ud slip in afore us, an' that wouldn't be pleasant. Here's - your brave big coat, put it an; faix, it makes a man of you—gives - you a bodagh* look entirely; but that's little to what you'll be yet, wid - a blessin'—a Half-Sir, any way.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * This word is used in Ireland sometimes in a good and - sometimes in a bad sense. For instance, the peasantry - will often say in allusion to some individual who may - happen to be talked of, “Hut! he's a dirty bodagh;” but - again, you may hear them use it in a sense directly the - reverse of this; for instance, “He's a very dacent - man, and looks the bodagh entirely.” As to the “Half - sir,” he stands about half-way between the bodagh and - the gentleman, Bodagh—signifying churl—was applied - originally as a term of reproach to the English - settlers. -</pre> - <p> - In fact, Ellish's industry had already gained a character for both herself - and her husband. He got credit for the assiduity and activity to which she - trained him: and both were respected for their cleverness in advancing - themselves from so poor a beginning to the humble state of independence - they had then reached. The farm which Ellish was so anxious to secure was - the property of the gentleman from whom they held the other. Being a man - of sense and penetration, he fortunately saw—what, indeed, was - generally well known—that Peter and Ellish were rising in the world, - and that their elevation was the consequence of their own unceasing - efforts to become independent, so that industry is in every possible point - of view its own reward. So long as the farm was open to competition the - offers for it multiplied prodigiously, and rose in equal proportion. - Persons not worth twenty shillings in the world offered double the rent - which the utmost stretch of ingenuity, even with suitable capital, could - pay. New-married couples, with nothing but the strong imaginative hopes - peculiar to their country, proposed for it in a most liberal spirit. Men - who had been ejected out of their late farms for non-payment of rent, were - ready to cultivate this at a rent much above that which, on better land, - they were unable to pay. Others, who had been ejected from farm after farm—each - of which they undertook as a mere speculation, to furnish them with - present subsistence, but without any ultimate expectation of being able to - meet their engagements—came forward with the most laudable efforts. - This gentleman, however, was none of those landlords who are so besotted - and ignorant of their own interests, as to let their lands simply to the - highest bidders, without taking into consideration their capital, moral - character, and habits of industry. He resided at home, knew his tenants - personally, took an interest in their successes and difficulties, and - instructed them in the best modes of improving their farms. - </p> - <p> - Peter's first interview with him was not quite satisfactory on either - side. The honest man was like a ship without her rudder, when transacting - business in the absence of his wife. The fact was, that on seeing the high - proposals which were sent in, he became alarmed lest, as he flattered - himself, that the credit of the transaction should be all his own, the - farm might go into the hands of another, and his character for cleverness - suffer with Ellish. The landlord was somewhat astounded at the rent which - a man who bore so high a name for prudence offered him. He knew it was - considerably beyond what the land was worth, and he did not wish that any - tenant coming upon his estate should have no other prospect than that of - gradually receding into insolvency. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot give you any answer now,” said he to Peter; “but if you will - call in a day or two I shall let you know my final determination.” - </p> - <p> - Peter, on coming home, rendered an account of his interview with the - landlord to his wife, who no sooner heard of the extravagant proposal he - made, than she raised her hands and eyes, exclaiming— - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, Pether, alanna, was it beside yourself you wor, to go for to - offer a rint that no one could honestly pay! Why, man alive, it 'ud lave - us widout house or home in do time, all out! Sure Pettier, acushla, where - 'ud be the use of us or any one takin' land, barrin' they could make - somethin' by it? Faix, if the gintleman had sinse, he wouldn't give the - same farm to anybody at sich a rint; an' for good rasons too—bekase - they could never pay it, an' himself 'ud be the sufferer in the long run.” - </p> - <p> - “Dang me, but you're the long-headedest woman alive this day, Ellish. Why, - I never wanst wint into the rason o' the thing, at all. But you don't know - the offers he got.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't I? Why do you think he'd let the Mullins, or the Conlans, or the - O'Donog-hoes, or the Duffys, upon his land, widout a shillin' in one o' - their pockets to stock it, or to begin workin' it properly wid. Hand me my - cloak from the pin there, an' get your hat. Katty, avourneen, have an eye - to the house till we come back; an' if Dick Murphy comes here to get - tobaccy on score, tell him I can't afford it, till he pays up what he got. - Come, Pether, in the name o' goodness—come, abouchal.” - </p> - <p> - Ellish, during their short journey to the landlord's, commenced, in her - own way, a lecture upon agricultural economy, which, though plain and - unvarnished, contained excellent and practical sense. She also pointed out - to him when to speak and when to be silent; told him what rent to offer, - and in what manner he should offer it; but she did all this so dexterously - and sweetly, that honest Peter thought the new and corrected views which - she furnished him with, were altogether the result of his own penetration. - The landlord was at home when they arrived, and ordered them into the - parlor, where he soon made his appearance. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Connell,” said he, smiling, “are you come to make me a higher - offer?” - </p> - <p> - “Why thin no, plase your honor,” replied Peter, looking for confidence to - Ellish: “instead o' that, sir, Ellish here—” - </p> - <p> - “Never heed me, alanna; tell his honor what you've to say, out o' the - face. Go an acushla.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, your honor, to tell the blessed thruth, the dickens a bit o' myself - but had a sup in my head when I was wid your honor to-day before.” - </p> - <p> - Ellish was thunderstruck at this most unexpected apology from Peter; but - the fact was, that the instructions which she had given him on their way - had completely evaporated from his brain, and he felt himself thrown - altogether upon his own powers of invention. Here, however, he was at - home; for it was well known among all his acquaintances, that, however he - might be deficient in the management of a family when compared to his - wife, he was capable, notwithstanding, of exerting a certain imaginative - faculty in a very high degree. Ellish felt that to contradict him on the - spot must lessen both him and herself in the opinion of the landlord, a - circumstance that would have given her much pain. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry to hear that, Connell,” said Mr. Eccles; “you bear the - character of being strictly sober in your habits. You must have been early - at the bottle, too, which makes your apology rather unhappy. Of all - tipplers, he who drinks early is the worst and most incurable.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrue for you, sir, but this only happens me wanst a year, your honor.” - </p> - <p> - “Once a year! But, by the by, you had no appearance of being tipsy, - Peter.” - </p> - <p> - “Tipsy! Bud-a'-age, your honor, I was never seen tipsy in all my life,” - said Peter,—“That's a horse of another color, sir, plase your - honor.” - </p> - <p> - The reader must at once perceive that Peter here was only recovering - himself from the effects of the injurious impression which his first - admission was calculated to produce against him in the mind of his - landlord. “Tipsy! No, no, sir; but the rason of it, sir, was this: it - bein' my birthday, sir, I merely tuck a sup in the mornin', in honor o' - the day. It's altogether a lucky day to me, sir!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, to be sure, every man's birthday may, probably, be called such—the - gift of existence being, I fear, too much undervalued.” - </p> - <p> - “Bedad, your honor, I don't mane that, at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what do you mean, Peter?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir, you see, it's not that I was <i>entirely</i> born on this day, - but partly, sir; I was marrid to Ellish here into the bargain,—one - o' the best wives, sir—however, I'll say no more, as she's to the - fore herself. But, death alive, sir, sure when we put both conclusions - together—myself bein' sich a worthy man, and Ellish such a tip-top - wife, who could blame me for smellin' the bottle?—for divil a much - more I did—about two glasses, sir—an' so it got up into my - head a little when I was wid your honor to-day before.” - </p> - <p> - “But what is the amount of all this, Peter?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir, you see only I was as I said, Sir—not tipsy, your honor, - any way, but seein' things double or so; an' that was, I suppose, what - made me offer for the farm double what I intinded. Every body knows, sir, - that the 'crathur' gives the big heart to us, any how, your honor.” - </p> - <p> - “But you know, Peter, we entered into no terms about it. I, therefore, - have neither power nor inclination to hold you to the offer you made.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, sir, you're not the gintleman to do a shabby turn, nor ever was, - nor one o' your family. There's not in all Europe”— - </p> - <p> - Ellish, who was a point blank dealer, could endure Peter's mode of - transacting business no longer. She knew that if he once got into the true - spirit of applying the oil of flattery to the landlord, he would have - rubbed him into a perfect froth ere he quitted him. She, therefore, took - up the thread of the discourse, and finished the compliment with much more - delicacy than honest Peter could have displayed. - </p> - <p> - “Thrue for you, Pether,” she added; “there is not a kinder family to the - poor, nor betther landlords in the country they live in. Pether an' - myself, your honor, on layin' both our 'heads together, found that he - offered more rint for the land nor any! tenant could honestly pay. So, - sir, where's the use of keepin' back God's truth—Pether, sir”— - </p> - <p> - Peter here trembled from an apprehension that the wife, in accomplishing - some object of her own in reference to the land, was about to undeceive - the landlord, touching the lie which he had so barefacedly palmed upon - that worthy gentleman for truth. In fact, his anxiety overcame his - prudence, and he resolved to anticipate her. - </p> - <p> - “I'd advise you, sir,” said he, with a smile of significant good-humor, - “to be a little suspicious of her, for, to tell the truth, she draws the”—here - he illustrated the simile with his staff—“the long bow of an odd - time; faith she does. I'd kiss the book on the head of what I tould you, - sir, plase your honor. For the sacret of it is, that I tuck the moistare - afore she left her bed.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Peter, alanna,” said Ellish, soothingly, “what's comin' over you, at - all, an' me; goin' to explain to his honor the outs and ins I of our - opinion about the land? Faix, man, we're not thinkin' about you, good or - bad.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe the drop has scarcely left your head yet, Peter,” said the - landlord. - </p> - <p> - “Bud-an'-age, your honor, sure we must have our joke, any how—doesn't - she deserve it for takin' the word out o' my mouth?” - </p> - <p> - “Whisht, avillish; you're too cute for us all, Pether. There's no use, - sir, as I was sayin', for any one to deny that when they take a farm they - do it to make by it, or at the laste to live comfortably an it. That's the - thruth, your honor, an' it's no use to keep it back from you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I perfectly agree with you,” said the landlord. “It is with these motives - that a tenant should wish to occupy land; and it is the duty of every - landlord who has his own interest truly at heart, to see that his land be - not let at such a rent as will preclude the possibility of comfort or - independence on the part of his tenantry. He who lets his land above its - value, merely because people are foolish enough to offer more for it than - it is worth, is as great an enemy to himself as he is to the tenant.” - </p> - <p> - “It's God's thruth, sir, an' it's nothin' else but a comfort to hear sich - words comin' from the lips of a gintleman that's a landlord himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, an' a good one, too,” said Peter; “an' kind father for his honor to - be what he is. Divil resave the family in all Europe”— - </p> - <p> - “Thrue for you, avourneen, an' even' one knows that. We wor talkin' it - over, sir, betuxt ourselves, Pether an' me, an' he says very cutely, that, - upon second thoughts, he offered more nor we could honestly pay out o' the - land: so”— - </p> - <p> - “Faith, it's a thrue as gospel, your honor. Says I, 'Ellish, you beauty'”— - </p> - <p> - “I thought,” observed Mr. Eccles, “that she sometimes drew the long bow, - Peter.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, murdher alive, sir, it was only in regard of her crassin' in an' - whippin' the word out o' my mouth, that I wanted to take a rise out of - her. Oh, bedad, sir, no; the crathur's thruth to the backbone, an' farther - if I'd say it.” - </p> - <p> - “So, your honor, considherin' everything, we're willin' to offer thirty - shillin's an acre for the farm. That rint, sir, we'll be able to pay, wid - the help o' God, for sure we can do nothin' widout his assistance, glory - be to his name! You'll get many that'll offer you more, your honor; but if - it 'ud be plasin' to you to considher what manes they have to pay it, I - think, sir, you'd see, out o' your own sinse, that it's not likely people - who is gone to the bad, an' has nothin' could stand it out long.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish to heaven,” replied Mr. Eccles, “that every tenant in Ireland - possessed your prudence and good sense. Will you permit me to ask, Mrs. - Connell, what capital you and your husband can command provided I should - let you have it.” - </p> - <p> - “Wid every pleasure in life, sir, for it's but a fair question to put. An' - sure, it is to God we owe it, whatever it is, plase your honor. But, sir, - if we get the land, we're able to stock it, an' to crop it well an' - dacently; an' if your honor would allow us for sartin improvements, sir, - we'd run it into snug fields, by plantin' good hedges, an' gettin' up - shelther for the outlyin' cattle in the hard seasons, plase your honor, - and you know the farm is very naked and bare of shelter at present.” - </p> - <p> - “Sowl, will we, sir, an' far more nor that if we get it. I'll undhertake, - sir, to level”— - </p> - <p> - “No, Pether, we'll promise no more nor we'll do; but anything that his - honor will be plased to point out to us, if we get fair support, an' that - it remains on the farm afther us, we'll be willin' to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Willin'!” exclaimed Peter!—“faith, whether we're willin' or not, if - his honor but says the word”—— - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Connell,” said their landlord, “say no more. The farm is yours, and - you may, consider yourselves as my tenants.” - </p> - <p> - “Many thanks to you, sir, for the priference. I hope, sir, you'll not rue - what you did in givin' it to us before them that offered a higher rint. - You'll find, sir, wid the help o' the Almighty, that we'll pay you your - rint rigular an' punctual.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, long life, an' glory, an' benedication to your honor! Faith, - it's only kind father for you, sir, to be what you are. The divil resave - the family in all Europe”— - </p> - <p> - “Peter, that will do,” replied the landlord, “it would be rather hazardous - for our family to compete with all Europe. Go home, Peter, and be guided - by your wife, who has more sense in her little finger than ever your - family had either in Europe or out of it, although I mean you no offense - by going beyond Europe.” - </p> - <p> - “By all the books that never wor opened an' shut,” replied Peter, with the - intuitive quickness of perception peculiar to Irishmen, “an innocenter boy - than Andy Connell never was sent acrass the water. I proved as clear an - alibi for him as the sun in the firmanent; an' yit, bad luck to the - big-wig O'Grady, he should be puttin' in his leek an me afore the jury, - jist whin I had the poor boy cleared out dacently, an' wid all honor. An' - bedad, now, that we're spakin about it, I'll tell your honor the whole - conclusions of it. You see, sir, the Agint was shot one night; an' above - all nights in the year, your honor, a thief of a toothache that I had kep - me”— - </p> - <p> - “Pether, come away, abouchal: his honor kaows as much about it as you do, - Come, aroon; you know we must help to scald an' scrape the pig afore - night, an' it's late now.” - </p> - <p> - “Bodad, sir, she's a sweet one, this.” - </p> - <p> - “Be guided by her, Peter, if you're wise, she's a wife you ought to be - proud of.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrue for you, sir; divil resave the word o' lie in that, any how. Come, - Ellish; come, you deludher, I'm wid you.” - </p> - <p> - “God bless your honor, sir, an' we're ob'laged to you for you kindness an' - patience wid the likes o' us.” - </p> - <p> - “I say ditto, your honor. Long life an' glory to you every day your honor - rises!” - </p> - <p> - Peter, on his way home, entered into a defence of his apology for offering - so high a rent to the landlord; but although it possessed both ingenuity - and originality, it was, we must confess, grossly defective in those - principles usually inculcated by our best Ethic writers. - </p> - <p> - “Couldn't you have tould him what we agreed upon goin' up,” observed - Ellish; “but instead o' that, to begin an' tell the gintlemen so many lies - about your bein' dhrunk, an' this bein' your birth-day, an' the day we wor - marrid, an',——Musha, sich quare stories to come into your - head?” - </p> - <p> - “Why,” said Peter, “what harm's in all that, whin he didn't <i>find me - out?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “But why the sarra did you go to say that I was in the custom o' tellin' - lies?” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, bekase I thought you wor goin' to let out all, an' I thought it - best to have the first word o' you. What else?—but sure I brought - myself off bravely.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, a hudh; don't be invintin' sich things another time, or - you'll bring yourself into a scrape, some way or other.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, an' you needn't spake, Ellish; you can let out a nate bounce - yourself, whin it's to sarve you. Come now, don't run away wid the story!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, if I do, it's in the way o' my business; whin I'm batin' them down - in the price o' what I'm buyin', or gettin' thim to bid up for any thing - I'm sellin': besides, it's to advance ourselves in the world that I do it, - abouchal.” - </p> - <p> - “Go an, go an; faix, you're like the new moon, sharp at both corners: but - what matther, you beauty, we've secured the farm, at any rate, an', by - this an' by that, I'll show you tip-top farmin' an it.” - </p> - <p> - A struggle now commenced between the husband and wife, as to which of them - should, in their respective departments, advance themselves with greater - rapidity in life. This friendly contest was kept up principally by the - address of Ellish, who, as she knew those points in her husband's - character most easily wrought upon, felt little difficulty in shaping him - to her own purposes. Her great object was to acquire wealth; and it mostly - happens, that when this is the ruling principle in life, there is usually - to be found, in association with it, all those qualities which are best - adapted to secure it. Peter, on finding that every succeeding day brought - something to their gains, began to imbibe a portion of that spirit which - wholly absorbed Ellish. He became worldly; but it was rather the - worldliness of habit than of principle. In the case of Ellish, it - proceeded from both; her mind was apt, vigorous, and conceptive; her body - active, her manners bland and insinuating, and her penetration almost - intuitive. About the time of their entering upon the second farm, four - children had been, the fruit of their marriage—two sons and two - daughters. These were now new sources of anxiety to their mother, and - fresh impulses to her industry. Her ignorance, and that of her husband, of - any kind of education, she had often, in the course of their business, - bitter cause to regret. She now resolved that their children should be - well instructed; and no time was lost in sending them to school, the - moment she thought them capable of imbibing the simplest elements of - instruction. - </p> - <p> - “It's hard to say,” she observed to her husband, “how soon they may be - useful to us. Who knows, Pether, but we may have a full shop yit, an' they - may be able to make up bits of accounts for us, poor things? Throth, I'd - be happy if I wanst seen it.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, Ellish,” replied Peter, “if we can get an as we're doin', it is - hard to say. For my own part, if I had got the larnin' in time, I might be - a bright boy to-day, no doubt of it—could spake up to the best o' - thim. I never wint to school but wanst, an' I remimber I threw the masther - into a kiln-pot, an' broke the poor craythur's arm; an' from that day to - this, I never could be brought a single day to school.” - </p> - <p> - Peter and Ellish now began to be pointed out as a couple worthy of - imitation by those who knew that perseverance and industry never fail of - securing their own reward. Others, however,—that is to say, the - lazy, the profligate, and the ignorant,—had a ready solution of the - secret of their success. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my dear, she's a lucky woman, an' anything she puts her hand to - prospers. Sure sho was born wid a <i>lucky caul</i>* an her head; an', be - sure, ahagur, the world will flow in upon thim. There's many a neighbor - about thim works their fingers to the stumps, an' yit you see they can't - get an: for Ellish, if she'd throw the sweepins of her hearth to the wind, - it 'ud come back to her in money. She was born to it, an' nothin' can keep - her from her luck!”** - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * The caul is a, thin membrane, about the consistence - of very fine silk, which sometimes covers the head on a - new-born infant like a cap. It is always the omen of - great good fortune to the infant and parents; and in - Ireland, when any one has unexpectedly fallen into the - receipt of property, or any other temporal good, it is - customary to say, “such a person was born with a 'lucky - caul' on his head.” - - Why these are considered lucky, it would be a very - difficult matter to ascertain. Several instances of - good fortune, happening to such as were born with them, - might, by their coincidences, form a basis for the - superstition; just as the fact of three men during one - severe winter having been found drowned, each with two - shirts on, generated an opinion which has now become - fixed and general in that parish, that it is unlucky to - wear two shirts at once. We are not certain whether the - caul is in general the perquisite of the midwife— - sometimes we believe it is; at all events, her - integrity occasionally yields to the desire of - possessing it. In many cases she conceals its - existence, in order that she may secretly dispose of it - to good advantage, which she frequently does; for it is - considered to be the herald of good fortune to those - who can get it into their possession. Now, let not our - English neighbors smile at us for those things until - they wash their own hands clear of such practices. At - this day a caul will bring a good price in the most - civilized city in the world—to wit, the good city of - London—the British metropolis. Nay to such lengths has - the mania for cauls been carried there, that they have - been actually advertised for in the Times newspaper. - - * This doctrine of fatalism is very prevalent among the - lower orders in Ireland. -</pre> - <p> - Such are many of the senseless theories that militate against exertion and - industry in Ireland, and occasion many to shrink back from the laudible - race of honest enterprise, into filth, penury, and crime. It is this idle - and envious crew, who, with a natural aversion to domestic industry, - become adepts in politics, and active in those illegal combinations and - outrages which retard the prosperity of the country, and bring disgrace - upon the great body of its peaceable inhabitants. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Ellish was rapidly advancing in life, while such persons - were absurdly speculating upon the cause of her success. Her business was - not only increased, but extended. From crockery, herrings, and salt, she - advanced gradually to deal in other branches adapted to her station, and - the wants of the people. She bought stockings, and retailed them every - market-day. By and by a few pieces of soap might be seen in her windows; - starch, blue, potash, and candles, were equally profitable. Pipes were - seen stuck across each other, flanked by tape, cakes, children's books, - thimbles, and bread. In fact, she was equally clever and expert in - whatever she undertook. The consciousness of this, and the reputation of - being “a hard honest woman,” encouraged her to get a cask or two of beer, - and a few rolls of tobacco. Peter, when she proposed the two last, - consented only to sell them still as smuggled, goods—sub silentio. - With her usual prudence, however, she declined this. - </p> - <p> - “We have gone on that way purty far,” she replied, “an' never got a touch, - (* never suffered by the exciseman) thanks to the kindness o' the - neighbors that never informed an us: but now, Pether, that we're able we - had betther do everything above boord. You know the ould say, 'long runs - the fox, but he's catched at last:' so let us give up in time, an' get out - a little bit o' license.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't like that at all,” replied Peter: “I cain't warm my heart to the - license. I'll back you in anything but that. The gauger won't come next or - near us: he has thried it often, an' never made anything of it. Dang me, - but I'd like to have a bit o' fun with the gauger to see if my hand's - still ready for practice.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thin, Pether, how can you talk that way, asthore? Now if what I'm - sayin' was left to yourself wouldn't you be apt to plan it as I'm doin'?—wouldn't - you, acushla? Throth, I know you're to cute an' sinsible not to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Why thin, do you know what, Ellish—although I didn't spake it out, - upon my faix I was thinkin' of it. Divil a word o' lie in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you thief o' the world, an' never to tell it to me. Faix, Pether, - you're a cunnin' shaver, an' as deep as a draw well.” - </p> - <p> - “Let me alone. Why I tell you if I study an' lay myself down to it, I can - conthrive anything. When I was young, many a time my poor father, God be - good to him! said that if there was any possibility of gettin' me to take - to larnin', I'd be risin' out o' the ashes every mornin' like a phanix.” - </p> - <p> - “But won't you hould to your plan about the license?” - </p> - <p> - “Hould! To be sure I will. What was I but takin' a rise out o' you. I - intinded it this good while, you phanix—faix, I did.” - </p> - <p> - In this manner did Ellish dupe her own husband into increasing wealth. - Their business soon became so extensive, that a larger house was - absolutely necessary. To leave that, beneath whose roof she succeeded so - well in all her speculations, was a point—be it of prudence or of - prejudice—which Ellish could not overcome. Her maxim was, whereever - you find yourself doing well, stay there. She contrived, however, to - remedy this. To the old house additional apartments were, from time to - time, added, into which their business soon extended. When these again - became too small, others were also built; so that in the course of about - twenty years, their premises were so extensive, that the original - shebeen-house constituted a very small portion of Peter's residence. - Peter, during Ellish's progress within doors, had not been idle without. - For every new room added to the house, he was able to hook in a fresh farm - in addition to those he had already occupied. Unexpected success had fixed - his heart so strongly upon the accumulation of money, and the pride of - rising in the world, as it was possible for a man, to whom they were only - adventitious feelings, to experience. The points of view in which he and - his wife were contemplated by the little public about them were peculiar, - but clearly distinct. The wife was generally esteemed for her talents and - incessant application to business; but she was not so cordially liked as - Peter. He, on the other hand, though less esteemed, was more beloved by - all their acquaintances than Ellish. This might probably originate from - the more obvious congeniality which existed between Peter's natural - disposition, and the national character; for with the latter, Ellish, - except good humor, had little in common. - </p> - <p> - The usual remarks upon both were—“she would buy an' sell him”—“'twas - she that made a man of him; but for all that, Pether's worth a ship-load - of her, if she'd give him his own way.” That is, if she would permit him - to drink with the neighbors, to be idle and extravagant. - </p> - <p> - Every year, now that their capital was extending, added more perceptibly - to their independence. Ellish's experience in the humbler kinds of - business, trained her for a higher line; just as boys at school rise from - one form to another. She made no plunges, nor permitted Peter, who was - often, inclined to jump at conclusions, to make any. Her elevation was - gradual and cautious; for her plans were always so seasonable and simple - that every new description of business, and every new success, seemed to - arise naturally from that which went before it. - </p> - <p> - Having once taken out a license, their house soon became a decent country - spirit establishment; from soap, and candles, and tobacco, she rose into - the full sweep of groceries; and from dealing in Connemara stockings and - tape, she proceeded in due time to sell woollen and linen drapery. Her - crockery was now metamorphosed into delf, pottery, and hardware; her - gingerbread into stout loaves, for as Peter himself grew wheat largely, - she seized the opportunity presented by the death of the only good baker - in the neighborhood, of opening an extensive bakery. - </p> - <p> - It may be asked, how two illiterate persons, like Peter and Ellish, could - conduct business in which so much calculation was necessary, without - suffering severely by their liability to make mistakes. To this we reply—first, - that we should have liked to see any person attempting to pass a bad note - or a light guinea upon Ellish after nine or ten years' experience; we - should like to have seen a smug clerk taking his pen from behind his ear, - and after making his calculation, on inquiring from Ellish if she had - reckoned up the amount, compelled to ascertain the error which she pointed - out to him. The most remarkable point in her whole character, was the - rapid accuracy she displayed in mental calculation, and her uncommon - sagacity in detecting bad money. - </p> - <p> - There is, however, a still more satisfactory explanation of this - circumstance to be given. She had not neglected the education of her - children. The eldest was now an intelligent boy, and a smart accountant, - who, thanks to his master, had been taught to keep their books by Double - Entry. The second was little inferior to him as a clerk, though as a - general dealer he was far his superior. The eldest had been principally - behind the counter; whilst the younger, in accompanying his mother in all - her transactions and bargain-making, had in a great measure imbibed her - address and tact. - </p> - <p> - It is certainly a pleasing, and, we think, an interesting thing, to - contemplate the enterprise of an humble, but active, shrewd woman, - enabling her to rise, step by step, from the lowest state of poverty to a - small sense of independence; from this, by calling-fresh powers into - action, taking wider views, and following them up by increased efforts, - until her shebeen becomes a small country public-house; until her roll of - tobacco, and her few pounds of soap and starch, are lost in the - well-filled drawers of a grocery shop; and her gray Connemara stockings - transformed by the golden wand of industry into a country cloth warehouse. - To see Peter—from the time when he first harrowed part of his farm - with a thorn-bush, and ploughed it by joining his horse to that of a - neighbor—adding farm to farm, horse to horse, and cart to cart, - until we find him a wealthy and extensive agriculturist. - </p> - <p> - The progress of Peter and Ellish was in another point of view a good study - for him who wishes to look into human nature, whilst adapting itself to - the circumstances through which it passes. When this couple began life, - their friends and acquaintancess were as poor as themselves; as they - advanced from one gradation to another, and rose up from a lower to a - higher state, their former friends, who remained in their original - poverty, found themselves left behind in cordiality and intimacy, as well - as in circumstances; whilst the subjects of our sketch continued to make - new friendships of a more respectable stamp, to fill up, as it were, the - places held in their good will by their humble, but neglected, intimates. - Let not our readers, however, condemn them for this. - </p> - <p> - It was the act of society, and not of Peter and Ellish. On their parts, it - was involuntary; their circumstances raised them, and they were compelled, - of course, to rise with their circumstances. They were passing through the - journey of life, as it were, and those with whom they set out, not having - been able to keep up with them, soon lost their companionship, which was - given to those with whom they travelled for the time being. Society is - always ready to reward the enterprising and industrious by its just - honors, whether they are sought or not; it is so disposed, that every man - falls or rises into his proper place in it, and that by the wisdom and - harmony of its structure. The rake, who dissipates by profligacy and - extravagance that which might have secured him an honorable place in life, - is eventually brought to the work-house; whilst the active citizen, who - realizes an honest independence, is viewed with honor and esteem. - </p> - <p> - Peter and Ellish were now people of consequence in the parish; the former - had ceased to do anything more than superintend the cultivation of his - farms; the latter still took an active part in her own business, or rather - in the various departments of business Which she carried on. Peter might - be seen the first man abroad in the morning proceeding to some of his - farms mounted upon a good horse, comfortably dressed in top boots, stout - corduroy breeches, buff cashmere waistcoat, and blue broad-cloth coat, to - which in winter was added a strong frieze greatcoat, with a drab velvet - collar, and a glazed hat. Ellish was also respectably dressed, but still - considerably under her circumstances. Her mode of travelling to fairs or - markets was either upon a common car, covered with a feather-bed and - quilt, or behind Peter upon a pillion. This last method flattered Peter's - vanity very much; no man could ride on these occasions with a statelier - air. He kept himself as erect and stiff as a poker, and brandished the - thong of his loaded whip with the pride of a gentleman farmer. - </p> - <p> - 'Tis true, he did not always hear the sarcastic remarks which were passed - upon him by those who witnessed his good-natured vanity: - </p> - <p> - “There he goes,” some laboring man on the wayside would exclaim, “a - purse-proud <i>bodagh</i> upon our hands. Why, thin, does he forget that - we remimber when he kept the shebeen-house, an' sould his smuggled - to-baccy in gits (* the smallest possible quantities) out of his pocket, - for fraid o' the gauger! Sowl, he'd show a blue nose, any way, only for - the wife—'Twas she made a man of him.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, an' I for one, won't hear Pether Connell run down,” his companion - would reply; “he's a good-hearted, honest man, an' obligin' enough; an' - for that matter so is the wife, a hard honest woman, that made what they - have, an' brought herself an' her husband from nothin' to somethin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrue for you, Tim; in throth, they do desarve credit. Still, you see, - here's you an' me, an' we've both been slavin' ourselves as much as they - have, an' yet you see how we are! However, <i>its their luck</i>, and - there's no use in begrudgin' it to them.” - </p> - <p> - When their children were full-grown, the mother did not, as might have - been supposed, prevent them from making a respectable appearance. With - excellent judgment, she tempered their dress, circumstances, and prospects - so well together, that the family presented an admirable display of - economy, and a decent sense of independence. From the moment they were - able to furnish solid proofs of their ability to give a comfortable dinner - occasionally, the priest of the parish began to notice them; and this new - intimacy, warmed by the honor conferred on one side, and by the good - dinners on the other, ripened into a strong friendship. For many a long - year, neither Peter nor Ellish, God forgive them, ever troubled themselves - about going to their duty. They soon became, however, persons of too much - importance to be damned without an effort made for their salvation. The - worthy gentleman accordingly addressed them on the subject, and as the - matter was one of perfect indifference to both, they had not the slightest - hesitation to go to confession—in compliment to the priest. We do - not blame the priest for this; God forbid that we should quarrel with a - man for loving a good dinner. If we ourselves were a priest, it is very - probable,—nay, from the zest with which we approach a good dinner, - it is quite certain—that we would have cultivated honest Peter's - acquaintance, and drawn him out to the practice of that most social of - virtues—hospitality. The salvation of such a man's soul was worth - looking after; and, indeed, we find a much warmer interest felt, in all - churches, for those who are able to give good dinners, than for those poor - miserable sinners who can scarcely get even a bad one. - </p> - <p> - But besides this, there was another reason for the Rev. Mr. Mulcahy's - anxiety to cultivate a friendship with Peter and his wife—which - reason consisted in a very laudable determination to bring about a match - between his own niece, Miss Granua Mulcahy, and Peter's eldest son, Dan. - This speculation he had not yet broached to the family, except by broken - hints, and jocular allusions to the very flattering proposals that had - been made by many substantial young men for Miss Granua. - </p> - <p> - In the mean time the wealth of the Connells had accumulated to thousands; - their business in the linen and woollen drapery line was incredible. There - was scarcely a gentleman within many miles of them, who did not find it - his interest to give them his custom. In the hardware, flour, and baking - concerns they were equally fortunate. The report of their wealth had gone - far and near, exaggerated, however, as everything of the kind is certain - to be; but still there were ample grounds for estimating it at a very high - amount. - </p> - <p> - Their stores were large, and well filled with many a valuable bale; their - cellars well stocked with every description of spirits; and their shop, - though not large in proportion to their transactions, was well filled, - neat, and tastefully fitted up. There was no show, however—no empty - glare to catch the eye; on the contrary, the whole concern was marked by - an air of solid, warm comfort, that was much more indicative of wealth and - independence than tawdry embellishment would have been. - </p> - <p> - “Avourneen,” said Ellish, “the way to deck out your shop is to keep the - best of goods. Wanst the people knows that they'll get betther money-worth - here than they'll get anywhere else, they'll come here, whether the shop - looks well or ill. Not savin' but every shop ought to be clane an' dacent, - for there's rason in all things.” - </p> - <p> - This, indeed, was another secret of their success. Every article in their - shop was of the best description, having been selected by Ellish's own eye - and hand in the metropolis, or imported directly from the place of its - manufacture. Her periodical visits to Dublin gave her great satisfaction; - for it appears that those with whom she dealt, having had sufficient - discrimination to appreciate her talents and integrity, treated her with - marked respect. - </p> - <p> - Peter's farm-yard bore much greater evidence of his wealth than did - Ellish's shop. It was certainly surprising to reflect, that by the - capacity of two illiterate persons, who began the world with nothing, all - the best and latest improvements in farming were either adopted or - anticipated. The farmyard was upon a great scale; for Peter cultivated no - less than four hundred acres of land—to such lengths had his - enterprise carried him. Threshing machines, large barns, corn kilns, large - stacks, extensive stables, and immense cow-houses, together with the - incessant din of active employment perpetually going on—all gave a - very high opinion of their great prosperity, and certainly reflected honor - upon those whose exertions had created such a scene about them. One would - naturally suppose, when the family of the Connells had arrived to such - unexpected riches, and found it necessary to conduct a system whose - machinery was so complicated and extensive that Ellish would have fallen - back to the simple details of business, from a deficiency of that - comprehensive intelligence which is requisite to conduct the higher order - of mercantile transactions; especially as her sons were admirably - qualified by practice, example, and education, to ease her of a task which - would appear one of too much difficulty for an unlettered farmer's wife. - Such a supposition would be injurious to this excellent woman. So far from - this being the case, she was still the moving spirit, the chief conductor - of the establishment. Whenever any difficulty arose that required an - effort of ingenuity and sagacity, she was able in the homeliest words to - disentangle it so happily, that those who heard her wondered that it - should at all have appeared to them as a difficulty. She was everywhere. - In Peter's farm-yard her advice was as excellent and as useful as in her - own shop. On his farms she was the better agriculturist, and she - frequently set him right in his plans and speculations for the ensuing - year. - </p> - <p> - She herself was not ignorant of her skill. Many a time has she surveyed - the scene about her with an eye in which something like conscious pride - might be seen to kindle. On those occasions she usually shook her head, - and exclaimed, either in soliloquy, or by way of dialogue, to some person - near her:— - </p> - <p> - “Well, avourneen, all's very right, an' goin' an bravely; but I only hope - that when I'm gone I won't be missed!” - </p> - <p> - “Missed,” Peter would reply, if he happened to hear her; “oh, upon my - credit”—he was a man of too much consequence to swear “by this and - by that” now—“upon my credit, Ellish, if you die soon, you'll see - the genteel wife I'll have in your place.” - </p> - <p> - “Whisht, avourneen! Although you're but jokin', I don't like to hear it, - avillish! No, indeed; we wor too long together, Pether, and lived too - happily wid one another, for you to have the heart to think of sich a - thing!” - </p> - <p> - “No, in troth, Ellish, I would be long sarry to do it. It's displasin' to - you, achree, an' I won't say it. God spare you to us! It was you put the - bone in us, an' that's what all the country says, big an' little, young - and ould; an' God He knows it's truth, and nothin' else.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, no, thin, Pether, it's not altogether thruth, you desarve your - full share of it. You backed me well, acushla, in everything, an' if you - had been a dhrinkin', idle, rollikin' vagabone, what 'ud signify all, that - me or the likes o' me could do.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, an' it was you made me what I am, Ellish; you tuck the soft side - o' me, you beauty; an' it's well you did, for by this—hem, upon my - reputation, if you had gone to cross purposes with me you'd find yourself - in the wrong box. An', you phanix of beauty, you managed the childhre, the - crathurs, the same way—an' a good way it is, in throth.” - </p> - <p> - “Pether, wor you ever thinkin' o' Father Muloahy's sweetness to us of - late?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thin, the sorra one o' me thought of it. Why, Ellish?” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't you obsarve that for the last three or four months he's full of - attintions to us? Every Sunday he brings you up, an' me, if I'd go, to the - althar,—an' keeps you there by way of showin' you respect. Pether, - it's not you, but your money he respects; an' I think there ought to be no - respect o' persons in the chapel, any how. You're not a bit nearer God by - bein' near the althar; for how do we know but the poorest crathur there is - nearer to heaven than we are!” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, sure enough, Ellish; but what deep skame are you penethratin' now, - you desaver?” - </p> - <p> - “I'd lay my life, you'll have a proposial o' marriage from Father Mulcahy, - atween our Dan an' Miss Granua. For many a day he's hintin' to us, from - time to time, about the great offers she had; now what's the rason, if she - had these great offers, that he didn't take them?” - </p> - <p> - “Bedad, Ellish, you're the greatest headpiece in all Europe. Murdher - alive, woman, what a fine counsellor you'd make. An' suppose he did offer, - Ellish, what 'ud you be sayin' to him?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, that 'ud depind entirely upon what he's able to give her—they - say he has money. It 'ud depind, too, upon whether Dan has any likin' for - her or not.” - </p> - <p> - “He's often wid her, I know; an' I needn't tell you, Ellish, that afore we - wor spliced together, I was often wid somebody that I won't mintion. At - all evints, he has made Dan put the big O afore the Connell, so that he - has him now full namesake to the Counsellor; an', faith, that itself' 'ud - get him a wife.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, the best way is to say nothin', an' to hear nothin', till his - Reverence spates out, an' thin we'll see what can be done.” - </p> - <p> - Ellish's sagacity had not misled her. In a few months afterwards Father - Mulcahy was asked by young Dan Connell to dine; and as he and holiest - Ellish were sitting together, in the course of the evening, the priest - broached the topic as follows:— - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Connell, I think this whiskey is better than my four-year old, that - I bought at the auction the other day, although Dan says mine's better. - Between ourselves, that Dan is a clever, talented young fellow; and if he - happens upon a steady, sensible wife, there is no doubt but he will die a - respectable man. But, by the by, Mrs. Connell, you've never tried my - whiskey; and upon my credit, you must soon, for I know your opinion would - decide the question.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it worth while to decide it, your Reverence? I suppose the thruth is, - sir, that both is good enough for anyone; an' I think that's as much as we - want.” - </p> - <p> - Thus far she went, but never alluded to Dan, judiciously throwing the onus - of introducing that subject upon the priest. - </p> - <p> - “Dan says mine's better,” observed Father Mulcahy; “and I would certainly - give a great deal for his opinion upon that or any other subject, except - theology.” - </p> - <p> - “You ought,” replied Ellish, “to be a bether judge of whiskey nor either - Dan nor me; an' I'll tell you why—you dhrink it in more places, and - can make comparishment one wid another; but Dan an' me is confined mostly - to our own, an' of that same we take very little, an' the less the betther - for people in business, or indeed for anybody.” - </p> - <p> - “Very true, Mrs. Connell! But for all that, I won't give up Dan's judgment - in anything within his own line of business, still excepting theology, for - which, he hasn't the learning.” - </p> - <p> - “He's a good son, without <i>tay</i>ology—as good as ever broke the - world's bread,” said Peter, “glory be to God! Although, for that matther, - he ought to be as well acquainted wid <i>tay</i>ology as your Reverence, - in regard that he <i>sells</i> more of it nor you do.” - </p> - <p> - “A good son, they say, Mrs. Connell, will make a good husband. I wonder - you don't think of settling him in life. It's full time.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, avourneen, we must lave that wid himself. I needn't be tellin' - you, that it 'ud be hard to find a girl able to bring what the girl that - 'ud expect Dan ought to bring.” - </p> - <p> - This was a staggerer to the priest, who recruited his ingenuity by - drinking Peter's health, and Ellish's. - </p> - <p> - “Have you nobody in your eye for him, Mrs. Connell?” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, I'll engage she has,” replied Peter, with a ludicrous grin—“I'll - venture for to say she has that.” - </p> - <p> - “Very right, Mrs. Connell; it's all fair. Might one ask who she is; for, - to tell you the truth, Dan is a favorite of mine, and must make it a point - to see him well settled.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, your Reverence,” replied Peter again, “jist the one you mintioned.” - </p> - <p> - “Who? I? Why I mentioned nobody.” - </p> - <p> - “An' that's the very one she has in her eye for him, plase your Reverence—ha, - ha, ha! What's the world widout a joke, Docthor? beggin' your pardon for - makin' so free wid you.” - </p> - <p> - “Peter, you're still a wag,” replied the priest; “but, seriously, Mrs. - Connell, have you selected any female, of respectable connections, as a - likely person to be a wife for Dan?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed no, your Reverence, I have not. Where could I pitch upon a girl—barrin' - a Protestant, an' that 'ud never do—who has a fortune to meet what - Dan's to get?” - </p> - <p> - The priest moved his chair a little, and drank their healths a second - time. - </p> - <p> - “But you know, Mrs. Connell, that Dan needn't care so much about fortune, - if he got a girl of respectable connections. He has an independence - himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Thrue for you, father; but what right would any girl have to expect to be - supported by the hard arnin' of me an' my husband, widout bringin' - somethin' forrid herself? You know, sir, that the fortune always goes wid - the wife; but am I to fortune off my son to a girl that has nothin'? If my - son, plase your Reverence, hadn't a coat to his back, or a guinea in his - pocket—as, God be praised, he has both—but, supposin' he - hadn't, what right would he have to expect a girl wid a handsome fortune - to marry him? There's Paddy Neil your sarvint-boy; now, if Paddy, who's an - honest man's son, axed your niece, wouldn't you be apt to lose your - timper?” - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Connell, I think your fire's rather hot—allow - me to drawback a little. Mrs. Connell, your health again!—Mr. - Connell, your fireside!” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Docthor; but faith I think you ought hardly to dhrink the same - fireside, becase it appears to be rather hot for your Reverence, at the - present time—ha, ha, ha! Jokin' still, Docthor, we must be. Well, - what harm! I wish we may never do worse!” - </p> - <p> - “And what fortune would you expect with a girl of genteel connexion—a - girl that's accomplished, well say in music, plain work, and Irish, - vernacularly?—hem! What fortune would you be expecting with such a - girl?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Docthor, ahagur, the only music I'd wish for my son's wife is a good - timper; an' that's what their music-masthers can't tache thim. The plain - work, although I don't know what you mane by it, sounds well enough; an' - as to Irish, whick-whacku-larly, if you mane our own ould tongue, he may - get thousands that can spake it whackinly, an' nothin' else.” - </p> - <p> - “You're a wealthy woman, certainly, Mrs. Connell, and what's more, I'm not - at all surprised at it. Your health, once more, and long life to you! - Suppose, however, that Dan got a fitting wife, what would you expect as a - proper portion? I have a reason for asking.” - </p> - <p> - “Dan, plase your Reverence, will get four thousand to begin the world wid; - an', as he's to expect none but a Catholic, I suppose if he gets the - fourth part of that, it's as much as he ought to look for.” - </p> - <p> - “A thousand pounds!—hut tut! The woman's beside herself. Why look - about you and try where you can find a Catholic girl with a thousand - pounds fortune, except in a gentleman's family, where Dan could never - think of going.” - </p> - <p> - “That's thrue, any how, your Reverence,” observed Peter.—“A thousand - pounds! Ellish! you needn't look for it. Where is it to be had out of a - gintleman's family, as his Reverence says thrue enough.” - </p> - <p> - “An' now, Docthor,” said Ellish, “what 'ud you think a girl ought to bring - a young man like Dan, that's to have four thousand pounds?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think any Catholic girl of his own rank in the county, could get - more than a couple of hundred.” - </p> - <p> - “That's one shillin' to every pound he has,” replied Ellish, almost - instantaneously. “But, Father, you may as well spake out at wanst,” she - continued, for she was too quick and direct in all her dealings to be - annoyed by circumlocution; “you're desairous of a match between Dan an' - Miss Granua?” - </p> - <p> - “Exactly,” said the priest; “and what is more, I believe they are fond of - each other. I know Dan is attached to her, for he told me so. But, now - that we have mentioned her, I say that there is not a more accomplished - girl of her persuasion in the parish we sit in. She can play on the - bagpipes better than any other piper in the province, for I taught her - myself; and I tell you that in a respectable man's wife a knowledge of - music is a desirable thing. It's hard to tell, Mrs. Connell, how they may - rise in the World, and get into fashionable company, so that - accomplishments, you persave, are good, she can make a shirt and wash it, - and she can write Irish. As for dancing, I only wish you'd see her at a - hornpipe. All these things put together, along with her genteel - connections, and the prospect of what I may be able to lave her—I - say your son may do worse.” - </p> - <p> - “It's not what you'd lave her, sir, but what you'd give her in the first - place, that I'd like to hear. Spake up, your Reverence, an' let us know - how far you will go.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afeard, sir,” said Peter, “if it goes to a clane bargain atween yez, - that Ellish will make you bid up for Dan. Be sharp; sir, or you'll have no - chance; faix, you won't.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Mrs. Connell;” replied the priest, “before I spake up, consider her - accomplishments. I'll undertake to say, that the best bred girl in Dublin - cannot perform music in such style, or on such an instrument as the one - she uses. Let us contemplate Dan and her after marriage, in an elegant - house, and full business, the dinner over, and they gone up to the - drawing-room. Think how agreeable and graceful it would be for Mrs. Daniel - O'Connell to repair to the sofa, among a few respectable friends, and, - taking up her bagpipes, set her elbow a-going, until the drone gives two - or three broken groans, and the chanter a squeak or two, like a child in - the cholic, or a cat that you had trampled on by accident. Then comes the - real ould Irish music, that warms the heart. Dan looks upon her graceful - position, until the tears of love, taste, and admiration are coming down - his cheeks. By and by, the toe of him moves: here another foot is going; - and, in no time, there is a hearty dance, with a light heart and a good - conscience. You or I, perhaps, drop in to see them, and, of course, we - partake of the enjoyment.” - </p> - <p> - “Divil a pleasanter,” said Peter: “I tell you, I'd like it well; an', for - my own part, if the deludher here has no objection, I'm not goin' to spoil - sport.” - </p> - <p> - Ellish looked hard at the priest; her keen blue eye glittered with a - sparkling light, that gave decided proofs of her sagacity being intensely - excited. - </p> - <p> - “All that you've said,” she replied, “is very fine; but in regard o' the - bag-pipes, an' Miss Granua Mulcahy's squeezin' the music out o' thim—why, - if it plased God to bring my son to the staff an' bag—a common - beggar—indeed, in that case, Miss Granua's bagpipes might sarve both - o' thim, an' help, maybe, to get them a night's lodgin' or so; but until - that time comes, if you respect your niece, you'll burn her bagpipes, - dhrone, chanther, an' all. If you are for a match, which I doubt, spake - out, as I said, and say what fortune you'll pay down on the nail wid her, - otherwise we're losin' our time, an' that's a loss one can't make up.” - </p> - <p> - The priest, who thought he could have bantered Ellish into an alliance, - without pledging himself to pay any specific fortune, found that it was - necessary for him to treat the matter seriously, if he expected to - succeed. He was certainly anxious for the match; and as he really wished - to see his niece—who, in truth, was an excellent girl, and handsome—well - settled, he resolved to make a stretch and secure Dan if possible. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Connell,” said he, “I will be brief with you. The most I can give - her is three hundred pounds, and even that by struggling and borrowing: I - will undertake to pay it as you say—on the nail! for I am really - anxious that my niece should be connected with so worthy and industrious a - family. What do you say?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm willin' enough,” replied Peter. It's not asy to get that and a - Catholic girl.” - </p> - <p> - “There's some thruth in what you say, aroon, sure enough,” observed - Ellish; “an' if his Reverence puts another hundhre to it, why, in the name - of goodness, let them go together. If you don't choose that, Docthor, - never breathe the subject to me agin. Dan's not an ould man yit, an' has - time enough to get wives in plenty.” - </p> - <p> - “Come,” replied the priest, “there's my hand, it's a bargain; although I - must say there's no removing you from your point. I will give four - hundred, hook or crook; but I'll have sad scrambling to get it together. - Still I'll make it good.” - </p> - <p> - “Down on the nail?” inquired Ellish. - </p> - <p> - “Ay! ay! Down on the nail,” replied the priest. - </p> - <p> - “Well, in the name o' Goodness, a bargain be it,” said Peter; “but, upon - my credit, Ellish, I won't have the bag-pipes burnt, anyhow. Faith, I must - hear an odd tune, now an' thin, when I call to see the childhre.” - </p> - <p> - “Pether, acushla, have sinse. Would you wish to see your daughter-in-law - playin' upon the bag-pipes, when she ought to be mindin' her business, or - attendin' her childhre? No, your Reverence, the pipes must be laid aside. - I'll have no pipery connection for a son of mine.” - </p> - <p> - The priest consented to this, although Peter conceded it with great - reluctance. Further preliminaries were agreed upon, and the evening passed - pleasantly, until it became necessary for Mr. Mulcahy to bid them - good-night. - </p> - <p> - When they were gone, Peter and Ellish talked over the matter between - themselves in the following dialogue: - </p> - <p> - “The fortune's a small one,” said Ellish to her husband; “an' I suppose - you wondher that I consinted to take so little.” - </p> - <p> - “Sure enough, I wondhered at it,” replied Peter, “but, for my own part, - I'd give my son to her widout a penny o' fortune, in ordher to be - connected wid the priest; an' besides, she's a fine, handsome, good girl—ay, - an' his fill of a wife, if she had but the shift to her back.” - </p> - <p> - “Four hundhre wid a priest's niece, Pether, is before double the money wid - any other. Don't you know, that when they set up for themselves, he can - bring the custom of the whole parish to them? It's unknown the number o' - ways he can sarve them in. Sure, at stations an' weddins, wakes, - marriages, and funerals, they'll all be proud to let the priest know that - they purchased whatever they wanted from his niece an' her husband. - Betther!—faix, four hundhre from him is worth three times as much - from another.” - </p> - <p> - “Glory to you, Ellish!—bright an' cute for ever! Why, I'd back you - for a woman' that could buy an' sell Europe, aginst the world. Now, isn't - it odd that I never think of these long-headed skames?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay do you, often enough, Pether; but you keep them to yourself, - abouchal.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, I'm close, no doubt of it; an'—but there's no use in sayin' - any more about it—you said whatsomever came into my own head - consarnin' it. Faith, you did, you phanix.” - </p> - <p> - In a short time the marriage took place. - </p> - <p> - Dan, under the advice of his mother, purchased a piece of ground most - advantageously located, as the site of a mill, whereon an excellent one - was built; and as a good mill had been long a desideratum in the country, - his success was far beyond his expectations. Every speculation, in fact, - which Ellish touched, prospered. Fortune seemed to take delight, either in - accomplishing or anticipating her wishes. At least, such was the general - opinion, although nothing could possibly be more erroneous than to - attribute her success to mere chance. The secret of all might be ascribed - to her good sense, and her exact knowledge of the precise moment when to - take the tide of fortune at its flow. Her son, in addition to the mill, - opened an extensive mercantile establishment in the next town, where he - had ample cause to bless the instructions of his mother, and her foresight - in calculating upon the advantage of being married to the priest's niece. - </p> - <p> - Soon after his marriage, the person who had for many years kept the head - inn of the next town died, and the establishment was advertised for sale. - Ellish was immediately in action. Here was an opportunity of establishing - the second son in a situation which had enabled the late proprietor of it - to die nearly the richest man in the parish. A few days, therefore, before - that specified for the sale, she took her featherbed car, and had an - interview with the executors of the late proprietor. Her character was - known, her judgment and integrity duly estimated, and, perhaps, what was - the weightiest argument in her favor, her purse was forthcoming to - complete the offer she had made. After some private conversation between - the executors, her proposal was accepted, and before she returned home, - the head inn, together with its fixtures and furniture, was her property. - </p> - <p> - The second son, who was called after his father, received the intelligence - with delight. One of his sisters was, at his mother's suggestion, - appointed to conduct the housekeeping department, and keep the bar, a duty - for which she was pretty well qualified by her experience at home. - </p> - <p> - “I will paint it in great style,” said Peter the Younger. “It must be a - head Inn no longer; I'll call it a Hotel, for that's the whole fashion.” - </p> - <p> - “It wants little, avourneen,” said his mother; “it was well kept—some - paintin' an other improvements it does want, but don't be extravagant. - Have it clane an' dacent, but, above all things, comfortable, an' the - attindance good. That's what'll carry you, an—not a flourish o' - paintin' outside, an' dirt, an' confusion, an' bad attindance widin. - Considher, Pether darlin', that the man who owned it last, feathered his - nest well in it, but never called it a Hotill. Let it appear on the - outside jist as your old customers used to see it; but improve it widin as - much as you can, widout bein' lavish an it, or takin' up the place wid - nonsense.” - </p> - <p> - “At all evints, I'll have a picture of the Liberator over the door, an' - O'Connell' written under it. It's both our names, and besides it will be - 'killin' two birds with one stone.'” - </p> - <p> - “No, avourneen. Let me advise you, if you wish to prosper in life, to keep - yourself out of party-work. It only stands betune you an' your business; - an' it's surely wiser for you to mind your own affairs than the affairs of - the nation. There's rason in everything. No man in trade has a right, - widout committin' a sin, to neglect his family for politics or parties. - There's Jack Cummins that was doin' well in his groceries till he began to - make speeches, an' get up public meetins, an' write petitions, an' now he - has nothin' to throuble him but politics, for his business is gone. Every - one has liberty to think as they plase. We can't expect Protestants to - think as we do, nor Protestants can't suppose that we ought to think as - they'd wish; an' for that same rason, we should make allowance on both - sides, an' not be like many we know, that have their minds up, expectin' - they don't know, what, instead of workin' for themselves and their - families as they ought to do. Pether, won't you give that up, avillish?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe you're right, mother. I didn't see it before in the light - you've placed it in.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, Pether darlin', lose no time in gettin' into your place—you - an' Alley; an' faix, if you don't both manage it cleverly, I'll never - spake to yez.” - </p> - <p> - Here was a second son settled, and nothing remained but to dispose of - their two daughters in marriage to the best and most advantageous offers. - This, in consequences of their large fortunes, was not a matter of much - difficulty. The eldest, Alley, who assisted her brother to conduct the - Inn, became the wife of an extensive grazier, who lived in an adjoining - county. The younger, Mary, was joined to Father Mulcahy's nephew, not - altogether to the satisfaction of the mother, who feared that two - establishments of the same kind, in the same parish, supported by the same - patronage, must thrive at the expense of each other. As it was something - of a love-match, however, she ultimately consented. - </p> - <p> - “Avourneen,” said she, “the parish is big enough, an' has customers enough - to support two o' them; an' I'll engage his Reverence will do what he can - for them both.” - </p> - <p> - In the meantime, neither she nor her husband was dependent upon their - children. Peter still kept the agricultural department in operation; and - although the shop and warehouse were transferred to Mr. Mulcahy, in right - of his wife, yet it was under the condition of paying a yearly sum to Mrs. - Connell and her husband, ostensibly as a provision, but really as a spur - to their exertions. A provision they could not want, for their wealth - still amounted to thousands, independently of the large annual profits - arising out of their farms. - </p> - <p> - For some time after the marriage of her youngest daughter, Mrs. Connell - took a very active part in her son-in-law's affairs. He possessed neither - experience, nor any knowledge of business whatsoever, though he was not - deficient in education, nor in capacity to acquire both. This pleased Mrs. - Connell very much, who set herself to the task of instructing him in the - principles of commercial life, and in the best methods of transacting - business. - </p> - <p> - “The first rules,” said she to him, “for you to obsarve is these: tell - truth; be sober; be punctual; rise early; persavere; avoid extravagance; - keep your word; an watch your health. Next: don't be proud; give no - offince; talk sweetly; be ready to oblage, when you can do it widout - inconvanience, but don't put yourself or your business out o' your ways to - sarve anybody. - </p> - <p> - “Thirdly: keep an appearance of substance an' comfort about your place, - but don't go beyant your manes in doin' it; when you make a bargain, think - what a corrocther them you dale wid bears, an' whether or not you found - them honest before, if you ever had business wid them. - </p> - <p> - “When you buy a thing, appear to know your own mind, an' don't be hummin' - an' hawin', an' higglin', an' longin' as if your teeth wor watherin' - afther it; but be manly, downright, an' quick; they'll then see that you - know your business, an' they won't be keepin' off an' an, but will close - wid you at wanst. - </p> - <p> - “Never drink at bargain makin'; an' never pay money in a public-house if - you can help it; if you must do it, go into an inn, or a house that you - know to be dacent. - </p> - <p> - “Never stay out late in a fair or market; don't make a poor mouth; on the - other hand, don't boast of your wealth; keep no low company; don't be - rubbin' yourself against your betthers, but keep wid your aquils. File - your loose papers an' accounts, an' keep your books up to the day. Never - put off anything that can be done, when it ought to be done. Go early to - bed; but be the last up at night, and the first in the mornin', and - there's no fear o' you.” - </p> - <p> - Having now settled all her children in comfort and independence, with each - a prospect of rising still higher in the world, Mrs. Connell felt that the - principal duties devolving upon her had been discharged. It was but - reasonable, she thought, that, after the toil of a busy life, her husband - and herself should relax a little, and enjoy with lighter minds the ease - for which they had labored so long and unremittingly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what I'm thinkin' of, Pether?” said she, one summer evening - in their farm-yard. - </p> - <p> - “Know, is it?” replied Peter—“some long-headed plan that none of us - 'ud ever think of, but that will stare us in the face the moment you - mintion it. What is it, you ould sprig o' beauty?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, to get a snug jauntin'-car, for you an' me. I'd like to see you - comfortable in your old days, Peter. You're gettin' stiff, ahagur, an' - will be good for nothin' by an' by.” - </p> - <p> - “Stiff! Arrah, by this an' by—my reputation, I'm younger nor e'er a - one o' my sons yet, you——eh?” said Peter, pausing— - </p> - <p> - “Faith, then I dunna that. Upon my credit, I think, on second thoughts, - that a car 'ud be a mighty comfortable thing for me. Faith, I do, an' for - you, too, Ellish.” - </p> - <p> - “The common car,” she continued, “is slow and throublesome, an' joults the - life out o' me.” - </p> - <p> - “By my reputation, you're not the same woman since you began to use it, - that you wor before at all. Why, it'll shorten your life. The pillion's - dacent enough; but the jauntin'-car!—faix, it's what 'ud make a - fresh woman o' you—divil a lie in it.” - </p> - <p> - “You're not puttin' in a word for yourself now, Pether?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I am, an' for both of us. I'd surely be proud to see yourself - an' myself sittin' in our glory upon our own jauntin'-car. Sure we can - afford it, an' ought to have it, too. Bud-an'-ager! what's the rason I - didn't, think of it long ago?” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe you did, acushla; but you forgot, it. Wasn't that the way wid you, - Pether? Tell the thruth.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, bad luck to the lie in it, since you must know. About this - time twelve months—no, faix, I'm wrong, it was afore Dan's marriage—I - had thoughts o' spakin' ta you about it, but somehow it left my head. Upon - my word, I'm in airnest, Ellish.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, avick, make your mind asy; I'll have one from Dublin in less nor a - fortnight. I can thin go about of an odd time, an' see how Dan an' - Pether's comin' an. It'll be a pleasure to me to advise an' direct them, - sure, as far an' as well as I can. I only hope? God will enable thim to do - as much for their childher, as he enabled us to do for them, glory be to - his name!” - </p> - <p> - Peter's eye rested upon her as she spoke—a slight shade passed over - his face, but it was the symptom of deep feeling and affection, whose - current had run smooth and unbroken during the whole life they had spent - together. - </p> - <p> - “Ellish,” said he, in a tone of voice that strongly expressed what he - felt, “you wor one o' the best wives that ever the Almighty gev to mortual - man. You wor, avourneen—-you wor, you wor!” - </p> - <p> - “I intind, too, to begin an' make my sowl, a little,” she continued; “we - had so much to do, Pether, aroon, that, indeed, we hadn't time to think of - it all along; but now, that everything else is settled, we ought to think - about that, an' make the most of our time—while we can.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my conscience, I've strong notions myself o' the same thing,” - replied Peter. “An' I'll back you in that, as well as in every thing else. - Never fear, if we pull together, but we'll bring up the lost time. Faith, - we will! Sowl, if you set about it, let me see them that 'ud prevint you - goin' to heaven!” - </p> - <p> - “Did Paddy Donovan get the bay filly's foot aised, Pether?” - </p> - <p> - “He's gone down wid her to the forge: the poor crathur was very lame - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right; an' let Andy Murtagh bring down the sacks from Drumdough - early to-morrow. That what ought to go to the market on Thursday, an' the - other stacks ought to be thrashed out of hand.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well; so it will be all done. Tare alive! if myself knows how - you're able to keep an eye on everything. Come in, an' let us have our - tay.” - </p> - <p> - For a few months after this, Ellish was perfectly in her element. The - jaunting-car was procured; and her spirits seemed to be quite elevated. - She paid regular visits to both her sons, looked closely into their manner - of conducting business, examined their premises, and subjected every - fixture and improvement made or introduced without her sanction, to the - most rigorous scrutiny. In fact, what, between Peter's farm, her - daughter's shop, and the establishments of her sons, she never found - herself more completely encumbered with business. She had intended “to - make her soul,” but her time was so fully absorbed by the affairs of those - in whom she felt so strong an interest, that she really forgot the - spiritual resolution in the warmth of her secular pursuits. - </p> - <p> - One evening, about this time, a horse belonging to Peter happened to fall - into a ditch, from which he was extricated with much difficulty by the - laborers. Ellish, who thought it necessary to attend, had been standing - for some time directing them how to proceed; her dress was rather thin, - and the hour, which was about twilight, chilly, for it was the middle of - autumn. Upon returning home she found herself cold, and inclined to - shiver. At first she thought but little of these symptoms; for having - never had a single day's sickness, she was scarcely competent to know that - they were frequently the forerunners of very dangerous and fatal maladies. - She complained, however, of slight illness, and went to bed without taking - anything calculated to check what she felt. Her sufferings during the - night were dreadful: high fever had set in with a fury that threatened to - sweep the powers of life like a wreck before it. The next morning the - family, on looking into her state more closely, found it necessary to send - instantly for a physician. - </p> - <p> - On arriving, he pronounced her to be in a dangerous pleurisy, from which, - in consequence of her plethoric habit, he expressed but faint hopes of her - recovery. This was melancholy intelligence to her sons and daughters: but - to Peter, whose faithful wife she had been for thirty years, it was a - dreadful communication indeed. - </p> - <p> - “No hopes, Docthor!” he exclaimed, with a bewildered air: “did you say no - hopes, sir?—Oh! no, you didn't—you couldn't say that there's - no hopes!” - </p> - <p> - “The hopes of her recovery, Mr. Connell, are but slender,—if any.” - </p> - <p> - “Docthor, I'm a rich man, thanks be to God an' to——” he - hesitated, cast back a rapid and troubled look towards the bed whereon she - lay, then proceeded—“no matther, I'm a rich man: but if you can - spare her to me, I'll divide what I'm worth in the world wid you: I will, - sir; an' if that won't do, I'll give up my last shillin' to save her, an' - thin I'd beg my bit an' sup through the counthry, only let me have her wid - me.” - </p> - <p> - “As far as my skill goes,” said the doctor, “I shall, of course, exert it - to save her; but there are some diseases which we are almost always able - to pronounce fatal at first sight. This, I fear, is one of them. Still I - do not bid you despair—there is, I trust, a shadow of hope.” - </p> - <p> - “The blessin' o' the Almighty be upon you, sir, for that word! The best - blessing of the heavenly Father rest upon you an' yours for it!” - </p> - <p> - “I shall return in the course of the day,” continued the physician; “and - as you feel the dread of her loss so powerfully, I will bring two other - medical gentlemen of skill with me.” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens reward you for that, sir! The heavens above reward you an' them - for it! Payment!—och, that signifies but little: but you and them - 'll be well paid. Oh, Docthor, achora, thry an' save her!—Och, thry - an' save her!” - </p> - <p> - “Keep her easy,” replied the doctor, “and let my directions be faithfully - followed. In the meantime, Mr. Connell, be a man and display proper - fortitude under a dispensation which is common to all men in your state.” - </p> - <p> - To talk of resignation to Peter was an abuse of words. The poor man had no - more perception of the consolation arising from a knowledge of religion - than a child. His heart sank within him, for the prop on which his - affections had rested was suddenly struck down from under them. - </p> - <p> - Poor Ellish was in a dreadful state. Her malady seized her in the very - midst of her worldly-mindedness; and the current of her usual thoughts, - when stopped by the aberrations of intellect peculiar to her illness, - bubbled up, during the temporary returns of reason, with a stronger relish - of the world. It was utterly impossible for a woman like her, whose habits - of thought and the tendency of whose affections had been all directed - towards the acquisition of wealth, to wrench them for ever and at once - from the objects on which they were fixed. This, at any time, would have - been to her a difficult victory to achieve; but now, when stunned by the - stroke of disease, and confused by the pangs of severe suffering, tortured - by a feverish pulse and a burning brain, to expect that she could - experience the calm hopes of religion, or feel the soothing power of - Christian sorrow, was utter folly. 'Tis true, her life had been a harmless - one: her example, as an industrious and enterprising member of society, - was worthy of imitation. She was an excellent mother, a good neighbor, and - an admirable wife; but the duties arising out of these different relations - of life, were all made subservient to, and mixed up with, her great - principle of advancing herself in the world, whilst that which is to come - never engaged one moment's serious consideration. - </p> - <p> - When Father Mulcahy came to administer the rites of the church to Ellish, - he found her in a state of incoherency. Occasional gleams of reason broke - out through the cloud that obscured her intellect, but they carried with - them the marks of a mind knit indissolubly to wealth and aggrandizement. - The same tenor of thought, and the same broken fragments of ambitious - speculation, floated in rapid confusion through the tempests of delirium - which swept with awful darkness over her spirit. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Connell,” said he, “can you collect yourself? Strive to compose your - mind, so far as to be able to receive the aids of religion.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, oh!—my blood's boilin'! Is that—is that Father Mulcahy?” - </p> - <p> - “It is, dear: strive now to keep your mind calm, till you prepare yourself - for judgment.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep up his head, Paddy—keep up his head, or he'll be smothered - undher the wather an' the sludge. Here, Mike, take this rope: pull, man,—pull, - or the horse will be lost! Oh, my head!—I'm boilin'—I'm - burnin'!” - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Connell, let me entreat you to remember that you are on the point of - death, and should raise your heart to God, for the pardon and remission of - your sins.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Father dear, I neglected that, but I intinded—I intinded—Where's - Pether!—bring, bring—Pether to me!” - </p> - <p> - “Turn your thoughts to God, now, my dear. Are you clear enough in your - mind for confession?” - </p> - <p> - “I am, Father! I am, avourneen. Come, come here, Pether! Pether, I'm goin' - to lave you, asthore machree! I could part wid them all but—but - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Connell, for Heaven's sake.”—. - </p> - <p> - “Is this—is this—Father Mulcahy? Oh! I'm ill—ill!”— - </p> - <p> - “It is, dear; it is. Compose yourself and confess your sins.” - </p> - <p> - “Where's Mary? She'll neglect—neglect to lay in a stock o' linen, - although I—I—Oh, Father, avourneen! won't you pity me! I'm - sick—oh, I'm very sick!” - </p> - <p> - “You are, dear—you are, God help you, very sick, but you'll be - better soon. Could you confess, dear?—do you think you could?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, this pain—this pain!—it's killin' me!—Pether—Pether, - <i>a suillish, machree</i>, (* The light of my heart) have, have you des—have - you desarted me.” - </p> - <p> - The priest, conjecturing that if Peter made his appearance she might feel - soothed, and perhaps sufficiently composed to confess, called him in from - the next room. - </p> - <p> - “Here's Peter,” said the priest, presenting him to her view—“Here's - Peter, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! what a load is on me! this pain—this pain is killin' me—won't - you bring me, Pether? Oh, what will I do? Who's there?” - </p> - <p> - The mental pangs of poor Peter were, perhaps, equal in intensity to those - which she suffered physically. - </p> - <p> - “Ellish,” said he, in smothered sobs—“Ellish, acushla machree, sure - I'm wid you here; here I'm sittin' on the bed wid you, achora machree.” - </p> - <p> - “Catch my hand, thin. Ah, Pether! won't you pity your Ellish?—Won't - you pity me—won't you pity me? Oh! this pain—this pain—is - killin' me!” - </p> - <p> - “It is, it is, my heart's delight—it's killin' us both. Oh, Ellish, - Ellish! I wish I was dead sooner nor see you in this agony. I ever loved - you!—I ever an' always loved you, avourneen dheelish; but now I - would give my heart's best blood, if it'ud save you. Here's Father Mulcahy - come.” - </p> - <p> - “About the mon—about the money—Pether—what do you intind——Oh! - my blood—my blood's a-fire!—Mother o'Heaven!—Oh! this - pain is—is takin' me from all—faix!—Rise me up!” - </p> - <p> - “Here, my darlin'—treasure o' my heart here—I'm puttin' your - head upon my breast—upon my breast, Ellish, ahagur. Marciful Virgin—Father - dear,” said Peter, bursting into bitter tears—“her head's like fire! - O! Ellish, Ellish, Ellish!—but my heart's brakin' to feel this! Have - marcy on her, sweet God—have marcy on her! Bear witness, Father of - heaven—bear witness, an' hear the vow of a brakin' heart. I here - solemnly promise before God, to make, if I'm spared life an' health to do - it, a Station on my bare feet to Lough Derg, if it plases you, sweet - Father o' pity, to spare her to me this day! Oh! but the hand o' God, - Father dear, is terrible!—feel her brow!—Oh! but it's - terrible!” - </p> - <p> - “It is terrible,” said the priest; “and terribly is it laid upon her, poor - woman! Peter, do not let this scene be lost. Remember it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Father dear, can I ever forget it?—can I ever forget seein' my - darlin' in sich agony?” - </p> - <p> - “Pether,” said the sick woman, “will you get the car ready for to-mor—to-morrow—till - I look at that piece o' land that Dan bought, before he—he closes - the bargain?” - </p> - <p> - “Father, jewel!” said Pether, “can't you get the world banished out of her - heart? Oh, I'd give all I'm worth to see that heart fixed upon God! I - could bear to part wid her, for she must die some time; but to go wid this - world's thoughts an' timptations ragin' strong in her heart—mockin' - God, an' hope, an' religion, an' everything:—oh!—that I can't - bear! Sweet Jasus, change her heart!—Queen o' Heaven, have pity on - her, an' save her!” - </p> - <p> - The husband wept with great sorrow as he uttered these words. - </p> - <p> - “Neither reasoning nor admonition can avail her,” replied the priest; “she - is so incoherent that no train of thought is continued for a single minute - in her mind. I will, however, address her again. Mrs. Connell, will you - make a straggle to pay attention to me for a few minutes? Are you not - afraid to meet God? You are about to die!—prepare yourself for - judgment.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Father dear! I can't—I can't—I am af—afraid—Hooh!—hooh!—God! - You must do some thin'for—for me! I never done anything for myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Glory be to God! that she has that much sinse, any way,” exclaimed her - husband. “Father, ahagur, I trust my vow was heard.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear—listen to me,” continued the priest—“can you - not make the best confession possible? Could you calm yourself for it?” - </p> - <p> - “Pether, avick machree—Pether,”— - </p> - <p> - “Ellish, avourneen, I'm here!—my darlin', I am your vick machree, - an' ever was. Oh, Father! my heart's brakin'! I can't bear to part wid - her. Father of heaven, pity us this day of throuble?” - </p> - <p> - “Be near me, Pether; stay wid me—I'm very lonely. Is this you - keepin' my head up?” - </p> - <p> - “It is, it is! I'll never lave you till—till”— - </p> - <p> - “Is the carman come from Dublin wid—wid the broadcloth?” - </p> - <p> - “Father of heaven! she's gone back again!” exclaimed the husband. - </p> - <p> - “Father, jewel! have you no prayers that you'd read for her? You wor - ordained for these things, an' comin' from you, they'll have more - stringth. Can you do nothin' to save my darlin'?” - </p> - <p> - “My prayers will not be wanting,” said the priest: “but I am watching for - an interval of sufficient calmness to hear her confession; and I very much - fear that she will pass in darkness. At all events, I will anoint her by - and by. In the meantime, we must persevere a little longer; she may become - easier, for it often happens that reason gets clear immediately before - death.” - </p> - <p> - Peter sobbed aloud, and wiped away the tears that streamed from his - cheeks. At this moment her daughter and son-in-law stole in, to ascertain - how she was, and whether the rites of the church had in any degree soothed - or composed her. - </p> - <p> - “Come in, Denis,” said the priest to his nephew, “you may both come in. - Mrs. Mulcahy, speak to your mother: let us try every remedy that might - possibly bring her to a sense of her awful state.” - </p> - <p> - “Is she raving still?” inquired the daughter, whose eyes were red with - weeping. - </p> - <p> - The priest shook his head; “Ah, she is—she is! and I fear she will - scarcely recover her reason before the judgment of heaven opens upon her!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh thin may the Mother of Glory forbid that!” exclaimed her daughter—“anything - at all but that! Can you do nothin' for her, uncle?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm doing all I can for her, Mary,” replied the priest; “I'm watching a - calm moment to get her confession, if possible.” - </p> - <p> - The sick woman had fallen into a momentary silence, during which, she - caught the bed-clothes like a child, and felt them, and seemed to handle - their texture, but with such an air of vacancy as clearly manifested that - no corresponding association existed in her mind. - </p> - <p> - The action was immediately understood by all present. Her daughter again - burst into tears; and Peter, now almost choked with grief, pressing the - sick woman to his heart, kissed her burning lips. - </p> - <p> - “Father, jewel,” said the daughter, “there it is, and I feard it—the - sign, uncle—the sign!—don't you see her gropin' the clothes? - Oh, mother, darlin', darlin'!—are we going to lose you for ever?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Ellish, Ellish—won't you spake one word to me afore you go? - Won't you take one farewell of me—of me, aroon asthore, before you - depart from us for ever!” exclaimed her husband. - </p> - <p> - “Feeling the bed-clothes,” said the priest, “is not always a, sign of - death; I have known many to recover after it. - </p> - <p> - “Husht,” said Peter—“husht!—Mary—Mary! Come hear—hould - your tongues! Oh, it's past—it's past!—it's all past, an' gone—all - hope's over! Heavenly fither!” - </p> - <p> - The daughter, after listening for a moment, in a paroxysm of wild grief, - clasped her mother's recumbent body in her arms, and kissed hen lips with - a vehemence almost frantic. “You won't go, my darlin'—is it from - your own Mary that you'd go? Mary, that you loved best of all your - childhre!—Mary that you always said, an' every body said, was your - own image! Oh, you won't go without one word, to say you know her!” - </p> - <p> - “For Heaven's sake,” said Father Mulcahy, “what do you mean?—are you - mad?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! uncle dear! don't you hear?—don't you hear?—listen an' - sure you will—all hope's gone now—gone—gone! The dead - rattle!—listen!—the dead rattle's in her throat!”— - </p> - <p> - The priest bent his ear a moment, and distinctly heard the gurgling noise - produced by the phlegm, which is termed with wild poetical accuracy, by - the peasantry—the “dead rattle,” or “death rattle,” because it is - the immediate and certain forerunner of death. - </p> - <p> - “True,” said the priest—“too true; the last shadow of hope is gone. - We must now make as much of the time as possible. Leave the room for a few - minutes till I anoint her, I will then call you in.” - </p> - <p> - They accordingly withdrew, but in about fifteen or twenty minutes he once - more summoned them to the bed of the dying woman. - </p> - <p> - “Come in,” said he, “I have anointed her—come in, and kneel down - till we offer up a Rosary to the Blessed Virgin, under the hope that she - may intercede with God for her, and cause her to pass out of life happily. - She was calling for you, Peter, in your absence; you had better stay with - her.” - </p> - <p> - “I will,” said Peter, in a broken voice; “I'll stay nowhere else.” - </p> - <p> - “An'I'll kneel at the bed-side,” said the daughter. “She was the kind - mother to me, and to us all; but to me in particular. 'Twas with me she - took her choice to live, when they war all striving for her. Oh,” said - she, taking her mother's hand between hers, and kneeling-down to kiss it, - “a Vahr dheelish! (* sweet mother) did we ever think to see you departing - from us this way! snapped away without a minute's warning! If it was a - long-sickness, that you'd be calm and sinsible in, but to be hurried away - into eternity, and your mind dark! Oh, Vhar dheelish, my heart is broke to - see you this way!” - </p> - <p> - “Be calm,” said the priest; “be quiet till I open the Rosary.” - </p> - <p> - He then offered up the usual prayers which precede its repetition, and - after having concluded them, commenced what is properly called the Rosary - itself, which consists of fifteen Decades, each Decade containing the Hail - Mary repeated ten times, and the Lord's Prayer once. In this manner the - Decade goes round from one to another, until, as we have said above, it is - repeated fifteen times; or, in all, the Ave Maria's one hundred and - sixty-five times, without variation. From the indistinct utterance, - elevated voice, and rapid manner in which it is pronounced, it certainly - has a wild effect, and is more strongly impressed with the character of a - mystic rite, or incantation, than with any other religious ceremony with - which we could compare it. - </p> - <p> - “When the priest had repeated the first part, he paused for the response: - neither the husband nor daughter, however, could find utterance. - </p> - <p> - “Denis,” said he, to his nephew, “do you take up the next.” - </p> - <p> - His nephew complied; and with much difficulty Peter and his daughter were - able to join in it, repeating here and there a word or two, as well as - their grief and sobbings would permit them. - </p> - <p> - The heart must indeed have been an unfeeling one, to which a scene like - this would not have been deeply touching and impressive. The poor dying - woman reclined with her head upon her husband's bosom; the daughter knelt - at the bed-side, with her mother's hand pressed against her lips, she - herself convulsed with sorrow—the priest was in the attitude of - earnest supplication, having the stole about his neck, his face and arms - raised towards heaven—the son-in-law was bent over a chair, with his - face buried in his hands. Nothing could exceed the deep, the powerful - expression of entreaty, which marked every tone and motion of the parties, - especially those of the husband and daughter. They poured an energy into - the few words which they found voice to utter, and displayed such a - concentration of the faculties of the soul in their wild unregulated - attitudes, and streaming, upturned eyes, as would seem to imply that their - own salvation depended upon that of the beloved object before them. Their - words, too, were accompanied by such expressive tokens of their attachment - to her, that the character of prayer was heightened by the force of the - affection which they bore her. When Peter, for instance, could command - himself to utter a word, he pressed his dying wife to his bosom, and - raised his eyes to heaven in a manner that would have melted any human - heart; and the daughter, on joining occasionally in the response, pressed - her mother's hand to her heart, and kissed it with her lips, conscious - that the awful state of her parent had rendered more necessary the - performance of the two tenderest duties connected with a child's obedience—prayer - and affection. - </p> - <p> - When the son-in-law had finished his Decade, a pause followed, for there - was none now to proceed but her husband, or her daughter. - </p> - <p> - “Mary, dear,” said the priest, “be a woman; don't let your love for your - mother prevent you from performing a higher duty. Go on with the prayer—you - see she is passing fast.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll try, uncle,” she replied—“I'll try; but—but—it's - hard, hard, upon me.” - </p> - <p> - She commenced, and by an uncommon effort so far subdued her grief, as to - render her words intelligible. Her eyes, streaming with tears, were fixed - with a mixture of wildness, sorrow, and devotedness, upon the countenance - of her mother, until she had completed her Decade. - </p> - <p> - Another pause ensued. It was now necessary, according to the order and - form of the Prayer, that Peter should commence and offer up his - supplications for the happy passage from life to eternity of her who had - been his inward idol during a long period. Peter knew nothing about - sentiment, or the philosophy of sorrow; but he loved his wife with the - undivided power of a heart in which nature had implanted her strongest - affections. He knew, too, that his wife had loved him with a strength of - heart equal to his own. He loved her, and she deserved his love. - </p> - <p> - The pause, when the prayer had gone round to him, was long; those who were - present at length turned their eyes towards him, and the priest, now - deeply affected, cleared his voice, and simply said, “Peter,” to remind - him that it was his duty to proceed with the Rosary. - </p> - <p> - Peter, however, instead of uttering the prayer, burst out into a tide of - irrepressible sorrow.—“Oh!” said he, enfolding her in his arms, and - pressing his lips to hers: “Ellish, ahagur machree! sure when I think of - all the goodness, an' kindness, an' tendherness that you showed me—whin - I think of your smiles upon me, whin you wanted me to do the right, an' - the innocent plans you made out, to benefit me an' mine!—Oh! where - was your harsh word, avillish?—where was your could brow, or your - bad tongue? Nothin' but goodness—nothin' but kindness, an' love, an' - wisdom, ever flowed from these lips! An' now, darlin', pulse o' my broken - heart! these same lips can't spake to me—these eyes don't know me—these - hands don't feel me—nor your ears doesn't hear me!” - </p> - <p> - “Is—is—it you?” replied his wife feebly—“is it—you?—come—come - near me—my heart—my heart says it misses you—come near - me!” - </p> - <p> - Peter again pressed her in an embrace, and, in doing so, unconsciously - received the parting breath of a wife whose prudence and affection had - saved him from poverty, and, probably, from folly or crime. - </p> - <p> - The priest, on turning round to rebuke Peter for not proceeding with the - prayer, was the first who discovered that she had died; for the grief of - her husband was too violent to permit him to notice anything with much - accuracy. - </p> - <p> - “Peter,” said he, “I beg your pardon; let me take the trouble of - supporting her for a few minutes, after which I must talk to you seriously—very - seriously.” - </p> - <p> - The firm, authoritative tone in which the priest spoke, together with - Peter's consciousness that he had acted wrongly by neglecting to join in - the Rosary, induced him to retire from the bed with a rebuked air. The - priest immediately laid back the head' of Mrs. Connell on the pillow, and - composed the features of her lifeless face with his own hands. Until this - moment none of them, except himself, knew that she was dead. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” continued he, “all her cares, and hopes, and speculations, touching - this world, are over—so is her pain; her blood will soon be cold - enough, and her head will ache no more. She is dead. Grief is therefore - natural; but let it be the grief of a man, Peter. Indeed, it is less - painful to look upon her now, than when she suffered such excessive agony. - Mrs. Mulcahy, hear me! Oh, it's in vain! Well, well, it is but natural; - for it was an unexpected and a painful death!” - </p> - <p> - The cries of her husband and daughter soon gave intimation to her servants - that her pangs were over. From the servants it immediately went to the - neighbors, and thus did the circle widen until it reached the furthest - ends of the parish. In a short time, also, the mournful sounds of the - church-bell, in slow and measured strokes, gave additional notice that a - Christian soul had passed into eternity. - </p> - <p> - It is in such scenes as these that the Roman Catholic clergy knit - themselves so strongly into the affections of the people. All men are - naturally disposed to feel the offices of kindness and friendship more - deeply, when tendered at the bed of death or of sickness, than under any - other circumstances. Both the sick-bed and the house of death are - necessarily the sphere of a priest's duty, and to render them that justice - which we will ever render, when and wheresoever it may be due, we freely - grant that many shining, nay, noble instances of Christian virtue are - displayed by them on such occasions. - </p> - <p> - When the violence of grief produced by Ellish's death had subsided, the - priest, after giving them suitable exhortations to bear the affliction - which had just befallen them with patience, told Peter, that as God, - through the great industry and persevering exertions of her who had then - departed to another world, had blessed him abundantly with wealth and - substance, it was, considering the little time which had been allowed her - to repent in a satisfactory manner for her transgressions, his bounden and - solemn duty to set aside a suitable portion of that wealth for the - delivery of her soul from purgatory, where, he trusted, in the mercy of - God, it was permitted to remain. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, your Reverence,” replied Peter, “it wasn't necessary to mintion - it, considherin' the way she was cut off from among us, widout even time - to confess.” - </p> - <p> - “But blessed be God,” said the daughter, “she received the ointment at any - rate, and that of itself would get her to purgatory.” - </p> - <p> - “And I can answer for her,” said Peter, “that she intended, as soon as - she'd get everything properly settled for the childhre, to make her sowl.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! good intentions,” said the priest, “won't do. I, however, have - forewarned you of your duty, and must now leave the guilt or the merit of - relieving her departed spirit, upon you and the other members of her - family, who are all bound to leave nothing undone that may bring her from - pain and fire, to peace and happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Och! och! asthore, asthore! you're lyin' there—an', oh, Ellish, - avourneen, could you think that I—I—would spare money—trash—to - bring you to glory wid the angels o' heaven! No, no, Father dear. It's - good, an' kind, an' thoughtful of you to put it into my head; but I didn't - intind to neglect or forget it. Oh, how will I live wantin' her, Father? - When I rise in the mornin', avillish, where 'ud be your smile and your - voice? We won't hear your step, nor see you as we used to do, movin' - pleasantly about the place. No—you're gone, avoumeen—gone—an' - we'll see you and hear you no more!” - </p> - <p> - His grief was once more about to burst forth, but the priest led him out - of the room, kindly chid him for the weakness of his immoderate sorrow, - and after making arrangements about the celebration of mass for the dead, - pressed his hand, and bade the family farewell. - </p> - <p> - The death of Ellish excited considerable surprise, and much conversation - in the neighborhood. Every point of her character was discussed freely, - and the comparisons instituted between her and Peter were anything but - flattering to the intellect of her husband. - </p> - <p> - “An' so Ellish is whipped off, Larry,” said a neighbor to one of Peter's - laboring men, “Faix, an' the best feather in their wing is gone.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, sure enough, Risthard, you may say that. It was her cleverness made - them what they are. She was the best manager in the three kingdoms.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, she was the woman could make a bargain. I only hope she hasn't - brought the luck o' the family away wid her!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, man alive, she made the sons and daughters as clever as herself—put - them up to everything. Indeed, it's quare to think of how that one woman - brought them ris them to what they are!” - </p> - <p> - “They shouldn't forget themselves as they're doin', thin; for betune you - an' me, they're as proud as Turks, an' God he sees it ill becomes them—sits - very badly on them, itself, when everything knows that their father an' - mother begun the world wid a bottle of private whiskey an' half a pound of - smuggled tobaccy.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Pether will break his heart, any way. Oh, man, but she was the good - wife. I'm livin' wid them going an seven year, an' never hard a cross word - from the one to the other. It's she that had the sweet tongue all out, an' - did manage him; but, afther all, he was worth the full o' the Royal George - of her. Many a time, when some poor craythur 'ud come to ax whiskey on - score to put over* some o' their friends, or for a weddin', or a - christenin', maybe, an' when the wife 'ud refuse it, Pether 'ud send what - whiskey they wanted afther them, widout lettin' her know anything about - it. An', indeed, he never lost anything by that; for if they wor to sell - their cow, he should be ped, in regard of the kindly way he gave it to - them.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * To put over—the corpse of a friend, to be drunk at - the wake and funeral. -</pre> - <p> - “Well, we'll see how they'll manage now that she's gone; but Pether an' - the youngest daughter, Mary, is to be pitied.” - </p> - <p> - “The sarra much; barrin' that they'll miss her at first from about the - place. You see she has left them above the world, an' full of it. Wealth - and substance enough may they thank her for; and that's very good comfort - for sorrow, Risthard.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, sure enough, Larry. There's no lie in that, any way!” - </p> - <p> - “Awouh! Lie! I have you about it.” - </p> - <p> - Such was the view which had been taken of their respective characters - through life. Yet, notwithstanding that the hearts of their acquaintances - never warmed to her—to use a significant expression current among - the peasantry—as they did to Peter, still she was respected almost - involuntarily for the indefatigable perseverance with which she pushed - forward her own interests through life. Her funeral was accordingly a - large one; and the conversation which took place at it, turning, as it - necessarily did, upon her extraordinary talents and industry, was highly - to the credit of her memory and virtues. Indeed, the attendance of many - respectable persons of all creeds and opinions, gave ample proof that the - qualities she possessed had secured for her general respect and - admiration. - </p> - <p> - Poor Peter, who was an object of great compassion, felt himself completely - crushed by the death of his faithful partner. The reader knows that he had - hitherto been a sober, and, owing to Ellish's prudent control, an - industrious man. To thought or reflection he was not, however, accustomed; - he had, besides, never received any education; if his morals were correct, - it was because a life of active employment had kept him engaged in - pursuits which repressed immorality, and separated him from those whose - society and influence might have been prejudicial to him. He had scarcely - known calamity, and when it occurred he was prepared for it neither by - experience nor a correct view of moral duty. On the morning of his wife's - funeral, such was his utter prostration both of mind and body, that even - his own sons, in order to resist the singular state of collapse into which - he had sunk, urged him to take some spirits. He was completely passive in - their hands, and complied. This had the desired effect, and he found - himself able to attend the funeral. When the friends of Ellish assembled, - after the interment, as is usual, to drink and talk together, Peter, who - could scarcely join in the conversation, swallowed glass after glass of - punch with great rapidity. In the mean time, the talk became louder and - more animated; the punch, of course, began to work, and as they sat long, - it was curious to observe the singular blending of mirth and sorrow, - singing and weeping, laughter and tears, which characterized this - remarkable scene. Peter, after about two hours' hard drinking, was not an - exception to the influence of this trait of national manners. His heart - having been deeply agitated, was the more easily brought under the effects - of contending emotions. He was naturally mirthful, and when intoxication - had stimulated the current of his wonted humor, the influence of this and - his recent sorrow produced such an anomalous commixture of fun and grief - as could seldom, out of Ireland, be found checkering the mind of one - individual. - </p> - <p> - It was in the midst of this extraordinary din that his voice was heard - commanding silence in its loudest and best-humored key: - </p> - <p> - “Hould yer tongues,” said he; “bad win to yees, don't you hear me wantin' - to sing! Whist wid yees. Hem—och—'Eise up'—Why, thin, - Phil Callaghan, you might thrate me wid more dacency, if you had gumption - in you; I'm sure no one has a betther right to sing first in this company - nor myself; an' what's more, I will sing first. Hould your tongues! Hem!” - </p> - <p> - He accordingly commenced a popular song, the air of which, though simple, - was touchingly mournful. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Och, rise up, Willy Reilly, an' come wid me, - I'm goin' for to go wid you, and lave this counteree; - I'm goin' to lave my father, his castles and freelands— - An' away what Willy Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn. - - “Och, they wint o'er hills an' mountains, and valleys that was - fair, - An' fled before her father as you may shortly hear; - Her father followed afther wid a well-chosen armed band, - Och, an' taken was poor Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn.” - </pre> - <p> - The simple pathos of the tune, the affection implied by the words, and - probably the misfortune of Willy Reilly, all overcame him, He finished the - second verse with difficulty, and on attempting to commence a third he - burst into tears. - </p> - <p> - “Colleen bawn! (fair, or fair-haired girl)—Colleen bawn!” he - exclaimed; “she's lyin' low that was my colleen bawn! Oh, will ye hould - your tongues, an' let me think of what has happened me? She's gone: Mary, - avourneen, isn't she gone from us? I'm alone, an' I'll be always lonely. - Who have I now to comfort me? I know I have good childhre, neighbors; but - none o' them, all of them, if they wor ten times as many, isn't aqual to - her that's in the grave. Her hands won't be about me—there was - tindherness in their very touch. An', of a Sunday mornin', how she'd tie - an my handkerchy, for I never could rightly tie it an myself, the knot was - ever an' always too many for me; but, och, och, she'd tie it an so snug - an' purty wid her own hands, that I didn't look the same man! The same - song was her favorite, Here's your healths; an' sure it's the first time - ever we wor together that she wasn't wid us: but now, avillish, your voice - is gone—you're silent and lonely in the grave; an' why shouldn't I - be sarry for the wife o' my heart that never angered me? Why shouldn't I? - Ay, Mary, asthore, machree, good right you have to cry afther her; she was - the kind mother to you; her heart was fixed in you; there's her fatures on - your face; her very eyes, an' fair hair, too, an' I'll love you, achora, - ten times more nor ever, for her sake. Another favorite song of hers, God - rest her, was 'Brian O'Lynn.' Troth an' I'll sing it, so I will, for if - she was livin' she'd like it. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, - A two-lugged porringer wanfcin' a tail.' -</pre> - <p> - Oh, my head's through other! The sarra one o' me I bleeve, but's out o' - the words, or, as they say, there's a hole in the ballad. Send round the - punch will ye? By the hole o' my coat, Parra Gastha, I'll whale you wid-in - an inch of your life, if you don't Shrink. Send round the punch, Dan; an' - give us a song, Parra Gastha. Arrah, Paddy, do you remimber—ha, ha, - ha—upon my credit, I'll never forget it, the fun we had catchin' - Father Soolaghan's horse, the day he gave his shirt to the sick man in the - ditch. The Lord rest his sowl in glory—ha, ha, ha—I'll never - forget it. Paddy, the song, you thief?” - </p> - <p> - “No, but tell them about that, Misther Connell.” - </p> - <p> - “Throth, an' I will; but don't be Mitherin me. Faith, this is The height - o' good punch. You see—ha, ha, ha! You see, it was one hard summer - afore I was married to Ellish—mavourneen, that you wor, asthore! - Och, och, are we parted at last? Upon my sowl, my heart's breakin'—breakin', - (weeps) an' no wondher! But as I was sayin'—all your healths! faith, - it is tip-top punch that—the poor man fell sick of a faver, an' sure - enough, when it was known what ailed him, the neighbors built a little - shed on the roadside for him, in regard that every one was afeard to let - him into their place. Howsomever—ha, ha, ha—Father Soolaghan - was one day ridin' past upon his horse, an' seein' the crathur lyin' - undher the shed, on a whisp o' straw, he pulls bridle, an' puts the spake - on the poor sthranger. So, begad, it came out, that the neighbors were - very kind to him, an' used to hand over whatsomever they thought best for - him from the back o' the ditch, as well as they could. - </p> - <p> - “'My poor fellow,' said the priest, 'you're badly off for linen.' - </p> - <p> - “'Thrue for you, sir,' said the sick man, 'I never longed for anything so - much in my life, as I do for a clane shirt an' a glass o' whiskey.' - </p> - <p> - “'The devil a glass o' whiskey I have about me, but you shall have the - clane shirt, you poor compassionate crathur,' said the priest, stretchin' - his neck up an' down to make sure there was no one comin' on the road—ha, - ha, ha! - </p> - <p> - “Well an' good—'I have three shirts,' says his Reverence, 'but I - have only one o' them an me, an' that you shall have.' - </p> - <p> - “So the priest peels himself on the spot, an' lays his black coat and - waistcoat afore him acrass the saddle, thin takin' off his shirt, he threw - it acrass the ditch to the sick man. Whether it was the white shirt, or - the black coat danglin' about the horse's neck, the divil a one o' myself - can say, but any way, the baste tuck fright, an' made off wid Father - Soolaghan, in the state I'm tellin' yez, upon his back—ha, ha, ha! - </p> - <p> - “Parra Gastha, here, an' I war goin' up at the time to do a little in the - distillin' way for Tom Duggan of Aidinasamlagh, an' seen what was goin' - an. So off we set, an we splittin' our sides laughin'—ha, ha, ha—at - the figure the priest cut. However, we could do no good, an' he never - could pull up the horse, till he came full flight to his own house, - opposite the pound there below, and the whole town in convulsions when - they seen him. We gother up his clothes, an' brought them home to him, an' - a good piece o' fun-we had wid him, for he loved the joke as well as any - man. Well, he was the good an' charitable man, the same Father Soolaghan; - but so simple that he got himself into fifty scrapes, God rest him! Och, - och, she's lyin' low that often laughed at that, an' I'm here—ay, I - have no one, no one that 'ud show me sich a warm heart as she would. - (Weeps.) However, God's will be done. I'll sing yez a song she liked:— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, - A two-lugged porringer wantin' a tail.' -</pre> - <p> - Musha, I'm out agin—ha, ha, ha! Why, I b'lieve there's pishthrogues - an me, or I'd remember it. Bud-an-age, dhrink of all ye. Lie in to the - liquor, I say; don't spare it. Here, Mike, send us up another gallon, - Faith, we'll make a night of it. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - 'Och, three maidens a milkin' did go - An' three maidens a milkin' did go; - An' the winds they blew high - An' the winds they blew low, - An' they dashed their milkin' pails to an' fro.' -</pre> - <p> - All your healths, childhre! Neighbors, all your healths! don't spare - what's before ye. It's long since I tuck a jorum myself an—come, I - say, plase God, we'll often meet ins' way, so we will. Faith, I'll take a - sup from this forrid, with a blessin'. Dhrink, I say, dhrink!” - </p> - <p> - By the time he had arrived at this patch, he was able to engross no great - portion either of the conversation or attention. Almost every one present - had his songs, his sorrows, his laughter, or his anecdotes, as well as - himself. Every voice was loud; and every tongue busy. Intricate and - entangled was the talk, which, on the present occasion, presented a union - of all the extremes which the lights and shadows of the Irish character - alone could exhibit under such a calamity as that which brought the - friends of the deceased together. - </p> - <p> - Peter literally fulfilled his promise of taking a jorum in future. He was - now his own master; and as he felt the loss of his wife deeply, he - unhappily had recourse to the bottle, to bury the recollection of a woman, - whose death left a chasm in his heart, which he thought nothing but the - whiskey could fill up. - </p> - <p> - His transition from a life of perfect sobriety to one of habitual, nay, of - daily intoxication, was immediate. He could not bear to be sober; and his - extraordinary bursts of affliction, even in his cups, were often - calculated to draw tears from the eyes of those who witnessed them. He - usually went out in the morning with a flask of whiskey in his pocket, and - sat down to weep behind a ditch—where, however, after having emptied - his flask, he might be heard at a great distance, singing the songs which - Ellish in her life-time was accustomed to love. In fact, he was generally - pitied; his simplicity of character, and his benevolence of heart, which - was now exercised without fear of responsibility, made him more a favorite - than he ever had been. His former habits of industry were thrown aside; as - he said himself, he hadn't heart to work; his farms were neglected, and - but for his son-in-law, would have gone to ruin. Peter himself was - sensible of this. - </p> - <p> - “Take them,” said he, “into your own hands, Denis; for me, I'm not able to - do anything more at them; she that kep me up is gone, an' I'm broken down. - Take them—take them into your own hands. Give me my bed, bit, an' - sup, an' that's all I Want.” - </p> - <p> - Six months produced an incredible change in his appearance. Intemperance, - whilst it shattered his strong frame, kept him in frequent exuberance of - spirits; but the secret grief preyed on him within. Artificial excitement - kills, but it never cures; and Peter, in the midst of his mirth and - jollity, was wasting away into a shadow. His children, seeing him go down - the hill of life so rapidly, consulted among each other on the best means - of winning him back to sobriety. This was a difficult task, for his powers - of bearing liquor were prodigious. He has often been known to drink so - many as twenty-five, and sometimes thirty tumblers of punch, without being - taken off his legs, or rendered incapable of walking about. His friends, - on considering who was most likely to recall him to a more becoming life, - resolved to apply to his landlord—the gentleman whom we have already - introduced to our readers. He entered warmly into their plan, and it was - settled, that Peter should be sent for, and induced, if possible, to take - an oath against liquor. Early the following-day a liveried servant came - down to inform him that his master wished to speak with him. “To be sure,” - said Peter; “divil resave the man in all Europe I'd do more for than the - same gintleman, if it was only on account of the regard he had for her - that's gone. Come, I'll go wid you in a minute.” - </p> - <p> - He accordingly returned with the flask in his hand, saying, “I never - thravel widout a pocket-pistol, John. The times, you see, is not overly - safe, an' the best way is to be prepared!—ha, ha, ha! Och, och! It - houlds three half-pints.” - </p> - <p> - “I think,” observed the servant, “you had better not taste that till after - your return.” - </p> - <p> - “Come away, man,” said Peter; “we'll talk upon it as we go along: I - couldn't do readily widout it. You hard that I lost Ellish?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied the servant, “and I was very sorry to hear it.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you attind the berrin?” - </p> - <p> - “No, but my master did,” replied the man; “for, indeed, his respect for - your wife was very great, Mr. Connell.” - </p> - <p> - This was before ten o'clock in the forenoon, and about one in the - afternoon a stout countryman was seen approaching the gentleman's house, - with another man bent round his neck, where he hung precisely as a calf - hangs round the shoulders of a butcher, when he is carrying it to his - stall. - </p> - <p> - “Good Heavens!” said the owner of the mansion to his lady, “what has - happened to John Smith, my dear? Is he dead?” - </p> - <p> - “Dead!” said his lady, going in much alarm to the drawing-room window: “I - protest I fear so, Frank. He is evidently dead! For God's sake go down and - see what has befallen him.” - </p> - <p> - Her husband went hastily to the hall-door, where he met Peter with his - burden. - </p> - <p> - “In the name of Heaven, what has happened, Connell?—what is the - matter with John? Is he living or dead?” - </p> - <p> - “First, plase your honor, as I have him on my shouldhers, will you tell me - where his bed is?” replied Peter. “I may as well lave him snug, as my - hand's in, poor fellow. The devil's bad head he has, your honor. Faith, - it's a burnin' shame, so it is, an' nothin' else—to be able to bear - so little!” - </p> - <p> - The lady, children, and servants, were now all assembled about the dead - footman, who hung, in the mean time, very quietly round Peter's neck. - </p> - <p> - “Gracious Heaven! Connell, is the man dead?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Faith, thin, he is, ma'am,—for a while, any how; but, upon my - credit, it's a burnin' shame, so it is,”— - </p> - <p> - “The man is drunk, my dear,” said her husband—“he's only drunk.” - </p> - <p> - “—a burnin' shame, so it is—to be able to bear no more nor - about six glasses, an' the whiskey good, too. Will you ordher one o' thim - to show me his bed, ma'am, if you plase,” continued Peter, “while he's an - me? It'll save throuble.” - </p> - <p> - “Connell is right,” observed his landlord. “Gallagher, show him John's - bed-room.” - </p> - <p> - Peter accordingly followed another servant, who pointed out his bed, and - assisted to place the vanquished footman in a somewhat easier position - than that in which Peter had carried him. - </p> - <p> - “Connell,” said his landlord, when he returned, “how did this happen?” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, thin, it's a burnin' shame,” said Connell, “to be able only to - bear”— - </p> - <p> - “But how did it happen? for he has been hitherto a perfectly sober man.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, plase your honor, asy enough,” replied Peter; “he began to lecthur - me about! dhrinkin' so, says I, 'Come an' sit down behind the hedge here, - an' we'll talk it over between us;' so we went in, the two of us, a-back - o' the ditch—an' he began to advise me agin dhrink, an' I began to - tell him about her that's gone, sir. Well, well! och, och! no matther!—So, - sir, one story an' one pull from the bottle, brought on another, for divil - a glass we had at all, sir. Faix, he's a tindher-hearted boy, anyhow; for - as myself I begun to let the tears down, whin the bottle was near out, - divil resave the morsel of him but cried afther poor Ellish, as if she had - been his mother. Faix, he did! An' it won't be the last sup we'll have - together, plase goodness! But the best of it was, sir, that the dhrunker - he got, he abused me the more for dhrinkin'. Oh, thin, but he's the pious - boy whin he gets a sup in his head! Faix, it's a pity ever he'd be sober, - he talks so much scripthur an' devotion in his liquor!” - </p> - <p> - “Connell,” said the landlord, “I am exceedingly sorry to hear that you - have taken so openly and inveterately to drink as you have done, ever - since the death of your admirable wife. This, in fact, was what occasioned - me to send for you. Come into the parlor. Don't go, my dear; perhaps your - influence may also be necessary. Gallagher, look to Smith, and see that - every attention is paid him, until he recovers the effects of his - intoxication.” - </p> - <p> - He then entered the parlor, where the following dialogue took place - between him and Peter:— - </p> - <p> - “Connell, I am really grieved to hear that you have become latterly so - incorrigible a drinker; I sent for you to-day, with the hope of being able - to induce you to give it up.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, your honor, it's jist what I'd expect from your father's son—kindness, - an' dacency, an' devotion, wor always among yez. Divil resave the family - in all Europe I'd do so much for as the same family:” - </p> - <p> - The gentleman and lady looked at each other, and smiled. They knew that - Peter's blarney was no omen of their success in the laudable design they - contemplated. - </p> - <p> - “I thank you, Peter, for your good opinion; but in the meantime allow me - to ask, what can you propose to yourself by drinking so incessantly as you - do?” - </p> - <p> - “What do I propose to myself by dhrinkin', is it? Why thin to banish - grief, your honor. Surely you'll allow that no man has reason to complain - who's able to banish the thief for two shillins a-day. I reckon the - whiskey at first cost, so that it doesn't come to more nor that at the - very outside.” - </p> - <p> - “That is taking a commercial view of affliction, Connell; but you must - promise me to give up drinking.” - </p> - <p> - “Why thin upon my credit, your honor astonishes me. Is it to give up - banishin' grief? I have a regard for you, sir, for many a dalin we had - together; but for all that, faix, I'd be miserable for no man, barrin' for - her that's gone. If I'd be so to oblage any one, I'd do it for your - family; for divil the family in all Europe “— - </p> - <p> - “Easy, Connell—I am not to be palmed off in that manner; I really - have a respect for the character which you bore, and wish you to recover - it once more. Consider that you are disgracing yourself and your children - by drinking so excessively from day to day—indeed, I am told, almost - from hour to hour.” - </p> - <p> - “Augh! don't believe the half o' what you hear, sir. Faith, somebody has - been dhraw-in' your honor out! Why I'm never dhrunk, sir; faith, I'm not.” - </p> - <p> - “You will destroy your health, Connell, as well as your character; - besides, you are not to be told that it is a sin, a crime against. God, - and an evil example to society.” - </p> - <p> - “Show me the man, plase your honor, that ever seen me incapable. That's - the proof o' the thing.” - </p> - <p> - “But why do you drink at all? It is not-necessary.” - </p> - <p> - “An' do you never taste a dhrop yourself, sir, plase your honor? I'll be - bound you do, sir, raise your little finger of an odd time, as well as - another. Eh, Ma'am? That's comin' close to his honor! An' faix, small - blame to him, an' a weeshy sup o' the wine to the misthress herself, to - correct the tindherness of her dilicate appetite.” - </p> - <p> - “Peter, this bantering must not pass: I think I have a claim upon your - respect and deference. I have uniformly been your friend and the friend of - your children and family, but more especially of your late excellent and - exemplary wife.” - </p> - <p> - “Before God an' man I acknowledge that, sir—I do—I do. But, - sir; to spake sarious—it's thruth, Ma'am, downright—to spake - sarious, my heart's broke, an' every day it's brakin' more an' more. She's - gone, sir, that used to manage me; an' now I can't turn myself to - anything, barrin' the dhrink—God help me!” - </p> - <p> - “I honor you, Connell, for the attachment which you bear towards the - memory of your wife, but I utterly condemn the manner in which you display - it. To become a drunkard is to disgrace her memory. You know it was a - character she detested.” - </p> - <p> - “I know it all, sir, an' that you have thruth an rason on your side; but, - sir, you never lost a wife that you loved; an' long may you be so, I pray - the heavenly Father this day! Maybe if you did, sir, plase your honor, - that, wid your heart sinkin' like a stone widin you, you'd thry whether or - not something couldn't rise it. Sir, only for the dhrink I'd be dead.” - </p> - <p> - “There I totally differ from you, Connell. The drink only prolongs your - grief, by adding to it the depression of spirits which it always produces. - Had you not become a drinker, you would long before this have been once - more a cheerful, active, and industrious man. Your sorrow would have worn - away gradually, and nothing but an agreeable melancholy—an - affectionate remembrance of your excellent wife—would have remained. - Look at other men.” - </p> - <p> - “But where's the man, sir, had sich a wife to grieve for as she was? Don't - be hard on me, sir. I'm not a dhrunkard. It's thrue I dhrink a great dale; - but thin I can bear a great dale, so that I'm never incapable.” - </p> - <p> - “Connell,” said the lady, “you will break down your constitution, and - bring yourself to an earlier death than you would otherwise meet.” - </p> - <p> - “I care very little, indeed, how soon I was dead, not makin' you, Ma'am, - an ill answer.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh fie, Connell, for you, a sensible man and a Christian, to talk in such - a manner!” - </p> - <p> - “Throth, thin, I don't, Ma'am. She's gone, an' I'd be glad to folly her as - soon as I could. Yes, asthore, you're departed from me! an' now I'm gone - asthray—out o' the right an' out o' the good! Oh, Ma'am,” he - proceeded, whilst the tears rolled fast down his cheeks, “if you knew her—her - last words, too—Oh, she was—she was—but where's the use - o' sayin' what she was?—I beg your pardon, Ma'am,—your honor, - sir, 'ill forgive my want o' manners, sure I know it's bad breedin', but I - can't help it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, promise,” said his landlord, “to give up drink. Indeed, I wish you - would take an oath against it: you are a conscientious man, and I know - would keep it, otherwise I should not propose it, for I discountenance - such oaths generally. Will you promise me this, Connell?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll promise to think of it, your honor,—aginst takin' a sartin - quantity, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - “If you refuse it, I'll think you are unmindful of the good feeling which - we have ever shown your family.” - </p> - <p> - “What?—do you think, sir, I'm ungrateful to you? That's a sore cut, - sir, to make a villain o' me. Where's the book?—I'll swear this - minute. Have you a Bible, Ma'am?—I'll show you that I'm not mane, - any way.” - </p> - <p> - “No, Connell, you shall not do it rashly; you must be cool and composed: - but go home, and turn it in your mind,” she replied; “and remember, that - it is the request of me and my husband, for your own good.” - </p> - <p> - “Neither must you swear before me,” said his landlord, “but before Mr. - Mulcahy, who, as it is an oath connected with your moral conduct, is the - best person to be present. It must be voluntary, however. Now, good-bye, - Connell, and think of what we said; but take care never to carry home any - of my servants in the same plight in which you put John Smith to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix thin, sir, he had no business, wid your honor's livery upon his - back, to begin lecthurin' me again dhrinkin', as he did. We may all do - very well, sir, till the timptation crasses us—but that's what - thries us. It thried him, but he didn't stand it—faix he didn't!—ha, - ha, ha! Good-mornin', sir—God bless you, Ma'am! Divil resave the - family in all Europe”— - </p> - <p> - “Good-morning, Connell—good-morning! —Pray remember what we - said.” - </p> - <p> - Peter, however, could not relinquish the whiskey. His sons, daughters, - friends, and neighbors, all assailed him, but with no success. He either - bantered them in his usual way, or reverted to his loss, and sank into - sorrow. This last was the condition in which they found him most - intractable; for a man is never considered to be in a state that admits of - reasoning or argument, when he is known to be pressed by strong gushes of - personal feeling. A plan at length struck Father Mulcahy, which lie - resolved to put into immediate execution. - </p> - <p> - “Peter,” said he, “if you don't abandon drink, I shall stop the masses - which I'm offering up for the repose of your wife's soul, and I will also - return you the money I received for saying them.” - </p> - <p> - This was, perhaps, the only point on which Peter was accessible. He felt - staggered at such an unexpected intimation, and was for some time silent. - </p> - <p> - “You will then feel,” added the priest, “that your drunkenness is - prolonging the sufferings of your wife, and that she is as much concerned - in your being sober as you are yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I will give in,” replied Peter; “I didn't see the thing in that light. No—I - will give it up; but if I swear against it, you must allow me a rasonable - share every day, an' I'll not go beyant it, of coorse. The truth is, I'd - die soon if I gev it up altogether.” - </p> - <p> - “We have certainly no objection against that,” said the priest, “provided - you keep within what would injure your health, or make you tipsy. Your - drunkenness is not only sinful but disreputable; besides, you must not - throw a slur upon the character of your children, who hold respectable and - rising situations in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Peter, in a kind of soliloquy, “I'd lay down my life, avoumeen, - sooner nor I'd cause you a minute's sufferin'. Father Mulcahy, go an wid - the masses. I'll get an oath drawn up, an' whin it's done, I'll swear to - it. I know a man that'll do it for me.” - </p> - <p> - The priest then departed, quite satisfied with having accomplished his - object; and Peter, in the course of that evening, directed his steps to - the house of the village schoolmaster, for the purpose of getting him to - “draw up” the intended oath. - </p> - <p> - “Misther O'Flaherty,” said he, “I'm comin' to ax a requist of you an' I - hope you'll grant it to me. I brought down a sup in this flask, an' while - we're takin' it, we can talk over what I want.” - </p> - <p> - “If it be anything widin the circumference of my power, set it down, - Misther Connell, as already operated upon. I'd drop a pen to no man at - keepin' books by double enthry, which is the Italian method invinted by - Pope Gregory the Great. The Three sets bear a theological ratio to the - three states of a thrue Christian. 'The Waste-book,' says Pope Gregory, - 'is this world, the Journal is purgatory, an' the Ledger is heaven. Or it - may be compared,' he says, in the priface of the work, 'to the three - states of the Catholic church—the church Militant, the church - Suffering and the church Triumphant.' The larnin' of that man was beyant - the reach of credibility.” - </p> - <p> - “Arra, have you a small glass, Masther? You see, Misther O'Flaherty, it's - consarnin' purgatory, this that I want to talk about.” - </p> - <p> - “Nancy, get us a glass—oh, here it is! Thin if it be, it's a wrong - enthry in the Journal.” - </p> - <p> - “Here's your health, Masther!—Not forgetting you, Mrs. O'Flaherty. - No, indeed, thin it's not in the Journal, but an oath I'm goin' to take - against liquor.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothin' is asier to post than it is. We must enter it it undher the head - of—let me see!—it must go in the spirit account, undher the - head of Profit an' Loss, Your good health, Mr. Connell!—Nancy, I - dhrink ta your improvement in imperturbability! Yes, it must be enthered - undher the”—— - </p> - <p> - “Faix, undher the rose, I think,” observed Pether; “don't you know the - smack, of it? You see since I took to it, I like the smell o' what I used - to squeeze out o' the barley myself, long ago. Mr. O'Flaherty, I only want - you to dhraw up an oath against liquor for me; but it's not for the books, - good or bad. I promised to Father Mulcahy, that I'd do it. It's regardin' - my poor Ellish's sowl in purgatory.” - </p> - <p> - “Nancy, hand me a slate an' cutter. Faith, the same's a provident - resolution; but how is it an' purgatory concatenated?” - </p> - <p> - “The priest, you see, won't go an wid the masses for her till I take the - oath.” - </p> - <p> - “That's but wake logic, if you ped him for thim.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, an' I did—an' well, too;—but about the oath? Have you - the pencil?” - </p> - <p> - “I have; jist lave the thing to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Asy, Masther—you don't undherstand it yit. Put down two tumblers - for me at home.” - </p> - <p> - “How is that, Misther Connell?—It's mysterious, if you're about to - swear against liquor!” - </p> - <p> - “I am. Put down, as I said, two tumblers for me at home—Are they - down?” - </p> - <p> - “They are down—but”— - </p> - <p> - “Asy!—very good!—Put down two more for me at Dan's. Let me - see!—two more; behind the garden. Well!—put down one at Father - Mulcahy's;—two more at, Frank M'Carrol's of Kilclay. How many's - that?” - </p> - <p> - “Nine!!!” - </p> - <p> - “Very good. Now put down one wid ould' Bartle Gorman, of Cargah; an' two - over wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey. How-many have you now?” - </p> - <p> - “Twelve in all!!!! But, Misther Connelly there's a demonstration badly - wanted here. I must confis I was always bright, but at present I'm as dark - as Nox. I'd thank you for a taste of explanation.” - </p> - <p> - “Asy, man alive! Is there twelve in all?” - </p> - <p> - “Twelve in all: I've calculated them.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we'll hould to that. Och, och!—I'm sure, avourneen, afore I'd - let you suffer one minute's pain, I'd not scruple to take an oath against - liquor, any way. He may go an wid the masses now for you, as soon as he - likes! Mr. O'Flaherty, will you put that down on paper,—an' I'll - swear to it, wid a blessin', to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “But what object do you wish to effectuate by this?” - </p> - <p> - “You see, Masther, I dhrink one day wid another from a score to two dozen - tumblers, an' I want to swear to no more nor twelve in the twenty-four - hours.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, there's intelligibility in that!—Wid great pleasure, Mr. - Connell, I'll indite it. Katty, tare me a lafe out o' Brian Murphy's copy - there.” - </p> - <p> - “You see, Masther, it's for Ellish's sake I'm doin' this. State that in - the oath.” - </p> - <p> - “I know it; an' well she desarved that specimen of abstinence from you, - Misther Connell. Thank you!—Your health agin! an' God grant you - grace an' fortitude to go through wid the same oath!—An' so he will, - or I'm greviously mistaken in you.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “OATH AGAINST LIQUOR, - - made by me, Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath, on behalf - of Mr. Peter Connell, of the cross-roads, Merchant, on - one part—and of the soul of Mrs. Ellish Connell, now - in purgatory, Merchantess, on the other. - - “I solemnly and meritoriously, and soberly swear, that - a single tumbler of whiskey punch shall not cross my - lips during the twenty-four hours of the day, barring - twelve, the locality of which is as followeth: - - “Imprimis—Two tumblers at home, 2 - Secundo—Two more ditto at my son Dan's, 2 - Tertio—Two more ditto behind my own garden, 2 - Quarto—One ditto at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's, 1 - Quinto—Two more ditto at Frank M'Carroll s, of Kilclay, 2 - Sexto—One ditto wid ould Bartle Gorman, of Cargah, 1 - Septimo—Two more ditto wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey, 2 - ==== - 12 - N.B.—Except in case any Docthor of Physic might - think it right and medical to ordher me more for my - health; or in case I could get Father Mulcahy to take - the oath off of me for a start, at a wedding, or a - christening, or at any other meeting of friends where - there's drink. - - his - Peter X Connell. - mark. - - Witness present, - Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath. - <i>June the 4th, 18—</i> - - I certify that I have made and calculated this oath for - Misther Pettier Connell, Merchant, and that it is - strictly and arithmetically proper and correct. - - “Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath. - “<i>Dated this Mh day of June, 18—</i>.” - </pre> - <p> - “I think, Misther O'Flaherty, it's a dacent oath as it stands. Plase God, - I'll swear to it some time to-morrow evenin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Dacent! Why I don't wish to become eulogistically addicted; but I'd back - tha same oath, for both grammar and arithmetic, aginst any that ever was - drawn up by a lawyer—ay, by the great Counsellor himself!—but - faith, I'd not face him at a Vow, for all that; he's the greatest man at a - Vow in the three kingdoms.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll tell you what I'm thinkin', Masther—as my hand's in, mightn't - I as well take another wid an ould friend of mine, Owen Smith, of Lisbuy? - He's a dacent ould residenther, an' likes it. It'll make the baker's or - the long dozen.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, it's not a bad thought; but won't thirteen get into your head?” - </p> - <p> - “No, nor three more to the back o' that. I only begin to get hearty about - seventeen, so that the long dozen, afther all, is best; for—God he - knows, I've a regard for Owen Smith this many a year, an' I wouldn't wish - to lave him out.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,—I'll add it up to the other part of the oath. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - 'Octavo—One ditto out of respect for dacent Owen Smith, of - Lisbuy, 1 -</pre> - <p> - Now I must make the total amount thirteen, an' all will be right.” - </p> - <p> - “Masther, have you a prayer-book widin?—bekase if you have, I may as - well swear here, and you can witness it.” - </p> - <p> - “Katty, hand over the Spiritual Exercises—a book aquil to the Bible - itself for piety an' devotion.” - </p> - <p> - “Sure they say, Masther, any book that, the name o' God's in, is good for - an oath. Now, wid the help o' goodness, repate the words afore me, an' - I'll sware thim.” - </p> - <p> - O'Flaherty hemmed two or three times, and complied with Peter's wishes, - who followed him in the words until the oath was concluded. He then kissed - the book, and expressed himself much at ease, as well, he said, upon the - account of Ellish's soul, as for the sake of his children. - </p> - <p> - For some time after this, his oath was the standing jest of the - neighborhood: even to this day, Peter Connell's oath against liquor is a - proverb in that part of the country. Immediately after he had sworn, no - one could ever perceive that he violated it in the slightest degree; - indeed there could be no doubt as to literally fulfilling it. A day never - passed in which he did not punctually pay a visit to those whose names - wore dotted down, with whom he sat, pulled out his flask, and drank his - quantum. In the meantime the poor man was breaking down rapidly; so much - so, that his appearance generally excited pity, if not sorrow, among his - neighbors. His character became simpler every day, and his intellect - evidently more exhausted. The inoffensive humor, for which he had been - noted, was also completely on the wane; his eye waxed dim, his step - feeble, but the benevolence of his heart never failed him. Many acts of - his private generosity are well known, and still remembered with - gratitude. - </p> - <p> - In proportion as the strength of his mind and constitution diminished, so - did his capacity for bearing liquor. When he first bound himself by the - oath not to exceed the long dozen, such was his vigor, that the effects of - thirteen tumblers could scarcely be perceived on him. This state of - health, however, did not last. As he wore away, the influence of so much - liquor was becoming stronger, until at length he found that it was more - than he could bear, that he frequently confounded the names of the men, - and the number of tumblers mentioned in the oath, and sometimes took in, - in his route, persons and places not to be found in it at all. This - grieved him, and he resolved to wait upon O'Flaherty for the purpose of - having some means devised of guiding him during his potations. - </p> - <p> - “Masther,” said he, “we must thry an' make this oath somethin' plainer. - You see when I get confused, I'm not able to remimber things as I ought. - Sometimes, instid o' one tumbler, I take two at the wrong place; an' sarra - bit o' me but called in an' had three wid ould Jack Rogers, that isn't in - it at all. On another day I had a couple wid honest Barney Casey, an my - way acrass to Bartle Gorman's. I'm not what I was, Masther, ahagm; so I'd - thank you to dhraw it out more clearer, if you can, nor it was.” - </p> - <p> - “I see, Mr. Connell; I comprehend wid the greatest ase in life, the very - plan for it. We must reduce the oath to Geography, for I'm at home there, - bein' a Surveyor myself. I'll lay down a map o' the parish, an' draw the - houses of your friends at their proper places, so that you'll never be out - o' your latitude at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, I doubt that, Masther—ha, ha, ha!” replied Peter; “I'm afeard - I will, of an odd time, for I'm not able to carry what I used to do; but - no matther: thry what you can do for me this time, any how. I think I - could bear the long dozen still if I didn't make mistakes.” - </p> - <p> - O'Flaherty accordingly set himself to work; and as his knowledge, not only - of the parish, but of every person and house in it, was accurate, he soon - had a tolerably correct skeleton map of it drawn for Peter's use. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” said he, “lend me your ears.” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, I'll do no sich thing,” replied Peter—“I know a thrick worth - two of it. Lend you my ears, inagh!—catch me at it! You have a - bigger pair of your own nor I have—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, in other words, pay attintion. Now, see this dot—that's your - own house.” - </p> - <p> - “Put a crass there,” said Peter, “an' thin I'll know it's the - Crass-roads.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my reputation, you're right; an' that's what I call a good specimen - of ingenuity. I'll take the hint from that, an' we'll make it a - Hieroglyphical as well as a Geographical oath. Well, there's a crass, wid - two tumblers. Is that clear?” - </p> - <p> - “It is, it is! faix” - </p> - <p> - “Now here we draw a line to your son Dan's. Let me see; he keeps a mill, - an' sells cloth. Very good. I'll dhraw a mill-wheel an' a yard-wand. - There's two tumblers. Will you know that?” - </p> - <p> - “I see it: go an, nothin' can be clearer. So far, I can't go asthray.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what next? Two behind your own garden. What metaphor for the - garden? Let me see!—let me cogitate! A dragon—the Hesperides! - That's beyant you. A bit of a hedge will do, an' a gate.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't put a gate in, it's not lucky. You know, when a man takes to - dhrink, they say he's goin' a gray gate, or a black gate, or a bad gate. - Put that out, an' make the hedge longer, an' it'll do—wid the two - tumblers, though.” - </p> - <p> - “They're down. One at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's. How will we - thranslate the priest?” - </p> - <p> - “Faix, I doubt that will be a difficquilt business.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my reputation, I agree wid you in that, especially whin he repates - Latin. However, we'll see. He writes P.P. afther his name;—pee-pee - is what we call the turkeys wid. What 'ud you think o' two turkeys?” - </p> - <p> - “The priest would like them roasted, but I couldn't undherstand that. No; - put down the sign o' the horsewhip, or the cudgel; for he's handy, an' - argues well wid both?” - </p> - <p> - “Good! I'll put down the horsewhip first, an' the cudgel alongside of it; - then the tumbler, an' there'll be the sign o' the priest.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, do, Masther, an' faix the priest 'll be complate—there can be - no mistakin' him thin. Divil a one but that's a good thought!” - </p> - <p> - “There it is in black an' white. Who comes next? Frank M'Carroll. He's a - farmer. I'll put down a spade an' a harrow. Well, that's done—two - tumblers.” - </p> - <p> - “I won't mistake that, aither. It's clear enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Bartle Gorman's of Cargah. Bartle's a little lame, an' uses a staff wid a - cross on the end that he houlds in his hand. I'll put down a staff wid a - cross on it.” - </p> - <p> - “Would there be no danger of me mistakin' that for the priest's cudgel?” - </p> - <p> - “Divil the slightest. I'll pledge my knowledge of geography, they're two - very different weapons.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, put it down—I'll know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Roger M'Gaugy of Nurchasy. What for him? Roger's a pig-driver. I'll put - down pig. You'll comprehend that?” - </p> - <p> - “I ought; for many a pig I sould in my day. Put down the pig; an' if you - could put two black spots upon his back, I'd know it to be one I sould him - about four years agone—the fattest ever was in the country—it - had to be brought home on a car, for it wasn't able to walk wid fat.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good; the spots are on it. The last is Owen Smith of Lisbuy. Now, do - you see that I've drawn a line from place to place, so that you have - nothing to do only to keep to it as you go. What for Owen?” - </p> - <p> - “Owen! Let me see—Owen! Pooh! What's come over me, that I've nothin' - for Owen? Ah! I have it. He's a horse-jockey: put down a gray mare I sould - him about five years agone.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll put down a horse; but I can't make a gray mare wid black ink.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, make a mare of her, any way.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, an' that same puzzles me. Stop, I have it; I'll put a foal along - wid her.” - </p> - <p> - “As good as the bank. God bless you, Misther O'Flaherty. I think this 'll - keep me from mistakes. An' now, if you'll slip up to me afther dusk, I'll - send you down a couple o' bottles and a flitch. Sure you desarve more for - the throuble you tuck.” - </p> - <p> - Many of our readers, particularly of our English readers, will be somewhat - startled to hear that, except the change of names and places, there is - actually little exaggeration in the form of this oath; so just is the - observation, that the romance of truth frequently exceeds that of fiction. - </p> - <p> - Peter had, however, over-rated his own strength in supposing that he could - bear the long dozen in future; ere many months passed he was scarcely able - to reach the half of that number without sinking into intoxication. Whilst - in this state, he was in the habit of going to the graveyard in which his - wife lay buried, where he sat, and wept like a child, sang her favorite - songs, or knelt and offered up his prayers for the repose of her soul. - None ever mocked him for this; on the contrary, there was always some kind - person to assist him home. And as he staggered on, instead of sneers and - ridicule, one might hear such expressions as these:— - </p> - <p> - “Poor Pether! he's nearly off; an' a dacent, kind neighbor he ever was. - The death of the wife broke his heart—he never ris his head since.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, poor man! God pity him! Hell soon be sleepin' beside her, beyant - there, where she's lyin'. It was never known of Peter Connell that he - offinded man, woman, or child since he was born, barrin' the gaugers, bad - luck to thim, afore he was marrid—but that was no offince. Sowl, he - was their match, any how. When he an' the wife's gone, they won't lave - their likes behind them. The sons are bodaghs—gintlemen, now; an' - it's nothin' but dinners an' company. Ahagur, that wasn't the way their - hardworkin' father an' mother made the money that they're houldin' their - heads up wid such consequence upon.” - </p> - <p> - The children, however, did not give Peter up as hopeless. Father Mulcahy, - too, once-more assailed him on his weak side. One morning, when he was - sober, nervous, and depressed, the priest arrived, and finding him at - home, addressed him as follows:— - </p> - <p> - “Peter, I'm sorry, and vexed, and angry this morning; and you are the - cause of it” - </p> - <p> - “How is that, your Reverence?” said Peter. “God help me,” he added, “don't - be hard an me, sir, for I'm to be pitied. Don't be hard on me, for the - short time I'll be here. I know it won't be long—I'll be wid her - soon. Asthore machree, we'll' be together, I hope, afore long—an', - oh! if it was the will o' God, I would be glad if it was afore night!” - </p> - <p> - The poor, shattered, heart-broken creature wept bitterly, for he felt - somewhat sensible of the justice of the reproof which he expected from the - priest, as well as undiminished sorrow for his wife. - </p> - <p> - “I'm not going to be hard on you,” said the good-natured priest; “I only - called to tell you a dream that your son Dan had last night about you and - his mother.” - </p> - <p> - “About Ellish! Oh, for heaven's sake what about her, Father, avourneen?” - </p> - <p> - “She appeared to him, last night,” replied Father Mulcahy, “and told him - that your drinking kept her out of happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Queen of heaven!” exclaimed Peter, deeply affected, “is that true? Oh,” - said he, dropping on his knees, “Father, ahagur machree, pardon me—oh, - forgive me! I now promise, solemnly and seriously, to drink neither in the - house nor out of it, for the time to come, not one drop at all, good, bad, - or indifferent, of either whiskey, wine, or punch—barrin' one glass. - Are you now satisfied? an' do you think she'll get to happiness?” - </p> - <p> - “All will be well, I trust,” said the priest. “I shall mention this to Dan - and the rest, and depend upon it, they, too, will be happy to hear it.” - </p> - <p> - “Here's what Mr. O'Flaherty an' myself made up,” said Peter: “burn it, - Father; take it out of my sight, for it's now no use to me.” - </p> - <p> - “What is this at all?” said Mr. Mulcahy, looking into it. “Is it an oath?” - </p> - <p> - “It's the Joggraphy of one I swore some time ago; but it's now out of date—I'm - done wid it.” - </p> - <p> - The priest could not avoid smiling when he perused it, and on getting from - Peter's lips an explanation of the hieroglyphics, he laughed heartily at - the ingenious shifts they had made to guide his memory. - </p> - <p> - Peter, for some time after this, confined himself to one glass, as he had - promised; but he felt such depression and feebleness, that he ventured - slowly, and by degrees, to enlarge the “glass” from which he drank. His - impression touching the happiness of his wife was, that as he had for - several months strictly observed his promise, she had probably during that - period gone to heaven. He then began to exercise his ingenuity gradually, - as we have said, by using, from time to time, a glass larger than the - preceding one; thus receding from the spirit of his vow to the letter, and - increasing the quantity of his drink from a small glass to the most - capacious tumbler he could find. The manner in which he drank this was - highly illustrative of the customs which prevail on this subject in - Ireland. He remembered, that in making the vow, he used the words, - “neither in the house nor out of it;” but in order to get over this - dilemma, he usually stood with one foot outside the threshold, and the - other in the house, keeping himself in that position which would render it - difficult to determine whether he was either out or in. At other times, - when he happened to be upstairs, he usually thrust one-half of his person - out of the window, with the same ludicrous intention of keeping the letter - of his vow. - </p> - <p> - Many a smile this adroitness of his occasioned to the lookers-on: but - further ridicule was checked by his wobegone and afflicted look. He was - now a mere skeleton, feeble and tottering. - </p> - <p> - One night, in the depth of winter, he went into the town where his two - sons resided; he had been ill in mind and body during the day, and he - fancied that change of scene and society might benefit him. His daughter - and son-in-law, in consequence of his illness, watched him so closely, - that he could not succeed in getting his usual “glass.” This offended him, - and he escaped without their knowledge to the son who kept the inn. On - arriving there, he went upstairs, and by a douceur to the waiter, got a - large tumbler filled with spirits. The lingering influences of a - conscience that generally felt strongly on the side of a moral duty, - though poorly instructed, prompted him to drink it in the usual manner, by - keeping one-half of his body, as, nearly as he could guess, out of the - window, that it might be said he drank it neither in nor out of the house. - He had scarcely finished his draught, however, when he lost his balance, - and was precipitated upon the pavement. The crash of his fall was heard in - the bar, and his son, who had just come in, ran, along with several - others, to ascertain what had happened. They found him, however, only - severely stunned. He was immediately brought in, and medical aid sent for; - but, though he recovered from the immediate effects of the fall, the shock - it gave to his broken constitution, and his excessive grief, carried him - off in a few months afterwards. He expired in the arms of his son and - daughter, and amidst the tears of those who knew his simplicity of - character, his goodness of heart, and his attachment to the wife by whose - death that heart had been broken. - </p> - <p> - Such was the melancholy end of the honest and warm-hearted Peter Connell, - who, unhappily, was not a solitary instance of a man driven to habits of - intoxication and neglect of business by the force of sorrow, which time - and a well-regulated mind might otherwise have overcome. We have held him - up, on the one hand, as an example worthy of imitation in that industry - and steadiness which, under the direction of his wife, raised him from - poverty to independence and wealth; and, on the other, as a man resorting - to the use of spirituous liquors that he might be enabled to support - affliction—a course which, so far from having sustained him under - it, shattered his constitution, shortened his life, and destroyed his - happiness. In conclusion, we wish our countrymen of Peter's class would - imitate him in his better qualities, and try to avoid his failings. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE LIANHAN SHEE. - </h2> - <p> - One summer evening Mary Sullivan was sitting at her own well-swept - hearthstone, knitting feet to a pair of sheep's gray stockings for - Bartley, her husband. It was one of those serene evenings in the month of - June, when the decline of day assumes a calmness and repose, resembling - what we might suppose to have irradiated Eden, when our first parents sat - in it before their fall. The beams of the sun shone through the windows in - clear shafts of amber light, exhibiting millions of those atoms which - float to the naked eye within its mild radiance. The dog lay barking in - his dreams at her feet, and the gray cat sat purring placidly upon his - back, from which even his occasional agitation did not dislodge her. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sullivan was the wife of a wealthy farmer, and niece to the Rev. - Felix O'Rourke; her kitchen was consequently large, comfortable, and warm. - Over where she sat, jutted out the “brace” well lined with bacon; to the - right hung a well-scoured salt-box, and to the left was the jamb, with its - little gothic paneless window to admit the light. Within it hung several - ash rungs, seasoning for flail-sooples, or boulteens, a dozen of - eel-skins, and several stripes of horse-skin, as hangings for them. The - dresser was a “parfit white,” and well furnished with the usual - appurtenances. Over the door and on the “threshel,” were nailed, “for - luck,” two horse-shoes, that had been found by accident. In a little - “hole” in the wall, beneath the salt-box, lay a bottle of holy water to - keep the place purified; and against the cope-stone of the gable, on the - outside, grew a large lump of house-leek, as a specific for sore eyes and - other maladies. - </p> - <p> - In the corner of the garden were a few stalks of tansy “to kill the - thievin' worms in the childhre, the crathurs,” together with a little - Rose-noble, Solomon's Seal, and Bu-gloss, each for some medicinal purpose. - The “lime wather” Mrs. Sullivan could make herself, and the “bog bane” for - the Unh roe, (* Literally, red water) or heart-burn, grew in their own - meadow drain; so that, in fact, she had within her reach a very decent - pharmacopoeia, perhaps as harmless as that of the profession itself. Lying - on the top of the salt-box was a bunch of fairy flax, and sewed in the - folds of her own scapular was the dust of what had once been a four-leaved - shamrock, an invaluable specific “for seein' the good people,” if they - happened to come within the bounds of vision. Over the door in the inside, - over the beds, and over the cattle in the outhouses, were placed branches - of withered palm, that had been consecrated by the priest on Palm Sunday; - and when the cows happened to calve, this good woman tied, with her own - hands, a woollen thread about their tails, to prevent them from being - overlooked by evil eyes, or elf-shot* by the fairies, who seem to possess - a peculiar power over females of every species during the period of - parturition. It is unnecessary to mention the variety of charms which she - possessed for that obsolete malady the colic, the toothache, headache, or - for removing warts, and taking motes out of the eyes; let it suffice to - inform our readers that she was well stocked with them; and that, in - addition to this, she, together with her husband, drank a potion made up - and administered by an herb-doctor, for preventing forever the slightest - misunderstanding or quarrel between man and wife. Whether it produced this - desirable object or not our readers may conjecture, when we add, that the - herb-doctor, after having taken a very liberal advantage of their - generosity, was immediately compelled to disappear from the neighborhood, - in order to avoid meeting with Bartley, who had a sharp lookout for him, - not exactly on his own account, but “in regard,” he said, “that it had no - effect upon Mary, at all, at all;” whilst Mary, on the other hand, - admitted its efficacy upon herself, but maintained, “that Bartley was - worse nor ever afther it.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * This was, and in remote parts of the country still - is, one of the strongest instances of belief in the - power of the Fairies. The injury, which, if not - counteracted by a charm from the lips of a “Fairy-man,” - or “Fairy-woman,” was uniformly inflicted on the animal - by what was termed an elf-stone—which was nothing - more nor less than a piece of sharp flint, from three - to four or five ounces in weight. The cow was supposed - to be struck upon the loin with it by these mischievous - little beings, and the nature of the wound was indeed - said to be very peculiar—that is, it cut the midriff - without making any visible or palpable wound on the - outward skin. All animals dying of this complaint, - were supposed to be carried to the good people, and - there are many in the country who would not believe - that the dead carcass of the cow was that of the real - one at all, but an old log or block of wood, made to - resemble it. All such frauds, however, and deceptions - were inexplicable to every one, but such as happened to - possess a four-leaved shamrock, and this enabled its - possessor to see the block or log in its real shape, - although to others it appeared to be the real carcass. -</pre> - <p> - Such was Mary Sullivan, as she sat at her own hearth, quite alone, engaged - as we have represented her. What she may have been meditating on we cannot - pretend to ascertain; but after some time, she looked sharply into the - “backstone,” or hob, with an air of anxiety and alarm. By and by she - suspended her knitting, and listened with much earnestness, leaning her - right ear over to the hob, from whence the sounds to which she paid such - deep attention proceeded. At length she crossed herself devoutly, and - exclaimed, “Queen of saints about us!—is it back ye are? Well sure - there's no use in talkin', bekase they say you know what's said of you, or - to you—an' we may as well spake yez fair.—Hem—musha, yez - are welcome back, crickets, avourneenee! I hope that, not like the last - visit ye ped us, yez are comin' for luck now! Moolyeen (* a cow without - horns) died, any way, soon afther your other kailyee, (* short visit) ye - crathurs ye. Here's the bread, an' the salt, an' the male for yez, an' we - wish ye well. Eh?—saints above, if it isn't listenin' they are jist - like a Christhien! Wurrah, but ye are the wise an' the quare crathurs all - out!” - </p> - <p> - She then shook a little holy water over the hob, and muttered to herself - an Irish charm or prayer against the evils which crickets are often - supposed by the peasantry to bring with them, and requested, still in the - words of the charm, that their presence might, on that occasion, rather be - a presage of good fortune to man and beast belonging to her. - </p> - <p> - “There now, ye <i>dhonans</i> (* a diminuitive, delicate little thing) ye, - sure ye can't say that ye're ill-thrated here, anyhow, or ever was mocked - or made game of in the same family. You have got your hansel, an' full an' - plenty of it; hopin' at the same time that you'll have no rason in life to - cut our best clothes from revinge. Sure an' I didn't desarve to have my - brave stuff long body (* an old-fashioned Irish gown) riddled the way it - was, the last time ye wor here, an' only bekase little Barny, that has but - the sinse of a gorsoon, tould yez in a joke to pack off wid yourself - somewhere else. Musha, never heed what the likes of him says; sure he's - but a caudy, (* little boy) that doesn't mane ill, only the bit o' - divarsion wid yez.” - </p> - <p> - She then resumed her knitting, occasionally stopping, as she changed her - needles, to listen, with her ear set, as if she wished to augur from the - nature of their chirping, whether they came for good or for evil. This, - however, seemed to be beyond her faculty of translating their language; - for—after sagely shaking her head two or three times, she knit more - busily than before.* - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * Of the origin of this singular superstition I can - find no account whatsoever; it is conceived, however, - in a mild, sweet, and hospitable spirit. The visits of - these migratory little creatures, which may be termed - domestic grasshoppers, are very capricious and - uncertain, as are their departures; and it is, I should - think, for this reason, that they are believed to be - cognizant of the ongoings of human life. We can easily - suppose, for instance, that the coincidence of their - disappearance from a family, and the occurrence of a - death in that family, frequently multiplied as such - coincidences must be in the country at large, might - occasion the people, who are naturally credulous, to - associate the one event with the other; and on that - slight basis erect the general superstition. Crickets, - too, when chirupping, have a habit of suddenly ceasing, - so that when any particularly interesting conversation - happens to go on about the rustic hearth, this stopping - of their little chaunt looks so like listening, that it - is scarcely to be wondered at that the country folks - think they understand every word that is spoken. They - are thought, also, to foresee both good and evil, and - are considered vindictive, but yet capable of being - conciliated by fair words and kindness. They are also - very destructive among wearing-apparel, which they - frequently nibble into holes; and this is always looked - upon as a piece of revenge, occasioned by some - disrespectful language used towards them, or some - neglect of their little wants. This note was necessary - in order to render the conduct and language of Mary - Sullivan perfectly intelligible. -</pre> - <p> - At this moment, the shadow of a person passing the house darkened the - window opposite which she sat, and immediately a tall female, of a wild - dress and aspect, entered the kitchen. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr!</i> the blessin' o' goodness upon - you, dacent woman,” said Mrs. Sullivan, addressing her in those kindly - phrases so peculiar to the Irish language. - </p> - <p> - Instead of making her any reply, however, the woman, whose eye glistened - with a wild depth of meaning, exclaimed in low tones, apparently of much - anguish, “<i>Husht, husht', dherum!</i> husht, husht, I say—let me - alone—I will do it—will you husht? I will, I say—I will—there - now—that's it—be quiet, an' I will do it—be quiet!” and - as she thus spoke, she turned her face back over her left shoulder, as if - some invisible being dogged her steps, and stood bending over her. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr, dherhum areesh!</i> the blessin' o' - God on you, honest woman, I say again,” said Mrs. Sullivan, repeating that - sacred form of salutation with which the peasantry address each other. - “'Tis a fine evenin', honest woman, glory be to him that sent the same, - and amin! If it was cowld, I'd be axin' you to draw your chair in to the - fire: but, any way, won't you sit down?” - </p> - <p> - As she ceased speaking, the piercing eye of the strange woman became - riveted on her with a glare, which, whilst it startled Mrs. Sullivan, - seemed full of an agony that almost abstracted her from external life. It - was not, however, so wholly absorbing as to prevent it from expressing a - marked interest, whether for good or evil, in the woman who addressed her - so hospitably. - </p> - <p> - “Husht, now—husht,” she said, as if aside—“husht, won't you—sure - I may speak the thing to her—you said it—there now, husht!” - And then fastening her dark eyes on Mrs. Sullivan, she smiled bitterly and - mysteriously. - </p> - <p> - “I know you well,” she said, without, however, returning the blessing - contained in the usual reply to Mrs. Sullivan's salutation—“I know - you well, Mary Sullivan—husht, now, husht—yes, I know you - well, and the power of all that you carry about you; but you'd be better - than you are—and that's well enough now—if you had sense to - know—ah, ah, ah!—what's this!” she exclaimed abruptly, with - three distinct shrieks, that seemed to be produced by sensations of sharp - and piercing agony. - </p> - <p> - “In the name of goodness, what's over you, honest woman?” inquired Mrs. - Sullivan, as she started from her chair, and ran to her in a state of - alarm, bordering on terror—“Is it sick you are?” - </p> - <p> - The woman's face had got haggard, and its features distorted; but in a few - minutes they resumed their peculiar expression of settled wildness and - mystery. “Sick!” she replied, licking her parched lips, “awirck, awirek! - look! look!” and she pointed with a shudder that almost convulsed her - whole frame, to a lump that rose on her shoulders; this, be it what it - might, was covered with a red cloak, closely pinned and tied with great - caution about her body—“'tis here! I have it!” - </p> - <p> - “Blessed mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan, tottering over to her chair, as - finished a picture of horror as the eye could witness, “this day's Friday: - the saints stand betwixt me an' all harm! Oh, holy Mary protect me! <i>Nhanim - an airh</i>,” in the name of the Father, etc., and she forthwith proceeded - to bless herself, which she did thirteen times in honor of the blessed - virgin and the twelve apostles. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, it's as you see!” replied the stranger, bitterly. “It is here—husht, - now—husht, I say—I will say the thing to her, mayn't I? Ay, - indeed, Mary Sullivan, 'tis with me always—always. Well, well, no, I - won't. I won't—easy. Oh, blessed saints, easy, and I won't.” - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Mrs. Sullivan had uncorked a bottle of holy water, and - plentifully bedewed herself with it, as a preservative against this - mysterious woman and her dreadful secret. - </p> - <p> - “Blessed mother above!” she ejaculated, “the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>” And as - she spoke, with the holy water in the palm of her hand, she advanced - cautiously, and with great terror, to throw it upon the stranger and the - unearthly thing she bore. - </p> - <p> - “Don't attempt it!” shouted the other, in tones of mingled fierceness and - terror, “do you want to give me pain without keeping yourself anything at - all safer? Don't you know it doesn't care about your holy water? But I'd - suffer for it, an' perhaps so would you.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sullivan, terrified by the agitated looks of the woman, drew back - with affright, and threw the holy water with which she intended to purify - the other on her own person. - </p> - <p> - “Why thin, you lost crathur, who or what are you at all?—don't, - don't—for the sake of all the saints and angels of heaven, don't - come next or near me—keep your distance—but what are you, or - how did you come to get that 'good thing' you carry about wid you?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, indeed!” replied the woman bitterly, “as if I would or could tell you - that! I say, you woman, you're doing what's not right in asking me a - question you ought not let to cross your lips—look to yourself, and - what's over you.” - </p> - <p> - The simple woman, thinking her meaning literal, almost leaped off her seat - with terror, and turned up her eyes to ascertain whether or not any - dreadful appearance had approached her, or hung over her where she sat. - </p> - <p> - “Woman,” said she, “I spoke you kind an' fair, an' I wish you well—but”— - </p> - <p> - “But what?” replied the other—and her eyes kindled into deep and - profound excitement, apparently upon very slight grounds. - </p> - <p> - “Why—hem—nothin' at all sure, only”— - </p> - <p> - “Only what?” asked the stranger, with a face of anguish that seemed to - torture every feature out of its proper lineaments. - </p> - <p> - “Dacent woman,” said Mrs. Sullivan, whilst the hair began to stand with - terror upon her head, “sure it's no wondher in life that I'm in a - perplexity, whin a <i>Lianhan Shee</i> is undher the one roof wid me. - 'Tisn't that I want to know anything' at all about it—the dear - forbid I should; but I never hard of a person bein' tormented wid it as - you are. I always used to hear the people say that it thrated its friends - well.” - </p> - <p> - “Husht!” said the woman, looking wildly over her shoulder, “I'll not tell: - it's on myself I'll leave the blame! Why, will you never pity me? Am I to - be night and day tormented? Oh, you're wicked an' cruel for no reason!” - </p> - <p> - “Thry,” said Mrs. Sullivan, “an' bless yourself; call on God.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” shouted the other, “are you going to get me killed?” and as she - uttered the words, a spasmodic working which must have occasioned great - pain, even to torture, became audible in her throat: her bosom heaved up - and down, and her head was bent repeatedly on her breast, as if by force. - </p> - <p> - “Don't mention that name,” said she, “in my presence, except you mean to - drive me to utter distraction. I mean,” she continued, after a - considerable effort to recover her former tone and manner—“hear me - with attention—I mean, woman—you, Mary Sullivan—that if - you mention that holy name, you might as well keep plunging sharp knives - into my heart! Husht! peace to me for one minute, tormentor! Spare me - something, I'm in your power!” - </p> - <p> - “Will you ate anything?” said Mrs. Sullivan; “poor crathur, you look like - hunger an' distress; there's enough in the house, blessed be them that - sent it! an' you had betther thry an' take some nourishment, any way;” and - she raised her eyes in a silent prayer of relief and ease for the unhappy - woman, whose unhallowed association had, in her opinion, sealed her doom. - </p> - <p> - “Will I?—will I?—oh!” she replied, “may you never know misery - for offering it! Oh, bring me something—some refreshment—some - food—for I'm dying with hunger.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sullivan, who, with all her superstition, was remarkable for charity - and benevolence, immediately placed food and drink before her, which the - stranger absolutely devoured—taking care occasionally to secrete - under the protuberance which appeared behind her neck, a portion of what - she ate. This, however, she did, not by stealth, but openly; merely taking - means to prevent the concealed thing, from being, by any possible accident - discovered. - </p> - <p> - When the craving of hunger was satisfied, she appeared to suffer less from - the persecution of her tormentor than, before; whether it was, as Mrs. - Sullivan thought, that the food with which she plied it, appeased in some - degree its irritability, or lessened that of the stranger, it was - difficult to say; at all events, she became more composed; her eyes - resumed somewhat of a natural expression; each sharp ferocious glare, - which shot, from them! with such intense and rapid flashes, partially - disappeared; her knit brows dilated, and part of a forehead, which had - once been capacious and handsome, lost the contractions which deformed it - by deep wrinkles. Altogether the change was evident, and very-much - relieved Mrs. Sullivan, who could not avoid observing it. - </p> - <p> - “It's not that I care much about it, if you'd think it not right o' me, - but it's odd enough for you to keep the lower part of your face muffled up - in that black cloth, an' then your forehead, too, is covered down on your - face a bit? If they're part of the bargain,”—and she shuddered at - the thought—“between you an' anything that's not good—hem!—I - think you'd do well to throw thim off o' you, an' turn to thim that can - protect you from everything that's bad. Now a scapular would keep all the - divils in hell from one; an' if you'd”— - </p> - <p> - On looking at the stranger she hesitated, for the wild expression of her - eyes began to return. - </p> - <p> - “Don't begin my punishment again,” replied the woman; “make no allus—don't - make mention in my presence of anything that's good. Husht,—husht,—it's - beginning—easy now—easy! No,” said she, “I came to tell you, - that only for my breakin' a vow I made to this thing upon me, I'd be happy - instead of miserable with it. I say, it's a good thing to have, if the - person will use this bottle,” she added, producing one, “as I will direct - them.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't wish, for my part,” replied Mrs. Sullivan, “to have anything - to do wid it—neither act nor part;” and she crossed herself - devoutly, on contemplating such an unholy alliance as that at which her - companion hinted. - </p> - <p> - “Mary Sullivan,” replied the other, “I can put good fortune and happiness - in the way of you and yours. It is for you the good is intended; if you - don't get both, no other can,” and her eyes kindled as she spoke, like - those of the Pythoness in the moment of inspiration. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sullivan looked at her with awe, fear, and a strong mixture of - curiosity; she had often heard that the <i>Lianhan Shee</i> had, through - means of the person to whom it was bound, conferred wealth upon several, - although it could never render this important service to those who - exercised direct authority over it. She therefore experienced something - like a conflict between her fears and a love of that wealth, the - possession of which was so plainly intimated to her. - </p> - <p> - “The money,” said she, “would be one thing, but to have the <i>Lianhan - Shee</i> planted over a body's shouldher—och; the saints preserve - us!—no, not for oceans' of hard goold would I have it in my company - one minnit. But in regard to the money—hem!—why, if it could - be managed widout havin' act or part wid that thing, people would do - anything in rason and fairity.” - </p> - <p> - “You have this day been kind to me,” replied the woman, “and that's what I - can't say of many—dear help me!—husht! Every door is shut in - my face! Does not every cheek get pale when I am seen? If I meet a - fellow-creature on the road, they turn into the field to avoid me; if I - ask for food, it's to a deaf ear I speak; if I am thirsty, they send me to - the river. What house would shelter me? In cold, in hunger, in drought, in - storm, and in tempest, I am alone and unfriended, hated, feared, an' - avoided; starving in the winter's cold, and burning in the summer's heat. - All this is my fate here; and—oh! oh! oh!—have mercy, - tormentor—have mercy! I will not lift my thoughts there—I'll - keep the paction—but spare me now!” - </p> - <p> - She turned round as she spoke, seeming to follow an invisible object, or, - perhaps, attempting to get a more complete view of the mysterious being - which exercised such a terrible and painful influence over her. Mrs. - Sullivan, also, kept her eye fixed upon the lump, and actually believed - that she saw it move. Fear of incurring the displeasure of what it - contained, and a superstitious reluctance harshly to thrust a person from - her door who had eaten of her food, prevented her from desiring the woman - to depart. - </p> - <p> - “In the name of Goodness,” she replied, “I will have nothing to do wid - your gift. Providence, blessed be his name, has done well for me an' mine, - an' it mightn't be right to go beyant what it has pleased him to give me.” - </p> - <p> - “A rational sentiment!—I mean there's good sense in what you say,” - answered the stranger: “but you need not be afraid,” and she accompanied - the expression by holding up the bottle and kneeling: “now,” she added, - “listen to me, and judge for yourself, if what I say, when I swear it, can - be a lie.” She then proceeded to utter oaths of the most solemn nature, - the purport of which Was to assure Mrs. Sullivan that drinking of the - bottle would be attended with no danger. “You see this little bottle, - drink it. Oh, for my sake and your own drink it; it will give wealth - without end to you and to all belonging to you. Take one-half of it before - sunrise, and the other half when he goes down. You must stand while - drinking it, with your face to the east, in the morning; and at night, to - the west. Will you promise to do this?” - </p> - <p> - “How would drinkin' the bottle get me money?” inquired Mrs. Sullivan, who - certainly felt a strong tendency of heart to the wealth. - </p> - <p> - “That I can't tell you now, nor would you understand it, even if I could; - but you will know all when what I say is complied with.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep your bottle, dacent woman. I wash my hands of it: the saints above - guard me from the timptation! I'm sure it's not right, for as I'm a - sinner, 'tis getting stronger every minute widin me? Keep it! I'm loth to - bid any one that ett o' my bread to go from my hearth, but if you go, I'll - make it worth your while. Saints above, what's comin' over me. In my whole - life I never had such a hankerin' afther money! Well, well, but it's quare - entirely!” - </p> - <p> - “Will you drink it?” asked her companion. “If it does hurt or harm to you - or yours, or anything but good, may what is hanging over me be fulfilled!” - and she extended a thin, but, considering her years, not ungraceful arm, - in the act of holding out the bottle to her kind entertainer. - </p> - <p> - “For the sake of all that's good and gracious take it without scruple—it - is not hurtful, a child might drink every drop that's in it. Oh, for the - sake of all you love, and of all that love you, take it!” and as she urged - her, the tears streamed down her cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” replied Mrs. Sullivan, “it'll never cross my lips; not if it - made me as rich as ould Hendherson, that airs his guineas in the sun, for - fraid they'd get light by lyin' past.” - </p> - <p> - “I entreat you to take it?” said the strange woman. - </p> - <p> - “Never, never!—once for all—I say, I won't; so spare your - breath.” - </p> - <p> - The firmness of the good housewife was not, in fact to be shaken; so, - after exhausting all the motives and arguments with which she could urge - the accomplishments of her design, the strange woman, having again put the - bottle into her bosom, prepared to depart. - </p> - <p> - She had now once more become calm, and resumed her seat with the languid - air of one who has suffered much exhaustion and excitement. She put her - hand upon her forehead for a few moments, as if collecting her faculties, - or endeavoring to remember the purport of their previous conversation. A - slight moisture had broken through her skin, and altogether, - notwithstanding her avowed criminality in entering into an unholy bond, - she appeared an object of deep compassion. - </p> - <p> - In a moment her manner changed again, and her eyes blazed out once more, - as she asked her alarmed hostess:— - </p> - <p> - “Again, Mary Sullivan, will you take the gift that I have it in my power - to give you? ay or no? speak, poor mortal, if you know what is for your - own good?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sullivan's fears, however, had overcome her love of money, - particularly as she thought that wealth obtained in such a manner could - not prosper; her only objection being to the means of acquiring it. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said the stranger, “am I doomed never to meet with any one who will - take the promise off me by drinking of this bottle? Oh! but I am unhappy! - What it is to fear—ah! ah!—and keep his commandments. Had I - done so in my youthful time, I wouldn't now—ah—merciful - mother, is there no relief? kill me, tormentor; kill me outright, for - surely the pangs of eternity cannot be greater than those you now make me - suffer. Woman,” said she, and her muscles stood out in extraordinary - energy— “woman, Mary Sullivan—ay, if you should kill me—blast - me—where I stand, I will say the word—woman—you have - daughters—teach them—to fear-” - </p> - <p> - Having got so far, she stopped—her bosom heaved up and down—her - frame shook dreadfully—her eyeballs became lurid and fiery—her - hands were clenched, and the spasmodic throes of inward convulsion worked - the white froth up to her mouth; at length she suddenly became like a - statue, with this wild, supernatural expression intense upon her, and with - an awful calmness, by far more dreadful than excitement could be, - concluded by pronouncing, in deep, husky tones, the name of God. - </p> - <p> - Having accomplished this with such a powerful struggle, she turned round, - with pale despair in her countenance and manner, and with streaming eyes - slowly departed, leaving Mrs. Sullivan in a situation not at all to be - envied. - </p> - <p> - In a short time the other members of the family, who had been out at their - evening employments, returned. Bartley, her husband, having entered - somewhat sooner than his three daughters from milking, was the first to - come in; presently the girls followed, and in a few minutes they sat down - to supper, together with the servants, who dropped in one by one, after - the toil of the day. On placing themselves about the table, Bartley, as - usual, took his seat at the head; but Mrs. Sullivan, instead of occupying - hers, sat at the fire in a state of uncommon agitation. Every two or three - minutes she would cross herself devoutly, and mutter such prayers against - spiritual influences of an evil nature, as she could compose herself to - remember. - </p> - <p> - “Thin, why don't you come to your supper, Mary,” said the husband, “while - the sowans are warm? Brave and thick they are this night, any way.” - </p> - <p> - His wife was silent; for so strong a hold had the strange woman and her - appalling secret upon her mind, that it was not till he repeated his - question three or four times—raising his head with surprise, and - asking, “Eh, thin, Mary, what's come over you—is it unwell you are?”—that - she noticed what he said. - </p> - <p> - “Supper!” she exclaimed, “unwell! 'tis a good right I have to be unwell,—I - hope nothin' bad will happen, any way. Feel my face, Nanny,” she added, - addressing one of her daughters, “it's as cowld an' wet as a lime-stone—ay, - an' if you found me a corpse before you, it wouldn't be at all strange.” - </p> - <p> - There was a general pause at the seriousness of this intimation. The - husband rose from his supper, and went up to the hearth where she sat. - </p> - <p> - “Turn round to the light,” said he; “why, Mary dear, in the name of - wondher, what ails you? for you're like a corpse, sure enough. Can't you - tell us what has happened, or what put you in such a state? Why, childhre, - the cowld sweat's teemin' off her!” - </p> - <p> - The poor woman, unable to sustain the shock produced by her interview with - the stranger, found herself getting more weak, and requested a drink of - water; but before it could be put to her lips, she laid her head upon the - back of the chair and fainted. Grief, and uproar, and confusion followed - this alarming incident. The presence of mind, so necessary on such - occasions, was wholly lost; one ran here, and another there, all jostling - against each other, without being cool enough to render her proper - assistance. The daughters were in tears, and Bartley himself was - dreadfully shocked by seeing his wife apparently lifeless before him. - </p> - <p> - She soon recovered, however, and relieved them from the apprehension of - her death, which they thought had actually taken place. “Mary,” said the - husband, “something quare entirely has happened, or you wouldn't be in - this state!” - </p> - <p> - “Did any of you see a strange woman lavin' the house, a minute or two - before ye came in?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - “No,” they replied, “not a stim of any one did we see.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Wurrah dheelish!</i> No?—now is it possible ye didn't?” She then - described her, but all declared they had seen no such person. - </p> - <p> - “Bartley, whisper,” said she, and beckoning him over to her, in a few - words she revealed the secret. The husband grew pale, and crossed himself. - “Mother of Saints! childhre,” said he, “a <i>Lianhan Shee!</i>” The words - were no sooner uttered than every countenance assumed the pallidness of - death: and every right hand was raised in the act of blessing the person, - and crossing the forehead. “The <i>Lianhan Shee!!</i>” all exclaimed in - fear and horror—“This day's Friday, God betwixt us an' harm!”* - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * This short form is supposed to be a safeguard against - the Fairies. The particular day must be always named. -</pre> - <p> - It was now after dusk, and the hour had already deepened into the darkness - of a calm, moonless, summer night; the hearth, therefore, in a short time, - became surrounded by a circle, consisting of every person in the house; - the door was closed and securely bolted;—a struggle for the safest - seat took place, and to Bartley's shame be it spoken, he lodged himself on - the hob within the jamb, as the most distant situation from the fearful - being known as the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>. The recent terror, however, - brooded over them all; their topic of conversation was the mysterious - visit, of which Mrs. Sullivan gave a painfully accurate detail; whilst - every ear of those who composed her audience was set, and every single - hair of their heads bristled up, as if awakened into distinct life by the - story. Bartley looked into the fire soberly, except when the cat, in - prowling about the dresser, electrified him into a start of fear, which - sensation went round every link of the living chain about the hearth. - </p> - <p> - The next day the story spread through the whole neighborhood, accumulating - in interest and incident as it went. Where it received the touches, - embellishments, and emendations, with which it was amplified, it would be - difficult to say; every one told it, forsooth, exactly as he heard it from - another; but indeed it is not improbable, that those through whom it - passed were unconscious of the additions it had received at their hands. - It is not unreasonable to suppose that imagination in such cases often - colors highly without a premeditated design of falsehood. Fear and dread, - however, accompanied its progress; such families as had neglected to keep - holy water in their houses borrowed some from their neighbors; every old - prayer which had become rusty from disuse, was brightened up—charms - were hung about the necks of cattle—and gospels about those of - children—crosses were placed over the doors and windows;—no - unclean water was thrown out before sunrise or after dusk— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “E'en those prayed now who never prayed before. - And those who always prayed, still prayed the more.” - </pre> - <p> - The inscrutable woman who caused such general dismay in the parish was an - object of much pity. Avoided, feared, and detested, she could find no rest - for her weary feet, nor any shelter for her unprotected head. If she was - seen approaching a house, the door and windows were immediately closed - against her; if met on the way she was avoided as a pestilence. How she - lived no one could tell, for none would permit themselves to know. It was - asserted that she existed without meat or drink, and that she was doomed - to remain possessed of life, the prey of hunger and thirst, until she - could get some one weak enough to break the spell by drinking her hellish - draught, to taste which, they said, would be to change places with - herself, and assume her despair and misery. - </p> - <p> - There had lived in the country about six months before her appearance in - it, a man named Stephenson. He was unmarried, and the last of his family. - This person led a solitary and secluded life, and exhibited during the - last years of his existence strong symptoms of eccentricity, which, for - some months before his death, assumed a character of unquestionable - derangement. He was found one morning hanging by a halter in his own - stable, where he had, under the influence of his malady, committed - suicide. At this time the public press had not, as now, familiarized the - minds of the people to that dreadful crime, and it was consequently looked - upon then with an intensity of horror, of which we can scarcely entertain - any adequate notion. His farm remained unoccupied, for while an acre of - land could be obtained in any other quarter, no man would enter upon such - unhallowed premises. The house was locked up, and it was currently - reported that Stephenson and the devil each night repeated the hanging - scene in the stable; and that when the former was committing the “hopeless - sin,” the halter slipped several times from the beam of the stable-loft, - when Satan came, in the shape of a dark complexioned man with a hollow - voice, and secured the rope until Stephenson's end was accomplished. - </p> - <p> - In this stable did the wanderer take up her residence at night; and when - we consider the belief of the people in the night-scenes, which were - supposed to occur in it, we need not be surprised at the new feature of - horror which this circumstance super-added to her character. Her presence - and appearance, in the parish were dreadful; a public outcry was soon - raised against her, which, were it not from fear of her power over their - lives and cattle, might have ended in her death. None, however, had - courage to grapple with her, or to attempt expelling her by violence, lest - a signal vengeance might be taken on any who dared to injure a woman that - could call in the terrible aid of the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>. - </p> - <p> - In this state of feeling they applied to the parish priest, who, on - hearing the marvellous stories related concerning her, and on questioning - each man closely upon his authority, could perceive, that, like most other - reports, they were to be traced principally to the imagination and fears - of the people. He ascertained, however, enough from Bartley Sullivan to - justify a belief that there was something certainly uncommon about the - woman; and being of a cold, phlegmatic disposition, with some humor, he - desired them to go home, if they were wise—he shook his head - mysteriously as he spoke—“and do the woman no injury, if they didn't - wish—” and with this abrupt hint he sent them about their business. - </p> - <p> - This, however, did not satisfy them. In the same parish lived a suspended - priest, called Father Philip O'Dallaghy, who supported himself, as most of - them do, by curing certain diseases of the people—miraculously! He - had no other means of subsistence, nor indeed did he seem strongly devoted - to life, or to the pleasures it afforded. He was not addicted to those - intemperate habits which characterize “Blessed Priests” in general; - spirits he never tasted, nor any food that could be termed a luxury, or - even a comfort. His communion with the people was brief, and marked by a - tone of severe contemptuous misanthropy. He seldom stirred abroad except - during morning, or in the evening twilight, when he might be seen gliding - amidst the coming darkness, like a dissatisfied spirit. His life was an - austere one, and his devotional practices were said to be of the most - remorseful character. Such a man, in fact, was calculated to hold a - powerful sway over the prejudices and superstitions of the people. This - was true. His power was considered almost unlimited, and his life one that - would not disgrace the highest saint in the calendar. There were not - wanting some persons in the parish who hinted that Father Felix O'Rourke, - the parish priest, was himself rather reluctant to incur the displeasure, - or challenge the power, of the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>, by, driving its victim - out of the parish. The opinion of these persons was, in its distinct - unvarnished reality, that Father Felix absolutely showed the white feather - on this critical occasion—that he became shy, and begged leave to - decline being introduced to this intractable pair—seeming to - intimate that he did not at all relish adding them to the stock of his - acquaintances. - </p> - <p> - Father Philip they considered as a decided contrast to him on this point. - His stern and severe manner, rugged, and, when occasion demanded, daring, - they believed suitable to the qualities requisite for sustaining such an - interview. They accordingly waited, on him; and after Bartley and his - friends had given as faithful a report of the circumstances as, - considering all things, could be expected, he told Bartley he would hear - from Mrs. Sullivan's own lips the authentic narrative. This was quite - satisfactory, and what was expected from him. As for himself, he appeared - to take no particular interest in the matter, further than that of - allaying the ferment and alarm which had spread through the parish. “Plase - your Reverence,” said Bartley, “she came in to Mary, and she alone in the - house, and for the matther o' that, I believe she laid hands upon her, and - tossed and tumbled the crathur, and she but a sickly woman, through the - four corners of the house. Not that Mary lets an so much, for she's - afeard; but I know from her way, when she spakes about her, that it's - thruth, your Reverence.” - </p> - <p> - “But didn't the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>,” said one of them, “put a - sharp-pointed knife to her breast, wid a divilish intintion of makin' her - give the best of aitin' an' dhrinkin' the house afforded?” - </p> - <p> - “She got the victuals, to a sartinty,” replied Bartley, “and 'overlooked' - my woman for her pains; for she's not the picture of herself since.” - </p> - <p> - Every one now told some magnified and terrible circumstance, illustrating - the formidable power of the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>. - </p> - <p> - When they had finished, the sarcastic lip of the priest curled into an - expression of irony and contempt; his brow, which was naturally black and - heavy, darkened; and a keen, but rather a ferocious-looking eye, shot - forth a glance, which, while it intimated disdain for those to whom it was - directed, spoke also of a dark and troubled spirit in himself. The man - seemed to brook with scorn the degrading situation of a religious quack, - to which some incontrollable destiny had doomed him. - </p> - <p> - “I shall see your wife to-morrow,” said he to Bartley; “and after hearing - the plain account of what happened, I will consider what is best to be - done with this dark, perhaps unhappy, perhaps guilty character; but - whether dark, or unhappy, or guilty, I, for one, should not and will not - avoid her. Go, and bring me word to-morrow evening, when I can see her on - the following day. Begone!” - </p> - <p> - When they withdrew, Father Philip paced his room for some time in silence - and anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “Ay,” said he, “infatuated people! sunk in superstition and ignorance, - yet, perhaps, happier in your degradation than those who, in the pride of - knowledge, can only look back upon a life of crime and misery. What is a - sceptic? What is an infidel? Men who, when they will not submit to moral - restraint, harden themselves into scepticism and infidelity, until in the - headlong career of guilt, that which was first adopted to lull the outcry - of conscience, is supported by the pretended pride of principle. Principle - in a sceptic! Hollow and devilish lie! Would I have plunged into - scepticism, had I not first violated the moral sanctions of religion? - Never. I became an infidel, because I first became a villain! Writhing - under a load of guilt, that which I wished might be true I soon forced - myself to think true: and now”—he here clenched his hands and - groaned—“now—ay—now—and hereafter—oh, that - hereafter! Why can I not shake the thoughts of it from my conscience? - Religion! Christianity! With all the hardness of an infidel's heart I feel - your truth; because, if every man were the villain that infidelity would - make him, then indeed might every man curse God for his existence bestowed - upon him—as I would, but dare not do. Yet why can I not believe?—Alas! - why should God accept an unrepentant heart? Am I not a hypocrite, mocking - him by a guilty pretension to his power, and leading the dark into thicker - darkness? Then these hands—blood!—broken vows!—ha! ha! - ha! Well, go—let misery have its laugh, like the light that breaks - from the thunder-cloud. Prefer Voltaire to Christ; sow the wind, and reap - the whirlwind, as I have done—ha, ha, ha! Swim, world—swim - about me! I have lost the ways of Providence, and am dark! She awaits me; - but I broke the chain that galled us: yet it still rankles—still - rankles!” - </p> - <p> - The unhappy man threw himself into a chair in a paroxysm of frenzied - agony. For more than an hour he sat in the same posture, until he became - gradually hardened into a stiff, lethargic insensibility, callous and - impervious to feeling, reason, or religion—an awful transition from - a visitation of conscience so terrible as that which he had just suffered. - At length he arose, and by walking moodily about, relapsed into his usual - gloomy and restless character. - </p> - <p> - When Bartley went home, he communicated to his wife Father Philip's - intention of calling on the following day, to hear a correct account of - the Lianhan Shee. - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin,” said she, “I'm glad of it, for I intinded myself to go to - him, any way, to get my new scapular consecrated. How-an'-ever, as he's to - come, I'll get a set of gospels for the boys an' girls, an' he can - consecrate all when his hand's in. Aroon, Bartley, they say that man's so - holy that he can do anything—ay, melt a body off the face o' the - earth, like snow off a ditch. Dear me, but the power they have is strange - all out!” - </p> - <p> - “There's no use in gettin' him anything to ate or dhrink,” replied - Bartley; “he wouldn't take a glass o' whiskey once in seven years. Throth, - myself thinks he's a little too dry; sure he might be holy enough, an' yet - take a sup of an odd time. There's Father Felix, an' though we all know - he's far from bein' so blessed a man as him, yet he has friendship an' - neighborliness in him, an' never refuses a glass in rason.” - </p> - <p> - “But do you know what I was tould about Father Philip, Bartley?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll tell you that afther I hear it, Mary, my woman; you won't expect me - to tell what I don't know?—ha, ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - “Behave, Bartley, an' quit your jokin' now, at all evints; keep it till - we're talkin' of somethin' else, an' don't let us be committin' sin, - maybe, while we're spakin' of what we're spakin' about; but they say it's - as thrue as the sun to the dial:—the Lent afore last itself it was,—he - never tasted mate or dhrink durin' the whole seven weeks! Oh, you needn't - stare! it's well known by thim that has as much sinse as you—no, not - so much as you'd carry on the point o' this knittin'-needle. Well, sure - the housekeeper an' the two sarvants wondhered—faix, they couldn't - do less—an' took it into their heads to watch him closely; an' what - do you think—blessed be all the saints above!—what do you - think they seen?” - </p> - <p> - “The Goodness above knows; for me—I don't.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thin, whin he was asleep they seen a small silk thread in his mouth, - that came down through the ceilin' from heaven, an' he suckin' it, just as - a child would his mother's breast whin the crathur 'ud be asleep: so that - was the way he was supported by the angels! An' I remimber myself, though - he's a dark, spare, yallow man at all times, yet he never looked half so - fat an' rosy as he did the same Lent!” - </p> - <p> - “Glory be to Heaven! Well, well—it is sthrange the power they have! - As for him, I'd as fee meet St. Pettier, or St. Pathrick himself, as him; - for one can't but fear him, somehow.” - </p> - <p> - “Fear him! Och, it 'ud be the pity o' thim that 'ud do anything to vex or - anger that man. Why, his very look 'ud wither thim, till there wouldn't be - the thrack* o' thim on the earth; an' as for his curse, why it 'ud scorch - thim to ashes!” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * Track, foot-mark, put for life -</pre> - <p> - As it was generally known that Father Philip was to visit Mrs. Sullivan - the next day, in order to hear an account of the mystery which filled the - parish with such fear, a very great number of the parishioners were - assembled in and about Bartley's long before he made his appearance. At - length he was seen walking slowly down the road, with an open book in his - hand, on the pages of which he looked from time to time. When he - approached the house, those who were standing about it assembled in a - body, and, with one consent, uncovered their heads, and asked his - blessing. His appearance bespoke a mind ill at ease; his face was haggard, - and his eyes bloodshot. On seeing the people kneel, he smiled with his - usual bitterness, and, shaking his hand with an air of impatience over - them, muttered some words, rather in mockery of the ceremony than - otherwise. They then rose, and blessing themselves, put on their hats, - rubbed the dust off their knees, and appeared to think themselves - recruited by a peculiar accession of grace. - </p> - <p> - On entering the house the same form was repeated; and when it was over, - the best chair was placed for him by Mary's own hands, and the fire - stirred up, and a line of respect drawn, within which none was to intrude, - lest he might feel in any degree incommoded. - </p> - <p> - “My good neighbor,” said he to Mrs. Sullivan, “what strange woman is this, - who has thrown the parish into such a ferment? I'm told she paid you a - visit? Pray sit down.” - </p> - <p> - “I humbly thank your Reverence,” said Mary, curtseying lowly, “but I'd - rather not sit, sir, if you plase. I hope I know what respect manes, your - Reverence. Barny Bradagh, I'll thank you to stand up, if you plase, an' - his Reverence to the fore, Barny.” - </p> - <p> - “I ax your Reverence's pardon, an' yours, too, Mrs. Sullivan: sure we - didn't mane the disrespect, any how, sir, plase your Reverence.” - </p> - <p> - “About this woman, and the <i>Lianhan Shee?</i>” said the priest, without - noticing Barny's apology. “Pray what do you precisely understand by a <i>Lianhan - Shee?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Why, sir,” replied Mary, “some sthrange bein' from the good people, or - fairies, that sticks to some persons. There's a bargain, sir, your - Reverence, made atween thim; an' the divil, sir, that is, the ould boy—the - saints about us!—has a hand in it. The <i>Lianhan Shee</i>, your - Reverence, is never seen only by thim it keeps wid; but—hem!—it - always, with the help of the ould boy, conthrives, sir, to make the person - brake the agreement, an' thin it has thim in its power; but if they don't - brake the agreement, thin it's in their power. If they can get any body to - put in their place, they may get out o' the bargain; for they can, of a - sartainty, give oceans o' money to people, but can't take any themselves, - plase your Reverence. But sure, where's the use o' me to be tellin' your - Reverence what you know betther nor myself?—an' why shouldn't you, - or any one that has the power you have?” - </p> - <p> - He smiled again at this in his own peculiar manner, and was proceeding to - inquire more particularly into the nature of the interview between them, - when the noise of feet, and sounds of general alarm, accompanied by a rush - of people into the house, arrested his attention, and he hastily inquired - into the cause of the commotion. Before he could receive a reply, however, - the house was almost crowded; and it was not without considerable - difficulty, that, by the exertions of Mrs. Sullivan and Bartley, - sufficient order and quiet were obtained to hear distinctly what was said. - </p> - <p> - “Plase your Reverence,” said several voices at once, “they're comin', - hot-foot, into the very house to us! Was ever the likes seen! an' they - must know right well, sir, that you're widin in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Who are coming?” he inquired. “Why the woman, sir, an' her good pet, the - <i>Lianhan Shee</i>, your Reverence.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said he, “but why should you all appear so blanched with terror? - Let her come in, and we shall see how far she is capable of injuring her - fellow-creatures: some maniac,” he muttered, in a low soliloquy, “whom the - villany of the world has driven into derangement—some victim to a - hand like m——. Well, they say there is a Providence, yet such - things are permitted!” - </p> - <p> - “He's sayin' a prayer now,” observed one of them; “haven't we a good right - to be thankful that he's in the place wid us while she's in it, or dear - knows what harm she might do us—maybe rise the wind!”* As the latter - speaker concluded, there was a dead silence. The persons about the door - crushed each other backwards, their feet set out before them, and their - shoulders laid with violent pressure against those who stood behind, for - each felt anxious to avoid all danger of contact with a being against - whose power even a blessed priest found it necessary to guard himself by a - prayer. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * It is generally supposed by the people, that persons - who have entered into a compact with Satan can raise - the wind by calling him up, and that it cannot be laid - unless by the death of a black cock, a black dog, or an - unchristened child. -</pre> - <p> - At length a low murmur ran among the people—“Father O'Rourke!—here's - Father O'Rourke!—he has turned the corner after her, an' they're - both comin' in.” Immediately they entered, but it was quite evident from - the manner of the worthy priest that he was unacquainted with the person - of this singular being. When they crossed the threshold, the priest - advanced, and expressed his surprise at the throng of people assembled. - </p> - <p> - “Plase your Reverence,” said Bartley, “that's the woman,” nodding - significantly towards her as he spoke, but without looking at her person, - lest the evil eye he dreaded so much might meet his, and give him “the - blast.” - </p> - <p> - The dreaded female, on seeing the house in such a crowded state, started, - paused, and glanced with some terror at the persons assembled. Her dress - was not altered since her last visit; but her countenance, though more - meagre and emaciated, expressed but little of the unsettled energy which - then flashed from her eyes, and distorted her features by the depth of - that mysterious excitement by which she had been agitated. Her countenance - was still muffled as before, the awful protuberance rose from her - shoulders, and the same band which Mrs. Sullivan had alluded to during - their interview, was bound about the upper part of her forehead. - </p> - <p> - She had already stood upwards of two minutes, during which the fall of a - feather might be heard, yet none bade God bless her—no kind hand was - extended to greet her—no heart warmed in affection towards her; on - the contrary, every eye glanced at her, as a being marked with enmity - towards God. Blanched faces and knit brows, the signs of fear and hatred, - were turned upon her; her breath was considered pestilential, and her - touch paralysis. There she stood, proscribed, avoided, and hunted like a - tigress, all fearing to encounter, yet wishing to exterminate her! Who - could she be?—or what had she done, that the finger of the Almighty - marked her out for such a fearful weight of vengeance? - </p> - <p> - Father Philip rose and advanced a few steps, until he stood confronting - her. His person was tall, his features dark, severe, and solemn: and when - the nature of the investigation about to take place is considered, it need - not be wondered at, that the moment was, to those present, one of deep and - impressive interest—such as a visible conflict between a supposed - champion of God and a supernatural being was calculated to excite. - </p> - <p> - “Woman,” said he, in his deep stern voice, “tell me who and what you are, - and why you assume a character of such a repulsive and mysterious nature, - when it can entail only misery, shame, and persecution on yourself? I - conjure you, in the name of Him after whose image you are created, to - speak truly?” - </p> - <p> - He paused, and the tall figure stood mute before him. The silence was dead - as death—every breath was hushed and the persons assembled stood - immovable as statues! Still she spoke not; but the violent heaving of her - breast evinced the internal working of some dreadful struggle. Her face - before was pale—it was now ghastly; her lips became blue, and her - eyes vacant. - </p> - <p> - “Speak!” said he, “I conjure you in the name of the power by whom we - live!” - </p> - <p> - It is probable that the agitation under which she labored was produced by - the severe effort made to sustain the unexpected trial she had to undergo. - </p> - <p> - For some minutes her struggle continued; but having begun at its highest - pitch, it gradually subsided until it settled in a calmness which appeared - fixed and awful as the resolution of despair. With breathless composure - she turned round, and put back that part of her dress which concealed her - face, except the band on her forehead, which she did not remove; having - done this she turned again, and walked calmly towards Father Philip, with - a deadly smile upon her thin lips. When within a step of where he stood, - she paused, and riveting her eyes upon him exclaimed— - </p> - <p> - “Who and what am I? The victim of infidelity and you, the bearer of a - cursed existence, the scoff and scorn of the world, the monument of a - broken vow and a guilty life, a being scourged by the scorpion lash of - conscience, blasted by periodical insanity, pelted by the winter's storm, - scorched by the summer's heat, withered by starvation, hated by man, and - touched into my inmost spirit by the anticipated tortures of future - misery. I have no rest for the sole of my foot, no repose for a head - distracted by the contemplation of a guilty life; I am the unclean spirit - which walketh to seek rest and findeth none; I am—<i>what you have - made me!</i> Behold,” she added, holding up the bottle, “this failed, and - I live to accuse you. But no, you are my husband—though our union - was but a guilty form, and I will bury that in silence. You thought me - dead, and you flew to avoid punishment—did you avoid it? No; the - finger of God has written pain and punishment upon your brow. I have been - in all characters, in all shapes, have spoken with the tongue of a - peasant, moved in my natural sphere; but my knees were smitten, my brain - stricken, and the wild malady which banishes me from society has been upon - me for years. Such I am, and such, I say, have you made me. As for you, - kind-hearted woman, there was nothing in this bottle but pure water. The - interval of reason returned this day, and having remembered glimpses of - our conversation, I came to apologize to you, and to explain the nature of - my unhappy distemper, and to beg a little bread, which I have not tasted - for two days. I at times conceive myself attended by an evil spirit shaped - out by a guilty conscience, and this is the only familiar which attends - me, and by it I have been dogged into madness through every turning of - life. Whilst it lasts I am subject to spasms and convulsive starts which - are exceedingly painful. The lump on my back is the robe I wore when - innocent in my peaceful convent.” - </p> - <p> - The intensity of general interest was now transferred to Father Philip; - every face was turned towards him, but he cared not. A solemn stillness - yet prevailed among all present. From the moment she spoke, her eye drew - his with the power of a basilisk. His pale face became like marble, not a - muscle moved; and when she ceased speaking, his blood-shot eyes were still - fixed upon her countenance with a gloomy calmness like that which precedes - a tempest. They stood before each other, dreadful counterparts in guilt, - for truly his spirit was as dark as hers. - </p> - <p> - At length he glanced angrily around him;—“Well,” said he, “what is - it now, ye poor infatuated wretches, to trust in the sanctity of man. - Learn from me to place the same confidence in God which you place in his - guilty creatures, and you will not lean on a broken reed. Father O'Rourke, - you, too, witness my disgrace, but not my punishment. It is pleasant, no - doubt, to have a topic for conversation at your Conferences; enjoy it. As - for you, Margaret, if society lessen misery, we may be less miserable. But - the band of your order, and the remembrance of your vow is on your - forehead, like the mark of Cain—tear it off, and let it not blast a - man who is the victim of prejudice still,—nay of superstition, as - well as of guilt; tear it from my sight.” His eyes kindled fearfully, as - he attempted to pull it away by force. - </p> - <p> - She calmly took it off, and he immediately tore it into pieces, and - stamped upon the fragments as he flung them on the ground. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” said the despairing man—“come—there is a shelter for - you, but no peace!—food, and drink, and raiment, but no peace!—no - peace!” As he uttered these words, in a voice that sank to its deepest - pitch, he took her hand, and they both departed to his own residence. - </p> - <p> - The amazement and horror of those who were assembled in Bartley's house - cannot be described. Our readers may be assured that they deepened in - character as they spread through the parish. An undefined, fear of this - mysterious pair seized upon the people, for their images were associated - in their minds with darkness and crime, and supernatural communion. The - departing words of Father Philip rang in their ears: they trembled, and - devoutly crossed themselves, as fancy again repeated the awful exclamation - of the priest—“No peace! no peace!” - </p> - <p> - When Father Philip and his unhappy associate went home, he instantly made - her a surrender of his small property; but with difficulty did he command - sufficient calmness to accomplish even this. He was distracted—his - blood seemed to have been turned to fire—he clenched his hands, and - he gnashed his teeth, and exhibited the wildest symptoms of madness. About - ten o'clock he desired fuel for a large fire to be brought into the - kitchen, and got a strong cord, which he coiled and threw carelessly on - the table. The family were then ordered to bed. About eleven they were all - asleep; and at the solemn hour of twelve he heaped additional fuel upon - the living turf, until the blaze shone with scorching light upon - everything around. Dark and desolating was the tempest within him, as he - paced, with agitated steps, before the crackling fire. - </p> - <p> - “She is risen!” he exclaimed—“the spectre of all my crimes is risen - to haunt me through life! I am a murderer—yet she lives, and my - guilt is not the less! The stamp of eternal infamy is upon me—the - finger of scorn will mark me out—the tongue of reproach will sting - me like that of a serpent—the deadly touch of shame will cover me - like a leper—the laws of society will crush the murderer, not the - less that his wickedness in blood has miscarried: after that comes the - black and terrible tribunal of the Almighty's vengeance—of his fiery - indignation! Hush!—What sounds are those? They deepen—they - deepen! Is it thunder? It cannot be the crackling of the blaze! It is - thunder!—but it speaks only to my ear! Hush!—Great God, there - is a change in my voice! It is hollow and supernatural! Could a change - have come over me? Am I living? Could I have——Hah!—Could - I have departed? and am I now at length given over to the worm that never - dies? If it be at my heart, I may feel it. God!—I am damned! Here is - a viper twined about my limbs trying to dart its fangs into my heart! Hah!—there - are feet pacing in the room, too, and I hear voices! I am surrounded by - evil spirits! Who's there?—What are you?—Speak!—They are - silent!—There is no answer! Again comes the thunder! But perchance - this is not my place of punishment, and I will try to leave these horrible - spirits!” - </p> - <p> - <a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> - <!-- IMG --></a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> - <img src="images/page975.jpg" - alt="Page 975-- Who's There?--What Are You?--Speak! " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - He opened the door, and passed out into a small green field that lay - behind the house. The night was calm, and the silence profound as death. - Not a cloud obscured the heavens; the light of the moon fell upon the - stillness of the scene around him, with all the touching beauty of a - moonlit midnight in summer. Here he paused a moment, felt his brow, then - his heart, the palpitations of which fell audibly upon his ear. He became - somewhat cooler; the images of madness which had swept through his stormy - brain disappeared, and were succeeded by a lethargic vacancy of thought, - which almost deprived him of the consciousness of his own identity. From - the green field he descended mechanically to a little glen which opened - beside it. It was one of those delightful spots to which the heart - clingeth. Its sloping sides were clothed with patches of wood, on the - leaves of which the moonlight glanced with a soft lustre, rendered more - beautiful by their stillness. That side on which the light could not fall, - lay in deep shadow, which occasionally gave to the rocks and small - projecting precipices an appearance of monstrous and unnatural life. - Having passed through the tangled mazes of the glen, he at length reached - its bottom, along which ran a brook, such as in the description of the - poet,— - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - ——In the leafy month of June, - Unto the sleeping woods all night, - Singeth a quiet tune.” - </pre> - <p> - Here he stood, and looked upon the green winding margin of the streamlet—but - its song he heard not. With the workings of a guilty conscience, the - beautiful in nature can have no association. He looked up the glen, but - its picturesque windings, soft vistas, and wild underwood mingling with - gray rocks and taller trees, all mellowed by the moonbeams, had no charms - for him. He maintained a profound silence—but it was not the silence - of peace or reflection. He endeavored to recall the scenes of the past - day, but could not bring them back to his memory. Even the fiery tide of - thought, which, like burning lava, seared his brain a few moments before, - was now cold and hardened. - </p> - <p> - He could remember nothing. The convulsion of his mind was over, and his - faculties were impotent and collapsed. - </p> - <p> - In this state he unconsciously retraced his steps, and had again reached - the paddock adjoining his house, where, as he thought, the figure of his - paramour stood before him. In a moment his former paroxysm returned, and - with it the gloomy images of a guilty mind, charged with the extravagant - horrors of brain-stricken madness. - </p> - <p> - “What!” he exclaimed, “the band still on your forehead! Tear it off!” - </p> - <p> - He caught at the form as he spoke, but there was no resistance to his - grasp. On looking again towards the spot it had ceased to be visible. The - storm within him arose once more; he rushed into the kitchen, where the - fire blazed out with fiercer heat; again he imagined that the thunder came - to his ears, but the thunderings which he heard were only the voice of - conscience. Again his own footsteps and his voice sounded in his fancy as - the footsteps and voices of fiends, with which his imagination peopled the - room. His state and his existence seemed to him a confused and troubled - dream; he tore his hair—threw it on the table—and immediately - started back with a hollow groan; for his locks, which but a few hours - before had been as black as a raven's wing, were now white as snow! - </p> - <p> - On discovering this, he gave a low but frantic laugh. “Ha, ha, ha!” he - exclaimed; “here is another mark—here is food for despair. Silently, - but surely, did the hand of God work this, as proof that I am hopeless! - But I will bear it; I will bear the sight! I now feel myself a man blasted - by the eye of God Himself! Ha, ha, ha! Food for despair! Food for - despair!” - </p> - <p> - Immediately he passed into his own room, and approaching the looking-glass - beheld a sight calculated to move a statue. His hair had become literally - white, but the shades of his dark complexion, now distorted by terror and - madness, flitted, as his features worked under the influence of his - tremendous passions, into an expression so frightful, that deep fear came - over himself. He snatched one of his razors, and fled from the glass to - the kitchen. He looked upon the fire, and saw the white ashes lying around - its edge. - </p> - <p> - “Ha!” said he, “the light is come! I see the sign. I am directed, and I - will follow it. There is yet one hope. The immolation! I shall be saved, - yet so as by fire. It is for this my hair has become white;—the - sublime warning for my self-sacrifice! The color of ashes!—white—white! - It is so! I will sacrifice my body in material fire, to save my soul from - that which is eternal! But I had anticipated the sign. The self-sacrifice - is accepted!”* - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * As the reader may be disposed to consider the nature - of the priest's death an unjustifiable stretch of - fiction, I have only to say in reply, that it is no - fiction at all. It is not, I believe, more than forty, - or perhaps fifty, years since a priest committed his - body to the flames, for the purpose of saving his soul - by an incrematory sacrifice. The object of the suicide - being founded on the superstitious belief, that a - priest guilty of great crimes possesses the privilege - of securing salvation by self-sacrifice. We have heard - two or three legends among the people in which this - principle predominated. The outline of one of these, - called “The Young Priest and Brian Braar,” was as - follows:— - - A young priest on his way to the College of Valladolid, - in Spain, was benighted; but found a lodging in a small - inn on the roadside. Here he was tempted by a young - maiden of great beauty, who, in the moment of his - weakness, extorted from him a bond signed with his - blood, binding himself to her forever. She turned out - to be an evil spirit: and the young priest proceeded to - Valladolid with a heavy heart, confessed his crime to - the Superior, who sent him to the Pope, who sent him to - a Friar in the County of Armagh, called Brian Braar, - who sent him to the devil. The devil, on the strength - of Brian Braar's letter, gave him a warm reception, - held a cabinet council immediately, and laid the - despatch before his colleagues, who agreed that the - claimant should get back his bond from the brimstone - lady who had inveigled him. She, however, obstinately - refused to surrender it, and stood upon her bond, until - threatened with being thrown three times into Brian - Braar's furnace. This tamed her: the man got his bond, - and returned to Brian Braar on earth. Now Brian Braar - had for three years past abandoned God, and taken to - the study of magic with the devil; a circumstance which - accounts for his influence below. The young priest, - having possessed himself of his bond, went to Lough - Derg to wash away his sins; and Brian Braar, having - also become penitent, the two worthies accompanied each - other to the lake. On entering the boat, however, to - cross over to the island, such a storm arose as drove - them back. Brian assured his companion that he himself - was the cause of it. - - “There is now,” said he, “but one more chance for me; - and we must have recourse to it.” He then returned - homewards, and both had reached a hill-side near - Bryan's house, when the latter desired the young priest - to remain there a few minutes, and he would return to - him; which he did with a hatchet in his hand. - - “Now,” said he, “you must cut me into four quarters, - and mince my body into small bits, then cast them into - the air, and let them go with the wind.” - - The priest, after much entreaty, complied with his - wishes, and returned to Lough Derg, where he afterwards - lived twelve years upon one meal of bread and water per - diem. Having thus purified himself, he returned home; - but, on passing the hill where he had minced the Friar, - he was astonished to see the same man celebrating mass, - attended by a very penitential looking congregation of - spirits. - - “Ah,” said Brian Braar, when mass was over, “you are - now a happy man. With regard to my state for the - voluntary sacrifice I have made of myself, I am to be - saved; but I must remain on this mountain until the Day - of Judgment.” So saying, he disappeared. - - There is little to be said about the superstition of - the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>, except that it existed as we have - drawn it, and that it is now fading fast away. There is - also something appropriate in associating the heroine - of this little story with the being called the <i>Lianhan - Shee</i>, because, setting the superstition aside, any - female who fell into her crime was called <i>Lianhan - Shee</i>. <i>Lianhan Shee an Sogarth</i> signifies a priest's - paramour, or, as the country people say, “Miss.” Both - terms have now nearly become obsolete. -</pre> - <p> - We must here draw a veil over that which ensued, as the description of it - would be both unnatural and revolting. Let it be sufficient to say, that - the next morning he was found burned to a cinder, with the exception of - his feet and legs, which remained as monuments of, perhaps, the most - dreadful suicide that ever was committed by man. His razor, too, was found - bloody, and several clots of gore were discovered about the hearth; from - which circumstances it was plain that he had reduced his strength so much - by loss of blood, that when he committed himself to the flames, he was - unable, even had he been willing, to avoid the fiery and awful sacrifice - of which he made himself the victim. If anything could deepen the the - impression of fear and awe, already so general among the people, it was - the unparalleled nature of his death. Its circumstances are yet remembered - in the parish and county wherein it occurred—for it is no fiction, - gentle reader! and the titular bishop who then presided over the diocese, - declared, that while he lived, no person bearing the unhappy man's name - should ever be admitted to the clerical order. - </p> - <p> - The shock produced by his death struck the miserable woman into the utter - darkness of settled derangement. She survived him some years, but wandered - about through the province, still, according to the superstitious belief - of the people, tormented by the terrible enmity of the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>. - the <i>Lianhan Shee</i>. - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The -Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee, by William Carleton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER *** - -***** This file should be named 16015-h.htm or 16015-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16015/ - -Produced by David Widger - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee - Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of - William Carleton, Volume Three - -Author: William Carleton - -Illustrator: M. L. Flanery - -Release Date: June 7, 2005 [EBook #16015] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - -TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY - -BY WILLIAM CARLETON - - -PART IV. - -[Illustration: Frontispiece] - -[Illustration: Titlepage] - - - -CONTENTS: - -Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver. - -The Geography Of An Irish Oath. - -The Lianhan Shee. - - - -PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER. - - -Phil Purcel was a singular character, for he was never married; but -notwithstanding his singularity, no man ever possessed, for practical -purposes, a more plentiful stock of duplicity. All his acquaintances -knew that Phil was a knave of the first water, yet was he decidedly a -general favorite. Now as we hate mystery ourselves, we shall reveal the -secret of this remarkable popularity; though, after all, it can scarcely -be called so, for Phil was not the first cheat who has been popular -in his day. The cause of his success lay simply in this; that he never -laughed; and, none of our readers need be told, that the appearance of -a grave cheat in Ireland is an originality which almost runs up into -a miracle. This gravity induced every one to look upon him as a -phenomenon. The assumed simplicity of his manners was astonishing, -and the ignorance which he feigned, so apparently natural, that it was -scarcely possible for the most keen-sighted searcher into human motives -to detect him. The only way of understanding the man was to deal with -him: if, after that, you did not comprehend him thoroughly, the fault -was not Phil's, but your own. Although not mirthful himself, he was the -cause of mirth in others; for, without ever smiling at his own gains, he -contrived to make others laugh at their losses. His disposition, setting -aside laughter, was strictly anomalous. The most incompatible, the most -unamalgamatible, and the most uncomeatable qualities that ever refused -to unite in the same individual, had no scruple at all to unite in Phil. -But we hate metaphysics, which we leave to the mechanical philosophers, -and proceed to state that Phil was a miser, which is the best -explanation we can give of his gravity. - -Ireland, owing to the march of intellect, and the superiority of modern -refinement, has been for some years past, and is at present, well -supplied with an abundant variety of professional men, every one of whom -will undertake, for proper considerations, to teach us Irish all manner -of useful accomplishments. The drawing-master talks of his profession; -the dancing-master of his profession; the fiddler, tooth-drawer, and -corn-cutter (who by the way, reaps a richer harvest than we do), since -the devil has tempted the schoolmaster to go abroad, are all practising -in his absence, as professional men. - -Now-Phil must be included among this class of grandiloquent gentlemen, -for he entered life as a Professor of Pig-driving; and it is but justice -towards him to assert, that no corn-cutter of them all ever elevated his -profession so high as Phil did that in which he practised. In fact, he -raised it to the most exalted pitch of improvement of which it was then -susceptible; or to use the cant of the day, he soon arrived at "the head -of his profession." - -In Phil's time, however, pig-driving was not so general, nor had it -made such rapid advances as in modern times. It was, then, simply, -pig-driving, unaccompanied by the improvements of poverty, sickness, and -famine. Political economy had not then taught the people how to be poor -upon the most scientific principles; free trade had not shown the nation -the most approved plan of reducing itself to the lowest possible state -of distress; nor liberalism enabled the working classes to scoff at -religion, and wisely to stop at the very line that lies between outrage -and rebellion. Many errors and inconveniences, now happily exploded, -were then in existence. The people, it is true, were somewhat attached -to their landlords, but still they were burdened with the unnecessary -appendages of good coats and stout shoes; were tolerably industrious, -and had the mortification of being able to pay their rents, and feed -in comfort. They were not, as they are now, free from new coats and -old prejudices, nor improved by the intellectual march of politics and -poverty. When either a man or a nation starves, it is a luxury to starve -in an enlightened manner; and nothing is more consolatory to a person -acquainted with public rights and constitutional privileges, than to -understand those liberal principles upon which he fasts and goes naked. - -From all we have said, the reader sees clearly that pig-driving did -not then proceed upon so extensive a scale as it does at present. The -people, in fact, killed many of them for their own use; and we know not -how it happened, but political ignorance and good bacon kept them in -more flesh and comfort than those theories which have since succeeded so -well in introducing the science of starvation as the basis of national -prosperity. Irishmen are frequently taxed with extravagance, in addition -to their other taxes; but we should be glad to know what people in -Europe reduce economy in the articles of food and clothing to such close -practice as they do. - -Be this as it may, there was, in Ireland, an old breed of swine, which -is now nearly extinct, except in some remote parts of the country, where -they are still useful in the hunting season, particularly if dogs happen -to be scarce.* They were a tall, loose species, with legs of an unusual -length, with no flesh, short ears, as if they had been cropped for -sedition, and with long faces of a highly intellectual cast. They were -also of such activity that few greyhounds could clear a ditch or cross -a field with more agility or speed. Their backs formed a rainbow arch, -capable of being contracted or extended to an inconceivable degree; and -their usual rate of travelling in droves was at mail-coach speed, or -eight Irish miles an hour, preceded by an outrider to clear the way, -whilst their rear was brought up by another horseman, going at a -three-quarter gallop. - - * We assure John Bull, on the authority of Purcel - himself, that this is a fact. - -In the middle of summer, when all nature reposed under the united -influence of heat and dust, it was an interesting sight to witness a -drove of them sweeping past, like a whirlwind, in a cloud of their own -raising; their sharp and lengthy outlines dimly visible through the -shining haze, like a flock of antelopes crossing the deserts of the -East. - -But alas! for those happy days! This breed is now a curiosity--few -specimens of it remaining except in the mountainous parts of the -country, whither these lovers of liberty, like the free natives of the -back settlements of America, have retired to avoid the encroachments of -civilization, and exhibit their Irish antipathy to the slavish comforts -of steamboat navigation, and the relaxing luxuries of English feeding. - -Indeed, their patriotism, as evinced in an attachment to Ireland and -Irish habits, was scarcely more remarkable than their sagacity. There is -not an antiquary among the members of that learned and useful body, the -Irish Academy, who can boast such an intimate knowledge of the Irish -language in all its shades of meaning and idiomatic beauty, as did this -once flourishing class of animals. Nor were they confined to the Irish -tongue alone, many of them understood English too; and it was said -of those that belonged to a convent, the members of which, in their -intercourse with each other, spoke only in Latin, that they were -tolerable masters of that language, and refused to leave a potato field -or plot of cabbages, except when addressed in it. To the English tongue, -however, they had a deep-rooted antipathy; whether it proceeded from the -national feeling, or the fact of its not being sufficiently guttural, -I cannot say; but be this as it may, it must be admitted that they were -excellent Irish scholars, and paid a surprising degree of deference and -obedience to whatever was addressed to them in their own language. In -Munster, too, such of them as belonged to the hedge-schoolmasters were -good proficients in Latin; but it is on a critical knowledge of their -native tongue that I take my stand. On this point they were unrivalled -by the most learned pigs or antiquaries of their day; none of either -class possessing, at that period, such a knowledge of Irish manners, nor -so keen a sagacity in tracing out Irish roots. - -Their education, it is true, was not neglected, and their instructors -had the satisfaction of seeing that it was not lost. Nothing could -present a finer display of true friendship founded upon a sense of -equality, mutual interest, and good-will, than the Irishman and his pig. -The Arabian and his horse are proverbial; but had our English neighbors -known as much of Ireland as they did of Arabia, they would have found as -signal instances of attachment subsisting between the former as between -the latter; and, perhaps, when the superior comforts of an Arabian hut -are contrasted with the squalid poverty of an Irish cabin, they would -have perceived a heroism and a disinterestedness evinced by the Irish -parties, that would have struck them with greater admiration. - -The pigs, however, of the present day are a fat, gross, and degenerate -breed; and more like well-fed aldermen, than Irish pigs of the old -school. They are, in fact, a proud, lazy, carnal race, entirely of the -earth, earthy. John Bull assures us it is one comfort, however, that -we do not eat, but ship them out of the country; yet, after all, with, -great respect to John, it is not surprising that we should repine a -little on thinking of the good old times of sixty years since, when -every Irishman could kill his own pig, and eat it when he pleased. We -question much whether any measure that might make the eating of meat -compulsory upon us, would experience from Irishmen a very decided -opposition. But it is very condescending in John to eat our beef and -mutton; and as he happens to want both, it is particularly disinterested -in him to encourage us in the practice of self-denial. It is possible, -however, that we may ultimately refuse to banquet by proxy on our own -provisions; and that John may not be much longer troubled to eat for us -in that capacity. - -The education of an Irish pig, at the time of which we write, was an -important consideration to an Irishman. He, and his family, and his -pig, like the Arabian and his horse, all slept in the same bed; the -pig generally, for the sake of convenience, next the "stock" (* at the -outside). At meals the pig usually was stationed at the _serahag_, or -potato-basket; where the only instances of bad temper he ever displayed -broke out in petty and unbecoming squabbles with the younger branches -of the family. Indeed, if he ever descended from his high station as a -member of the domestic circle, it was upon these occasions, when, with -a want of dignity, accounted for only by the grovelling motive of -self-interest, he embroiled himself in a series of miserable feuds and -contentions about scraping the pot, or carrying off from the jealous -urchins about him more than came to his share. In these heart-burnings -about the good things of this world, he was treated with uncommon -forbearance: in his owner he always had a friend, from whom, when he -grunted out his appeal to him, he was certain of receiving redress: -"Barney, behave, avick: lay down the potstick, an' don't be batin' the -pig, the crathur." - -In fact, the pig was never mentioned but with this endearing epithet of -"crathur" annexed. "Barney, go an' call home the pig, the crathur, to -his dinner, before it gets cowld an him." "Barney, go an' see if you can -see the pig, the crathur, his buckwhist will soon be ready." "Barney, -run an' dhrive the pig, the crathur, out of Larry Neil's phatie-field: -an', Barney, whisper, a bouchal bawn, don't run _too_ hard, Barney, for -fraid you'd lose your breath. What if the crathur does get a taste o' -the new phaties--small blame to him for the same!" - -In short, whatever might have been the habits of the family, such were -those of the pig. The latter was usually out early in the morning to -take exercise, and the unerring regularity with which he returned at -mealtime gave sufficient proof that procuring an appetite was a work of -supererogation on his part. If he came before the meal was prepared, his -station was at the door, which they usually shut to keep him out of -the way until it should be ready. In the meantime, so far as a forenoon -serenade and an indifferent voice could go, his powers of melody were -freely exercised on the outside. But he did not stop here: every stretch -of ingenuity was tried by which a possibility of gaining admittance -could be established. The hat and rags were repeatedly driven in from -the windows, which from practice and habit he was enabled to approach on -his hind legs; a cavity was also worn by the frequent grubbings of his -snout under the door, the lower part of which was broken away by the -sheer strength of his tusks, so that he was enabled, by thrusting -himself between the bottom of it and the ground, to make a most -unexpected appearance on the hearth, before his presence was at all -convenient or acceptable. - -But, independently of these two modes of entrance, i. e., the door and -window, there was also a third, by which he sometimes scrupled not to -make a descent upon the family. This was by the chimney. There are -many of the Irish cabins built for economy's sake against slopes in the -ground, so that the labor of erecting either a gable or side-wall is -saved by the perpendicular bank that remains after the site of the house -is scooped away. Of the facilities presented by this peculiar structure, -the pig never failed to avail himself. He immediately mounted the roof -(through which, however, he sometimes took an unexpected flight), -and traversing it with caution, reached the chimney, into which he -deliberately backed himself, and with no small share of courage, went -down precisely as the northern bears are said to descend the trunks of -trees during the winter, but with far different motives. - -In this manner he cautiously retrograded downwards with a hardihood, -which set furze bushes, brooms, tongs, and all other available weapons -of the cabin at defiance. We are bound, however, to declare, that this -mode of entrance, which was only resorted to when every other failed, -was usually received by the cottager and his family with a degree of -mirth and good-humor that were not lost upon the sagacity of the pig. -In order to save him from being scorched, which he deserved for his -temerity, they usually received him in a creel, often in a quilt, and -sometimes in the tattered blanket, or large pot, out of which he looked -with a humorous conception of his own enterprise, that was highly -diverting. We must admit, however, that he was sometimes received with -the comforts of a hot poker, which Paddy pleasantly called, "givin' him -a warm welcome." - -Another trait in the character of these animals, was the utter scorn -with which they treated all attempts to fatten them. In fact, the usual -consequences of good feeding were almost inverted in their case; and -although I might assert that they became leaner in proportion to what -they received, yet I must confine myself to truth, by stating -candidly that this was not the fact; that there was a certain state -of fleshlessness to which they arrived, but from which they neither -advanced nor receded by good feeding or bad. At this point, despite of -all human ingenuity, they remained stationary for life, received -the bounty afforded them with a greatness of appetite resembling -the fortitude of a brave man, which rises in energy according to the -magnitude of that which it has to encounter. The truth is, they were -scandalous hypocrites; for with the most prodigious capacity for food, -they were spare as philosophers, and fitted evidently more for the chase -than the sty; rather to run down a buck or a hare for the larder, than -to have a place in it themselves. If you starved them, they defied you -to diminish their flesh; and if you stuffed them like aldermen, they -took all they got, but disdained to carry a single ounce more than -if you gave them whey thickened with water. In short, they gloried in -maceration and liberty; were good Irish scholars, sometimes acquainted -with Latin; and their flesh, after the trouble of separating it from a -superfluity of tough skin, was excellent venison so far as it went. - -Now Phil Purcel, whom we will introduce more intimately to the reader by -and by, was the son of a man who always kept a pig. - -His father's house had a small loft, to which the ascent was by a -step-ladder through a door in the inside gable. The first good thing -ever Phil was noticed for he said upon the following occasion. His -father happened to be called upon, one morning before breakfast, by his -landlord, who it seems occasionally visited his tenantry to encourage, -direct, stimulate, or reprove them, as the case might require. Phil was -a boy then, and sat on the hob in the corner, eyeing the landlord and -his father during their conversation. In the mean time the pig came in, -and deliberately began to ascend the ladder with an air of authority -that marked him as one in the exercise of an established right. The -landlord was astonished at seeing the animal enter the best room in the -house and could not help expressing his surprise to old Purcel: - -"Why, Purcel, is your pig in the habit of treating himself to the -comforts of your best room?" - -"The pig is it, the crathur? Why, your haner," said Purcel, after a -little hesitation, "it sometimes goes up of a mornin' to waken the -childhre, particularly when the buckwhist happens to be late. It doesn't -like to be waitin'; and sure none of us likes to be kept from the male's -mate, your haner, when we want it, no more than it, the crathur!" - -"But I wonder your wife permits so filthy an animal to have access to -her rooms in this manner." - -"Filthy!" replied Mrs. Purcel, who felt herself called upon to defend -the character of the pig, as well as her own, "why, one would think, -sir, that any crathur that's among Christyen childhre, like one o' -themselves, couldn't be filthy. I could take it to my dyin' day, that -there's not a claner or dacenter pig in the kingdom, than the same pig. -It never misbehaves, the crathur, but goes out, as wise an' riglar, jist -by a look, an' that's enough for it, any day--a single look, your haner, -the poor crathur!" - -"I think," observed Phil, from the hob, "that nobody has a betther right -to the run of the house, whedher up stairs or down stairs, _than him -that pays the rint_." - -"Well said, my lad!" observed the landlord, laughing at the quaint -ingenuity of Phil's defence. "His payment of the rent is the best -defence possible, and no doubt should cover a multitude of his errors." - -"A multitude of his shins, you mane, sir," said Phil, "for thruth he's -all shin." - -In fact, Phil from his infancy had an uncommon attachment to these -animals, and by a mind naturally shrewd and observing, made himself -as intimately acquainted with their habits and instincts, and the best -modes of managing them, as ever the celebrated _Cahir na Cappul_* did -with those of the horse. Before he was fifteen, he could drive the most -vicious and obstinate pig as quietly before him as a lamb; yet no one -knew how, nor by what means he had gained the secret that enabled him to -do it. Whenever he attended a fair, his time was principally spent among -the pigs, where he stood handling, and examining, and pretending to buy -them, although he seldom had half-a-crown in his pocket. At length, by -hoarding up such small sums as he could possibly lay his hand on, he got -together the price of a "slip," which he bought, reared, and educated in -a manner that did his ingenuity great credit. When this was brought -to its _ne plus ultra_ of fatness, he sold it, and purchased two more, -which he fed in the same way. On disposing of these, he made a fresh -purchase, and thus proceeded, until, in the course of a few years, he -was a well-known pig-jobber. - - * I subjoin from Townsend's Survey of the county of - Cork a short but authentic account of this most - extraordinary character:--"James Sullivan was a native - of the county of Cork, and an awkward ignorant rustic - of the lowest class, generally known by the appellation - of the _Whisperer_, and his profession was horse- - breaking. The credulity of the vulgar bestowed that - epithet upon him, from an opinion that he communicated - his wishes to the animal by means of a whisper; and the - singularity of his method gave some color to the - superstitious belief. As far as the sphere of his - control extended, the boast of _Veni, Vidi, Vici_, was - more justly claimed by James Sullivan, than by Caesar, - or even Bonaparte himself. How his art was acquired, or - in what it consisted, is likely to remain for ever - unknown, as he has lately left the world without - divulging it. His son, who follows the same occupation, - possesses but a small portion of the art, having either - never learned its true secret, or being incapable of - putting it in practice. The wonder of his skill - consisted in the short time requisite to accomplish his - design, which was performed in private, and without any - apparent means of coercion. Every description of horse, - or even mule, whether previously broke, or unhandled, - whatever their peculiar vices or ill habits might have - been, submitted, without show of resistance, to the - magical influence of his art, and, in the short space - of half an hour, became gentle and tractable. The - effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally - durable. Though more submissive to him than to others, - yet they seemed to have acquired a docility, unknown - before. When sent for to tame a vicious horse, he - directed the stable in which he and the object of his - experiment were placed, to be shut, with orders not to - open the door until a signal given. After a _tete-a- - tete_ between him and the horse for about half an hour, - during which little or no bustle was heard, the signal - was made; and upon opening the door, the horse was - seen, lying down, and the man by his side, playing - familiarly with him, like a child with a puppy dog. - From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit - to discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. - Some saw his skill tried on a horse, which could never - be brought to stand for a smith to shoe him. The day - after Sullivan's half hour lecture, I went, not without - some incredulity, to the smith's shop, with many other - curious spectators, where we were eye-witnesses of the - complete success of his art. This, too, had been a - troop-horse; and it was supposed, not without reason, - that after regimental discipline had failed, no other - would be found availing. I observed that the animal - seemed afraid, whenever Sullivan either spoke or looked - at him. How that extraordinary ascendancy could have - been obtained, it is difficult to conjecture, in common - eases, this mysterious preparation was unnecessary. He - seemed to possess an instinctive power of inspiring - awe, the result, perhaps, of natural intrepidity, in - which, I believe, a great part of his art consisted; - though the circumstance of his tete-a-tete shows, that, - upon particular occasions, something more must have - been added to it. A faculty like this would, in other - hands, have made a fortune, and great offers have been - made to him for the exercise of his art abroad; but - hunting, and attachment to his native soil, were his - ruling passions. He lived at home, in the style most - agreeable to his disposition, and nothing could induce - him to quit Dunhalow and the fox-hounds." - -Phil's journeys as a pig-driver to the leading seaport towns nearest -him, were always particularly profitable. In Ireland, swine are not kept -in sties, as they are among English feeders, but permitted, to go at -liberty through pasture fields, commons, and along roadsides, where they -make up as well as they can for the scanty pittance allowed them at home -during meal-times. We do not, however, impeach Phil's honesty; but simply -content ourselves with saying, that when his journey was accomplished, -he mostly found the original number with which he had set out increased -by three or four, and sometimes by half a dozen. Pigs in general -resemble each other, and it surely was not Phil's fault if a stray one, -feeding on the roadside or common, thought proper to join his drove and -see the world. Phil's object, we presume, was only to take care that his -original number was not diminished, its increase being a matter in which -he felt little concern. He now determined to take a professional trip -to England, and that this might be the more productive, he resolved to -purchase a lot of the animals we have been describing. No time was lost -in this speculation. The pigs were bought up as cheaply as possible, and -Phil sat out, for the first time in his life, to try with what success -he could measure his skill against that of a Yorkshireman. On this -occasion, he brought with him a pet, which he had with considerable -pains trained up for purposes hereafter to be explained. - -There was nothing remarkable in the passage, unless that every creature -on board was sea-sick, except the pigs; even to them, however, the -change was a disagreeable one; for to be pent up in the hold of a ship -was a deprivation of liberty, which, fresh as they were from their -native hills, they could not relish. They felt, therefore, as patriots, -a loss of freedom, but not a whit of appetite; for, in truth, of the -latter no possible vicissitude short of death could deprive them. - -Phil, however, with an assumed air of simplicity absolutely stupid, -disposed of them to a Yorkshire dealer at about twice the value they -would have brought in Ireland, though as pigs went in England it was low -enough. He declared that they had been fed on tip-top feeding: which was -literally true, as he afterwards admitted that the tops of nettles and -potato stalks constituted the only nourishment they had got for three -weeks before. - -The Yorkshireman looked with great contempt upon what he considered a -miserable essay to take him in. - -"What a fule this Hirishmun mun bea;" said he, "to think to teake me -in! Had he said that them there Hirish swoine were badly feade, I'd -ha' thought it fairish enough on un; but to seay that they was oll weal -feade on tip-top feeadin'! Nea, nea! I knaws weal enough that they -was noat feade on nothin' at oll, which meakes them loak so poorish! -Howsomever, I shall fatten them. I'se warrant--I'se warrant I shall!" - -When driven home to sties somewhat more comfortable than the cabins of -unfortunate Irishmen, they were well supplied with food which would have -been very often considered a luxury by poor Paddy himself, much less by -his pigs. - -"Measter," said the man who had seen them fed, "them there Hirish pigs -ha' not feasted nout for a moonth yet: they feade like nout I seed o' my -laife!!" - -"Ay! ay!" replied the master, "I'se warrant they'll soon fatten--I'se -warrant they shall, Hodge--they be praime feeders--I'se warrant they -shall; and then, Hodge, we've bit the soft Hirishmun." - -Hodge gave a knowing look at his master, and grinned at this -observation. - -The next morning Hodge repaired to the sties to see how they were -thriving; when, to his great consternation, he found the feeding-troughs -clean as if they had been washed, and, not a single Irish pig to be seen -or heard about the premises; but to what retreat the animals could -have betaken themselves, was completely beyond his comprehension. He -scratched his head, and looked about him in much perplexity. - -"Dang un!" he exclaimed, "I never seed nout like this." - -He would have proceeded in a strain of cogitation equally enlightened, -had not a noise of shouting, alarm, and confusion in the neighborhood, -excited his attention. He looked about him, and to his utter -astonishment saw that some extraordinary commotion prevailed, that the -country was up, and the hills alive with people, who ran, and shouted, -and wheeled at full flight in all possible directions. His first object -was to join the crowd, which he did as soon as possible, and found that -the pigs he had shut up the preceding night in sties whose enclosures -were at least four feet high, had cleared them like so many chamois, and -were now closely pursued by the neighbors, who rose _en masse_ to hunt -down and secure such dreadful depredators. - -The waste and mischief they had committed in one night were absolutely -astonishing. Bean and turnip fields, and vegetable enclosures of all -descriptions, kitchen-gardens, corn-fields, and even flower-gardens, -were rooted up and destroyed with an appearance of system which would -have done credit to Terry Alt himself. - -Their speed was the theme of every tongue. Hedges were taken in their -flight, and cleared in a style that occasioned the country people to -turn up their eyes, and scratch their heads in wonder. Dogs of all -degrees bit the dust, and were caught up dead in stupid amazement by -their owners, who began to doubt whether or not these extraordinary -animals were swine at all. The depredators in the meantime had adopted -the Horatian style of battle. Whenever there was an ungenerous advantage -taken in the pursuit, by slipping dogs across or before their path, -they shot off, at a tangent through the next crowd; many of whom they -prostrated in their flight; by this means they escaped the dogs until -the latter were somewhat exhausted, when, on finding one in advance of -the rest, they turned, and, with standing bristles and burning tusks, -fatally checked their pursuer in his full career. To wheel and fly until -another got in advance, was then the plan of fight; but, in fact the -conflict was conducted on the part of the Irish pigs with a fertility of -expediency that did credit to their country, and established for those -who displayed it, the possession of intellect far superior to that of -their opponents. The pigs now began to direct their course towards the -sties in which they had been so well fed the night before. This being -their last flight they radiated towards one common centre, with a -fierceness and celerity that occasioned the woman and children to take -shelter within doors. On arriving at the sties, the ease with which they -shot themselves over the four-feet walls was incredible. The farmer had -caught the alarm, and just came out in time to witness their return; he -stood with his hands driven down into the pockets of his red, capacious -waistcoat, and uttered not a word. When the last of them came bounding -into the sty, Hodge approached, quite breathless and exhausted: - -"Oh, measter," he exclaimed, "these be not Hirish pigs at oll, they be -Hirish devils; and yau mun ha' bought 'em fra a cunning mon!" - -[Illustration: PAGE 911-- These be not Hirish pigs at oll] - -"Hodge," replied his master, "I'se be bit--I'se heard feather talk about -un. That breed's true Hirish: but I'se try and sell 'em to Squoire Jolly -to hunt wi' as beagles, for he wants a pack. They do say all the swoine -that the deevils were put into ha' been drawn; but for my peart, I'se -sure that some on un must ha' escaped to Hireland." - -Phil during the commotion excited by his knavery in Yorkshire, was -traversing the country, in order to dispose of his remaining pig; and -the manner in which he effected his first sale of it was as follows: - -A gentleman was one evening standing with some laborers by the wayside -when a tattered Irishman, equipped in a pair of white dusty brogues, -stockings without feet, old patched breeches, a bag slung across his -shoulder, his coarse shirt lying open about a neck tanned by the sun -into a reddish yellow, a hat nearly the color of the shoes, and a hay -rope tied for comfort about his waist; in one hand he also held a straw -rope, that depended from the hind leg of a pig which he drove before -him; in the other was a cudgel, by the assistance of which he contrived -to limp on after it, his two shoulder-blades rising and falling -alternately with a shrugging motion that indicated great fatigue. - -When he came opposite where the gentleman stood he checked the pig, -which instinctively commenced feeding upon the grass by the edge of the -road. - -"Och," said he, wiping his brow with the cuff of his coat, "_mavrone -orth a muck_,* but I'm kilt wit you. Musha, Gad bless yer haner, an' -maybe ye'd buy a slip of a pig fwhrom me, that has my heart bruck, so -she has, if ever any body's heart was bruck wit the likes of her; an' -sure so there was, no doubt, or I wouldn't be as I am wid her. I'll give -her a dead bargain, sir; for it's only to get her aff av my hands I'm -wanting plase yer haner--_husth amuck--husth, a veehone!_** Be asy, an' -me in conwersation wid his haner here!" - - * My sorrow on you for a pig. - - ** Silence pig! Silence, you pig! Silence, you - vagabond! - -"You are an Irishman?" the gentleman inquired. - -"I am, sir, from Connaught, yer haner, an' ill sell the crathur dag -cheap, all out. Asy, you thief!" - -"I don't want the pig, my good fellow," replied the Englishman, -without evincing curiosity enough to inquire how he came to have such a -commodity for sale. - -"She'd be the darlint in no time wid you, sir; the run o' your kitchen -'ud make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit no trouble to the -sarvints about sweepin' it, or any thing. You'd only have to lay down -the potato-basket on the flure, or the misthress, Gad bless her, could -do it, an' not lave a crumblin' behind her, besides sleepin, your haner, -in the carner beyant, if she'd take the throuble." - -The sluggish phlegm of the Englisman was stirred up a little by the -twisted, and somewhat incomprehensible nature of these instructions. - -"How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?" said he. - -"The sarra one o' myself knows, plaze yer haner: sure we've an ould -sayin' of our own in Ireland beyant--that he's a wise man can I tell how -far he'll go, sir, till he comes to his journey's ind. I'll give this -crathur to you at more nor her value, yer haner." - -"More!--why the man knows not what he's saying," observed the gentleman; -"less you mean, I suppose, Paddy?" - -"More or less, sir: you'll get her a bargain; an' Gad bless you, sir!" - -"But it is a commodity which I don't want at present. I am very well -stocked with pigs, as it is. Try elsewhere." - -"She'd flog the counthry side, sir; an' if the misthress herself, sir, -'ud shake the wishp o' sthraw fwor her in the kitchen, sir, near the -whoire. Yer haner could spake to her about it; an' in no time put a -knife into her whin you plazed. In regard o' the other thing, sir--she's -like a Christyeen, yer haner, an' no throuble, sir, if you'd be seein' -company or any thing." - -"It's an extraordinary pig, this, of yours." - -"It's no lie fwhor you, sir; she's as clane an' dacent a crathur, sir! -Och, if the same pig 'ud come into the care o' the misthress, Gad -bliss her! an' I'm sure if she has as much gudness in her face as the -hanerable _dinnha ousahl_ (* gentleman)--the handsome gintleman she's -married upon!--you'll have her thrivin' bravely, sir, shartly, plase -Gad, if you'll take courage. Will I dhrive her up the aveny fwor you, -sir? A good gintlewoman I'm sure, is the same misthriss! Will I dhrive -her up fwor you, sir? _Shadh amuck--shadh dherin!_"* - - *Behave yourself pig--behave, I say! - -"No, no; I have no further time to lose; you may go forward." - -"Thank your haner; is it whorid toarst the house abow, sir? I wouldn't -be standin' up, sir, wit you about a thrifle; an you'll have her, sir, -fwhor any thing you plase beyant a pound, yer haner; an' 'tis throwin' -her away it is: but one can't be hard wit a rale gintleman any way." - -"You only annoy me, man; besides I don't want the pig; you lose time; I -don't want to buy it, I repeat to you." - -"Gad bliss you, sir--Gad bliss you. Maybe if I'd make up to the -mishthress, yer haner! Thrath she wouldn't turn the crathur from the -place, in regard that the tindherness ow the feelin' would come ower -her--the rale gintlewoman, any way! 'Tis dag chape you have her at what -I said, sir; an' Gad bliss you!" - -"Do you want to compel me to purchase it whether I will or no?" - -"Thrath, it's whor next to nothin' I'm giv-in' her to you, sir; but -sure you can make your own price at any thing beyant a pound. _Huerish -amuck--sladh anish!_--be asy, you crathur, sure you're gettin' into good -quarthers, any how--go into the hanerable English gintleman's kitchen, -an' God knows it's a pleasure to dale wit 'em. Och, the world's differ -there is betuxt them, an' our own dirty Irish buckeens, that 'ud shkin -a bad skilleen, an' pay their debts wit the remaindher. The gateman 'ud -let me in, yer haner, an' I'll meet you at the big house, abow." - -"Upon my honor this is a good jest," said the gentleman, absolutely -teased into a compliance; "you are forcing me to buy that which I don't -want." - -"Sure you will, sir; you'll want more nor that yit, please Gad, if you -be spared. Come, amuck--come, you crathur; faix you're in luck so you -are--gettin' so good a place wit his haner, here, that you won't know -yourself shortly, plase God." - -He immediately commenced driving his pig towards the gentleman's -residence with such an air of utter simplicity, as would have imposed -upon any man not guided by direct inspiration. Whilst he approached the -house, its proprietor arrived there by another path a few minutes before -him, and, addressing his lady, said: - -"My dear, will you come and look at a purchase which an Irishman has -absolutely compelled me to make? You had better come and see himself, -too, for he is the greatest simpleton of an Irishman I have ever met -with." - -The lady's curiosity was more easily excited than that of her husband. -She not only came out, but brought with her some ladies who had been on -a visit, in order to hear the Irishman's brogue, and to amuse themselves -at his expense. Of the pig, too, it appeared she was determined to know -something. - -"George, my love, is the pig also from Ireland?" - -"I don't know, my dear; but I should think so from its fleshless -appearance. I have never seen so spare an animal of that class in this -country." - -"Juliana," said one of the ladies to her companion, "don't go too near -him. Gracious! look at the bludgeon, or beam, or something he carries -in his hand, to fight' and beat the people, I suppose: yet," she added, -putting up her glass, "the man is actually not ill-looking; and, though -not so tall as the Irishman in Sheridan's Rivals, he is well made." - -"His eyes are good," said her companion--"a bright gray, and keen; and -were it not that his nose is rather short and turned up, he would be -handsome." - -"George, my love," exclaimed the lady of the mansion, "he is like most -Irishmen of his class that I have seen; indeed, scarcely so intelligent, -for he does appear quite a simpleton, except, perhaps, a lurking kind of -expression, which is a sign of their humor, I suppose. Don't you think -so, my love?" - -"No, my dear; I think him a bad specimen of the Irishman. Whether it -is that he talks our language but imperfectly, or that he is a stupid -creature, I cannot say; but in selling the pig just now, he actually -told me that he would let me have it for more than it was worth." - -"Oh, that was so laughable! We will speak to him, though." - -The degree of estimation in which these civilized English held Phil was -so low, that this conversation took place within a few yards of him, -precisely as if he had been an animal of an inferior species, or one of -the aborigines of New Zealand. - -"Pray what is your name?" inquired the matron. - -"Phadhrumshagh Corfuffle, plase yer haner: my fadher carried the same -name upon him. We're av the Corfuflies av Leatherum Laghy, my lady; but -my grandmudher was a Dornyeen, an' my own mudher, plase yer haner, was -o' the Shudhurthagans o' Ballymadoghy, my ladyship, _Sladh anish, amuck -bradagh!_*--be asy, can't you, an' me in conwersation wit the beauty o' -the world that I'm spakin' to." - - * Be quiet now, you wicked pig. - -"That's the Negus language," observed,one of the young ladies, who -affected to be a wit and a blue-stocking; "it's Irish and English -mixed." - -"Thrath, an' but that the handsome young lady's so purty," observed -Phil, "I'd be sayin' myself that that's a quare remark upon a poor -unlarned man; but, Gad bless her, she is so purty what can one say for -lookin' an her!" - -"The poor man, Adelaide, speaks as well as he can," replied the lady, -rather reprovingly: "he is by no means so wild as one would have -expected." - -"Candidly speaking, much _tamer_ than I expected," rejoined the wit. -Indeed, I meant the poor Irishman no offence." - -"Where did you get the pig, friend? and how came you to have it for sale -so far from home?" - -"Fwhy it isn't whor sale, my lady," replied Phil, evading the former -question; "the masther here, Gad bless him an' spare him to you, -ma'am!--thrath, an' it's his four quarthers that knew how to pick out -a wife, any how, whor beauty an' all hanerable whormations o' -grandheur--so he did; an' well he desarves you, my lady: faix, it's a -fine houseful o' thim you'll have, plase Gad--an' fwhy not? whin it's -all in the coorse o' Providence, bein' both so handsome:--he gev me a -pound note whor her my ladyship, an' his own plisure aftherwards; an' -I'm now waitin' to be ped." - -"What kind of a country is Ireland, as I understand you are an -Irishman?" - -"Thrath, my lady, it's like fwhat maybe you never seen--a fool's purse, -ten guineas goin' out whor one that goes in." - -"Upon my word that's wit," observed the young blue-stocking. - -"What's your opinion of Irishwomen?" the lady continued; "are they -handsomer than the English ladies, think you?" - -"Murdher, my lady," says Phil, raising his caubeen, and scratching his -head in pretended perplexity, with his linger and thumb, "fwhat am I to -say to that, ma'am, and all of yez to the fwhore? But the sarra one av -me will give it agin the darlin's beyant." - -"But which do you think the more handsome?" - -"Thrath, I do, my lady; the Irish and English women would flog the -world, an' sure it would be a burnin' shame to go to sot them agin one -another fwhor beauty." - -"Whom do you mean by the 'darlin's beyant?'" inquired the blue-stocking, -attempting to pronounce the words. - -"Faix, miss, who but the crathers ower the wather, that kills us -entirely, so they do." - -"I cannot comprehend him," she added to the lady of the mansion. - -"Arrah, maybe I'd make bould to take up the manners from you fwhor a -while, my lady, Plase yer haner?" said Phil, addressing the latter. - -"I do not properly understand you," she replied, "speak plainer." - -"Troth, that's fwhat they do, yer haner; they never go about the bush -wit yez--the gintlemen, ma'am, of our country, fwhin they do be coortin' -yez; an' I want to ax, ma'am, if you plase, fwhat you think of thim, -that is if ever any of them had the luck to come acrass you, my lady?" - -"I have not been acquainted with many Irish gentlemen," she replied, -"but I hear they are men of a remarkable character." - -"Faix, 'tis you may say that," replied Phil; "sowl, my lady, 'tis well -for the masther here, plase yer haner, sir, that none o' them met -wit the misthress before you was both marrid, or, wit riverence be it -spoken, 'tis the sweet side o' the tongue they'd be layin' upon you, -ma'am, an' the rough side to the masther himself, along wit a few -scrapes of a pen on a slip o' paper, jist to appoint the time and place, -in regard of her ladyship's purty complexion--an' who can deny that, -any way? Faix, ma'am, they've a way wit them, my counthrymen, that the -ladies like well enough to thravel by. Asy, you deludher, an' me in -conwersaytion wit the quality." - -"I am quite anxious to know how you came by the pig, Paddy," said the -wit. - -"Arrah, miss, sure 'tisn't pigs you're thinkin' on, an' us discoorsin' -about the gintlemen from Ireland, that you're all so fond ow here; faix, -miss, they're the boys that fwoight for yees, an' 'ud rather be bringing -an Englishman to the sad fwhor your sakes, nor atin' bread an' butther. -Fwhy, now, miss, if you were beyant wit us, sarra ounce o' gunpqwdher -we'd have in no time, for love or money." - -"Upon my word I should like to see Ireland!" exclaimed the -blue-stocking; "but why would the gunpowder get scarce, pray?" - -"Faix, fightin' about you, miss, an' all of yez, sure; for myself sees -no differ at all in your hanerable fwhormations of beauty and grandheur, -an' all high-flown admirations." - -"But tell us where you got the pig, Paddy?" persisted the wit, struck -naturally enough with the circumstance. "How do you come to have an -Irish pig so far from home?" - -"Fwhy thin, miss, 'twas to a brother o' my own I was bringing it, that -was livin' down the counthry here, an' fwhin I came to fwhere he lived, -the sarra one o' me knew the place, in regard o' havin' forgotten the -name of it entirely, an' there was I wit the poor crathur an my hands, -till his haner here bought it from me--Gad bless you, sir!" - -"As I live, there's a fine Irish blunder," observed the wit; "I shall -put in my commonplace-book--it will be so genuine. I declare I'm quite -delighted!" - -"Well, Paddy," said the gentleman, "here's your money. There's a pound -for you, and that's much more than the miserable animal is worth." - -"Troth, sir, you have the crathur at what we call in Ireland a bargain.* -Maybe yer haner 'ud spit upon the money fwhor luck, sir. It's the way we -do, sir, beyant." - - * Ironically--a take in. - -"No, no, Paddy, take it as it is. Good heavens! what barbarous habits -these Irish have in all their modes of life, and how far they are -removed from anything like civilization!" - -"Thank yer haner. Faix, sir, this'll come so handy for the landlord at -kome, in regard o' the rint for the bit o' phatie ground, so it will, if -I can get home agin widout brakin' it. Arrah, maybe yer haner 'ud give -me the price o' my bed, an' a bit to ate, sir, an' keep me from brakin' -in upon this, sir, Gad bless the money! I'm thinkin' o' the poor wife -an' childher, sir--strivin', so I am, to do fwhor the darlins." - -"Poor soul," said the lady, "he is affectionate in the midst of his -wretchedness and ignorance." - -"Here--here," replied the Englishman, anxious to get rid of him, -"there's a shilling, which I give because you appear to be attached to -your family." - -"Och, och, fwhat can I say, sir, only that long may you reign ower your -family, an' the hanerable ladies to the fwore, sir. Gad fwhorever bliss -you, sir, but you're the kind, noble gintleman, an' all belongin' to -you, sir!" - -Having received the shilling, he was in the act of departing, when, -after turning it deliberately in his hand, shrugging his shoulders -two or three times, and scratching his head, with a vacant face he -approached the lady. - -"Musha, ma'am, an maybe ye'd have the tindherness in your heart, seein' -that the gudness is in yer hanerable face, any way, an' it would save -the skillyeen that the masther gev'd for payin' my passage, so it would, -jist to bid the steward, my ladyship, to ardher me a bit to ate in the -kitchen below. The hunger, ma'am, is hard upon me, my lady; an' fwhat -I'm doin', sure, is in regard o' the wife at home, an' the childher, the -crathurs, an' me far fwhrom them, in a sthrange country, Gad help me!" - -"What a singular being, George! and how beautifully is the economy of -domestic affection exemplified, notwithstanding his half-savage -state, in the little plans he devises for the benefit of his wife and -children!" exclaimed the good lady, quite unconscious that Phil was -a bachelor. "Juliana, my love, desire Timmins to give him his dinner. -Follow this young lady, good man, and she will order you refreshment." - -"Gad's blessin' upon your beauty an' gudness, my lady; an' a man might -thravel far afore he'd meet the likes o' you for aither o' them. Is it -the other handsome young lady I'm to folly, ma'am?" - -"Yes," replied the young wit, with an arch smile; "come after me." - -"Thrath, miss, an' it's an asy task to do that, any way; wit a heart an' -a half I go, acushla; an' I seen the day, miss, that it's not much of -mate an' dhrink would thruble me, if I jist got lave to be lookin' at -you, wit nothing but yourself to think an. But the wife an' childher, -miss, makes great changes in us entirely." - -"Why you are quite gallant, Paddy." - -"Trath, I suppose I am now, miss; but you see, my honerable young lady, -that's our fwhailin' at home: the counthry's poor, an' we can't help it, -whedor or not. We're fwhorced to it, miss, whin we come ower here, by -you, an' the likes o' you, mavourneen!" - -Phil then proceeded to the house, was sent to the kitchen by the young -lady, and furnished through the steward with an abundant supply of -cold meat, bread, and beer, of which he contrived to make a meal that -somewhat astonished the servants. Having satisfied his hunger, he -deliberately--but with the greatest simplicity of countenance--filled -the wallet which he carried slung across his back, with whatever he had -left, observing as he did it:-- - -"Fwhy, thin, 'tis sthrange it is, that the same custom is wit us in -Ireland beyant that is here: fwhor whinever a thraveller is axed in, he -always brings fwhat he doesn't ate along wit him. An sure enough it's -the same here amongst yez," added he, packing up the bread and beef as -he spoke, "but Gad bliss the custom, any how, fwhor it's a good one!" - -When he had secured the provender, and was ready to resume his journey, -he began to yawn, and to exhibit the most unequivocal symptoms of -fatigue. - -"Arrah, sir," said he to the steward, "you wouldn't have e'er an ould -barn that I'd throw myself in fwhor the night? The sarra leg I have to -put undher me, now that I've got stiff with the sittin' so lang; that, -an' a wishp o' sthraw, to sleep an, an' Gad bliss you!" - -"Paddy, I cannot say," replied the steward; "but I shall ask my master, -and if he orders it, you shall have the comfort of a hard floor and -clean straw, Paddy--that you shall." - -"Many thanks to you, sir: it's in your face, in thrath, the same gudness -an' ginerosity." - -The gentleman, on hearing Phil's request to be permitted a -sleeping-place in the barn, was rather surprised at his wretched notion -of comfort than at the request itself. - -"Certainly, Timmins, let him sleep there," he replied; "give him sacks -and straw enough. I dare say he will feel the privilege a luxury, -poor devil, after his fatigue. Give him his breakfast in the morning, -Timmins. Good heavens," he added, "what a singular people! What an -amazing progress civilization must make before these Irish can be -brought at all near the commonest standard of humanity!" - -At this moment Phil, who was determined to back the steward's request, -approached them. - -"Paddy," said the gentleman, anticipating him, "I have ordered you sacks -and straw in the barn, and your breakfast in the morning before you set -out." - -"Thrath," said Phil, "if there's e'er a stray blissin' goin', depind an -it, sir, you'll get it fwhor your hanerable ginerosity to the sthranger. -But about the 'slip,' sir--if the misthress herself 'ud shake the whisp -o' sthraw fwhor her in the far carner o' the kitchen below, an' see her -gettin' her supper, the crathur, before she'd put her to bed, she'd be -thrivin' like a salmon, sir, in less than no time; and to ardher the -sarwints, sir, if you plase, not to be defraudin' the crathur of the big -phaties. Fwhor in regard it cannot spake fwhor itself, sir, it frets as -wise as a Christyeen, when it's not honestly thrated." - -"Never fear, Paddy; we shall take good care of it." - -"Thank you, sir, but I aften heered, sir, that you dunno how to feed -pigs in this counthry in ardher to mix the fwhat an' lane, lair (layer) -about." - -"And how do you manage that in Ireland, Paddy?" - -"Fwhy, sir, I'll tell you how the misthress Gad bless her, will manage -it fwhor you. Take the crathur, sir, an' feed it to-morrow, till its as -full as a tick--that's for the fwhat, sir; thin let her give it nothin' -at all the next day, but keep it black fwhastin'--that's fwhor the lane -(leap). Let her stick to that, sir, keepin' it atin' one day an' fastin' -an-odher, for six months, thin put a knife in it, an' if you don't have -the fwhat an' lane, lair about, beautiful all out, fwhy nirer bl'eve -Phadrumshagh Corfuffle agin. Ay, indeed!" - -The Englishman looked keenly at Phil, but could only read in his -countenance a thorough and implicit belief in his own recipe for mixing -the fat and lean. It is impossible to express his contempt for the sense -and intellect of Phil; nothing could surpass it but the contempt which -Phil entertained for him. - -"Well," said he to the servant, "I have often heard of the barbarous -habits of the Irish, but I must say that the incidents of this evening -have set my mind at rest upon the subject. Good heavens! when will ever -this besotted country rise in the scale of nations! Did ever a human -being hear of such a method of feeding swine! I should have thought it -incredible had I heard it from any but an Irishman!" - -Phil then retired to the kitchen, where his assumed simplicity highly -amused the servants, who, after an hour or two's fun with "Paddy," -conducted him in a kind of contemptuous procession to the barn, where -they left him to his repose. - -The next morning he failed to appear at the hour of breakfast, but his -non-appearance was attributed to his fatigue, in consequence of which he -was supposed to have overslept himself. On going, however, to call him -from the barn, they discovered that he had decamped; and on looking -after the "slip," it was found that both had taken French leave of the -Englishman. Phil and the pig had actually travelled fifteen miles that -morning, before the hour on which he was missed--Phil going at a dog's -trot, and the pig following at such a respectful distance as might not -appear to identify them as fellow-travellers. In this manner Phil -sold the pig to upwards of two dozen intelligent English gentlemen and -farmers, and after winding up his bargains successfully, both arrived in -Liverpool, highly delighted by their commercial trip through England. - -The passage from Liverpool to Dublin, in Phil's time, was far different -to that which steam and British enterprise have since made it. A vessel -was ready to sail for the latter place on the very day of Phil's arrival -in town; and, as he felt rather anxious to get out of England as soon -as he could, he came, after selling his pig in good earnest, to the -aforesaid vessel to ascertain if it were possible to get a deck passage. -The year had then advanced to the latter part of autumn; so that it -was the season when those inconceivable hordes of Irishmen who emigrate -periodically for the purpose of lightening John Bull's labor, were -in the act of returning to that country in which they find little to -welcome them--but domestic affection and misery. - -When Phil arrived at the vessel, he found the captain in a state of -peculiar difficulty. About twelve or fourteen gentlemen of rank and -property, together with a score or upwards of highly respectable -persons, but of less consideration, were in equal embarrassment. The -fact was, that as no other vessel left Liverpool that day, about five -hundred Irishmen, mostly reapers and mowers, had crowded upon deck, each -determined to keep his place at all hazards. The captain, whose vessel -was small, and none of the stoutest, flatly refused to put to sea with -such a number. He told them it was madness to think of it; he could not -risk the lives of the other passengers, nor even their own, by sailing -with five hundred on the deck of so small a vessel. If the one-half of -them would withdraw peaceably, he would carry the other half, which was -as much as he could possibly accomplish. They were very willing to grant -that what he said was true; but in the meantime, not a man of them -would move, and to clear out such a number of fellows, who loved nothing -better than fighting, armed, too, with sickles and scythes, was a task -beyond either his ability or inclination to execute. He remonstrated -with them, entreated, raged, swore, and threatened; but all to no -purpose. His threats and entreaties were received with equal good-humor. -Gibes and jokes were broken on him without number, and as his passion -increased, so did their mirth, until nothing could be seen but the -captain in vehement gesticulation, the Irishmen huzzaing him so -vociferously, that his damns and curses, uttered against them, could not -reach even his own ears. - -"Gentlemen," said he to his cabin passengers, "for the love of Heaven, -tax your invention to discover some means whereby to get one-half of -these men out of the vessel, otherwise it will be impossible that we can -sail to-day. I have already proffered to take one-half of them by lot, -but they will not hear of it; and how to manage I am sure I don't know." - -The matter, however, was beyond their depth; the thing seemed utterly -impracticable, and the chances of their putting to sea were becoming -fainter and fainter. - -"Bl--t their eyes!" he at length exclaimed, "the ragged, hungry devils! -If they heard me with decency I could bear their obstinacy bettor: but -no, they must turn me into ridicule, and break their jests, and turn -their cursed barbarous grins upon me in my own vessel. I say, boys," -he added, proceeding to address them once more--"I say, savages, I have -just three observations to make. The first is,"-- - -"Arrah, Captain, avourneen, hadn't you betther get upon a stool," said -a voice, "an' put a text before it, thin divide it dacently into three -halves, an' make a sarmon of it." - -"Captain, you wor intended for the church," added another. "You're the -moral (* model) of a Methodist preacher, if you wor dressed in black." - -"Let him alone," said a third; "he'd be a jinteel man enough in a -wildherness, an' 'ud make an illigant dancin'-masther to the bears." - -"He's as graceful as a shaved pig on its hind legs, dancin' the -'Baltithrum Jig.'" - -The captain's face was literally black with passion: he turned away with -a curse, which produced another huzza, and swore that he would rather -encounter the Bay of Biscay in a storm, than have anything to do with -such an unmanageable mob. - -"Captain," said a little, shrewd-looking Connaught man, "what 'ud you be -willin' to give anybody, ower an' abow his free passage, that 'ud tell -you how to get one half o' them out?" - -"I'll give him a crown," replied the captain, "together with grog and -rations to the eyes: I'll be hanged if I don't." - -"Then I'll do it fwhor you, sir, if you keep your word wit me." - -"Done!" said the captain; "it's a bargain, my good fellow, if you -accomplish it; and, what's more, I'll consider you a knowing one." - -"I'm a poor Cannaught man, your haner," replied our friend Phil; "but -what's to prevent me thryin'? Tell thim," he continued, "that you must -go; purtind to be for takin' thim all wit you, sir. Put Munster agin -Connaught, one-half on this side, an' the odher an that, to keep the -crathur of a ship steady, your haner; an' fwhin you have thim half -an' half, wit a little room betuxt thim, 'now,' says yer haner, 'boys, -you're divided into two halves; if one side kicks the other out o' the -ship, I'll bring the conquirors.'" - -The captain said not a word in reply to Phil, but immediately ranged the -Munster and Connaught men on each side of the deck--a matter which he -found little difficulty in accomplishing, for each party, hoping that he -intended to take themselves, readily declared their province, and stood -together. When they were properly separated, there still remained about -forty or fifty persons belonging to neither province; but, at Phil's -suggestion, the captain paired them off to each division, man for man, -until they were drawn up into two bodies. - -"Now" said he, "there you stand: let one-half of you drub the other out -of the vessel, and the conquerors shall get their passage." - -Instant was the struggle that ensued for the sake of securing a passage, -and from the anxiety to save a shilling, by getting out of Liverpool -on that day. The saving of the shilling is indeed a consideration with -Paddy which drives him to the various resources of begging, claiming -kindred with his resident countrymen in England, pretended illness, -coming to be passed from parish to parish, and all the turnings and -shiftings which his reluctance to part with money renders necessary. -Another night, therefore, and probably another day, in Liverpool, would -have been attended with expense. This argument prevailed with all: with -Munster as well as with Connaught, and they fought accordingly. - -When the attack first commenced, each, party hoped to be able to expel -the other without blows. This plan was soon abandoned. In a few minutes -the sticks and fists were busy. Throttling, tugging, cuffing, and -knocking down--shouting, hallooing, huzzaing, and yelling, gave evident -proofs that the captain, in embracing Phil's proposal, had unwittingly -applied the match to a mine, whose explosion was likely to be attended -with disastrous consequences. As the fight became warm, and the struggle -more desperate, the hooks and scythes were resorted to; blood began to -flow, and men to fall, disabled and apparently dying. The immense crowd -which had now assembled to witness the fight among the Irishmen, could -not stand tamely by, and see so many lives likely to be lost, without -calling in the civil authorities. A number of constables in a few -minutes attended; but these worthy officers of the civil authorities -experienced very uncivil treatment from the fists, cudgels, and sickles -of both parties. In fact, they were obliged to get from among the -rioters with all possible celerity, and to suggest to the magistrates -the necessity of calling ir the military. - -In the meantime the battle rose into a furious and bitter struggle for -victory. The deck of the vessel was actually slippery with blood, and -many were lying in an almost lifeless state. Several were pitched into -the hold, and had their legs and arms broken by the fall; some were -tossed over the sides of the vessel, and only saved from drowning by -the activity of the sailors; and not a few of those who had been knocked -down in the beginning of the fray were trampled into insensibility. - -The Munster men at length gave way; and their opponents, following up -their advantage, succeeded in driving them to a man out of the vessel, -just as the military arrived. Fortunately their interference was -unnecessary. The ruffianly captain's object was accomplished; and as -no lives were lost, nor any injury more serious than broken bones and -flesh-wounds sustained, he got the vessel in readiness, and put to sea. - -Who would not think that the Irish were a nation of misers, when -our readers are informed that all this bloodshed arose from their -unwillingness to lose a shilling by remaining in Liverpool another -night? Or who could believe that these very men, on reaching home, and -meeting their friends in a fair or market, or in a public-house after -mass on a Sunday, would sit down and spend, recklessly and foolishly, -that very money which in another country they part with as if it were -their very heart's blood? Yet so it is! Unfortunately, Paddy is wiser -anywhere than at home, where wisdom, sobriety, and industry are best -calculated to promote his own interests. - -This slight sketch of Phil Purcel we have presented to our readers as -a specimen of the low, cunning Connaught-man; and we have only to add, -that neither the pig-selling scene, nor the battle on the deck of the -vessel in Liverpool, is fictitious. On the contrary, we have purposely -kept the tone of our description of the latter circumstance beneath the -reality. Phil, however, is not drawn as a general portrait, but as -one of that knavish class of men called "jobbers," a description -of swindlers certainly not more common in Ireland than in any other -country. We have known Connaughtmen as honest and honorable as it was -possible to be; yet there is a strong prejudice entertained against -them in every other province of Ireland, as is evident by the old adage, -"Never trust a Connaugtaman." - - - - - - -THE GEOGRAPHY OF AN IRISH OATH. - - -No pen can do justice to the extravagance and frolic inseparable from -the character of of the Irish people; nor has any system of philosophy -been discovered that can with moral fitness be applied to them. -Phrenology fails to explain it; for, so far as the craniums of Irishmen -are concerned, according to the most capital surveys hitherto made and -reported on, it appears that, inasmuch as their moral and intellectual -organs predominate over the physical and sensual, the people ought, -therefore, to be ranked at the very tip-top of morality. We would warn -the phrenologists, however, not to be too sanguine in drawing inferences -from an examination of Paddy's head. Heaven only knows the scenes in -which it is engaged, and the protuberances created by a long life of -hard fighting. Many an organ and development is brought out on it by the -cudgel, that never would have appeared had Nature been left to herself. - -Drinking, fighting, and swearing, are the three great characteristics -of every people. Paddy's love of fighting and of whiskey has been long -proverbial; and of his tact in swearing much has also been said. But -there is one department of oath-making in which he stands unrivalled and -unapproachable; I mean the alibi. There is where he shines, where his -oath, instead of being a mere matter of fact or opinion, rises up -into the dignity of epic narrative, containing within itself, all the -complexity of machinery, harmony of parts, and fertility of invention, -by which your true epic should be characterized. - -The Englishman, whom we will call the historian in swearing, will depose -to the truth of this or that fact, but there the line is drawn; he -swears his oath so far as he knows, and stands still. "I'm sure, for my -part, I don't know; I've said all I knows about it," and beyond this his -besotted intellect goeth not. - -The Scotchman, on the other hand, who is the metaphysician in swearing, -sometimes borders on equivocation. He decidedly goes farther than the -Englisman, not because he has less honesty, but more prudence. He will -assent to, or deny a proposition; for the Englishman's "I don't know," -and the Scotchman's "I dinna ken," are two very distinct assertions when -properly understood. The former stands out a monument of dulness, an -insuperable barrier against inquiry, ingenuity, and fancy; but the -latter frequently stretches itself so as to embrace hypothetically a -particular opinion. - -But Paddy! Put him forward to prove an alibi for his fourteenth or -fifteenth cousin, and you will be gratified by the pomp, pride, and -circumstance of true swearing. Every oath with him is an epic--pure -poetry, abounding with humor, pathos, and the highest order of invention -and talent. He is not at ease, it is true, under facts; there is -something too commonplace in dealing with them, which his genius scorns. -But his flights--his flights are beautiful; and his episodes admirable -and happy. In fact, he is an improvisatore at oath-taking; with -this difference, that his extempore oaths possess all the ease and -correctness of labor and design. - -He is not, however, _altogether_ averse to facts: but, like your true -poet, he veils, changes, and modifies them with such skill, that they -possess all the merit and graces of fiction. If he happen to make an -assertion incompatible with the plan of the piece, his genius acquires -fresh energy, enables him to widen the design, and to create new -machinery, with such happiness of adaptation, that what appeared out -of proportion of character is made, in his hands, to contribute to the -general strength and beauty of the oath. - -'Tis true, there is nothing perfect under the sun; but if there were, -it would certainly be Paddy at an _alibi_. Some flaws, no doubt, occur; -some slight inaccuracies may be noticed by a critical eye; an occasional -anachronism stands out, and a mistake or so in geography; but let it -be recollected that Paddy's alibi is but a human production; let us not -judge him by harsher rules than those which we apply to Homer, Virgil, -or Shakspeare. - -"Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus," is allowed on all hands. Virgil made -Dido and AEneas contemporary, though they were not so; and Shakspeare, -by the creative power of his genius, changed an inland town into a -seaport. Come, come, have bowels. Let epic swearing be treated with the -same courtesy shown to epic poetry, that is, if both are the production -of a rare genius. I maintain, that when Paddy commits a blemish he -is too harshly admonished for it. When he soars out of sight here, as -occasionally happens, does he not frequently alight somewhere about -Sydney Bay, much against his own inclination? And if he puts forth -a hasty production, is he not compelled, for the space of seven or -fourteen years, to revise his oath? But, indeed, few words of fiction -are properly encouraged in Ireland. - -It would be unpardonable in us, however, to overlook the beneficial -effects of Paddy's peculiar genius in swearing alibis. Some persons, who -display their own egregious ignorance of morality, may be disposed to -think that it tends to lessen the obligation of an oath, by inducing -a habit among the people of swearing to what is not true. We look upon -such persons as very dangerous to Ireland and to the repeal of the -Union; and we request them not to push their principles too far in the -disturbed parts of the country. Could society hold together a single -day, if nothing but truth were spoken, would not law and lawyers soon -become obsolete, if nothing but truth were sworn what would become of -parliament if truth alone were uttered there? Its annual proceedings -might be dispatched in a month. Fiction is the basis of society, the -bond of commercial prosperity, the channel of communication between -nation and nation, and not unfrequently the interpreter between a man -and his own conscience. - -For these, and many other reasons which we could adduce, we say with -Paddy, "Long life to fiction!" When associated with swearing, it shines -in its brightest colors. What, for instance, is calculated to produce -the best and purest of the moral virtues so beautifully, as the swearing -an alibi? Here are fortitude and a love of freedom resisting oppression; -for it is well known that all law is oppression in Ireland. - -There is compassion for the peculiar state of the poor boy, who, -perhaps, only burned a family in their beds; benevolence to prompt the -generous effort in his behalf; disinterestedness to run the risk of -becoming an involuntary absentee; fortitude in encountering a host -of brazen-faced lawyers; patience under the unsparing gripe of a -cross-examiner; perseverance in conducting the oath to its close against -a host of difficulties; and friendship, which bottoms and crowns them -all. - -Paddy's merits, however, touching the alibi, rest not here. Fiction on -these occasions only teaches him how to perform a duty. It may be, -that he is under the obligation of a previous oath not to give evidence -against certain of his friends and associates. Now, could anything in -the whole circle of religion or ethics be conceived that renders the -epic style of swearing so incumbent upon Paddy? There is a kind of moral -fitness in all things; for where the necessity of invention exists, it -is consolatory to reflect that the ability to invent is bestowed along -with it. - -Next to the alibi comes Paddy's powers in sustaining a -cross-examination. Many person thinks that this is his forte; but we -cannot yield to such an opinion, nor compromise his originality -of conception in the scope and plan of an alibi. It is marked by a -minuteness of touch, and a peculiarity of expression which give it every -appearance of real life. The circumstances are so well imagined, -the groups so naturally disposed, the coloring so finished, and the -background in such fine perspective, that the whole picture presents you -with such keeping and _vraisemblance_, as could be accomplished only by -the genius of a master. - -In point of interest, however, we must admit that his ability in a -cross-examination ranks next to his skill in planning an alibi. There -is, in the former, a versatility of talent that keeps him always ready; -a happiness of retort, generally disastrous to the wit of the most -established cross-examiner; an apparent simplicity, which is quite as -impenetrable as the lawyer's assurance; a _vis comica_, which puts the -court in tears; and an originality of sorrow, that often convulses it -with laughter. His resources, when he is pressed, are inexhaustible; and -the address, with which he contrives to gain time, that he may suit his -reply to the object of his evidence, is beyond all praise. And yet his -appearance when he mounts the table is anything but prepossessing; a -sheepish look, and a loose-jointed frame of body, wrapped in a frieze -great-coat, do not promise much. Nay, there is often a rueful blank -expression in his visage, which might lead a stranger to anticipate -nothing but blunders and dulness. This, however, is hypocrisy of the -first water. Just observe the tact with which he places his caubeen upon -the table, his kippeen across it, and the experienced air with which he -pulls up the waistbands of his breeches, absolutely girding his loins -for battle. 'Tis true his blue eye has at present nothing remarkable in -it, except a drop or to of the native; but that is not remarkable. - -[Illustration: PAGE 919-- A rueful blank expression in his visage] - -When the direct examination has been concluded, nothing can be finer -than the simplicity with which he turns round to the lawyer who is to -cross-examine him. Yet, as if conscious that firmness and caution are -his main guards, he again pulls up his waistbands with a more vigorous -hitch, looks shyly into the very eyes of his opponent, and awaits the -first blow. - -The question at length comes; and Paddy, after having raised the collar -of his big coat on his shoulder, and twisted up the shoulder along -with it, directly puts the query back to the lawyer, without altering a -syllable of it, for the purpose of ascertaining more accurately whether -that is the precise question that has been put to him; for Paddy is -conscientious. Then is the science displayed on both sides. The one, -a veteran, trained in all the technicalities of legal puzzles, -irony, blarney, sarcasm, impudence, stock jokes, quirks, rigmarolery, -brow-beating, ridicule, and subtlety; the other a poor peasant, relying -only upon the justice of a good cause and the gifts of nature; without -either experience, or learning, and with nothing but his native modesty -to meet the forensic effrontery of his antagonist. - -Our readers will perceive that the odds are a thousand to one against -Paddy; yet, when he replies to a hackneyed genius at cross-examination, -how does it happen that he uniformly elicits those roars of laughter -which rise in the court, and convulse it from the judge to the crier? In -this laugh, which is usually at the expense of the cross-examiner, Paddy -himself always joins, so that the counsel has the double satisfaction of -being made not only the jest of the judge and his brother lawyers, but -of the ragged witness whom he attempted to make ridiculous. - -It is not impossible that this merry mode of dispensing justice may -somewhat encourage Paddy in that independence of mind which relishes -not the idea of being altogether bound by oaths that are too often -administered with a jocular spirit. To most of the Irish in general an -oath is a solemn, to some, an awful thing. Of this wholesome reverence -for its sanction, two or three testimonies given in a court of justice -usually cured them. The indifferent, business-like manner in which the -oaths are put, the sing-song tone of voice, the rapid utterance of the -words, give to this solemn act an appearance of excellent burlesque, -which ultimately renders the whole proceedings remarkable for the -absence of truth and reality; but, at the same time, gives them -unquestionable merit as a dramatic representation, abounding with -fiction, well related and ably acted. - -Thumb-kissing is another feature in Paddy's adroitness too important to -be passed over in silence. Here his tact shines out again! It would -be impossible for him, in many cases, to meet the perplexities of a -cross-examination so cleverly as he does, if he did not believe that he -had, by kissing his thumb instead of the book, actually taken no oath, -and consequently given to himself a wider range of action. We must -admit, however, that this very circumstance involves him in difficulties -which are sometimes peculiarly embarrassing. Taking everything into -consideration, the prospect of freedom for his sixth cousin, the -consciousness of having kissed his thumb, or the consoling reflection -that he swore only on a Law Bible, it must be granted that the -opportunities presented by a cross-examination are well calculated to -display his wit, humor, and fertility of invention. He is accordingly -great in it; but still we maintain that his execution of an alibi is -his ablest performance, comprising, as it does, both the conception and -construction of the work. - -Both the oaths and imprecations of the Irish display, like those who use -them, indications of great cruelty and great humor. Many of the -former exhibit that ingenuity which comes out when Paddy is on his -cross-examination in a court of justice. Every people, it is true, -have resorted to the habit of mutilating or changing in their oaths -the letters which form the Creator's name; but we question if any have -surpassed the Irish in the cleverness with which they accomplish it. -Mock oaths are habitual to Irishmen in ordinary conversation; but the -use of any or all of them is not considered to constitute an oath: on -the contrary, they are in the mouths of many who would not, except upon -a very solemn occasion indeed, swear by the name of the Deity in its -proper form. - -The ingenuity of their mock oaths is sufficient to occasion much -perplexity to any one disposed to consider it in connection with the -character and moral feelings of the people. Whether to note it as a -reluctance on their part to incur the guilt of an oath, or as a proof of -habitual tact in evading it by artifice, is manifestly a difficulty hard -to be overcome. We are decidedly inclined to the former; for although -there is much laxity of principle among Irishmen, naturally to -be expected from men whose moral state has been neglected by the -legislature, and deteriorated by political and religious asperity, -acting upon quick passions and badly regulated minds--yet we know -that they possess, after all, a strong, but vague undirected sense of -devotional feeling and reverence, which are associated with great crimes -and awfully dark shades of character. This explains one chief cause of -the sympathy which is felt in Ireland for criminals from whom the law -exacts the fatal penalty of death; and it also accounts, independently -of the existence of any illegal association, for the terrible -retribution inflicted upon those who come forward to prosecute them. -It is not in Ireland with criminals as in other countries, where the -character of a murderer or incendiary is notoriously bad, as resulting -from a life of gradual profligacy and villany. Far from it. In Ireland -you will find those crimes perpetrated by men who are good fathers, good -husbands, good sons, and good neighbors--by men who would share -their last morsel or their last shilling with a fellow-creature in -distress--who would generously lose their lives for a man who had -obliged them, provided he had not incurred their enmity--and who would -protect a defenseless stranger as far as lay in their power. There are -some mock oaths among Irishmen which must have had their origin amongst -those whose habits of thought were much more elevated than could be -supposed to characterize the lower orders. "By the powers of death" is -never now used as we have written it; but the ludicrous travestie of it, -"by the powdhors o' delf," is quite common. Of this and other mock oaths -it may be right to observe, that those who swear by them are in general -ignorant of their proper origin. There are some, however, of this -description whose original form is well known. One of these Paddy -displays considerable ingenuity in using. "By the cross" can scarcely be -classed under the mock oaths, but the manner in which it is pressed into -asseverations is amusing. When Paddy is affirming a truth he swears -"by the crass" simply, and this with him is an oath of considerable -obligation. He generally, in order to render it more impressive, -accompanies it with suitable action, that is, he places the forefinger -of each hand across, that he may assail you through two senses instead -of one. On the contrary, when he intends to hoax you by asserting what -is not true, he ingeniously multiplies the oath, and swears "by the five -crashes," that is by his own five fingers, placing at the same time his -four fingers and his thumbs across each other in a most impressive and -vehement manner. Don't believe him then--the knave is lying as fast as -possible, and with no remorse. "By the crass o' Christ" is an oath of -much solemnity, and seldom used in a falsehood. Paddy also often places -two bits of straws across, and sometimes two sticks, upon which he -swears with an appearance of great heat and sincerity--_sed caveto!_ - -Irishmen generally consider iron as a sacred metal. In the interior of -the country, the thieves (but few in number) are frequently averse to -stealing it. Why it possesses this hold upon their affections it is -difficult to say, but it is certain that they rank it among their sacred -things, consider that to find it is lucky, and nail it over their doors -when found in the convenient shape of a horse-shoe. It is also used as -a medium of asserting truth. We believe, however, that the sanction it -imposes is not very strong. "By this blessed iron!"--"by this blessed -an' holy iron!" are oaths of an inferior grade; but if the circumstance -on which they are founded be a matter of indifference, they seldom -depart from truth in using them. - -We have said that Paddy, when engaged in a fight, is never at a loss for -a weapon, and we may also affirm that he is never at a loss for an -oath. When relating a narrative, or some other circumstance of his own -invention, if contradicted, he will corroborate it, in order to sustain -his credit or produce the proper impression, by an abrupt oath upon the -first object he can seize. "Arrah, nonsense! by this pipe in my hand, -it's as thrue as"--and then, before he completes the illustration, he -goes on with a fine specimen of equivocation--"By the stool I'm sittin' -an, it is; an' what more would, you have from me barrin' I take my book -oath of it?" Thus does he, under the mask of an insinuation, induce you -to believe that he has actually sworn it, whereas the oath is always -left undefined and incomplete. - -Sometimes he is exceedingly comprehensive in his adjurations, and swears -upon a magnificent scale; as, for instance,--"By the contints of all -the books that ever wor opened an' shut, it's as thrue as the sun to -the dial." This certainly leaves "the five crasses" immeasurably behind. -However, be cautious, and not too confident in taking so sweeping and -learned an oath upon trust, notwithstanding its imposing effect. We -grant, indeed, that an oath which comprehends within its scope all the -learned libraries of Europe, including even the Alexandrian of old, is -not only an erudite one, but establishes in a high degree the taste of -the swearer, and displays on his part an uncommon grasp of intellect. -Still we recommend you, whenever you hear an alleged fact substantiated -by it, to set your ear as sharply as possible; for, after all, it -is more than probable that every book by which he has sworn might be -contained in a nutshell. The secret may be briefly explained:--Paddy is -in the habit of substituting the word never for ever. "By all the books -that never wor opened or shut," the reader perceives, is only a nourish -of trumpets--a mere delusion of the enemy. - -In fact, Paddy has oaths rising gradually from the lying ludicrous to -the superstitious solemn, each of which finely illustrates the nature of -the subject to which it is applied. When he swears "By the contints o' -Moll Kelly's Primer," or "By the piper that played afore Moses," you -are, perhaps, as strongly inclined to believe him as when he draws upon -a more serious oath; that is, you almost regret the thing is not the -gospel that Paddy asserts it to be. In the former sense, the humorous -narrative which calls forth the laughable burlesque of "By the piper o' -Moses," is usually the richest lie in the whole range of fiction. - -Paddy is, in his ejaculatory, as well as in all his other mock oaths, a -kind, of smuggler in morality, imposing as often as he can upon his own -conscience, and upon those who exercise spiritual authority over him. -Perhaps more of his oaths are blood-stained than would be found among -the inhabitants of all Christendom put together. - -Paddy's oaths in his amours are generally rich specimens of humorous -knavery and cunning. It occasionally happens--but for the honor of -our virtuous countrywomen, we say but rarely--that by the honey of his -flattering and delusive tongue, he succeeds in placing some unsuspecting -girl's reputation in rather a hazardous predicament. When the priest -comes to investigate the affair, and to cause him to make compensation -to the innocent creature who suffered by his blandishments, it is almost -uniformly ascertained that, in order to satisfy her scruples as to -the honesty of his promises, he had sworn marriage to her on a book -of ballads!!! In other cases blank books have been used for the same -purpose. - -If, however, you wish to pin Paddy up in a corner, get him a Relic, a -Catholic prayer-book, or a Douay Bible to swear upon. Here is where the -fox--notwithstanding all his turnings and windings upon heretic Bibles, -books, or ballads, or mock oaths--is caught at last. The strongest -principle in him is superstition. It may be found as the prime mover in -his best and worst actions. An atrocious man, who is superstitious, will -perform many good and charitable actions, with a hope that their merit -in the sight of God may cancel the guilt of his crimes. On the other -hand, a good man, who is superstitiously the slave of his religious -opinions, will lend himself to those illegal combinations, whose object -is, by keeping ready a system of organized opposition to an heretical -government, to fulfil, if a political crisis should render it -practicable, the absurd prophecies of Pastorini and Columbkil. Although -the prophecies of the former would appear to be out of date to a -rational reader, yet Paddy, who can see farther into prophecy than any -rational reader, honestly believes that Pastorini has left for those who -are superstitiously given, sufficient range of expectation in several -parts of his work. - -We might enumerate many other oaths in frequent use among the peasantry; -but as our object is not to detail them at full length, we trust that -those already specified may be considered sufficient to enable our -readers to get a fuller insight into their character, and their moral -influence upon the people. - -The next thing which occurs to us in connection with the present -subject, is cursing; and here again Paddy holds the first place. His -imprecations are often full, bitter, and intense. Indeed, there is more -poetry and epigrammatic point in them than in those of any other country -in the world. - -We find it a difficult thing to enumerate the Irish curses, so as to do -justice to a subject so varied and so liable to be shifted and improved -by the fertile genius of those who send them abroad. Indeed, to reduce -them into order and method would be a task of considerable difficulty. -Every occasion, and every fit of passion, frequently produce a new -curse, perhaps equal in bitterness to any that has gone before it. - -Many of the Irish imprecations are difficult to be understood, having -their origin in some historical event, or in poetical metaphors that -require a considerable process of reasoning to explain them. Of this -twofold class is that general one, "The curse of Cromwell on you!" which -means, may you suffer all that a tyrant like Cromwell would inflict! and -"The curse o'the crows upon you!" which is probably an allusion to -the Danish invasion--a raven being the symbol of Denmark; or it may be -tantamount to "May you rot on the hills, that the crows may feed upon -your carcass!" Perhaps it may thus be understood to imprecate death upon -you or some member of your house--alluding to the superstition of rooks -hovering over the habitations of the sick, when the malady with which -they are afflicted is known to be fatal. Indeed, the latter must -certainly be the meaning of it, as is evident from the proverb of "Die, -an' give the crow a puddin'." - -"Hell's cure to you!--the devil's luck to you!--high hanging to -you!--hard feeling to you!--a short coorse to you!" are all pretty -intense, and generally used under provocation and passion. In these -cases the curses just mentioned are directed immediately to the -offensive object, and there certainly is no want of the _malus animus_ -to give them energy. It would be easy to multiply the imprecations -belonging to this class among the peasantry, but the task is rather -unpleasant. There are a few, however, which, in consequence of their -ingenuity, we cannot pass over: they are, in sooth, studies for the -swearer. "May you never die till you see your own funeral!" is a very -beautiful specimen of the periphrasis: it simply means, may you be -hanged; for he who is hanged is humorously said to be favored with a -view of that sombre spectacle, by which they mean the crowd that attends -an execution. To the same purpose is, "May you die wid a caper in your -heel!"--"May you die in your pumps!"--"May your last dance be a hornpipe -on the air!" These are all emblematic of hanging, and are uttered -sometimes in jest, and occasionally in earnest. "May the grass grow -before your door!" is highly imaginative and poetical. Nothing, indeed, -can present the mind with a stronger or more picturesque emblem of -desolation and ruin. Its malignity is terrible. - -There are also mock imprecations as well as mock oaths. Of this -character are, "The devil go with you an' sixpence, an' thin you'll -want neither money nor company!" This humorous and considerate curse -is generally confined to the female sex. When Paddy happens to be in a -romping mood, and teases his sweetheart too much, she usually utters it -with a countenance combating with smiles and frowns, while she stands in -the act of pinning up her dishevelled hair; her cheeks, particularly the -one next Paddy, deepened into a becoming blush. - -"Bad scran to you!" is another form seldom used in anger: it is the same -as "Hard feeding to you!" "Bad win' to you!" is "Ill health to you!" -it is nearly the same as "Consumin' (consumption) to you!" Two other -imprecations come under this head, which we will class together, because -they are counterparts of each other, with this difference, that one of -them is the most subtilely and intensely withering in its purport that -can well be conceived. The one is that common curse, "Bad 'cess to you!" -that is, bad success to you: we may identify it with "Hard fortune to -you!" The other is a keen one, indeed--"Sweet bad luck to you!" Now, -whether we consider the epithet sweet as bitterly ironical, or deem it -as a wish that prosperity may harden the heart to the accomplishment of -future damnation, as in the case of Dives, we must in either sense grant -that it is an oath of powerful hatred and venom. Occasionally the curse -of "Bad luck to you!" produces an admirable retort, which is pretty -common. When one man applies it to another, he is answered with "Good -luck to you, thin; but may neither of thim ever happen." - -"Six eggs to you, an' half-a-dozen o' them rotten!"--like "The devil go -with you an' sixpence!" is another of those pleasantries which mostly -occur in the good-humored badinage between the sexes. It implies -disappointment. - -There is a species of imprecation prevalent among Irishmen which we may -term neutral. It is ended by the word bit, and merely results from a -habit of swearing where there is no malignity of purpose. An Irishman, -when corroborating an assertion, however true or false, will often -say, "Bad luck to the bit but it is;"--"Divil fire the bit but it's -thruth!"--"Damn the bit but it is!" and so on. In this form the mind is -not moved, nor the passions excited: it is therefore probably the most -insipid of all their imprecations. - -Some of the most dreadful maledictions are to be heard among the -confirmed mendicants of Ireland. The wit, the gall, and the poetry -of these are uncommon. "May you melt off the earth like snow off the -ditch!" is one of a high order and intense malignity; but it is not -exclusively confined to mendicants, although they form that class among -which it is most prevalent. Nearly related to this is, "May you melt -like butther before a summer sun!" These are, indeed, essentially -poetical; they present the mind with appropriate imagery, and exhibit a -comparison perfectly just and striking. The former we think unrivalled. - -Some of the Irish imprecations would appear to have come down to us from -the Ordeals. Of this class, probably, are the following: "May this be -poison to me!"--"May I be roasted on red hot iron!" Others of them, -from their boldness of metaphor, seem to be of Oriental descent. One -expression, indeed, is strikingly so. When a deep offence is offered -to an Irishman, under such peculiar circumstances that he cannot -immediately retaliate, he usually replies to his enemy--"You'll sup -sorrow for this!"--"You'll curse the day it happened!"--"I'll make you -rub your heels together!" All those figurative denunciations are used -for the purpose of intimating the pain and agony he will compel his -enemy to suffer. - -We cannot omit a form of imprecation for good, which is also habitual -among the peasantry of Ireland. It is certainly harmless, and argues -benevolence of heart. We mean such expressions as the following: -"Salvation to me!--May I never do harm!--May I never do an ill -turn!--May I never sin!" These are generally used by men who are -blameless and peaceable in their lives--simple and well-disposed in -their intercourse with the world. - -At the head of those Irish imprecations which are dreaded by the people, -the Excommunication, of course, holds the first and most formidable -place. In the eyes of men of sense it is as absurd as it is illiberal: -but to the ignorant and superstitious, who look upon it as anything but -a _brutum fulmen_, it is terrible indeed. - -Next in order are the curses of priests in their private capacity, -pilgrims, mendicants, and idiots. Of those also Paddy entertains a -wholesome dread; a circumstance which the pilgrim and mendicant turn -with great judgment to their own account. Many a legend and anecdote do -such chroniclers relate, when the family, with whom they rest for -the night, are all seated around the winter hearth. These are often -illustrative of the baneful effects of the poor man's curse. Of course -they produce a proper impression; and, accordingly, Paddy avoids -offending such persons in any way that might bring him under their -displeasure. - -A certain class of cursers much dreaded in Ireland are those of -the widow and the orphan. There is, however, something touching and -beautiful in this fear of injuring the sorrowful and unprotected. It -is, we are happy to say, a becoming and prominent feature in Paddy's -character; for, to do him justice in his virtues as well as in his -vices, we repeat that he cannot be surpassed in his humanity to the -lonely widow and her helpless orphans. He will collect a number of his -friends, and proceed with them in a body to plant her bit of potato -ground, to reap her oats, to draw home her turf, or secure her hay. Nay, -he will beguile her of her sorrows with a natural sympathy and delicacy -that do him honor; his heart is open to her complaints, and his hand -ever extended to assist her. - -There is a strange opinion to be found in Ireland upon the subject of -curses. The peasantry think that a curse, no matter how uttered, will -fall on something; but that it depends upon the person against whom it -is directed, whether or not it will descend on him. A curse, we have -heard them say, will rest for seven years in the air, ready to alight -upon the head of the person who provoked the malediction. It hovers -over him, like a kite over its prey, watching the moment when he may -be abandoned by his guardian angel: if this occurs, it shoots with the -rapidity of a meteor on his head, and clings to him in the shape of -illness, temptation, or some other calamity. - -They think, however, that the blessing of one person may cancel the -curse of another; but this opinion does not affect the theory we have -just mentioned. When a man experiences an unpleasant accident, they will -say, "He has had some poor body's curse;" and, on the contrary, when he -narrowly escapes it, they say, "He has had some poor body's blessing." - -There is no country in which the phrases of good-will and affection are -so strong as in Ireland. The Irish language actually flows with the milk -and honey of love and friendship. Sweet and palatable is it to the other -sex, and sweetly can Paddy, with his deluding ways, administer it to -them from the top of his mellifluous tongue, as a dove feeds her young, -or as a kind mother her babe, shaping with her own pretty mouth every -morse of the delicate viands before it goes into that of the infant. In -this manner does Paddy, seated behind a ditch, of a bright Sunday, when -he ought to be at Mass, feed up some innocent girl, not with "false -music," but with sweet words; for nothing more musical or melting than -his brogue ever dissolved a female heart. Indeed, it is of the danger -to be apprehended from the melody of his voice, that the admirable and -appropriate proverb speaks; for when he addresses his sweetheart, under -circumstances that justify suspicion, it is generally said--"Paddy's -feedin' her up wid false music." - -What language has a phrase equal in beauty and tenderness to _cushla -machree_--_pulse of my heart?_ Can it be paralleled in the whole -range of all that are, ever were, or ever will be spoken, for music, -sweetness, and a knowledge of anatomy? If Paddy is unrivalled at -swearing, he fairly throws the world behind him at the blarney. In -professing friendship, and making love, give him but a taste of the -native, and he is a walking honey-comb, that every woman who sees him -wishes to have a lick at; and Heaven knows, that frequently, at all -times, and in all places, does he get himself licked on their account. - -Another expression of peculiar force is _vick machree_--or, son of my -heart. This is not only elegant, but affectionate, beyond almost any -other phrase except the foregoing. It is, in a sense, somewhat different -from that in which the philosophical poet has used it, a beautiful -comment upon the sentiment of "the child's the father of the man," -uttered by the great, we might almost say, the glorious, Wordsworth. - -We have seen many a youth, on more occasions than one, standing in -profound affliction over the dead body of his aged father, exclaiming, -"_Ahir, vick machree--vick machree--wuil thu marra wo'um? Wuil thu marra -wo'um?_ Father, son of my heart, son of my heart, art thou dead -from me--art thou dead from me?" An expression, we think, under -any circumstances, not to be surpassed in the intensity of domestic -affection which it expresses; but under those alluded to, we consider -it altogether elevated in exquisite and poetic beauty above the most -powerful symbols of Oriental imagery. - -A third phrase peculiar to love and affection, is "_Manim asthee -hu--or_, My soul's within you." Every person acquainted with languages -knows how much an idiom suffers by a literal translation. How beautiful, -then, how tender and powerful, must those short expressions be, uttered, -too, with a fervor of manner peculiar to a deeply feeling people, when, -even after a literal translation, they carry so much of their tenderness -and energy into a language whose genius is cold when compared to the -glowing beauty of the Irish. - -_Mauourneen dheelish_, too, is only a short phrase, but, coming warm and -mellowed from Paddy's lips into the ear of his _colleen dhas_, it is -a perfect spell--a sweet murmur, to which the _lenis susurrus_ of the -Hybla bees is, with all their honey, jarring discord. How tame is -"My sweet darling," its literal translation, compared to its soft and -lulling intonations. There is a dissolving, entrancing, beguiling, -deluding, flattering, insinuating, coaxing, winning, inveigling, -roguish, palavering, come-overing, comedhering, consenting, blarneying, -killing, willing, charm in it, worth all the philters that ever the -gross knavery of a withered alchemist imposed upon the credulity of -those who inhabit the other nations of the earth--for we don't read that -these shrivelled philter-mongers ever prospered in Ireland. - -No, no--let Paddy alone. If he hates intensely and effectually, he loves -intensely, comprehensively, and gallantly. To love with power is a proof -of a large soul, and to hate well is, according to the great moralist, -a thing in itself to be loved. Ireland is, therefore, through all its -sects, parties, and religions, an amicable nation. Their affections are, -indeed, so vivid, that they scruple not sometimes to kill each other -with kindness: but we hope that the march of love and friendship will -not only keep pace with, but outstrip, the march of intellect. - -***** - -Peter Cornell was for many years of his life a pattern and proverb -for industry and sobriety. He first began the world as keeper of a -shebeen-house at the cross-roads, about four miles from the town of -Ballypoteen. He was decidedly an honest man to his neighbors, but a -knave to excisemen, whom he hated by a kind of instinct that he had, -which prompted him, in order to satisfy his conscience, to render -them every practicable injury within the compass of his ingenuity. -Shebeen-house keepers and excisemen have been, time out of mind, -destructive of each other; the exciseman pouncing like a beast or bird -of prey upon the shebeen man and his illicit spirits; the shebeen man -staving in the exciseman, like a barrel of doublings, by a knock -from behind a hedge, which sometimes sent him to that world which is -emphatically the world of spirits. For this, it some happened that the -shebeen man was hanged; but as his death only multiplied that of the -excisemen in a geometrical ratio, the sharp-scented fraternity resolved, -if possible, not to risk their lives, either by exposing themselves to -the necessity of travelling by night, or prosecuting by day. In this -they acted wisely and prudently: fewer of the unfortunate peasantry -were shot in their rencounters with the yeomanry or military on such -occasions, and the retaliations became by degrees less frequent, until, -at length, the murder of a gauger became a rare occurrence in the -country. - -Peter, before his marriage, had wrought as laboring servant to a man -who kept two or three private stills in those caverns among the remote -mountains, to which the gauger never thought of penetrating, because he -supposed that no human enterprise would have ever dreamt of advancing -farther into them than appeared to him to be practicable. In this he -was frequently mistaken: for though the still-house was in many cases -inaccessible to horses, yet by the contrivance of slipes--a kind of -sledge--a dozen men could draw a couple of sacks of barley with less -trouble, and at a quicker pace, than if horses only had been employed. -By this, and many other similar contrivances, the peasantry were often -able to carry on the work of private distillation in places so distant, -that few persons could suspect them as likely to be chosen for such -purposes. The uncommon personal strength, the daring spirit, and great -adroitness of Peter Connell, rendered him a very valuable acquisition -to his master in the course of his illicit occupations. Peter was, -in addition to his other qualities, sober and ready-witted, so that -whenever the gauger made his appearance, his expedients to baffle him -were often inimitable. Those expedients did not, however, always arise -from the exigency of the moment; they were often deliberately, and with -much exertion of ingenuity, planned by the proprietors and friends -of such establishments, perhaps for weeks before the gauger's visit -occurred. But, on the other hand, as the gauger's object was to -take them, if possible, by surprise, it frequently happened that his -appearance was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. It was then that the -prompt ingenuity of the people was fully seen, felt, and understood -by the baffled exciseman, who too often had just grounds for bitterly -cursing their talent at outwitting him. - -Peter served his master as a kind of superintendent in such places, -until he gained the full knowledge of distilling, according to the -processes used by the most popular adepts in the art. Having acquired -this, he set up as a professor, and had excellent business. In the -meantime, he had put together by degrees a small purse of money, to -the amount of about twenty guineas--no inconsiderable sum for a -young Irishman who intends to begin the world on his own account. He -accordingly married, and, as the influence of a wife is usually not to -be controlled during the honey-moon, Mrs. Connell prevailed on Peter -to relinquish his trade of distiller, and to embrace some other mode of -life that might not render their living so much asunder necessary. Peter -suffered himself to be prevailed upon, and promised to have nothing more -to do with private distillation, as a distiller. One of the greatest -curses attending this lawless business, is the idle and irregular habit -of life which it gradually induces. Peter could not now relish the -labor of an agriculturist, to which he had been bred, and yet he was -too prudent to sit down and draw his own and his wife's support from so -exhaustible a source as twenty guineas. Two or three days passed, during -which "he cudgelled his brains," to use his own expression, in plans for -future subsistence; two or three consultations were held with Ellish, -in which their heads were laid together, and, as it was still the -honey-moon, the subject-matter of the consultation, of course, was -completely forgotten. Before the expiration of a second month, however, -they were able to think of many other things, in addition to the -fondlings and endearments of a new-married couple. Peter was every day -becoming more his own man, and Ellish by degrees more her own woman. -"The purple light of love," which had changed Peter's red head into -a rich auburn, and his swivel eye into a knowing wink, exceedingly -irresistible in his bachelorship, as he made her believe, to the country -girls, had passed away, taking the aforesaid auburn along with it and -leaving nothing but the genuine carrot behind. Peter, too, on opening -his eyes one morning about the beginning of the third month, perceived -that his wife was, after all, nothing more than a thumping red-cheeked -wench, with good eyes, a mouth rather large, and a nose very much -resembling, in its curve, the seat of a saddle, allowing the top to -correspond with the pummel. - -"Pether," said she, "it's like a dhrame to me that you're neglectin' -your business, alanna." - -"Is it you, beauty? but, maybe, you'd first point out to me what -business, barrin' buttherin' up yourself, I have to mind, you phanix -bright?" - -"Quit yourself, Pether! it's time for you to give up your ould ways; you -caught one bird wid them, an' that's enough. What do you intind to do! -It's full time for you to be lookin' about you." - -"Lookin' about me! What do you mane Ellish?" - -"The dickens a bit o' me thought of it," replied the wife, laughing -at the unintentional allusion to the circumspect character of Peter's -eyes,--"upon my faix, I didn't--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Why, thin, but you're full o'your fun, sure enough, if that's what -you're at. Maybe, avourneen, if I had looked right afore me, as I ought -to do, it's Katty Murray an' her snug farm I'd have, instead of"-- - -Peter hesitated. The rapid feelings of a woman, and an Irishwoman, quick -and tender, had come forth and subdued him. She had not voluntarily -alluded to his eyes; but on seeing Peter offended, she immediately -expressed that sorrow and submission which are most powerful when -accompanied by innocence, and when meekly assumed, to pacify rather than -to convince. A tear started to her eye, and with a voice melted into -unaffected tenderness, she addressed him, but he scarcely gave her time -to speak. - -"No, avourneen, no, I won't say what I was goin' to mintion. I won't -indeed, Ellish, dear; an' forgive me for woundin' your feelin's _alanna -dhas_. (* My pretty child.) Hell resave her an' her farm! I dunna what -put her into my head at all; but I thought you wor jokin' me about my -eyes: an' sure if you war, acushla, that's no rason that I'd not allow -you to do that an' more wid your own Pether. Give me a slewsther, (* a -kiss of fondness) agrah--a sweet one, now!" - -He then laid his mouth to hers, and immediately a sound, nearly -resembling a pistol-shot, was heard through every part of the house. It -was, in fact, a kiss upon a scale of such magnitude, that the Emperor -of Morocco might not blush to be charged with it. A reconciliation took -place, and in due time it was determined that Peter, as he understood -poteen, should open a shebeen house. The moment this resolution was -made, the wife kept coaxing him, until he took a small house at the -cross-roads before alluded to, where, in the course of a short time, -he was established, if not in his own line, yet in a mode of life -approximating to it as nearly as the inclination of Ellish would permit. -The cabin which they occupied had a kitchen in the middle, and a room at -each end of it, in one of which was their own humble chaff bed, with its -blue quilted drugget cover; in the other stood a couple of small tables, -some stools, a short form, and one chair, being a present from his -father-in-law. These constituted Peter's whole establishment, so far +as -it defied the gauger. To this we must add! a five-gallon keg of spirits -hid in the garden, and a roll of smuggled tobacco. From the former he -bottled, over night, as much as was usually drank the following day; -and from the tobacco, which was also kept under ground, he cut, with the -same caution, as much as to-morrow's exigencies might require. This he -kept in his coat-pocket, a place where the gauger would never think -of searching for it, divided into halfpenny and pennyworths, ounces or -half-ounces, according as it might be required; and as he had it without -duty, the liberal spirit in which he dealt it out to his neighbors soon -brought him a large increase of custom. - -Peter's wife was an excellent manager, and he himself a pleasant, -good-humored man, full of whim and inoffensive mirth. His powers of -amusement were of a high order, considering his station in life and his -want of education. These qualities contributed, in a great degree, to -bring both the young and old to his house during the long winter nights, -in order to hear the fine racy humor with which he related his frequent -adventures and battles with excisemen. In the summer evenings, he -usually engaged a piper or a fiddler, and had a dance, a contrivance by -which he not only rendered himself popular, but increased his business. - -In this mode of life, the greatest source of anxiety to Peter and Ellish -was the difficulty of not offending their friends by refusing to give -them credit. Many plans, were, with great skill and forethought, devised -to obviate this evil; but all failed. A short board was first procured, -on which they got written with chalk-- - -"No credit giv'n--barrin' a thrifle to Pether's friends." - -Before a week passed, after this intimation, the number of "Pether's -friends" increased so rapidly, that neither he nor Ellish knew the half -of them. Every scamp in the parish was hand and glove with him: the -drinking tribe, particularly, became desperately attached to him and -Ellish. Peter was naturally kind-hearted, and found that his firmest -resolutions too often gave way before the open flattery with which he -was assailed. He then changed his hand, and left Ellish to bear the -brunt of their blarney. Whenever any person or persons were seen -approaching the house, Peter, if he had reason to suspect an attack upon -his indulgence, prepared himself for a retreat. He kept his eye to -the window, and if they turned from the direct line of the road, he -immediately slipped into bed, and lay close in order to escape them. In -the meantime they enter. - -"God save all here. Ellish, agra machree, how are you?" - -"God save you kindly! Faix, I'm mid-dim', I thank you, Condy: how is -yourself, an' all at home?" - -"Devil a heartier, barrin' my father, that's touched wid a loss of -appetite afther his meals--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Musha, the dickens be an you, Condy, but you're your father's son, any -way; the best company in Europe is the same man. Throth, whether you're -jokin' or not, I'd be sarry to hear of anything to his disadvantage, -dacent man. Boys, won't you go down to the other room?" - -"Go way wid yez, boys, till I spake to Ellish here about the affairs -o' the nation. Why, Ellish, you stand the cut all to pieces. By the -contints o' the book, you do; Pether doesn't stand it half so well. How -is he, the thief?" - -"Throth, he's not well, to-day, in regard of a smotherin' about the -heart he tuck this mornin' afther his breakfast. He jist laid himself -on the bed a while, to see if it would go off of him--God be praised for -all his marcies!" - -"Thin, upon my _sole_vation, I'm sarry to hear it, and so will all at -home, for there's not in the parish we're sittin' in a couple that our -family has a greater regard an' friendship for, than him and yourself. -Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued down -Bartle Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest -weemen that comes into the chapel. God forgive myself, I was near -quarrelin' wid Bartle on the head of it, bekase I tuck my modher's part, -as I had a good right to do." - -"Thrath, I'm thankful to you both, Condy, for your kindness." - -"Oh, the sarra taste o' kindness was in it at all, Ellish, 'twas only -the truth; an' as long as I live, I'll stand up for that." - -"Arrah, how is your aunt down at Carntall?" - -"Indeed, thin, but middlin', not gettin' her health: she'll soon give -the crow a puddin', any way; thin, Ellish, you thief, I'm in for the -yallow boys. Do you know thim that came in wid me?" - -"Why, thin, I can't say I do. Who are they, Condy?" - -"Why one o' them's a bachelor to my sisther Norah, a very dacent boy, -indeed--him wid the frieze jock upon him, an' the buckskin breeches. -The other three's from Teernabraighera beyant. They're related to my -brother-in-law, Mick Dillon, by his first wife's brother-in-law's uncle. -They're come to this neighborhood till the 'Sizes, bad luck to them, -goes over; for you see, they're in a little throuble." - -"The Lord grant them safe out of it, poor boys!" - -"I brought them up here to treat them, poor fellows; an', Ellish, -avourneen, you must credit me for whatsomever we may have. The thruth -is, you see, that when we left home, none of us had any notion of -drinkin' or I'd a put somethin' in my pocket, so that I'm taken at an -average.--Bud-an'-age! how is little Dan? Sowl, Ellish, that goorsoon, -when he grows up, will be a credit to you. I don't think there's a finer -child in Europe of his age, so there isn't." - -"Indeed, he's a good child, Condy. But Condy, avick, about givin' -credit:--by thim five crasses, if I could give score to any boy in the -parish, it 'ud be to yourself. It was only last night that I made a -promise against doin' such a thing for man or mortual. We're a'most -broken an' harrish'd out o' house an' home by it; an' what's more, -Condy, we intend to give up the business. The landlord's at us every day -for his rint, an' we owe for the two last kegs we got, but hasn't a -rap to meet aither o' thim; an' enough due to us if we could get -it together: an' whisper, Condy, atween ourselves, that's what ails -Pettier, although he doesn't wish to let an to any one about it." - -"Well, but you know I'm safe, Ellish?" - -"I know you are, avourneen, as the bank itself; an' should have what you -want wid a heart an' a half, only for the promise I made an my two knees -last night, aginst givin' credit to man or woman. Why the dickens didn't -you come yistherday?" - -"Didn't I tell you, woman alive, that it was by accident, an' that I -wished to sarve the house, that we came at all. Come, come, Ellish; -don't disgrace me afore my sisther's bachelor an' the sthrange boys -that's to the fore. By this staff in my hand, I wouldn't for the best -cow in our byre be put to the blush afore thim; an' besides, there's a -_cleeveen_ (* a kind of indirect relationship) atween your family an' -ours." - -"Condy, avourneen, say no more: if you were fed from the same breast wid -me, I couldn't, nor wouldn't break my promise. I wouldn't have the sin -of it an me for the wealth o' the three kingdoms." - -"Beclad, you're a quare woman; an' only that my regard for you is great -entirely, we would be two, Ellish; but I know you're dacent still." - -He then left her and joined his friends in the little room that was -appropriated for drinking, where, with a great deal of mirth, he related -the failure of the plan they had formed for outwitting Peter and Ellish. - -"Boys," said he, "she's too many for us! St. Pettier himself wouldn't -make a hand of her. Faix, she's a cute one. I palavered her at the -rate of a hunt, an' she ped me back in my own coin, with dacent -intherest--but no whiskey!--Now to take a rise out o' Pettier. Jist sit -where ye are, till I come back." - -He left them enjoying the intended "spree," and went back to Ellish. - -"Well, I'm sure, Ellish, if any one had tuck their book oath that you'd -refuse my father's son such a thrifle, I wouldn't believe them. It's not -wid Pettier's knowledge you do it, I'll be bound. But bad as you thrated -us, sure we must see how the poor fellow is, at an rate." - -As he spoke, and before Ellish had time to prevent him, he pressed into -the room where Peter lay. - -"Why, tare alive, Pether, is it in bed you are at this hour of the day?" - -"Eh? Who's that--who's that? oh!" - -"Why thin, the sarra lie undher you, is that the way wid you?" - -"Oh!--oh! Eh? Is that Condy?" - -"All that's to the fore of him. What's asthray wid you man alive?" - -"Throth, Condy, I don't know, rightly. I went out, wantin' my coat, -about a week ago, an' got cowld in the small o' the back; I've a pain in -it ever since. Be sittin'." - -"Is your heart safe? You have no smotherin' or anything upon it?" - -"Why thin, thank goodness, no; it's all about my back an' my inches." - -"Divil a thing it is but a complaint they call an _alloverness_ ails -you, you shkaimer o' the world wide. 'Tis the oil o' the hazel, or a -rubbin' down wid an oak towel you want. Get up, I say, or, by this an' -by that, I'll flail you widin an inch o' your life." - -"Is it beside yourself you are, Condy?" - -"No, no, faix; I've found you out: Ellish is afther tellin' me that it -was a smotherin' on the heart; but it's a pain in the small o' the back -wid yourself. Oh, you born desaver! Get up, I say agin, afore I take the -stick to you!" - -"Why, thin, all sorts o' fortune to you, Condy--ha, ha, ha!--but you're -the sarra's pet, for there's no escapin' you. What was that I hard -atween you an' Ellish?" said Peter, getting up. - -"The sarra matther to you. If you behave yourself, we may let you into -the wrong side o' the sacret afore you die. Go an' get us a pint of what -you know," replied Condy, as he and Peter entered the kitchen. - -"Ellish," said Peter, "I suppose we must give it to thim. Give it--give -it, avourneen. Now, Condy, whin 'ill you pay me for this?" - -"Never fret yourself about that; you'll be ped. Honor bright, as the -black said whin he stole the boots." - -"Now Pettier," said the wife, "sure it's no use axin' me to give it, -afther the promise I made last night. Give it yourself; for me, I'll -have no hand in such things good or bad. I hope we'll soon get out of it -altogether, for myselfs sick an' sore of it, dear knows!" - -Pettier accordingly furnished them with the liquor, and got a promise -that Condy would certainly pay him at mass on the following Sunday, -which was only three days distant. The fun of the boys was exuberant -at Condy's success: they drank, and laughed, and sang, until pint after -pint followed in rapid succession. - -Every additional inroad upon the keg brought a fresh groan from Ellish; -and even Peter himself began to look blank as their potations deepened. -When the night was far advanced they departed, after having first -overwhelmed Ellish with professions of the warmest friendship, promising -that in future she exclusively should reap whatever benefit was to be -derived from their patronage. - -In the meantime, Condy forgot to perform his promise. The next Sunday -passed, but Peter was not paid, nor was his clever debtor seen at mass, -or in the vicinity of the shebeen-house, for many a month afterwards--an -instance of ingratitude which mortified his creditor extremely. The -latter, who felt that it was a take in, resolved to cut short all hopes -of obtaining credit from them in future. In about a week after the -foregoing hoax, he got up a board, presenting a more vigorous refusal -of score than the former. His friends, who were more in number than he -could have possibly imagined, on this occasion, were altogether wiped -out of the exception. The notice ran to the following effect:-- - -"Notice to the Public, _and to Pether Connell's friends in -particular_.--Divil resave the morsel of credit will be got or given in -this house, while there is stick or stone of it together, barrin' them -that axes it has the ready money. - - "Pettier X his mark Connell, - "Ellish X her mark Connell." - -This regulation, considering everything, was a very proper one. It -occasioned much mirth among Peter's customers; but Peter cared little -about that, provided he made the money. - -The progress of his prosperity, dating it from so small a beginning, was -decidedly slow. He owed it principally to the careful habits of Ellish, -and his own sobriety. He was prudent enough to avoid placing any sign in -his window, by which his house could be known as a shebeen; for he was -not ignorant that there is no class of men more learned in this species -of hieroglyphics than excisemen. At all events, he was prepared for -them, had they come to examine his premises. Nothing that could bring -him within the law was ever kept visible. The cask that contained the -poteen was seldom a week in the same place of concealment, which was -mostly, as we have said, under ground. The tobacco was weighed and -subdivided into small quantities, which, in addition to what he carried -in his pocket, were distributed in various crevices and crannies of -the house; sometimes under the thatch; sometimes under a dish on the -dresser, but generally in a damp place. - -When they had been about two or three years thus employed, Peter, at the -solicitation of the wife, took a small farm. - -"You're stout an' able," said she; "an' as I can manage the house widout -you, wouldn't it be a good plan to take a bit o' ground--nine or -ten acres, suppose--an' thry your hand at it? Sure you wor wanst the -greatest man in the parish about a farm. Surely that 'ud be dacenter nor -to be slungein' about, invintin' truth and lies for other people, whin -they're at their work, to make thim laugh, an you doin' nothin' but -standin' over thim, wid your hands down to the bottom o' your pockets? -Do, Pether, thry it, avick, an' you'll see it 'ill prosper wid us, plase -God?' - -"Faix I'm ladin' an asier life, Ellish." - -"But are you ladin' a dacenter or a more becominer life?" - -"Why, I think, widout doubt, that it's more becominer to walk about like -a gintleman, nor to be workin' like a slave." - -"Gintleman! Musha, is it to the fair you're bringin' yourself? Why, you -great big bosthoon, isn't it both a sin an' a shame to see you sailin' -about among the neighbors, like a sthray turkey, widout a hand's turn to -do? But, any way, take my advice, avillish,--will you, aroon?--an' faix -you'll see how rich we'll get, wid a blessin'?" - -"Ellish, you're a deludher!" - -"Well, an' what suppose? To be sure I am. Usen't you be followin' me -like a calf afther the finger?--ha, ha, ha!--Will you do my biddin', -Pether darlin'?" - -Peter gave her a shrewd, significant wink, in contradiction to what he -considered the degrading comparison she had just made. - -"Ellish, you're beside the mark, you beauty; always put the saddle on -the right horse, woman alive! Didn't you often an' I often swear to me, -upon two green ribbons, acrass one another, that you liked a red head -best, an' that the redder it was you liked it the betther?" - -"An' it was thruth, too; an' sure, by the same a token, whore could -I get one half so red as your own? Faix, I knew what I was about! I -wouldn't give you yet for e'er a young man in the parish, if I was a -widow to-morrow. Will you take the land?" - -"So thin, afther all, if the head hadn't been an me, I wouldn't be a -favorite wid you?--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Get out wid you, and spake sinse. Throth, if you don't say aither ay or -no, I'll give myself no more bother about it, There we are now wid some -guineas together, an'--Faix, Pettier, you're vexin' me!" - -"Do you want an answer?" - -"Why, if it's plasin' to your honor, I'd have no objection." - -"Well, will you have my new big coat made agin Shraft?" (* Shrovetide) - -"Ay, will I, in case you do what I say; but if you don't the sarra -stitch of it 'll go to your back this twelvemonth, maybe, if you vex me. -Now!" - -"Well, I'll tell you what: my mind's made up--I will take the land; an' -I'll show the neighbors what Pether Connell can do yit." - -"Augh! augh! mavoumeen, that you wor! Throth I'll fry a bit o' the bacon -for our dinner to-day, on the head o' that, although I didn't intind to -touch it till Sunday. Ay, faix, an' a pair o' stockins, too, along wid -the coat; an' somethin' else, that you didn't hear of yit." - -Ellish, in fact, was a perfect mistress of the science of wheedling; -but as it appears instinctive in the sex, this is not to be wondered at. -Peter himself was easy, or rather indolent, till properly excited by -the influence of adequate motives; but no sooner were the energies that -slumbered in him called into activity, than he displayed a firmness of -purpose, and a perseverance in action, that amply repaid his exertions. - -The first thing he did, after taking, his little farm, was to prepare -for its proper cultivation, and to stock it. His funds were not, -however, sufficient for this at the time. A horse was to be bought, but -the last guinea they could spare had been already expended, and this -purchase was, therefore, out of the question. The usages of the small -farmers, however, enabled him to remedy this inconvenience. Peter made -a bargain with a neighbor, in which he undertook to repay him by an -exchange of labor, for the use of his plough and horses in getting -down his crop. He engaged to give him, for a stated period in the slack -season, so many days' mowing as would cover the expenses of ploughing -and harrowing his land. There was, however, a considerable portion -of his holding potato-ground; this Peter himself dug with his spade, -breaking it as he went along into fine mould. He then planted the -seed--got a hatchet, and selecting the best thorn-bush he could find, -cut it down, tied a rope to the trunk, seized the rope, and in this -manner harrowed his potato-ground. Thus did he proceed, struggling to -overcome difficulties by skill, and substituting for the more efficient -modes of husbandry, such rude artificial resources as his want of -capital compelled him to adopt. - -In the meantime, Ellish, seeing Peter acquitting himself in his -undertaking with such credit, determined not to be outdone in her -own department. She accordingly conceived the design of extending her -business, and widening the sphere of her exertions. This intention, -however, she kept secret from Peter, until by putting penny to penny, -and shilling to shilling, she was able to purchase a load of crockery. -Here was a new source of profit opened exclusively by her own address. -Peter was astonished when he saw the car unloaded, and the crockery -piled in proud array by Ellish's own hands. - -"I knew," said she, "I'd take a start out o' you. Faix, Pether, you'll -see how I'll do, never fear, wid the help o' Heaven! I'll be off to the -market in the mornin', plase God, where I'll sell rings around me * o' -them crocks and pitchers. An' now, Pether, the sarra one o' me would do -this, good or bad, only bekase your managin' the farm so cleverly. Tady -Gormley's goin' to bring home his meal from the mill, and has promised -to lave these in the market for me, an' never fear but I'll get some o' -the neighbors to bring them home, so that there's car-hire saved. Faix, -Pether, there's nothin' like givin' the people sweet words, any way; -sure they come chape." - - * This is a kind of hyperbole for selling a grout - quantity. - -"Faith, an' I'll back you for the sweet words agin any woman in the -three kingdoms, Ellish, you darlin'. But don't you know the proverb, -'sweet words butther no parsnips.'" - -"In throth, the same proverb's a lyin' one, and ever was; but it's not -parsnips I'll butther wid 'em, you gommoch." - -"Sowl, you butthered me wid 'em long enough, you deludher--devil a lie -in it; but thin, as you say, sure enough, I was no parsnip--not so soft -as that either, you phanix." - -"No? Thin I seldom seen your beautiful head without thinkin' of a -carrot, an' it's well known they're related--ha, ha, ha!--Behave, -Pether--behave, I say--Pether, Pether--ha, ha, ha!--let me alone! Katty -Hacket, take him away from me--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Will ever you, you shaver wid the tongue that you are? Will ever you, I -say? Will ever you make delusion to my head again--eh?" - -"Oh, never, never--but let me go, an' me go full o' tickles! Oh, Pether, -avourneen, don't, you'll hurt me, an' the way I'm in--quit, avillish!" - -"Bedad, if you don't let my head alone, I'll--will ever you?" - -"Never, never. There now--ha, ha, ha!--oh, but I'm as wake as wather wid -what I laughed. Well now, Pether, didn't I manage bravely--didn't I?" - -"Wait till we see the profits first, Ellish--crockery's very tindher -goods." - -"Ay!--just wait, an'I'll engage I'll turn the penny. The family's risin' -wid us."-- - -"Very thrue," replied Peter, giving a sly wink at the wife--"no doubt of -it." - -"--Kisin' wid us--I tell you to have sinse, Pether; an' it's our duty to -have something for the crathurs when they grow up." - -"Well, that's a thruth--sure I'm not sayin' against it." - -"I know that; but what I say is, if we hould an, we may make money. -Everything, for so far, has thruv wid us, God be praised for it. There's -another thing in my mind, that I'll be tellin' you some o' these days." - -"I believe, Ellish, you dhrame about makin' money." - -"Well, an' I might do worse; when I'm dhramin' about it, I'm doin' no -sin to any one. But, listen, you must keep the house to-morrow while I'm -at the market. Won't you, Pether?" - -"An' who's to open the dhrain in the bottom below?" - -"That can be done the day afther. Won't you, abouchal?" - -"Ellish, you're a deludher, I tell you. Sweet words;--sowl, you'd -smooth a furze bush wid sweet words. How-an-ever, I will keep the house -to-morrow, till we see the great things you'll do wid your crockery." - -Ellish's success was, to say the least of it, quite equal to, her -expectations. She was certainly an excellent wife, full of acuteness, -industry, and enterprise. Had Peter been married to a woman of a -disposition resembling his own, it is probable that he would have sunk -into indolence, filth, and poverty, these miseries might have soured -their tempers, and driven them into all the low excesses and crimes -attendant upon pauperism. Ellish, however, had sufficient spirit to act -upon Peter's natural indolence, so as to excite it to the proper pitch. -Her mode of operation was judiciously suited to his temper. Playfulness -and kindness were the instruments by which she managed him. She knew -that violence, or the assumption of authority, would cause a man who, -like him, was stern when provoked, to react, and meet her with an -assertion of his rights and authority not to be trifled with. This she -consequently avoided, not entirely from any train of reasoning on the -subject; but from that intuitive penetration which taught her to know -that the plan she had resorted to was best calculated to make him -subservient to her own purposes, without causing him to feel that he was -governed. - -Indeed, every day brought out her natural cleverness more clearly. Her -intercourse with the world afforded her that facility of understanding -the tempers and dispositions of others, which can never be acquired -when it has not been bestowed as a natural gift. In her hands it was -a valuable one. By degrees her house improved in its appearance, both -inside and outside. From crockery she proceeded to herrings, then to -salt, in each of which she dealt with surprising success. There was, -too, such an air of bustle, activity, and good-humor about her that -people loved to deal with her. Her appearance was striking, if not -grotesque. She was tall and strong, walked rapidly, and when engaged -in fair or market disposing of her coarse merchandise, was dressed in a -short red petticoat, blue stockings, strong brogues, wore a blue cloak, -with the hood turned up, over her head, on the top of which was a man's -hat, fastened by a, ribbon under her chin. As she thus stirred about, -with a kind word and a joke for every one, her healthy cheek in full -bloom, and her blue-gray eye beaming with an expression of fun and -good-nature, it would be difficult to conceive a character more -adapted for intercourse with, a laughter-loving people. In fact, she -soon became a favorite, and this not the less that she was as ready to -meet her rivals in business with a blow as with a joke. Peter witnessed -her success with unfeigned pleasure; and although every feasible -speculation was proposed by her, yet he never felt that he was a mere -nonentity when compared to his wife. 'Tis true, he was perfectly capable -of executing her agricultural plans when she proposed them, but his own -capacity for making a lucky hit was very limited. Of the two, she was -certainly the better farmer; and scarcely an improvement took place in -his little holding which might not be traced to Ellish. - -In the course of a couple of years she bought him a horse, and Peter was -enabled, to join with a neighbor, who had another. Each had a plough -and tackle, so that here was a little team made up, the half of which -belonged to Peter. By this means they ploughed week about, until their -crops were got down. Peter finding his farm doing well, began to feel a -kind of rivalship with his wife--that is to say, she first suggested -the principle, and afterwards contrived to make him imagine that it was -originally his own. - -"The sarra one o' you, Pettier," she exclaimed to him one day, "but's -batin' me out an' out. Why, you're the very dickins at the farmin', so -you are. Faix, I suppose, if you go an this way much longer, that -you'll be thinkin' of another farm, in regard that we have some guineas -together. Pettier, did you ever think of it, abouchal?" - -"To be sure, I did, you beauty; an' amn't I in fifty notions to take -Harry Neal's land, that jist lies alongside of our own." - -"Faix, an' you're right, maybe; but if it's strivin' again me you are, -you may give it over: I tell you, I'll have more money made afore this -time twelvemonth than you will." - -"Arrah, is it jokin' you are? More money? Would you advise me to take -Harry's land? Tell me that first, you phanix, an' thin I'm your man!" - -"Faix, take your own coorse, avourneen. If you get a lase of it at a -fair rint, I'll buy another horse, any how. Isn't that doin' the thing -dacent'?" - -"More power to you, Ellish! I'll hold you a crown, I pay you the price -o' the horse afore this time twelvemonth." - -"Done! The sarra be off me but done!--an' here's Barny Dillon an' Katty -Hacket to bear witness." - -"Sure enough we will," said Barny, the servant. - -"I'll back the misthress any money," replied the maid. - -"Two to one on the masther," said the man. "Whoo! our side o' the house -for ever! Come, Pether, hould up your head, there's money bid for you!" - -"Ellish, I'll fight for you ankle deep," said Katty--"depind your life -an me." - -"In the name o' goodness, thin, it's a bargain," said Ellish; "an' at -the end o' the year, if we're spared, we'll see what we'll see. We'll -have among ourselves a little sup o' tay, plase goodness, an' we'll be -comfortable. Now, Barny, go an' draw home thim phaties from the pits -while the day's fine; and Katty, a colleen, bring in some wather, till -we get the pig killed and scalded--it'll hardly have time to be good -bacon for the big markets at Christmas. I don't wish," she continued, -"to keep it back from them that we have a thrifle o' money. One always -does betther when it's known that they're not strugglin'. There's Nelly -Cummins, an' her customers is lavin' her, an' dalin' wid me, bekase -she's goin' down in business. Ay an', Pether, ahagur, it's the way o' -the world." - -"Well but, Ellish, don't you be givin' Nelly Cummins the harsh word, or -lanin' too heavily upon her, the crathur, merely in regard that she is -goin' down. Do you hear, acolleen?" - -"Indeed I don't do it, Pether; but you know she has a tongue like a -razor at times, and whin it gets loose she'd provoke St. Pether himself. -Thin she's takin' to the dhrink, too, the poor misfortunate vagabone!" - -"Well, well, that's no affair o' yours, or mine aither--only don't be -risin' ructions and norrations wid her. You _threwn_ a jug at her the -last day you war out, an' hot the poor ould Potticary as he was passin'. -You see I hard that, though you kept it close from me!--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Ha, ha, ha!--why you'd split if you had seen the crathur whin he fell -into Pether White's brogue-creels, wid his heels up. But what right -had she to be sthrivin' to bring away my customers afore my face? Ailey -Dogherty was buying a crock wid me, and Nelly shouts over to her from -where she sot like a queen on her stool, 'Ailey,' says she, 'here's a -betther one for three fardens less, an' another farden 'ill get you a -pennorth o' salt.' An', indeed, Ailey walks over, manely enough, an' -tuck her at her word. Why, flesh an' blood couldn't bear it." - -"Indeed, an' you're raal flesh and blood, Ellish, if that's thrue." - -"Well, but consarnin' what I mintioned awhile agone--hut! the poor mad -crathur, let us have no more discoorse about her--I say, that no one -ever thrives so well as when the world sees that they are gettin' an, -an' prosperin'; but if there's not an appearance, how will any one know -whether we are prosperin' or not, barrin' they see some sign of it about -us; I mane, in a quiet rasonable way, widout show or extravagance. In -the name o' goodness, thin, let us get the house brushed up, an' the -outhouses dashed. A bushel or two of lime 'ill make this as white as -an egg widin, an' a very small expinse will get it plastered, and -whitewashed widowt. Wouldn't you like it, avourneen? Eh, Pether?" - -"To be sure I'd like it. It'll give a respectful look to the house and -place." - -"Ay, an' it'll bring customers, that's the main thing. People always -like to come to a snug, comfortable place. An', plase God, I'm thinkin' -of another plan that I'll soon mintion." - -"An' what may that be, you skamer? Why, Ellish, you've ever and always -some skam'e or other in that head o' yours. For my part, I don't know -how you get at them." - -"Well, no matter, acushla, do you only back me; just show me how I ought -to go on wid them, for nobody can outdo you at such things, an' I'll -engage we'll thrive yit, always wid a blessin' an us." - -"Why, to tell God's thruth, I'd bate the devil himself at plannin' out, -an' bringin' a thing to a conclusion--eh, you deludher?" - -"The sarra doubt of it; but takin' the other farm was the brightest -thought I seen wid you yit. Will you do it, avillish?" - -"To be sure. Don't I say it? An' it'll be up wid the lark wid me. Hut, -woman, you don't see the half o' what's in me, yet." - -"I'll buy you a hat and a pair o' stockins at Christmas." - -"Will you, Ellish? Then, by the book, I'll work like a horse." - -"I didn't intind to tell you, but I had it laid out for you." - -"Faith, you're a beauty, Ellish. What'll we call this young chap that's -comin', acushla?" - -"Now, Pether, none o' your capers. It's time enough when the thing -happens to be thinkin' o' that, Glory be to God!" - -"Well, you may talk as you plase, but I'll call him Pether." - -"An' how do you know but he'll be a girl, you omadhawn?" - -"Murdher alive, ay, sure enough! Faith, I didn't think o' that!" - -"Well, go up now an' spake to Misther Eccles about the land; maybe -somebody else 'ud slip in afore us, an' that wouldn't be pleasant. -Here's your brave big coat, put it an; faix, it makes a man of -you--gives you a bodagh* look entirely; but that's little to what you'll -be yet, wid a blessin'--a Half-Sir, any way." - - * This word is used in Ireland sometimes in a good and - sometimes in a bad sense. For instance, the peasantry - will often say in allusion to some individual who may - happen to be talked of, "Hut! he's a dirty bodagh;" but - again, you may hear them use it in a sense directly the - reverse of this; for instance, "He's a very dacent - man, and looks the bodagh entirely." As to the "Half - sir," he stands about half-way between the bodagh and - the gentleman, Bodagh--signifying churl--was applied - originally as a term of reproach to the English - settlers. - -In fact, Ellish's industry had already gained a character for both -herself and her husband. He got credit for the assiduity and activity to -which she trained him: and both were respected for their cleverness in -advancing themselves from so poor a beginning to the humble state of -independence they had then reached. The farm which Ellish was so anxious -to secure was the property of the gentleman from whom they held the -other. Being a man of sense and penetration, he fortunately saw--what, -indeed, was generally well known--that Peter and Ellish were rising in -the world, and that their elevation was the consequence of their own -unceasing efforts to become independent, so that industry is in every -possible point of view its own reward. So long as the farm was open to -competition the offers for it multiplied prodigiously, and rose in equal -proportion. Persons not worth twenty shillings in the world offered -double the rent which the utmost stretch of ingenuity, even with -suitable capital, could pay. New-married couples, with nothing but the -strong imaginative hopes peculiar to their country, proposed for it in -a most liberal spirit. Men who had been ejected out of their late farms -for non-payment of rent, were ready to cultivate this at a rent much -above that which, on better land, they were unable to pay. Others, who -had been ejected from farm after farm--each of which they undertook as a -mere speculation, to furnish them with present subsistence, but without -any ultimate expectation of being able to meet their engagements--came -forward with the most laudable efforts. This gentleman, however, was -none of those landlords who are so besotted and ignorant of their own -interests, as to let their lands simply to the highest bidders, without -taking into consideration their capital, moral character, and habits -of industry. He resided at home, knew his tenants personally, took an -interest in their successes and difficulties, and instructed them in the -best modes of improving their farms. - -Peter's first interview with him was not quite satisfactory on -either side. The honest man was like a ship without her rudder, when -transacting business in the absence of his wife. The fact was, that on -seeing the high proposals which were sent in, he became alarmed lest, as -he flattered himself, that the credit of the transaction should be all -his own, the farm might go into the hands of another, and his character -for cleverness suffer with Ellish. The landlord was somewhat astounded -at the rent which a man who bore so high a name for prudence offered -him. He knew it was considerably beyond what the land was worth, and he -did not wish that any tenant coming upon his estate should have no other -prospect than that of gradually receding into insolvency. - -"I cannot give you any answer now," said he to Peter; "but if you will -call in a day or two I shall let you know my final determination." - -Peter, on coming home, rendered an account of his interview with the -landlord to his wife, who no sooner heard of the extravagant proposal he -made, than she raised her hands and eyes, exclaiming-- - -"Why, thin, Pether, alanna, was it beside yourself you wor, to go for to -offer a rint that no one could honestly pay! Why, man alive, it 'ud -lave us widout house or home in do time, all out! Sure Pettier, acushla, -where 'ud be the use of us or any one takin' land, barrin' they could -make somethin' by it? Faix, if the gintleman had sinse, he wouldn't give -the same farm to anybody at sich a rint; an' for good rasons too--bekase -they could never pay it, an' himself 'ud be the sufferer in the long -run." - -"Dang me, but you're the long-headedest woman alive this day, Ellish. -Why, I never wanst wint into the rason o' the thing, at all. But you -don't know the offers he got." - -"Don't I? Why do you think he'd let the Mullins, or the Conlans, or the -O'Donog-hoes, or the Duffys, upon his land, widout a shillin' in one o' -their pockets to stock it, or to begin workin' it properly wid. Hand me -my cloak from the pin there, an' get your hat. Katty, avourneen, have an -eye to the house till we come back; an' if Dick Murphy comes here to get -tobaccy on score, tell him I can't afford it, till he pays up what he -got. Come, Pether, in the name o' goodness--come, abouchal." - -Ellish, during their short journey to the landlord's, commenced, in her -own way, a lecture upon agricultural economy, which, though plain and -unvarnished, contained excellent and practical sense. She also pointed -out to him when to speak and when to be silent; told him what rent to -offer, and in what manner he should offer it; but she did all this so -dexterously and sweetly, that honest Peter thought the new and corrected -views which she furnished him with, were altogether the result of his -own penetration. The landlord was at home when they arrived, and ordered -them into the parlor, where he soon made his appearance. - -"Well, Connell," said he, smiling, "are you come to make me a higher -offer?" - -"Why thin no, plase your honor," replied Peter, looking for confidence -to Ellish: "instead o' that, sir, Ellish here--" - -"Never heed me, alanna; tell his honor what you've to say, out o' the -face. Go an acushla." - -"Why, your honor, to tell the blessed thruth, the dickens a bit o' -myself but had a sup in my head when I was wid your honor to-day -before." - -Ellish was thunderstruck at this most unexpected apology from Peter; but -the fact was, that the instructions which she had given him on their -way had completely evaporated from his brain, and he felt himself thrown -altogether upon his own powers of invention. Here, however, he was at -home; for it was well known among all his acquaintances, that, however -he might be deficient in the management of a family when compared to his -wife, he was capable, notwithstanding, of exerting a certain imaginative -faculty in a very high degree. Ellish felt that to contradict him on the -spot must lessen both him and herself in the opinion of the landlord, a -circumstance that would have given her much pain. - -"I'm sorry to hear that, Connell," said Mr. Eccles; "you bear the -character of being strictly sober in your habits. You must have been -early at the bottle, too, which makes your apology rather unhappy. Of -all tipplers, he who drinks early is the worst and most incurable." - -"Thrue for you, sir, but this only happens me wanst a year, your honor." - -"Once a year! But, by the by, you had no appearance of being tipsy, -Peter." - -"Tipsy! Bud-a'-age, your honor, I was never seen tipsy in all my life," -said Peter,--"That's a horse of another color, sir, plase your honor." - -The reader must at once perceive that Peter here was only recovering -himself from the effects of the injurious impression which his first -admission was calculated to produce against him in the mind of his -landlord. "Tipsy! No, no, sir; but the rason of it, sir, was this: it -bein' my birthday, sir, I merely tuck a sup in the mornin', in honor o' -the day. It's altogether a lucky day to me, sir!" - -"Why, to be sure, every man's birthday may, probably, be called -such--the gift of existence being, I fear, too much undervalued." - -"Bedad, your honor, I don't mane that, at all." - -"Then what do you mean, Peter?" - -"Why, sir, you see, it's not that I was _entirely_ born on this day, but -partly, sir; I was marrid to Ellish here into the bargain,--one o' -the best wives, sir--however, I'll say no more, as she's to the fore -herself. But, death alive, sir, sure when we put both conclusions -together--myself bein' sich a worthy man, and Ellish such a tip-top -wife, who could blame me for smellin' the bottle?--for divil a much more -I did--about two glasses, sir--an' so it got up into my head a little -when I was wid your honor to-day before." - -"But what is the amount of all this, Peter?" - -"Why, sir, you see only I was as I said, Sir--not tipsy, your honor, any -way, but seein' things double or so; an' that was, I suppose, what made -me offer for the farm double what I intinded. Every body knows, sir, -that the 'crathur' gives the big heart to us, any how, your honor." - -"But you know, Peter, we entered into no terms about it. I, therefore, -have neither power nor inclination to hold you to the offer you made." - -"Faith, sir, you're not the gintleman to do a shabby turn, nor ever was, -nor one o' your family. There's not in all Europe"-- - -Ellish, who was a point blank dealer, could endure Peter's mode of -transacting business no longer. She knew that if he once got into the -true spirit of applying the oil of flattery to the landlord, he would -have rubbed him into a perfect froth ere he quitted him. She, therefore, -took up the thread of the discourse, and finished the compliment with -much more delicacy than honest Peter could have displayed. - -"Thrue for you, Pether," she added; "there is not a kinder family to -the poor, nor betther landlords in the country they live in. Pether an' -myself, your honor, on layin' both our 'heads together, found that he -offered more rint for the land nor any! tenant could honestly pay. So, -sir, where's the use of keepin' back God's truth--Pether, sir"-- - -Peter here trembled from an apprehension that the wife, in accomplishing -some object of her own in reference to the land, was about to undeceive -the landlord, touching the lie which he had so barefacedly palmed upon -that worthy gentleman for truth. In fact, his anxiety overcame his -prudence, and he resolved to anticipate her. - -"I'd advise you, sir," said he, with a smile of significant good-humor, -"to be a little suspicious of her, for, to tell the truth, she draws -the"--here he illustrated the simile with his staff--"the long bow of an -odd time; faith she does. I'd kiss the book on the head of what I tould -you, sir, plase your honor. For the sacret of it is, that I tuck the -moistare afore she left her bed." - -"Why, Peter, alanna," said Ellish, soothingly, "what's comin' over you, -at all, an' me; goin' to explain to his honor the outs and ins I of our -opinion about the land? Faix, man, we're not thinkin' about you, good or -bad." - -"I believe the drop has scarcely left your head yet, Peter," said the -landlord. - -"Bud-an'-age, your honor, sure we must have our joke, any how--doesn't -she deserve it for takin' the word out o' my mouth?" - -"Whisht, avillish; you're too cute for us all, Pether. There's no use, -sir, as I was sayin', for any one to deny that when they take a farm -they do it to make by it, or at the laste to live comfortably an it. -That's the thruth, your honor, an' it's no use to keep it back from you, -sir." - -"I perfectly agree with you," said the landlord. "It is with these -motives that a tenant should wish to occupy land; and it is the duty of -every landlord who has his own interest truly at heart, to see that -his land be not let at such a rent as will preclude the possibility of -comfort or independence on the part of his tenantry. He who lets his -land above its value, merely because people are foolish enough to offer -more for it than it is worth, is as great an enemy to himself as he is -to the tenant." - -"It's God's thruth, sir, an' it's nothin' else but a comfort to hear -sich words comin' from the lips of a gintleman that's a landlord -himself." - -"Ay, an' a good one, too," said Peter; "an' kind father for his honor to -be what he is. Divil resave the family in all Europe"-- - -"Thrue for you, avourneen, an' even' one knows that. We wor talkin' it -over, sir, betuxt ourselves, Pether an' me, an' he says very cutely, -that, upon second thoughts, he offered more nor we could honestly pay -out o' the land: so"-- - -"Faith, it's a thrue as gospel, your honor. Says I, 'Ellish, you -beauty'"-- - -"I thought," observed Mr. Eccles, "that she sometimes drew the long bow, -Peter." - -"Oh, murdher alive, sir, it was only in regard of her crassin' in an' -whippin' the word out o' my mouth, that I wanted to take a rise out -of her. Oh, bedad, sir, no; the crathur's thruth to the backbone, an' -farther if I'd say it." - -"So, your honor, considherin' everything, we're willin' to offer thirty -shillin's an acre for the farm. That rint, sir, we'll be able to pay, -wid the help o' God, for sure we can do nothin' widout his assistance, -glory be to his name! You'll get many that'll offer you more, your -honor; but if it 'ud be plasin' to you to considher what manes they have -to pay it, I think, sir, you'd see, out o' your own sinse, that it's not -likely people who is gone to the bad, an' has nothin' could stand it out -long." - -"I wish to heaven," replied Mr. Eccles, "that every tenant in Ireland -possessed your prudence and good sense. Will you permit me to ask, Mrs. -Connell, what capital you and your husband can command provided I should -let you have it." - -"Wid every pleasure in life, sir, for it's but a fair question to put. -An' sure, it is to God we owe it, whatever it is, plase your honor. But, -sir, if we get the land, we're able to stock it, an' to crop it well an' -dacently; an' if your honor would allow us for sartin improvements, sir, -we'd run it into snug fields, by plantin' good hedges, an' gettin' up -shelther for the outlyin' cattle in the hard seasons, plase your honor, -and you know the farm is very naked and bare of shelter at present." - -"Sowl, will we, sir, an' far more nor that if we get it. I'll -undhertake, sir, to level"-- - -"No, Pether, we'll promise no more nor we'll do; but anything that his -honor will be plased to point out to us, if we get fair support, an' -that it remains on the farm afther us, we'll be willin' to do it." - -"Willin'!" exclaimed Peter!--"faith, whether we're willin' or not, if -his honor but says the word"---- - -"Mrs. Connell," said their landlord, "say no more. The farm is yours, -and you may, consider yourselves as my tenants." - -"Many thanks to you, sir, for the priference. I hope, sir, you'll not -rue what you did in givin' it to us before them that offered a higher -rint. You'll find, sir, wid the help o' the Almighty, that we'll pay you -your rint rigular an' punctual." - -"Why, thin, long life, an' glory, an' benedication to your honor! Faith, -it's only kind father for you, sir, to be what you are. The divil resave -the family in all Europe"-- - -"Peter, that will do," replied the landlord, "it would be rather -hazardous for our family to compete with all Europe. Go home, Peter, -and be guided by your wife, who has more sense in her little finger than -ever your family had either in Europe or out of it, although I mean you -no offense by going beyond Europe." - -"By all the books that never wor opened an' shut," replied Peter, -with the intuitive quickness of perception peculiar to Irishmen, "an -innocenter boy than Andy Connell never was sent acrass the water. I -proved as clear an alibi for him as the sun in the firmanent; an' yit, -bad luck to the big-wig O'Grady, he should be puttin' in his leek an me -afore the jury, jist whin I had the poor boy cleared out dacently, an' -wid all honor. An' bedad, now, that we're spakin about it, I'll tell -your honor the whole conclusions of it. You see, sir, the Agint was shot -one night; an' above all nights in the year, your honor, a thief of a -toothache that I had kep me"-- - -"Pether, come away, abouchal: his honor kaows as much about it as you -do, Come, aroon; you know we must help to scald an' scrape the pig afore -night, an' it's late now." - -"Bodad, sir, she's a sweet one, this." - -"Be guided by her, Peter, if you're wise, she's a wife you ought to be -proud of." - -"Thrue for you, sir; divil resave the word o' lie in that, any how. -Come, Ellish; come, you deludher, I'm wid you." - -"God bless your honor, sir, an' we're ob'laged to you for you kindness -an' patience wid the likes o' us." - -"I say ditto, your honor. Long life an' glory to you every day your -honor rises!" - -Peter, on his way home, entered into a defence of his apology for -offering so high a rent to the landlord; but although it possessed both -ingenuity and originality, it was, we must confess, grossly defective in -those principles usually inculcated by our best Ethic writers. - -"Couldn't you have tould him what we agreed upon goin' up," observed -Ellish; "but instead o' that, to begin an' tell the gintlemen so many -lies about your bein' dhrunk, an' this bein' your birth-day, an' the -day we wor marrid, an',----Musha, sich quare stories to come into your -head?" - -"Why," said Peter, "what harm's in all that, whin he didn't _find me -out?_" - -"But why the sarra did you go to say that I was in the custom o' tellin' -lies?" - -"Faix, bekase I thought you wor goin' to let out all, an' I thought -it best to have the first word o' you. What else?--but sure I brought -myself off bravely." - -"Well, well, a hudh; don't be invintin' sich things another time, or -you'll bring yourself into a scrape, some way or other." - -"Faix, an' you needn't spake, Ellish; you can let out a nate bounce -yourself, whin it's to sarve you. Come now, don't run away wid the -story!" - -"Well, if I do, it's in the way o' my business; whin I'm batin' them -down in the price o' what I'm buyin', or gettin' thim to bid up for any -thing I'm sellin': besides, it's to advance ourselves in the world that -I do it, abouchal." - -"Go an, go an; faix, you're like the new moon, sharp at both corners: -but what matther, you beauty, we've secured the farm, at any rate, an', -by this an' by that, I'll show you tip-top farmin' an it." - -A struggle now commenced between the husband and wife, as to which of -them should, in their respective departments, advance themselves with -greater rapidity in life. This friendly contest was kept up principally -by the address of Ellish, who, as she knew those points in her husband's -character most easily wrought upon, felt little difficulty in shaping -him to her own purposes. Her great object was to acquire wealth; and it -mostly happens, that when this is the ruling principle in life, there is -usually to be found, in association with it, all those qualities which -are best adapted to secure it. Peter, on finding that every succeeding -day brought something to their gains, began to imbibe a portion of -that spirit which wholly absorbed Ellish. He became worldly; but it -was rather the worldliness of habit than of principle. In the case -of Ellish, it proceeded from both; her mind was apt, vigorous, and -conceptive; her body active, her manners bland and insinuating, and her -penetration almost intuitive. About the time of their entering upon the -second farm, four children had been, the fruit of their marriage--two -sons and two daughters. These were now new sources of anxiety to their -mother, and fresh impulses to her industry. Her ignorance, and that of -her husband, of any kind of education, she had often, in the course -of their business, bitter cause to regret. She now resolved that their -children should be well instructed; and no time was lost in sending them -to school, the moment she thought them capable of imbibing the simplest -elements of instruction. - -"It's hard to say," she observed to her husband, "how soon they may be -useful to us. Who knows, Pether, but we may have a full shop yit, -an' they may be able to make up bits of accounts for us, poor things? -Throth, I'd be happy if I wanst seen it." - -"Faix, Ellish," replied Peter, "if we can get an as we're doin', it is -hard to say. For my own part, if I had got the larnin' in time, I might -be a bright boy to-day, no doubt of it--could spake up to the best -o' thim. I never wint to school but wanst, an' I remimber I threw the -masther into a kiln-pot, an' broke the poor craythur's arm; an' from -that day to this, I never could be brought a single day to school." - -Peter and Ellish now began to be pointed out as a couple worthy of -imitation by those who knew that perseverance and industry never fail of -securing their own reward. Others, however,--that is to say, the lazy, -the profligate, and the ignorant,--had a ready solution of the secret of -their success. - -"Oh, my dear, she's a lucky woman, an' anything she puts her hand to -prospers. Sure sho was born wid a _lucky caul_* an her head; an', be -sure, ahagur, the world will flow in upon thim. There's many a neighbor -about thim works their fingers to the stumps, an' yit you see they can't -get an: for Ellish, if she'd throw the sweepins of her hearth to the -wind, it 'ud come back to her in money. She was born to it, an' nothin' -can keep her from her luck!"** - - * The caul is a, thin membrane, about the consistence - of very fine silk, which sometimes covers the head on a - new-born infant like a cap. It is always the omen of - great good fortune to the infant and parents; and in - Ireland, when any one has unexpectedly fallen into the - receipt of property, or any other temporal good, it is - customary to say, "such a person was born with a 'lucky - caul' on his head." - - Why these are considered lucky, it would be a very - difficult matter to ascertain. Several instances of - good fortune, happening to such as were born with them, - might, by their coincidences, form a basis for the - superstition; just as the fact of three men during one - severe winter having been found drowned, each with two - shirts on, generated an opinion which has now become - fixed and general in that parish, that it is unlucky to - wear two shirts at once. We are not certain whether the - caul is in general the perquisite of the midwife-- - sometimes we believe it is; at all events, her - integrity occasionally yields to the desire of - possessing it. In many cases she conceals its - existence, in order that she may secretly dispose of it - to good advantage, which she frequently does; for it is - considered to be the herald of good fortune to those - who can get it into their possession. Now, let not our - English neighbors smile at us for those things until - they wash their own hands clear of such practices. At - this day a caul will bring a good price in the most - civilized city in the world--to wit, the good city of - London--the British metropolis. Nay to such lengths has - the mania for cauls been carried there, that they have - been actually advertised for in the Times newspaper. - - * This doctrine of fatalism is very prevalent among the - lower orders in Ireland. - -Such are many of the senseless theories that militate against exertion -and industry in Ireland, and occasion many to shrink back from the -laudible race of honest enterprise, into filth, penury, and crime. It -is this idle and envious crew, who, with a natural aversion to domestic -industry, become adepts in politics, and active in those illegal -combinations and outrages which retard the prosperity of the country, -and bring disgrace upon the great body of its peaceable inhabitants. - -In the meantime Ellish was rapidly advancing in life, while such persons -were absurdly speculating upon the cause of her success. Her business -was not only increased, but extended. From crockery, herrings, and salt, -she advanced gradually to deal in other branches adapted to her station, -and the wants of the people. She bought stockings, and retailed them -every market-day. By and by a few pieces of soap might be seen in her -windows; starch, blue, potash, and candles, were equally profitable. -Pipes were seen stuck across each other, flanked by tape, cakes, -children's books, thimbles, and bread. In fact, she was equally clever -and expert in whatever she undertook. The consciousness of this, and the -reputation of being "a hard honest woman," encouraged her to get a cask -or two of beer, and a few rolls of tobacco. Peter, when she proposed -the two last, consented only to sell them still as smuggled, goods--sub -silentio. With her usual prudence, however, she declined this. - -"We have gone on that way purty far," she replied, "an' never got a -touch, (* never suffered by the exciseman) thanks to the kindness o' the -neighbors that never informed an us: but now, Pether, that we're able we -had betther do everything above boord. You know the ould say, 'long runs -the fox, but he's catched at last:' so let us give up in time, an' get -out a little bit o' license." - -"I don't like that at all," replied Peter: "I cain't warm my heart to -the license. I'll back you in anything but that. The gauger won't come -next or near us: he has thried it often, an' never made anything of it. -Dang me, but I'd like to have a bit o' fun with the gauger to see if my -hand's still ready for practice." - -"Oh, thin, Pether, how can you talk that way, asthore? Now if what -I'm sayin' was left to yourself wouldn't you be apt to plan it as -I'm doin'?--wouldn't you, acushla? Throth, I know you're to cute an' -sinsible not to do it." - -"Why thin, do you know what, Ellish--although I didn't spake it out, -upon my faix I was thinkin' of it. Divil a word o' lie in it." - -"Oh, you thief o' the world, an' never to tell it to me. Faix, Pether, -you're a cunnin' shaver, an' as deep as a draw well." - -"Let me alone. Why I tell you if I study an' lay myself down to it, I -can conthrive anything. When I was young, many a time my poor father, -God be good to him! said that if there was any possibility of gettin' me -to take to larnin', I'd be risin' out o' the ashes every mornin' like a -phanix." - -"But won't you hould to your plan about the license?" - -"Hould! To be sure I will. What was I but takin' a rise out o' you. I -intinded it this good while, you phanix--faix, I did." - -In this manner did Ellish dupe her own husband into increasing wealth. -Their business soon became so extensive, that a larger house was -absolutely necessary. To leave that, beneath whose roof she succeeded -so well in all her speculations, was a point--be it of prudence or of -prejudice--which Ellish could not overcome. Her maxim was, whereever you -find yourself doing well, stay there. She contrived, however, to remedy -this. To the old house additional apartments were, from time to time, -added, into which their business soon extended. When these again became -too small, others were also built; so that in the course of about twenty -years, their premises were so extensive, that the original shebeen-house -constituted a very small portion of Peter's residence. Peter, during -Ellish's progress within doors, had not been idle without. For every new -room added to the house, he was able to hook in a fresh farm in addition -to those he had already occupied. Unexpected success had fixed his heart -so strongly upon the accumulation of money, and the pride of rising -in the world, as it was possible for a man, to whom they were only -adventitious feelings, to experience. The points of view in which he -and his wife were contemplated by the little public about them were -peculiar, but clearly distinct. The wife was generally esteemed for -her talents and incessant application to business; but she was not so -cordially liked as Peter. He, on the other hand, though less esteemed, -was more beloved by all their acquaintances than Ellish. This might -probably originate from the more obvious congeniality which existed -between Peter's natural disposition, and the national character; for -with the latter, Ellish, except good humor, had little in common. - -The usual remarks upon both were--"she would buy an' sell him"--"'twas -she that made a man of him; but for all that, Pether's worth a ship-load -of her, if she'd give him his own way." That is, if she would permit him -to drink with the neighbors, to be idle and extravagant. - -Every year, now that their capital was extending, added more perceptibly -to their independence. Ellish's experience in the humbler kinds of -business, trained her for a higher line; just as boys at school rise -from one form to another. She made no plunges, nor permitted Peter, who -was often, inclined to jump at conclusions, to make any. Her elevation -was gradual and cautious; for her plans were always so seasonable and -simple that every new description of business, and every new success, -seemed to arise naturally from that which went before it. - -Having once taken out a license, their house soon became a decent -country spirit establishment; from soap, and candles, and tobacco, she -rose into the full sweep of groceries; and from dealing in Connemara -stockings and tape, she proceeded in due time to sell woollen and linen -drapery. Her crockery was now metamorphosed into delf, pottery, and -hardware; her gingerbread into stout loaves, for as Peter himself grew -wheat largely, she seized the opportunity presented by the death of the -only good baker in the neighborhood, of opening an extensive bakery. - -It may be asked, how two illiterate persons, like Peter and Ellish, -could conduct business in which so much calculation was necessary, -without suffering severely by their liability to make mistakes. To this -we reply--first, that we should have liked to see any person attempting -to pass a bad note or a light guinea upon Ellish after nine or ten -years' experience; we should like to have seen a smug clerk taking his -pen from behind his ear, and after making his calculation, on inquiring -from Ellish if she had reckoned up the amount, compelled to ascertain -the error which she pointed out to him. The most remarkable point in -her whole character, was the rapid accuracy she displayed in mental -calculation, and her uncommon sagacity in detecting bad money. - -There is, however, a still more satisfactory explanation of this -circumstance to be given. She had not neglected the education of her -children. The eldest was now an intelligent boy, and a smart accountant, -who, thanks to his master, had been taught to keep their books by Double -Entry. The second was little inferior to him as a clerk, though as a -general dealer he was far his superior. The eldest had been principally -behind the counter; whilst the younger, in accompanying his mother in -all her transactions and bargain-making, had in a great measure imbibed -her address and tact. - -It is certainly a pleasing, and, we think, an interesting thing, to -contemplate the enterprise of an humble, but active, shrewd woman, -enabling her to rise, step by step, from the lowest state of poverty to -a small sense of independence; from this, by calling-fresh powers into -action, taking wider views, and following them up by increased efforts, -until her shebeen becomes a small country public-house; until her roll -of tobacco, and her few pounds of soap and starch, are lost in the -well-filled drawers of a grocery shop; and her gray Connemara stockings -transformed by the golden wand of industry into a country cloth -warehouse. To see Peter--from the time when he first harrowed part of -his farm with a thorn-bush, and ploughed it by joining his horse to that -of a neighbor--adding farm to farm, horse to horse, and cart to cart, -until we find him a wealthy and extensive agriculturist. - -The progress of Peter and Ellish was in another point of view a good -study for him who wishes to look into human nature, whilst adapting -itself to the circumstances through which it passes. When this couple -began life, their friends and acquaintancess were as poor as themselves; -as they advanced from one gradation to another, and rose up from a lower -to a higher state, their former friends, who remained in their original -poverty, found themselves left behind in cordiality and intimacy, as -well as in circumstances; whilst the subjects of our sketch continued -to make new friendships of a more respectable stamp, to fill up, as it -were, the places held in their good will by their humble, but neglected, -intimates. Let not our readers, however, condemn them for this. - -It was the act of society, and not of Peter and Ellish. On their parts, -it was involuntary; their circumstances raised them, and they were -compelled, of course, to rise with their circumstances. They were -passing through the journey of life, as it were, and those with whom -they set out, not having been able to keep up with them, soon lost their -companionship, which was given to those with whom they travelled for -the time being. Society is always ready to reward the enterprising and -industrious by its just honors, whether they are sought or not; it is so -disposed, that every man falls or rises into his proper place in it, -and that by the wisdom and harmony of its structure. The rake, who -dissipates by profligacy and extravagance that which might have secured -him an honorable place in life, is eventually brought to the work-house; -whilst the active citizen, who realizes an honest independence, is -viewed with honor and esteem. - -Peter and Ellish were now people of consequence in the parish; the -former had ceased to do anything more than superintend the cultivation -of his farms; the latter still took an active part in her own business, -or rather in the various departments of business Which she carried on. -Peter might be seen the first man abroad in the morning proceeding to -some of his farms mounted upon a good horse, comfortably dressed in -top boots, stout corduroy breeches, buff cashmere waistcoat, and -blue broad-cloth coat, to which in winter was added a strong frieze -greatcoat, with a drab velvet collar, and a glazed hat. Ellish was also -respectably dressed, but still considerably under her circumstances. -Her mode of travelling to fairs or markets was either upon a common car, -covered with a feather-bed and quilt, or behind Peter upon a pillion. -This last method flattered Peter's vanity very much; no man could ride -on these occasions with a statelier air. He kept himself as erect and -stiff as a poker, and brandished the thong of his loaded whip with the -pride of a gentleman farmer. - -'Tis true, he did not always hear the sarcastic remarks which were -passed upon him by those who witnessed his good-natured vanity: - -"There he goes," some laboring man on the wayside would exclaim, "a -purse-proud _bodagh_ upon our hands. Why, thin, does he forget that we -remimber when he kept the shebeen-house, an' sould his smuggled to-baccy -in gits (* the smallest possible quantities) out of his pocket, for -fraid o' the gauger! Sowl, he'd show a blue nose, any way, only for the -wife--'Twas she made a man of him." - -"Faith, an' I for one, won't hear Pether Connell run down," his -companion would reply; "he's a good-hearted, honest man, an' obligin' -enough; an' for that matter so is the wife, a hard honest woman, that -made what they have, an' brought herself an' her husband from nothin' to -somethin'." - -"Thrue for you, Tim; in throth, they do desarve credit. Still, you see, -here's you an' me, an' we've both been slavin' ourselves as much as they -have, an' yet you see how we are! However, _its their luck_, and there's -no use in begrudgin' it to them." - -When their children were full-grown, the mother did not, as might have -been supposed, prevent them from making a respectable appearance. -With excellent judgment, she tempered their dress, circumstances, and -prospects so well together, that the family presented an admirable -display of economy, and a decent sense of independence. From the moment -they were able to furnish solid proofs of their ability to give a -comfortable dinner occasionally, the priest of the parish began to -notice them; and this new intimacy, warmed by the honor conferred on -one side, and by the good dinners on the other, ripened into a strong -friendship. For many a long year, neither Peter nor Ellish, God forgive -them, ever troubled themselves about going to their duty. They soon -became, however, persons of too much importance to be damned without -an effort made for their salvation. The worthy gentleman accordingly -addressed them on the subject, and as the matter was one of perfect -indifference to both, they had not the slightest hesitation to go to -confession--in compliment to the priest. We do not blame the priest for -this; God forbid that we should quarrel with a man for loving a good -dinner. If we ourselves were a priest, it is very probable,--nay, from -the zest with which we approach a good dinner, it is quite certain--that -we would have cultivated honest Peter's acquaintance, and drawn him -out to the practice of that most social of virtues--hospitality. The -salvation of such a man's soul was worth looking after; and, indeed, -we find a much warmer interest felt, in all churches, for those who are -able to give good dinners, than for those poor miserable sinners who can -scarcely get even a bad one. - -But besides this, there was another reason for the Rev. Mr. Mulcahy's -anxiety to cultivate a friendship with Peter and his wife--which -reason consisted in a very laudable determination to bring about a match -between his own niece, Miss Granua Mulcahy, and Peter's eldest son, Dan. -This speculation he had not yet broached to the family, except by broken -hints, and jocular allusions to the very flattering proposals that had -been made by many substantial young men for Miss Granua. - -In the mean time the wealth of the Connells had accumulated to -thousands; their business in the linen and woollen drapery line was -incredible. There was scarcely a gentleman within many miles of them, -who did not find it his interest to give them his custom. In the -hardware, flour, and baking concerns they were equally fortunate. The -report of their wealth had gone far and near, exaggerated, however, -as everything of the kind is certain to be; but still there were ample -grounds for estimating it at a very high amount. - -Their stores were large, and well filled with many a valuable bale; -their cellars well stocked with every description of spirits; and their -shop, though not large in proportion to their transactions, was well -filled, neat, and tastefully fitted up. There was no show, however--no -empty glare to catch the eye; on the contrary, the whole concern was -marked by an air of solid, warm comfort, that was much more indicative -of wealth and independence than tawdry embellishment would have been. - -"Avourneen," said Ellish, "the way to deck out your shop is to keep -the best of goods. Wanst the people knows that they'll get betther -money-worth here than they'll get anywhere else, they'll come here, -whether the shop looks well or ill. Not savin' but every shop ought to -be clane an' dacent, for there's rason in all things." - -This, indeed, was another secret of their success. Every article in -their shop was of the best description, having been selected by Ellish's -own eye and hand in the metropolis, or imported directly from the place -of its manufacture. Her periodical visits to Dublin gave her great -satisfaction; for it appears that those with whom she dealt, having -had sufficient discrimination to appreciate her talents and integrity, -treated her with marked respect. - -Peter's farm-yard bore much greater evidence of his wealth than did -Ellish's shop. It was certainly surprising to reflect, that by the -capacity of two illiterate persons, who began the world with nothing, -all the best and latest improvements in farming were either adopted or -anticipated. The farmyard was upon a great scale; for Peter cultivated -no less than four hundred acres of land--to such lengths had his -enterprise carried him. Threshing machines, large barns, corn kilns, -large stacks, extensive stables, and immense cow-houses, together with -the incessant din of active employment perpetually going on--all gave -a very high opinion of their great prosperity, and certainly reflected -honor upon those whose exertions had created such a scene about them. -One would naturally suppose, when the family of the Connells had arrived -to such unexpected riches, and found it necessary to conduct a system -whose machinery was so complicated and extensive that Ellish would have -fallen back to the simple details of business, from a deficiency of -that comprehensive intelligence which is requisite to conduct the higher -order of mercantile transactions; especially as her sons were admirably -qualified by practice, example, and education, to ease her of a task -which would appear one of too much difficulty for an unlettered farmer's -wife. Such a supposition would be injurious to this excellent woman. So -far from this being the case, she was still the moving spirit, the -chief conductor of the establishment. Whenever any difficulty arose -that required an effort of ingenuity and sagacity, she was able in the -homeliest words to disentangle it so happily, that those who heard her -wondered that it should at all have appeared to them as a difficulty. -She was everywhere. In Peter's farm-yard her advice was as excellent -and as useful as in her own shop. On his farms she was the better -agriculturist, and she frequently set him right in his plans and -speculations for the ensuing year. - -She herself was not ignorant of her skill. Many a time has she surveyed -the scene about her with an eye in which something like conscious pride -might be seen to kindle. On those occasions she usually shook her head, -and exclaimed, either in soliloquy, or by way of dialogue, to some -person near her:-- - -"Well, avourneen, all's very right, an' goin' an bravely; but I only -hope that when I'm gone I won't be missed!" - -"Missed," Peter would reply, if he happened to hear her; "oh, upon my -credit"--he was a man of too much consequence to swear "by this and -by that" now--"upon my credit, Ellish, if you die soon, you'll see the -genteel wife I'll have in your place." - -"Whisht, avourneen! Although you're but jokin', I don't like to hear it, -avillish! No, indeed; we wor too long together, Pether, and lived too -happily wid one another, for you to have the heart to think of sich a -thing!" - -"No, in troth, Ellish, I would be long sarry to do it. It's displasin' -to you, achree, an' I won't say it. God spare you to us! It was you put -the bone in us, an' that's what all the country says, big an' little, -young and ould; an' God He knows it's truth, and nothin' else." - -"Indeed, no, thin, Pether, it's not altogether thruth, you desarve your -full share of it. You backed me well, acushla, in everything, an' if you -had been a dhrinkin', idle, rollikin' vagabone, what 'ud signify all, -that me or the likes o' me could do." - -"Faith, an' it was you made me what I am, Ellish; you tuck the soft -side o' me, you beauty; an' it's well you did, for by this--hem, upon -my reputation, if you had gone to cross purposes with me you'd find -yourself in the wrong box. An', you phanix of beauty, you managed the -childhre, the crathurs, the same way--an' a good way it is, in throth." - -"Pether, wor you ever thinkin' o' Father Muloahy's sweetness to us of -late?" - -"No, thin, the sorra one o' me thought of it. Why, Ellish?" - -"Didn't you obsarve that for the last three or four months he's full of -attintions to us? Every Sunday he brings you up, an' me, if I'd go, to -the althar,--an' keeps you there by way of showin' you respect. Pether, -it's not you, but your money he respects; an' I think there ought to be -no respect o' persons in the chapel, any how. You're not a bit nearer -God by bein' near the althar; for how do we know but the poorest crathur -there is nearer to heaven than we are!" - -"Faith, sure enough, Ellish; but what deep skame are you penethratin' -now, you desaver?" - -"I'd lay my life, you'll have a proposial o' marriage from Father -Mulcahy, atween our Dan an' Miss Granua. For many a day he's hintin' to -us, from time to time, about the great offers she had; now what's the -rason, if she had these great offers, that he didn't take them?" - -"Bedad, Ellish, you're the greatest headpiece in all Europe. Murdher -alive, woman, what a fine counsellor you'd make. An' suppose he did -offer, Ellish, what 'ud you be sayin' to him?" - -"Why, that 'ud depind entirely upon what he's able to give her--they say -he has money. It 'ud depind, too, upon whether Dan has any likin' for -her or not." - -"He's often wid her, I know; an' I needn't tell you, Ellish, that afore -we wor spliced together, I was often wid somebody that I won't mintion. -At all evints, he has made Dan put the big O afore the Connell, so that -he has him now full namesake to the Counsellor; an', faith, that itself' -'ud get him a wife." - -"Well, the best way is to say nothin', an' to hear nothin', till his -Reverence spates out, an' thin we'll see what can be done." - -Ellish's sagacity had not misled her. In a few months afterwards Father -Mulcahy was asked by young Dan Connell to dine; and as he and holiest -Ellish were sitting together, in the course of the evening, the priest -broached the topic as follows:-- - -"Mrs. Connell, I think this whiskey is better than my four-year old, -that I bought at the auction the other day, although Dan says mine's -better. Between ourselves, that Dan is a clever, talented young fellow; -and if he happens upon a steady, sensible wife, there is no doubt but he -will die a respectable man. But, by the by, Mrs. Connell, you've never -tried my whiskey; and upon my credit, you must soon, for I know your -opinion would decide the question." - -"Is it worth while to decide it, your Reverence? I suppose the thruth -is, sir, that both is good enough for anyone; an' I think that's as much -as we want." - -Thus far she went, but never alluded to Dan, judiciously throwing the -onus of introducing that subject upon the priest. - -"Dan says mine's better," observed Father Mulcahy; "and I would -certainly give a great deal for his opinion upon that or any other -subject, except theology." - -"You ought," replied Ellish, "to be a bether judge of whiskey nor either -Dan nor me; an' I'll tell you why--you dhrink it in more places, and can -make comparishment one wid another; but Dan an' me is confined mostly to -our own, an' of that same we take very little, an' the less the betther -for people in business, or indeed for anybody." - -"Very true, Mrs. Connell! But for all that, I won't give up Dan's -judgment in anything within his own line of business, still excepting -theology, for which, he hasn't the learning." - -"He's a good son, without _tay_ology--as good as ever broke the world's -bread," said Peter, "glory be to God! Although, for that matther, he -ought to be as well acquainted wid _tay_ology as your Reverence, in -regard that he _sells_ more of it nor you do." - -"A good son, they say, Mrs. Connell, will make a good husband. I wonder -you don't think of settling him in life. It's full time." - -"Father, avourneen, we must lave that wid himself. I needn't be tellin' -you, that it 'ud be hard to find a girl able to bring what the girl that -'ud expect Dan ought to bring." - -This was a staggerer to the priest, who recruited his ingenuity by -drinking Peter's health, and Ellish's. - -"Have you nobody in your eye for him, Mrs. Connell?" - -"Faith, I'll engage she has," replied Peter, with a ludicrous -grin--"I'll venture for to say she has that." - -"Very right, Mrs. Connell; it's all fair. Might one ask who she is; for, -to tell you the truth, Dan is a favorite of mine, and must make it a -point to see him well settled." - -"Why, your Reverence," replied Peter again, "jist the one you -mintioned." - -"Who? I? Why I mentioned nobody." - -"An' that's the very one she has in her eye for him, plase your -Reverence--ha, ha, ha! What's the world widout a joke, Docthor? beggin' -your pardon for makin' so free wid you." - -"Peter, you're still a wag," replied the priest; "but, seriously, Mrs. -Connell, have you selected any female, of respectable connections, as a -likely person to be a wife for Dan?" - -"Indeed no, your Reverence, I have not. Where could I pitch upon a -girl--barrin' a Protestant, an' that 'ud never do--who has a fortune to -meet what Dan's to get?" - -The priest moved his chair a little, and drank their healths a second -time. - -"But you know, Mrs. Connell, that Dan needn't care so much about -fortune, if he got a girl of respectable connections. He has an -independence himself." - -"Thrue for you, father; but what right would any girl have to expect to -be supported by the hard arnin' of me an' my husband, widout bringin' -somethin' forrid herself? You know, sir, that the fortune always goes -wid the wife; but am I to fortune off my son to a girl that has nothin'? -If my son, plase your Reverence, hadn't a coat to his back, or a guinea -in his pocket--as, God be praised, he has both--but, supposin' he -hadn't, what right would he have to expect a girl wid a handsome fortune -to marry him? There's Paddy Neil your sarvint-boy; now, if Paddy, who's -an honest man's son, axed your niece, wouldn't you be apt to lose your -timper?" - -"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Connell, I think your fire's rather hot--allow -me to drawback a little. Mrs. Connell, your health again!--Mr. Connell, -your fireside!" - -"Thank you, Docthor; but faith I think you ought hardly to dhrink the -same fireside, becase it appears to be rather hot for your Reverence, at -the present time--ha, ha, ha! Jokin' still, Docthor, we must be. Well, -what harm! I wish we may never do worse!" - -"And what fortune would you expect with a girl of genteel connexion--a -girl that's accomplished, well say in music, plain work, and Irish, -vernacularly?--hem! What fortune would you be expecting with such a -girl?" - -"Why, Docthor, ahagur, the only music I'd wish for my son's wife is a -good timper; an' that's what their music-masthers can't tache thim. -The plain work, although I don't know what you mane by it, sounds well -enough; an' as to Irish, whick-whacku-larly, if you mane our own ould -tongue, he may get thousands that can spake it whackinly, an' nothin' -else." - -"You're a wealthy woman, certainly, Mrs. Connell, and what's more, I'm -not at all surprised at it. Your health, once more, and long life to -you! Suppose, however, that Dan got a fitting wife, what would you -expect as a proper portion? I have a reason for asking." - -"Dan, plase your Reverence, will get four thousand to begin the world -wid; an', as he's to expect none but a Catholic, I suppose if he gets -the fourth part of that, it's as much as he ought to look for." - -"A thousand pounds!--hut tut! The woman's beside herself. Why look about -you and try where you can find a Catholic girl with a thousand pounds -fortune, except in a gentleman's family, where Dan could never think of -going." - -"That's thrue, any how, your Reverence," observed Peter.--"A thousand -pounds! Ellish! you needn't look for it. Where is it to be had out of a -gintleman's family, as his Reverence says thrue enough." - -"An' now, Docthor," said Ellish, "what 'ud you think a girl ought to -bring a young man like Dan, that's to have four thousand pounds?" - -"I don't think any Catholic girl of his own rank in the county, could -get more than a couple of hundred." - -"That's one shillin' to every pound he has," replied Ellish, almost -instantaneously. "But, Father, you may as well spake out at wanst," she -continued, for she was too quick and direct in all her dealings to be -annoyed by circumlocution; "you're desairous of a match between Dan an' -Miss Granua?" - -"Exactly," said the priest; "and what is more, I believe they are fond -of each other. I know Dan is attached to her, for he told me so. -But, now that we have mentioned her, I say that there is not a more -accomplished girl of her persuasion in the parish we sit in. She can -play on the bagpipes better than any other piper in the province, for -I taught her myself; and I tell you that in a respectable man's wife -a knowledge of music is a desirable thing. It's hard to tell, Mrs. -Connell, how they may rise in the World, and get into fashionable -company, so that accomplishments, you persave, are good, she can make a -shirt and wash it, and she can write Irish. As for dancing, I only wish -you'd see her at a hornpipe. All these things put together, along with -her genteel connections, and the prospect of what I may be able to lave -her--I say your son may do worse." - -"It's not what you'd lave her, sir, but what you'd give her in the first -place, that I'd like to hear. Spake up, your Reverence, an' let us know -how far you will go." - -"I'm afeard, sir," said Peter, "if it goes to a clane bargain atween -yez, that Ellish will make you bid up for Dan. Be sharp; sir, or you'll -have no chance; faix, you won't." - -"But, Mrs. Connell;" replied the priest, "before I spake up, consider -her accomplishments. I'll undertake to say, that the best bred girl in -Dublin cannot perform music in such style, or on such an instrument as -the one she uses. Let us contemplate Dan and her after marriage, in an -elegant house, and full business, the dinner over, and they gone up to -the drawing-room. Think how agreeable and graceful it would be for Mrs. -Daniel O'Connell to repair to the sofa, among a few respectable friends, -and, taking up her bagpipes, set her elbow a-going, until the drone -gives two or three broken groans, and the chanter a squeak or two, like -a child in the cholic, or a cat that you had trampled on by accident. -Then comes the real ould Irish music, that warms the heart. Dan -looks upon her graceful position, until the tears of love, taste, and -admiration are coming down his cheeks. By and by, the toe of him moves: -here another foot is going; and, in no time, there is a hearty dance, -with a light heart and a good conscience. You or I, perhaps, drop in to -see them, and, of course, we partake of the enjoyment." - -"Divil a pleasanter," said Peter: "I tell you, I'd like it well; an', -for my own part, if the deludher here has no objection, I'm not goin' to -spoil sport." - -Ellish looked hard at the priest; her keen blue eye glittered with -a sparkling light, that gave decided proofs of her sagacity being -intensely excited. - -"All that you've said," she replied, "is very fine; but in regard o' -the bag-pipes, an' Miss Granua Mulcahy's squeezin' the music out o' -thim--why, if it plased God to bring my son to the staff an' bag--a -common beggar--indeed, in that case, Miss Granua's bagpipes might sarve -both o' thim, an' help, maybe, to get them a night's lodgin' or so; -but until that time comes, if you respect your niece, you'll burn her -bagpipes, dhrone, chanther, an' all. If you are for a match, which I -doubt, spake out, as I said, and say what fortune you'll pay down on -the nail wid her, otherwise we're losin' our time, an' that's a loss one -can't make up." - -The priest, who thought he could have bantered Ellish into an alliance, -without pledging himself to pay any specific fortune, found that it -was necessary for him to treat the matter seriously, if he expected to -succeed. He was certainly anxious for the match; and as he really -wished to see his niece--who, in truth, was an excellent girl, and -handsome--well settled, he resolved to make a stretch and secure Dan if -possible. - -"Mrs. Connell," said he, "I will be brief with you. The most I can give -her is three hundred pounds, and even that by struggling and borrowing: -I will undertake to pay it as you say--on the nail! for I am really -anxious that my niece should be connected with so worthy and industrious -a family. What do you say?" - -"I'm willin' enough," replied Peter. It's not asy to get that and a -Catholic girl." - -"There's some thruth in what you say, aroon, sure enough," observed -Ellish; "an' if his Reverence puts another hundhre to it, why, in -the name of goodness, let them go together. If you don't choose that, -Docthor, never breathe the subject to me agin. Dan's not an ould man -yit, an' has time enough to get wives in plenty." - -"Come," replied the priest, "there's my hand, it's a bargain; although -I must say there's no removing you from your point. I will give four -hundred, hook or crook; but I'll have sad scrambling to get it together. -Still I'll make it good." - -"Down on the nail?" inquired Ellish. - -"Ay! ay! Down on the nail," replied the priest. - -"Well, in the name o' Goodness, a bargain be it," said Peter; "but, upon -my credit, Ellish, I won't have the bag-pipes burnt, anyhow. Faith, I -must hear an odd tune, now an' thin, when I call to see the childhre." - -"Pether, acushla, have sinse. Would you wish to see your daughter-in-law -playin' upon the bag-pipes, when she ought to be mindin' her business, -or attendin' her childhre? No, your Reverence, the pipes must be laid -aside. I'll have no pipery connection for a son of mine." - -The priest consented to this, although Peter conceded it with great -reluctance. Further preliminaries were agreed upon, and the evening -passed pleasantly, until it became necessary for Mr. Mulcahy to bid them -good-night. - -When they were gone, Peter and Ellish talked over the matter between -themselves in the following dialogue: - -"The fortune's a small one," said Ellish to her husband; "an' I suppose -you wondher that I consinted to take so little." - -"Sure enough, I wondhered at it," replied Peter, "but, for my own -part, I'd give my son to her widout a penny o' fortune, in ordher to -be connected wid the priest; an' besides, she's a fine, handsome, good -girl--ay, an' his fill of a wife, if she had but the shift to her back." - -"Four hundhre wid a priest's niece, Pether, is before double the money -wid any other. Don't you know, that when they set up for themselves, -he can bring the custom of the whole parish to them? It's unknown the -number o' ways he can sarve them in. Sure, at stations an' weddins, -wakes, marriages, and funerals, they'll all be proud to let the priest -know that they purchased whatever they wanted from his niece an' her -husband. Betther!--faix, four hundhre from him is worth three times as -much from another." - -"Glory to you, Ellish!--bright an' cute for ever! Why, I'd back you for -a woman' that could buy an' sell Europe, aginst the world. Now, isn't it -odd that I never think of these long-headed skames?" - -"Ay do you, often enough, Pether; but you keep them to yourself, -abouchal." - -"Faith, I'm close, no doubt of it; an'--but there's no use in sayin' any -more about it--you said whatsomever came into my own head consarnin' it. -Faith, you did, you phanix." - -In a short time the marriage took place. - -Dan, under the advice of his mother, purchased a piece of ground most -advantageously located, as the site of a mill, whereon an excellent -one was built; and as a good mill had been long a desideratum in the -country, his success was far beyond his expectations. Every speculation, -in fact, which Ellish touched, prospered. Fortune seemed to take -delight, either in accomplishing or anticipating her wishes. At least, -such was the general opinion, although nothing could possibly be more -erroneous than to attribute her success to mere chance. The secret of -all might be ascribed to her good sense, and her exact knowledge of the -precise moment when to take the tide of fortune at its flow. Her son, -in addition to the mill, opened an extensive mercantile establishment in -the next town, where he had ample cause to bless the instructions of -his mother, and her foresight in calculating upon the advantage of being -married to the priest's niece. - -Soon after his marriage, the person who had for many years kept the -head inn of the next town died, and the establishment was advertised -for sale. Ellish was immediately in action. Here was an opportunity of -establishing the second son in a situation which had enabled the late -proprietor of it to die nearly the richest man in the parish. A few -days, therefore, before that specified for the sale, she took her -featherbed car, and had an interview with the executors of the late -proprietor. Her character was known, her judgment and integrity duly -estimated, and, perhaps, what was the weightiest argument in her favor, -her purse was forthcoming to complete the offer she had made. After some -private conversation between the executors, her proposal was accepted, -and before she returned home, the head inn, together with its fixtures -and furniture, was her property. - -The second son, who was called after his father, received the -intelligence with delight. One of his sisters was, at his mother's -suggestion, appointed to conduct the housekeeping department, and -keep the bar, a duty for which she was pretty well qualified by her -experience at home. - -"I will paint it in great style," said Peter the Younger. "It must be a -head Inn no longer; I'll call it a Hotel, for that's the whole fashion." - -"It wants little, avourneen," said his mother; "it was well kept--some -paintin' an other improvements it does want, but don't be extravagant. -Have it clane an' dacent, but, above all things, comfortable, an' -the attindance good. That's what'll carry you, an--not a flourish o' -paintin' outside, an' dirt, an' confusion, an' bad attindance widin. -Considher, Pether darlin', that the man who owned it last, feathered -his nest well in it, but never called it a Hotill. Let it appear on the -outside jist as your old customers used to see it; but improve it widin -as much as you can, widout bein' lavish an it, or takin' up the place -wid nonsense." - -"At all evints, I'll have a picture of the Liberator over the door, an' -O'Connell' written under it. It's both our names, and besides it will be -'killin' two birds with one stone.'" - -"No, avourneen. Let me advise you, if you wish to prosper in life, to -keep yourself out of party-work. It only stands betune you an' your -business; an' it's surely wiser for you to mind your own affairs than -the affairs of the nation. There's rason in everything. No man in trade -has a right, widout committin' a sin, to neglect his family for politics -or parties. There's Jack Cummins that was doin' well in his groceries -till he began to make speeches, an' get up public meetins, an' write -petitions, an' now he has nothin' to throuble him but politics, for his -business is gone. Every one has liberty to think as they plase. We can't -expect Protestants to think as we do, nor Protestants can't suppose that -we ought to think as they'd wish; an' for that same rason, we should -make allowance on both sides, an' not be like many we know, that have -their minds up, expectin' they don't know, what, instead of workin' for -themselves and their families as they ought to do. Pether, won't you -give that up, avillish?" - -"I believe you're right, mother. I didn't see it before in the light -you've placed it in." - -"Then, Pether darlin', lose no time in gettin' into your place--you an' -Alley; an' faix, if you don't both manage it cleverly, I'll never spake -to yez." - -Here was a second son settled, and nothing remained but to dispose -of their two daughters in marriage to the best and most advantageous -offers. This, in consequences of their large fortunes, was not a matter -of much difficulty. The eldest, Alley, who assisted her brother to -conduct the Inn, became the wife of an extensive grazier, who lived in -an adjoining county. The younger, Mary, was joined to Father Mulcahy's -nephew, not altogether to the satisfaction of the mother, who feared -that two establishments of the same kind, in the same parish, supported -by the same patronage, must thrive at the expense of each other. As it -was something of a love-match, however, she ultimately consented. - -"Avourneen," said she, "the parish is big enough, an' has customers -enough to support two o' them; an' I'll engage his Reverence will do -what he can for them both." - -In the meantime, neither she nor her husband was dependent upon their -children. Peter still kept the agricultural department in operation; -and although the shop and warehouse were transferred to Mr. Mulcahy, in -right of his wife, yet it was under the condition of paying a yearly sum -to Mrs. Connell and her husband, ostensibly as a provision, but really -as a spur to their exertions. A provision they could not want, for their -wealth still amounted to thousands, independently of the large annual -profits arising out of their farms. - -For some time after the marriage of her youngest daughter, Mrs. Connell -took a very active part in her son-in-law's affairs. He possessed -neither experience, nor any knowledge of business whatsoever, though he -was not deficient in education, nor in capacity to acquire both. -This pleased Mrs. Connell very much, who set herself to the task of -instructing him in the principles of commercial life, and in the best -methods of transacting business. - -"The first rules," said she to him, "for you to obsarve is these: tell -truth; be sober; be punctual; rise early; persavere; avoid extravagance; -keep your word; an watch your health. Next: don't be proud; give no -offince; talk sweetly; be ready to oblage, when you can do it widout -inconvanience, but don't put yourself or your business out o' your ways -to sarve anybody. - -"Thirdly: keep an appearance of substance an' comfort about your place, -but don't go beyant your manes in doin' it; when you make a bargain, -think what a corrocther them you dale wid bears, an' whether or not you -found them honest before, if you ever had business wid them. - -"When you buy a thing, appear to know your own mind, an' don't be -hummin' an' hawin', an' higglin', an' longin' as if your teeth wor -watherin' afther it; but be manly, downright, an' quick; they'll then -see that you know your business, an' they won't be keepin' off an' an, -but will close wid you at wanst. - -"Never drink at bargain makin'; an' never pay money in a public-house if -you can help it; if you must do it, go into an inn, or a house that you -know to be dacent. - -"Never stay out late in a fair or market; don't make a poor mouth; on -the other hand, don't boast of your wealth; keep no low company; don't -be rubbin' yourself against your betthers, but keep wid your aquils. -File your loose papers an' accounts, an' keep your books up to the day. -Never put off anything that can be done, when it ought to be done. Go -early to bed; but be the last up at night, and the first in the mornin', -and there's no fear o' you." - -Having now settled all her children in comfort and independence, with -each a prospect of rising still higher in the world, Mrs. Connell felt -that the principal duties devolving upon her had been discharged. It was -but reasonable, she thought, that, after the toil of a busy life, her -husband and herself should relax a little, and enjoy with lighter minds -the ease for which they had labored so long and unremittingly. - -"Do you know what I'm thinkin' of, Pether?" said she, one summer evening -in their farm-yard. - -"Know, is it?" replied Peter--"some long-headed plan that none of us 'ud -ever think of, but that will stare us in the face the moment you mintion -it. What is it, you ould sprig o' beauty?" - -"Why, to get a snug jauntin'-car, for you an' me. I'd like to see you -comfortable in your old days, Peter. You're gettin' stiff, ahagur, an' -will be good for nothin' by an' by." - -"Stiff! Arrah, by this an' by--my reputation, I'm younger nor e'er a one -o' my sons yet, you----eh?" said Peter, pausing-- - -"Faith, then I dunna that. Upon my credit, I think, on second thoughts, -that a car 'ud be a mighty comfortable thing for me. Faith, I do, an' -for you, too, Ellish." - -"The common car," she continued, "is slow and throublesome, an' joults -the life out o' me." - -"By my reputation, you're not the same woman since you began to use it, -that you wor before at all. Why, it'll shorten your life. The pillion's -dacent enough; but the jauntin'-car!--faix, it's what 'ud make a fresh -woman o' you--divil a lie in it." - -"You're not puttin' in a word for yourself now, Pether?" - -"To be sure I am, an' for both of us. I'd surely be proud to see -yourself an' myself sittin' in our glory upon our own jauntin'-car. Sure -we can afford it, an' ought to have it, too. Bud-an'-ager! what's the -rason I didn't, think of it long ago?" - -"Maybe you did, acushla; but you forgot, it. Wasn't that the way wid -you, Pether? Tell the thruth." - -"Why, thin, bad luck to the lie in it, since you must know. About this -time twelve months--no, faix, I'm wrong, it was afore Dan's marriage--I -had thoughts o' spakin' ta you about it, but somehow it left my head. -Upon my word, I'm in airnest, Ellish." - -"Well, avick, make your mind asy; I'll have one from Dublin in less nor -a fortnight. I can thin go about of an odd time, an' see how Dan an' -Pether's comin' an. It'll be a pleasure to me to advise an' direct them, -sure, as far an' as well as I can. I only hope? God will enable thim to -do as much for their childher, as he enabled us to do for them, glory be -to his name!" - -Peter's eye rested upon her as she spoke--a slight shade passed over -his face, but it was the symptom of deep feeling and affection, whose -current had run smooth and unbroken during the whole life they had spent -together. - -"Ellish," said he, in a tone of voice that strongly expressed what -he felt, "you wor one o' the best wives that ever the Almighty gev to -mortual man. You wor, avourneen---you wor, you wor!" - -"I intind, too, to begin an' make my sowl, a little," she continued; "we -had so much to do, Pether, aroon, that, indeed, we hadn't time to think -of it all along; but now, that everything else is settled, we ought to -think about that, an' make the most of our time--while we can." - -"Upon my conscience, I've strong notions myself o' the same thing," -replied Peter. "An' I'll back you in that, as well as in every thing -else. Never fear, if we pull together, but we'll bring up the lost time. -Faith, we will! Sowl, if you set about it, let me see them that 'ud -prevint you goin' to heaven!" - -"Did Paddy Donovan get the bay filly's foot aised, Pether?" - -"He's gone down wid her to the forge: the poor crathur was very lame -to-day." - -"That's right; an' let Andy Murtagh bring down the sacks from Drumdough -early to-morrow. That what ought to go to the market on Thursday, an' -the other stacks ought to be thrashed out of hand." - -"Well, well; so it will be all done. Tare alive! if myself knows how -you're able to keep an eye on everything. Come in, an' let us have our -tay." - -For a few months after this, Ellish was perfectly in her element. The -jaunting-car was procured; and her spirits seemed to be quite elevated. -She paid regular visits to both her sons, looked closely into their -manner of conducting business, examined their premises, and subjected -every fixture and improvement made or introduced without her sanction, -to the most rigorous scrutiny. In fact, what, between Peter's farm, her -daughter's shop, and the establishments of her sons, she never found -herself more completely encumbered with business. She had intended "to -make her soul," but her time was so fully absorbed by the affairs of -those in whom she felt so strong an interest, that she really forgot the -spiritual resolution in the warmth of her secular pursuits. - -One evening, about this time, a horse belonging to Peter happened to -fall into a ditch, from which he was extricated with much difficulty -by the laborers. Ellish, who thought it necessary to attend, had been -standing for some time directing them how to proceed; her dress was -rather thin, and the hour, which was about twilight, chilly, for it was -the middle of autumn. Upon returning home she found herself cold, and -inclined to shiver. At first she thought but little of these symptoms; -for having never had a single day's sickness, she was scarcely competent -to know that they were frequently the forerunners of very dangerous and -fatal maladies. She complained, however, of slight illness, and went -to bed without taking anything calculated to check what she felt. Her -sufferings during the night were dreadful: high fever had set in with a -fury that threatened to sweep the powers of life like a wreck before -it. The next morning the family, on looking into her state more closely, -found it necessary to send instantly for a physician. - -On arriving, he pronounced her to be in a dangerous pleurisy, from -which, in consequence of her plethoric habit, he expressed but faint -hopes of her recovery. This was melancholy intelligence to her sons and -daughters: but to Peter, whose faithful wife she had been for thirty -years, it was a dreadful communication indeed. - -"No hopes, Docthor!" he exclaimed, with a bewildered air: "did you say -no hopes, sir?--Oh! no, you didn't--you couldn't say that there's no -hopes!" - -"The hopes of her recovery, Mr. Connell, are but slender,--if any." - -"Docthor, I'm a rich man, thanks be to God an' to----" he hesitated, -cast back a rapid and troubled look towards the bed whereon she lay, -then proceeded--"no matther, I'm a rich man: but if you can spare her to -me, I'll divide what I'm worth in the world wid you: I will, sir; an' if -that won't do, I'll give up my last shillin' to save her, an' thin I'd -beg my bit an' sup through the counthry, only let me have her wid me." - -"As far as my skill goes," said the doctor, "I shall, of course, exert -it to save her; but there are some diseases which we are almost always -able to pronounce fatal at first sight. This, I fear, is one of them. -Still I do not bid you despair--there is, I trust, a shadow of hope." - -"The blessin' o' the Almighty be upon you, sir, for that word! The best -blessing of the heavenly Father rest upon you an' yours for it!" - -"I shall return in the course of the day," continued the physician; "and -as you feel the dread of her loss so powerfully, I will bring two other -medical gentlemen of skill with me." - -"Heavens reward you for that, sir! The heavens above reward you an' them -for it! Payment!--och, that signifies but little: but you and them 'll -be well paid. Oh, Docthor, achora, thry an' save her!--Och, thry an' -save her!" - -"Keep her easy," replied the doctor, "and let my directions be -faithfully followed. In the meantime, Mr. Connell, be a man and display -proper fortitude under a dispensation which is common to all men in your -state." - -To talk of resignation to Peter was an abuse of words. The poor man -had no more perception of the consolation arising from a knowledge of -religion than a child. His heart sank within him, for the prop on which -his affections had rested was suddenly struck down from under them. - -Poor Ellish was in a dreadful state. Her malady seized her in the very -midst of her worldly-mindedness; and the current of her usual thoughts, -when stopped by the aberrations of intellect peculiar to her illness, -bubbled up, during the temporary returns of reason, with a stronger -relish of the world. It was utterly impossible for a woman like her, -whose habits of thought and the tendency of whose affections had been -all directed towards the acquisition of wealth, to wrench them for ever -and at once from the objects on which they were fixed. This, at any -time, would have been to her a difficult victory to achieve; but now, -when stunned by the stroke of disease, and confused by the pangs of -severe suffering, tortured by a feverish pulse and a burning brain, to -expect that she could experience the calm hopes of religion, or feel the -soothing power of Christian sorrow, was utter folly. 'Tis true, her life -had been a harmless one: her example, as an industrious and enterprising -member of society, was worthy of imitation. She was an excellent mother, -a good neighbor, and an admirable wife; but the duties arising out of -these different relations of life, were all made subservient to, and -mixed up with, her great principle of advancing herself in the world, -whilst that which is to come never engaged one moment's serious -consideration. - -When Father Mulcahy came to administer the rites of the church to -Ellish, he found her in a state of incoherency. Occasional gleams of -reason broke out through the cloud that obscured her intellect, but they -carried with them the marks of a mind knit indissolubly to wealth and -aggrandizement. The same tenor of thought, and the same broken fragments -of ambitious speculation, floated in rapid confusion through the -tempests of delirium which swept with awful darkness over her spirit. - -"Mrs. Connell," said he, "can you collect yourself? Strive to compose -your mind, so far as to be able to receive the aids of religion." - -"Oh, oh!--my blood's boilin'! Is that--is that Father Mulcahy?" - -"It is, dear: strive now to keep your mind calm, till you prepare -yourself for judgment." - -"Keep up his head, Paddy--keep up his head, or he'll be smothered undher -the wather an' the sludge. Here, Mike, take this rope: pull, man,--pull, -or the horse will be lost! Oh, my head!--I'm boilin'--I'm burnin'!" - -"Mrs. Connell, let me entreat you to remember that you are on the -point of death, and should raise your heart to God, for the pardon and -remission of your sins." - -"Oh! Father dear, I neglected that, but I intinded--I intinded--Where's -Pether!--bring, bring--Pether to me!" - -"Turn your thoughts to God, now, my dear. Are you clear enough in your -mind for confession?" - -"I am, Father! I am, avourneen. Come, come here, Pether! Pether, I'm -goin' to lave you, asthore machree! I could part wid them all but--but -you." - -"Mrs. Connell, for Heaven's sake."--. - -"Is this--is this--Father Mulcahy? Oh! I'm ill--ill!"-- - -"It is, dear; it is. Compose yourself and confess your sins." - -"Where's Mary? She'll neglect--neglect to lay in a stock o' linen, -although I--I--Oh, Father, avourneen! won't you pity me! I'm sick--oh, -I'm very sick!" - -"You are, dear--you are, God help you, very sick, but you'll be better -soon. Could you confess, dear?--do you think you could?" - -"Oh, this pain--this pain!--it's killin' me!--Pether--Pether, _a -suillish, machree_, (* The light of my heart) have, have you des--have -you desarted me." - -The priest, conjecturing that if Peter made his appearance she might -feel soothed, and perhaps sufficiently composed to confess, called him -in from the next room. - -"Here's Peter," said the priest, presenting him to her view--"Here's -Peter, dear." - -"Oh! what a load is on me! this pain--this pain is killin' me--won't you -bring me, Pether? Oh, what will I do? Who's there?" - -The mental pangs of poor Peter were, perhaps, equal in intensity to -those which she suffered physically. - -"Ellish," said he, in smothered sobs--"Ellish, acushla machree, sure I'm -wid you here; here I'm sittin' on the bed wid you, achora machree." - -"Catch my hand, thin. Ah, Pether! won't you pity your Ellish?--Won't you -pity me--won't you pity me? Oh! this pain--this pain--is killin' me!" - -"It is, it is, my heart's delight--it's killin' us both. Oh, Ellish, -Ellish! I wish I was dead sooner nor see you in this agony. I ever loved -you!--I ever an' always loved you, avourneen dheelish; but now I would -give my heart's best blood, if it'ud save you. Here's Father Mulcahy -come." - -"About the mon--about the money--Pether--what do you intind----Oh! my -blood--my blood's a-fire!--Mother o'Heaven!--Oh! this pain is--is takin' -me from all--faix!--Rise me up!" - -"Here, my darlin'--treasure o' my heart here--I'm puttin' your head -upon my breast--upon my breast, Ellish, ahagur. Marciful Virgin--Father -dear," said Peter, bursting into bitter tears--"her head's like fire! O! -Ellish, Ellish, Ellish!--but my heart's brakin' to feel this! Have -marcy on her, sweet God--have marcy on her! Bear witness, Father of -heaven--bear witness, an' hear the vow of a brakin' heart. I here -solemnly promise before God, to make, if I'm spared life an' health to -do it, a Station on my bare feet to Lough Derg, if it plases you, sweet -Father o' pity, to spare her to me this day! Oh! but the hand o' God, -Father dear, is terrible!--feel her brow!--Oh! but it's terrible!" - -"It is terrible," said the priest; "and terribly is it laid upon her, -poor woman! Peter, do not let this scene be lost. Remember it." - -"Oh, Father dear, can I ever forget it?--can I ever forget seein' my -darlin' in sich agony?" - -"Pether," said the sick woman, "will you get the car ready for -to-mor--to-morrow--till I look at that piece o' land that Dan bought, -before he--he closes the bargain?" - -"Father, jewel!" said Pether, "can't you get the world banished out of -her heart? Oh, I'd give all I'm worth to see that heart fixed upon God! -I could bear to part wid her, for she must die some time; but to go -wid this world's thoughts an' timptations ragin' strong in her -heart--mockin' God, an' hope, an' religion, an' everything:--oh!--that -I can't bear! Sweet Jasus, change her heart!--Queen o' Heaven, have pity -on her, an' save her!" - -The husband wept with great sorrow as he uttered these words. - -"Neither reasoning nor admonition can avail her," replied the priest; -"she is so incoherent that no train of thought is continued for a single -minute in her mind. I will, however, address her again. Mrs. Connell, -will you make a straggle to pay attention to me for a few minutes? Are -you not afraid to meet God? You are about to die!--prepare yourself for -judgment." - -"Oh, Father dear! I can't--I can't--I am af--afraid--Hooh!--hooh!--God! -You must do some thin'for--for me! I never done anything for myself." - -"Glory be to God! that she has that much sinse, any way," exclaimed her -husband. "Father, ahagur, I trust my vow was heard." - -"Well, my dear--listen to me," continued the priest--"can you not make -the best confession possible? Could you calm yourself for it?" - -"Pether, avick machree--Pether,"-- - -"Ellish, avourneen, I'm here!--my darlin', I am your vick machree, an' -ever was. Oh, Father! my heart's brakin'! I can't bear to part wid her. -Father of heaven, pity us this day of throuble?" - -"Be near me, Pether; stay wid me--I'm very lonely. Is this you keepin' -my head up?" - -"It is, it is! I'll never lave you till--till"-- - -"Is the carman come from Dublin wid--wid the broadcloth?" - -"Father of heaven! she's gone back again!" exclaimed the husband. - -"Father, jewel! have you no prayers that you'd read for her? You wor -ordained for these things, an' comin' from you, they'll have more -stringth. Can you do nothin' to save my darlin'?" - -"My prayers will not be wanting," said the priest: "but I am watching -for an interval of sufficient calmness to hear her confession; and I -very much fear that she will pass in darkness. At all events, I will -anoint her by and by. In the meantime, we must persevere a little -longer; she may become easier, for it often happens that reason gets -clear immediately before death." - -Peter sobbed aloud, and wiped away the tears that streamed from -his cheeks. At this moment her daughter and son-in-law stole in, to -ascertain how she was, and whether the rites of the church had in any -degree soothed or composed her. - -"Come in, Denis," said the priest to his nephew, "you may both come in. -Mrs. Mulcahy, speak to your mother: let us try every remedy that might -possibly bring her to a sense of her awful state." - -"Is she raving still?" inquired the daughter, whose eyes were red with -weeping. - -The priest shook his head; "Ah, she is--she is! and I fear she will -scarcely recover her reason before the judgment of heaven opens upon -her!" - -"Oh thin may the Mother of Glory forbid that!" exclaimed her -daughter--"anything at all but that! Can you do nothin' for her, uncle?" - -"I'm doing all I can for her, Mary," replied the priest; "I'm watching a -calm moment to get her confession, if possible." - -The sick woman had fallen into a momentary silence, during which, she -caught the bed-clothes like a child, and felt them, and seemed to handle -their texture, but with such an air of vacancy as clearly manifested -that no corresponding association existed in her mind. - -The action was immediately understood by all present. Her daughter again -burst into tears; and Peter, now almost choked with grief, pressing the -sick woman to his heart, kissed her burning lips. - -"Father, jewel," said the daughter, "there it is, and I feard it--the -sign, uncle--the sign!--don't you see her gropin' the clothes? Oh, -mother, darlin', darlin'!--are we going to lose you for ever?" - -"Oh! Ellish, Ellish--won't you spake one word to me afore you go? Won't -you take one farewell of me--of me, aroon asthore, before you depart -from us for ever!" exclaimed her husband. - -"Feeling the bed-clothes," said the priest, "is not always a, sign of -death; I have known many to recover after it. - -"Husht," said Peter--"husht!--Mary--Mary! Come hear--hould your tongues! -Oh, it's past--it's past!--it's all past, an' gone--all hope's over! -Heavenly fither!" - -The daughter, after listening for a moment, in a paroxysm of wild grief, -clasped her mother's recumbent body in her arms, and kissed hen lips -with a vehemence almost frantic. "You won't go, my darlin'--is it from -your own Mary that you'd go? Mary, that you loved best of all your -childhre!--Mary that you always said, an' every body said, was your own -image! Oh, you won't go without one word, to say you know her!" - -"For Heaven's sake," said Father Mulcahy, "what do you mean?--are you -mad?" - -"Oh! uncle dear! don't you hear?--don't you hear?--listen an' sure you -will--all hope's gone now--gone--gone! The dead rattle!--listen!--the -dead rattle's in her throat!"-- - -The priest bent his ear a moment, and distinctly heard the gurgling -noise produced by the phlegm, which is termed with wild poetical -accuracy, by the peasantry--the "dead rattle," or "death rattle," -because it is the immediate and certain forerunner of death. - -"True," said the priest--"too true; the last shadow of hope is gone. We -must now make as much of the time as possible. Leave the room for a few -minutes till I anoint her, I will then call you in." - -They accordingly withdrew, but in about fifteen or twenty minutes he -once more summoned them to the bed of the dying woman. - -"Come in," said he, "I have anointed her--come in, and kneel down till -we offer up a Rosary to the Blessed Virgin, under the hope that she may -intercede with God for her, and cause her to pass out of life happily. -She was calling for you, Peter, in your absence; you had better stay -with her." - -"I will," said Peter, in a broken voice; "I'll stay nowhere else." - -"An'I'll kneel at the bed-side," said the daughter. "She was the kind -mother to me, and to us all; but to me in particular. 'Twas with me she -took her choice to live, when they war all striving for her. Oh," said -she, taking her mother's hand between hers, and kneeling-down to kiss -it, "a Vahr dheelish! (* sweet mother) did we ever think to see you -departing from us this way! snapped away without a minute's warning! If -it was a long-sickness, that you'd be calm and sinsible in, but to be -hurried away into eternity, and your mind dark! Oh, Vhar dheelish, my -heart is broke to see you this way!" - -"Be calm," said the priest; "be quiet till I open the Rosary." - -He then offered up the usual prayers which precede its repetition, -and after having concluded them, commenced what is properly called the -Rosary itself, which consists of fifteen Decades, each Decade containing -the Hail Mary repeated ten times, and the Lord's Prayer once. In this -manner the Decade goes round from one to another, until, as we have said -above, it is repeated fifteen times; or, in all, the Ave Maria's one -hundred and sixty-five times, without variation. From the indistinct -utterance, elevated voice, and rapid manner in which it is pronounced, -it certainly has a wild effect, and is more strongly impressed with -the character of a mystic rite, or incantation, than with any other -religious ceremony with which we could compare it. - -"When the priest had repeated the first part, he paused for the -response: neither the husband nor daughter, however, could find -utterance. - -"Denis," said he, to his nephew, "do you take up the next." - -His nephew complied; and with much difficulty Peter and his daughter -were able to join in it, repeating here and there a word or two, as well -as their grief and sobbings would permit them. - -The heart must indeed have been an unfeeling one, to which a scene like -this would not have been deeply touching and impressive. The poor dying -woman reclined with her head upon her husband's bosom; the daughter -knelt at the bed-side, with her mother's hand pressed against her lips, -she herself convulsed with sorrow--the priest was in the attitude of -earnest supplication, having the stole about his neck, his face and arms -raised towards heaven--the son-in-law was bent over a chair, with his -face buried in his hands. Nothing could exceed the deep, the powerful -expression of entreaty, which marked every tone and motion of the -parties, especially those of the husband and daughter. They poured an -energy into the few words which they found voice to utter, and displayed -such a concentration of the faculties of the soul in their wild -unregulated attitudes, and streaming, upturned eyes, as would seem to -imply that their own salvation depended upon that of the beloved object -before them. Their words, too, were accompanied by such expressive -tokens of their attachment to her, that the character of prayer was -heightened by the force of the affection which they bore her. When -Peter, for instance, could command himself to utter a word, he pressed -his dying wife to his bosom, and raised his eyes to heaven in a manner -that would have melted any human heart; and the daughter, on joining -occasionally in the response, pressed her mother's hand to her heart, -and kissed it with her lips, conscious that the awful state of her -parent had rendered more necessary the performance of the two tenderest -duties connected with a child's obedience--prayer and affection. - -When the son-in-law had finished his Decade, a pause followed, for there -was none now to proceed but her husband, or her daughter. - -"Mary, dear," said the priest, "be a woman; don't let your love for -your mother prevent you from performing a higher duty. Go on with the -prayer--you see she is passing fast." - -"I'll try, uncle," she replied--"I'll try; but--but--it's hard, hard, -upon me." - -She commenced, and by an uncommon effort so far subdued her grief, as -to render her words intelligible. Her eyes, streaming with tears, were -fixed with a mixture of wildness, sorrow, and devotedness, upon the -countenance of her mother, until she had completed her Decade. - -Another pause ensued. It was now necessary, according to the order -and form of the Prayer, that Peter should commence and offer up his -supplications for the happy passage from life to eternity of her who -had been his inward idol during a long period. Peter knew nothing about -sentiment, or the philosophy of sorrow; but he loved his wife with the -undivided power of a heart in which nature had implanted her strongest -affections. He knew, too, that his wife had loved him with a strength of -heart equal to his own. He loved her, and she deserved his love. - -The pause, when the prayer had gone round to him, was long; those who -were present at length turned their eyes towards him, and the priest, -now deeply affected, cleared his voice, and simply said, "Peter," to -remind him that it was his duty to proceed with the Rosary. - -Peter, however, instead of uttering the prayer, burst out into a tide -of irrepressible sorrow.--"Oh!" said he, enfolding her in his arms, and -pressing his lips to hers: "Ellish, ahagur machree! sure when I think of -all the goodness, an' kindness, an' tendherness that you showed me--whin -I think of your smiles upon me, whin you wanted me to do the right, an' -the innocent plans you made out, to benefit me an' mine!--Oh! where -was your harsh word, avillish?--where was your could brow, or your -bad tongue? Nothin' but goodness--nothin' but kindness, an' love, an' -wisdom, ever flowed from these lips! An' now, darlin', pulse o' my -broken heart! these same lips can't spake to me--these eyes don't know -me--these hands don't feel me--nor your ears doesn't hear me!" - -"Is--is--it you?" replied his wife feebly--"is it--you?--come--come near -me--my heart--my heart says it misses you--come near me!" - -Peter again pressed her in an embrace, and, in doing so, unconsciously -received the parting breath of a wife whose prudence and affection had -saved him from poverty, and, probably, from folly or crime. - -The priest, on turning round to rebuke Peter for not proceeding with the -prayer, was the first who discovered that she had died; for the grief of -her husband was too violent to permit him to notice anything with much -accuracy. - -"Peter," said he, "I beg your pardon; let me take the trouble of -supporting her for a few minutes, after which I must talk to you -seriously--very seriously." - -The firm, authoritative tone in which the priest spoke, together with -Peter's consciousness that he had acted wrongly by neglecting to join in -the Rosary, induced him to retire from the bed with a rebuked air. The -priest immediately laid back the head' of Mrs. Connell on the pillow, -and composed the features of her lifeless face with his own hands. Until -this moment none of them, except himself, knew that she was dead. - -"Now," continued he, "all her cares, and hopes, and speculations, -touching this world, are over--so is her pain; her blood will soon -be cold enough, and her head will ache no more. She is dead. Grief is -therefore natural; but let it be the grief of a man, Peter. Indeed, -it is less painful to look upon her now, than when she suffered such -excessive agony. Mrs. Mulcahy, hear me! Oh, it's in vain! Well, well, it -is but natural; for it was an unexpected and a painful death!" - -The cries of her husband and daughter soon gave intimation to her -servants that her pangs were over. From the servants it immediately went -to the neighbors, and thus did the circle widen until it reached the -furthest ends of the parish. In a short time, also, the mournful sounds -of the church-bell, in slow and measured strokes, gave additional notice -that a Christian soul had passed into eternity. - -It is in such scenes as these that the Roman Catholic clergy knit -themselves so strongly into the affections of the people. All men are -naturally disposed to feel the offices of kindness and friendship more -deeply, when tendered at the bed of death or of sickness, than under -any other circumstances. Both the sick-bed and the house of death are -necessarily the sphere of a priest's duty, and to render them that -justice which we will ever render, when and wheresoever it may be due, -we freely grant that many shining, nay, noble instances of Christian -virtue are displayed by them on such occasions. - -When the violence of grief produced by Ellish's death had subsided, the -priest, after giving them suitable exhortations to bear the affliction -which had just befallen them with patience, told Peter, that as God, -through the great industry and persevering exertions of her who had then -departed to another world, had blessed him abundantly with wealth and -substance, it was, considering the little time which had been allowed -her to repent in a satisfactory manner for her transgressions, his -bounden and solemn duty to set aside a suitable portion of that wealth -for the delivery of her soul from purgatory, where, he trusted, in the -mercy of God, it was permitted to remain. - -"Indeed, your Reverence," replied Peter, "it wasn't necessary to mintion -it, considherin' the way she was cut off from among us, widout even time -to confess." - -"But blessed be God," said the daughter, "she received the ointment at -any rate, and that of itself would get her to purgatory." - -"And I can answer for her," said Peter, "that she intended, as soon -as she'd get everything properly settled for the childhre, to make her -sowl." - -"Ah! good intentions," said the priest, "won't do. I, however, have -forewarned you of your duty, and must now leave the guilt or the merit -of relieving her departed spirit, upon you and the other members of her -family, who are all bound to leave nothing undone that may bring her -from pain and fire, to peace and happiness." - -"Och! och! asthore, asthore! you're lyin' there--an', oh, Ellish, -avourneen, could you think that I--I--would spare money--trash--to bring -you to glory wid the angels o' heaven! No, no, Father dear. It's good, -an' kind, an' thoughtful of you to put it into my head; but I didn't -intind to neglect or forget it. Oh, how will I live wantin' her, -Father? When I rise in the mornin', avillish, where 'ud be your smile -and your voice? We won't hear your step, nor see you as we used to do, -movin' pleasantly about the place. No--you're gone, avoumeen--gone--an' -we'll see you and hear you no more!" - -His grief was once more about to burst forth, but the priest led him out -of the room, kindly chid him for the weakness of his immoderate sorrow, -and after making arrangements about the celebration of mass for the -dead, pressed his hand, and bade the family farewell. - -The death of Ellish excited considerable surprise, and much conversation -in the neighborhood. Every point of her character was discussed freely, -and the comparisons instituted between her and Peter were anything but -flattering to the intellect of her husband. - -"An' so Ellish is whipped off, Larry," said a neighbor to one of Peter's -laboring men, "Faix, an' the best feather in their wing is gone." - -"Ay, sure enough, Risthard, you may say that. It was her cleverness made -them what they are. She was the best manager in the three kingdoms." - -"Ah, she was the woman could make a bargain. I only hope she hasn't -brought the luck o' the family away wid her!" - -"Why, man alive, she made the sons and daughters as clever as -herself--put them up to everything. Indeed, it's quare to think of how -that one woman brought them ris them to what they are!" - -"They shouldn't forget themselves as they're doin', thin; for betune -you an' me, they're as proud as Turks, an' God he sees it ill becomes -them--sits very badly on them, itself, when everything knows that their -father an' mother begun the world wid a bottle of private whiskey an' -half a pound of smuggled tobaccy." - -"Poor Pether will break his heart, any way. Oh, man, but she was the -good wife. I'm livin' wid them going an seven year, an' never hard a -cross word from the one to the other. It's she that had the sweet tongue -all out, an' did manage him; but, afther all, he was worth the full o' -the Royal George of her. Many a time, when some poor craythur 'ud come -to ax whiskey on score to put over* some o' their friends, or for a -weddin', or a christenin', maybe, an' when the wife 'ud refuse it, -Pether 'ud send what whiskey they wanted afther them, widout lettin' her -know anything about it. An', indeed, he never lost anything by that; for -if they wor to sell their cow, he should be ped, in regard of the kindly -way he gave it to them." - - * To put over--the corpse of a friend, to be drunk at - the wake and funeral. - -"Well, we'll see how they'll manage now that she's gone; but Pether an' -the youngest daughter, Mary, is to be pitied." - -"The sarra much; barrin' that they'll miss her at first from about the -place. You see she has left them above the world, an' full of it. -Wealth and substance enough may they thank her for; and that's very good -comfort for sorrow, Risthard." - -"Faith, sure enough, Larry. There's no lie in that, any way!" - -"Awouh! Lie! I have you about it." - -Such was the view which had been taken of their respective characters -through life. Yet, notwithstanding that the hearts of their -acquaintances never warmed to her--to use a significant expression -current among the peasantry--as they did to Peter, still she was -respected almost involuntarily for the indefatigable perseverance with -which she pushed forward her own interests through life. Her funeral was -accordingly a large one; and the conversation which took place at it, -turning, as it necessarily did, upon her extraordinary talents and -industry, was highly to the credit of her memory and virtues. Indeed, -the attendance of many respectable persons of all creeds and opinions, -gave ample proof that the qualities she possessed had secured for her -general respect and admiration. - -Poor Peter, who was an object of great compassion, felt himself -completely crushed by the death of his faithful partner. The reader -knows that he had hitherto been a sober, and, owing to Ellish's prudent -control, an industrious man. To thought or reflection he was not, -however, accustomed; he had, besides, never received any education; if -his morals were correct, it was because a life of active employment had -kept him engaged in pursuits which repressed immorality, and separated -him from those whose society and influence might have been prejudicial -to him. He had scarcely known calamity, and when it occurred he was -prepared for it neither by experience nor a correct view of moral duty. -On the morning of his wife's funeral, such was his utter prostration -both of mind and body, that even his own sons, in order to resist the -singular state of collapse into which he had sunk, urged him to take -some spirits. He was completely passive in their hands, and complied. -This had the desired effect, and he found himself able to attend the -funeral. When the friends of Ellish assembled, after the interment, as -is usual, to drink and talk together, Peter, who could scarcely join -in the conversation, swallowed glass after glass of punch with great -rapidity. In the mean time, the talk became louder and more animated; -the punch, of course, began to work, and as they sat long, it was -curious to observe the singular blending of mirth and sorrow, singing -and weeping, laughter and tears, which characterized this remarkable -scene. Peter, after about two hours' hard drinking, was not an exception -to the influence of this trait of national manners. His heart having -been deeply agitated, was the more easily brought under the effects of -contending emotions. He was naturally mirthful, and when intoxication -had stimulated the current of his wonted humor, the influence of this -and his recent sorrow produced such an anomalous commixture of fun and -grief as could seldom, out of Ireland, be found checkering the mind of -one individual. - -It was in the midst of this extraordinary din that his voice was heard -commanding silence in its loudest and best-humored key: - -"Hould yer tongues," said he; "bad win to yees, don't you hear me -wantin' to sing! Whist wid yees. Hem--och--'Eise up'--Why, thin, Phil -Callaghan, you might thrate me wid more dacency, if you had gumption in -you; I'm sure no one has a betther right to sing first in this company -nor myself; an' what's more, I will sing first. Hould your tongues! -Hem!" - -He accordingly commenced a popular song, the air of which, though -simple, was touchingly mournful. - - "Och, rise up, Willy Reilly, an' come wid me, - I'm goin' for to go wid you, and lave this counteree; - I'm goin' to lave my father, his castles and freelands-- - An' away what Willy Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn. - - "Och, they wint o'er hills an' mountains, and valleys that was - fair, - An' fled before her father as you may shortly hear; - Her father followed afther wid a well-chosen armed band, - Och, an' taken was poor Reilly, an' his own Colleen Bawn." - -The simple pathos of the tune, the affection implied by the words, and -probably the misfortune of Willy Reilly, all overcame him, He finished -the second verse with difficulty, and on attempting to commence a third -he burst into tears. - -"Colleen bawn! (fair, or fair-haired girl)--Colleen bawn!" he exclaimed; -"she's lyin' low that was my colleen bawn! Oh, will ye hould your -tongues, an' let me think of what has happened me? She's gone: Mary, -avourneen, isn't she gone from us? I'm alone, an' I'll be always lonely. -Who have I now to comfort me? I know I have good childhre, neighbors; -but none o' them, all of them, if they wor ten times as many, isn't -aqual to her that's in the grave. Her hands won't be about me--there was -tindherness in their very touch. An', of a Sunday mornin', how she'd tie -an my handkerchy, for I never could rightly tie it an myself, the knot -was ever an' always too many for me; but, och, och, she'd tie it an so -snug an' purty wid her own hands, that I didn't look the same man! The -same song was her favorite, Here's your healths; an' sure it's the first -time ever we wor together that she wasn't wid us: but now, avillish, -your voice is gone--you're silent and lonely in the grave; an' why -shouldn't I be sarry for the wife o' my heart that never angered me? -Why shouldn't I? Ay, Mary, asthore, machree, good right you have to cry -afther her; she was the kind mother to you; her heart was fixed in you; -there's her fatures on your face; her very eyes, an' fair hair, too, an' -I'll love you, achora, ten times more nor ever, for her sake. Another -favorite song of hers, God rest her, was 'Brian O'Lynn.' Troth an' I'll -sing it, so I will, for if she was livin' she'd like it. - - 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, - A two-lugged porringer wanfcin' a tail.' - -Oh, my head's through other! The sarra one o' me I bleeve, but's out o' -the words, or, as they say, there's a hole in the ballad. Send round -the punch will ye? By the hole o' my coat, Parra Gastha, I'll whale you -wid-in an inch of your life, if you don't Shrink. Send round the -punch, Dan; an' give us a song, Parra Gastha. Arrah, Paddy, do you -remimber--ha, ha, ha--upon my credit, I'll never forget it, the fun we -had catchin' Father Soolaghan's horse, the day he gave his shirt to the -sick man in the ditch. The Lord rest his sowl in glory--ha, ha, ha--I'll -never forget it. Paddy, the song, you thief?" - -"No, but tell them about that, Misther Connell." - -"Throth, an' I will; but don't be Mitherin me. Faith, this is The height -o' good punch. You see--ha, ha, ha! You see, it was one hard summer -afore I was married to Ellish--mavourneen, that you wor, asthore! Och, -och, are we parted at last? Upon my sowl, my heart's breakin'--breakin', -(weeps) an' no wondher! But as I was sayin'--all your healths! faith, -it is tip-top punch that--the poor man fell sick of a faver, an' sure -enough, when it was known what ailed him, the neighbors built a little -shed on the roadside for him, in regard that every one was afeard to let -him into their place. Howsomever--ha, ha, ha--Father Soolaghan was one -day ridin' past upon his horse, an' seein' the crathur lyin' undher the -shed, on a whisp o' straw, he pulls bridle, an' puts the spake on the -poor sthranger. So, begad, it came out, that the neighbors were very -kind to him, an' used to hand over whatsomever they thought best for him -from the back o' the ditch, as well as they could. - -"'My poor fellow,' said the priest, 'you're badly off for linen.' - -"'Thrue for you, sir,' said the sick man, 'I never longed for anything -so much in my life, as I do for a clane shirt an' a glass o' whiskey.' - -"'The devil a glass o' whiskey I have about me, but you shall have -the clane shirt, you poor compassionate crathur,' said the priest, -stretchin' his neck up an' down to make sure there was no one comin' on -the road--ha, ha, ha! - -"Well an' good--'I have three shirts,' says his Reverence, 'but I have -only one o' them an me, an' that you shall have.' - -"So the priest peels himself on the spot, an' lays his black coat and -waistcoat afore him acrass the saddle, thin takin' off his shirt, he -threw it acrass the ditch to the sick man. Whether it was the white -shirt, or the black coat danglin' about the horse's neck, the divil a -one o' myself can say, but any way, the baste tuck fright, an' made off -wid Father Soolaghan, in the state I'm tellin' yez, upon his back--ha, -ha, ha! - -"Parra Gastha, here, an' I war goin' up at the time to do a little in -the distillin' way for Tom Duggan of Aidinasamlagh, an' seen what was -goin' an. So off we set, an we splittin' our sides laughin'--ha, ha, -ha--at the figure the priest cut. However, we could do no good, an' -he never could pull up the horse, till he came full flight to his own -house, opposite the pound there below, and the whole town in convulsions -when they seen him. We gother up his clothes, an' brought them home to -him, an' a good piece o' fun-we had wid him, for he loved the joke as -well as any man. Well, he was the good an' charitable man, the same -Father Soolaghan; but so simple that he got himself into fifty scrapes, -God rest him! Och, och, she's lyin' low that often laughed at that, an' -I'm here--ay, I have no one, no one that 'ud show me sich a warm heart -as she would. (Weeps.) However, God's will be done. I'll sing yez a song -she liked:-- - - 'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male, - A two-lugged porringer wantin' a tail.' - -Musha, I'm out agin--ha, ha, ha! Why, I b'lieve there's pishthrogues -an me, or I'd remember it. Bud-an-age, dhrink of all ye. Lie in to the -liquor, I say; don't spare it. Here, Mike, send us up another gallon, -Faith, we'll make a night of it. - - 'Och, three maidens a milkin' did go - An' three maidens a milkin' did go; - An' the winds they blew high - An' the winds they blew low, - An' they dashed their milkin' pails to an' fro.' - -All your healths, childhre! Neighbors, all your healths! don't spare -what's before ye. It's long since I tuck a jorum myself an--come, I say, -plase God, we'll often meet ins' way, so we will. Faith, I'll take a sup -from this forrid, with a blessin'. Dhrink, I say, dhrink!" - -By the time he had arrived at this patch, he was able to engross no -great portion either of the conversation or attention. Almost every one -present had his songs, his sorrows, his laughter, or his anecdotes, as -well as himself. Every voice was loud; and every tongue busy. Intricate -and entangled was the talk, which, on the present occasion, presented -a union of all the extremes which the lights and shadows of the Irish -character alone could exhibit under such a calamity as that which -brought the friends of the deceased together. - -Peter literally fulfilled his promise of taking a jorum in future. He -was now his own master; and as he felt the loss of his wife deeply, -he unhappily had recourse to the bottle, to bury the recollection of a -woman, whose death left a chasm in his heart, which he thought nothing -but the whiskey could fill up. - -His transition from a life of perfect sobriety to one of habitual, nay, -of daily intoxication, was immediate. He could not bear to be sober; -and his extraordinary bursts of affliction, even in his cups, were often -calculated to draw tears from the eyes of those who witnessed them. He -usually went out in the morning with a flask of whiskey in his pocket, -and sat down to weep behind a ditch--where, however, after having -emptied his flask, he might be heard at a great distance, singing the -songs which Ellish in her life-time was accustomed to love. In fact, he -was generally pitied; his simplicity of character, and his benevolence -of heart, which was now exercised without fear of responsibility, made -him more a favorite than he ever had been. His former habits of industry -were thrown aside; as he said himself, he hadn't heart to work; his -farms were neglected, and but for his son-in-law, would have gone to -ruin. Peter himself was sensible of this. - -"Take them," said he, "into your own hands, Denis; for me, I'm not able -to do anything more at them; she that kep me up is gone, an' I'm broken -down. Take them--take them into your own hands. Give me my bed, bit, an' -sup, an' that's all I Want." - -Six months produced an incredible change in his appearance. -Intemperance, whilst it shattered his strong frame, kept him in frequent -exuberance of spirits; but the secret grief preyed on him within. -Artificial excitement kills, but it never cures; and Peter, in the midst -of his mirth and jollity, was wasting away into a shadow. His children, -seeing him go down the hill of life so rapidly, consulted among each -other on the best means of winning him back to sobriety. This was a -difficult task, for his powers of bearing liquor were prodigious. He has -often been known to drink so many as twenty-five, and sometimes thirty -tumblers of punch, without being taken off his legs, or rendered -incapable of walking about. His friends, on considering who was most -likely to recall him to a more becoming life, resolved to apply to his -landlord--the gentleman whom we have already introduced to our readers. -He entered warmly into their plan, and it was settled, that Peter should -be sent for, and induced, if possible, to take an oath against liquor. -Early the following-day a liveried servant came down to inform him that -his master wished to speak with him. "To be sure," said Peter; "divil -resave the man in all Europe I'd do more for than the same gintleman, if -it was only on account of the regard he had for her that's gone. Come, -I'll go wid you in a minute." - -He accordingly returned with the flask in his hand, saying, "I never -thravel widout a pocket-pistol, John. The times, you see, is not overly -safe, an' the best way is to be prepared!--ha, ha, ha! Och, och! It -houlds three half-pints." - -"I think," observed the servant, "you had better not taste that till -after your return." - -"Come away, man," said Peter; "we'll talk upon it as we go along: I -couldn't do readily widout it. You hard that I lost Ellish?" - -"Yes," replied the servant, "and I was very sorry to hear it." - -"Did you attind the berrin?" - -"No, but my master did," replied the man; "for, indeed, his respect for -your wife was very great, Mr. Connell." - -This was before ten o'clock in the forenoon, and about one in the -afternoon a stout countryman was seen approaching the gentleman's house, -with another man bent round his neck, where he hung precisely as a calf -hangs round the shoulders of a butcher, when he is carrying it to his -stall. - -"Good Heavens!" said the owner of the mansion to his lady, "what has -happened to John Smith, my dear? Is he dead?" - -"Dead!" said his lady, going in much alarm to the drawing-room window: -"I protest I fear so, Frank. He is evidently dead! For God's sake go -down and see what has befallen him." - -Her husband went hastily to the hall-door, where he met Peter with his -burden. - -"In the name of Heaven, what has happened, Connell?--what is the matter -with John? Is he living or dead?" - -"First, plase your honor, as I have him on my shouldhers, will you tell -me where his bed is?" replied Peter. "I may as well lave him snug, as my -hand's in, poor fellow. The devil's bad head he has, your honor. Faith, -it's a burnin' shame, so it is, an' nothin' else--to be able to bear so -little!" - -The lady, children, and servants, were now all assembled about the dead -footman, who hung, in the mean time, very quietly round Peter's neck. - -"Gracious Heaven! Connell, is the man dead?" she inquired. - -"Faith, thin, he is, ma'am,--for a while, any how; but, upon my credit, -it's a burnin' shame, so it is,"-- - -"The man is drunk, my dear," said her husband--"he's only drunk." - -"--a burnin' shame, so it is--to be able to bear no more nor about six -glasses, an' the whiskey good, too. Will you ordher one o' thim to show -me his bed, ma'am, if you plase," continued Peter, "while he's an me? -It'll save throuble." - -"Connell is right," observed his landlord. "Gallagher, show him John's -bed-room." - -Peter accordingly followed another servant, who pointed out his bed, and -assisted to place the vanquished footman in a somewhat easier position -than that in which Peter had carried him. - -"Connell," said his landlord, when he returned, "how did this happen?" - -"Faith, thin, it's a burnin' shame," said Connell, "to be able only to -bear"-- - -"But how did it happen? for he has been hitherto a perfectly sober man." - -"Faix, plase your honor, asy enough," replied Peter; "he began to -lecthur me about! dhrinkin' so, says I, 'Come an' sit down behind the -hedge here, an' we'll talk it over between us;' so we went in, the two -of us, a-back o' the ditch--an' he began to advise me agin dhrink, an' -I began to tell him about her that's gone, sir. Well, well! och, och! -no matther!--So, sir, one story an' one pull from the bottle, brought -on another, for divil a glass we had at all, sir. Faix, he's a -tindher-hearted boy, anyhow; for as myself I begun to let the tears -down, whin the bottle was near out, divil resave the morsel of him but -cried afther poor Ellish, as if she had been his mother. Faix, he did! -An' it won't be the last sup we'll have together, plase goodness! But -the best of it was, sir, that the dhrunker he got, he abused me the more -for dhrinkin'. Oh, thin, but he's the pious boy whin he gets a sup -in his head! Faix, it's a pity ever he'd be sober, he talks so much -scripthur an' devotion in his liquor!" - -"Connell," said the landlord, "I am exceedingly sorry to hear that you -have taken so openly and inveterately to drink as you have done, -ever since the death of your admirable wife. This, in fact, was what -occasioned me to send for you. Come into the parlor. Don't go, my dear; -perhaps your influence may also be necessary. Gallagher, look to Smith, -and see that every attention is paid him, until he recovers the effects -of his intoxication." - -He then entered the parlor, where the following dialogue took place -between him and Peter:-- - -"Connell, I am really grieved to hear that you have become latterly so -incorrigible a drinker; I sent for you to-day, with the hope of being -able to induce you to give it up." - -"Faix, your honor, it's jist what I'd expect from your father's -son--kindness, an' dacency, an' devotion, wor always among yez. Divil -resave the family in all Europe I'd do so much for as the same family:" - -The gentleman and lady looked at each other, and smiled. They knew that -Peter's blarney was no omen of their success in the laudable design they -contemplated. - -"I thank you, Peter, for your good opinion; but in the meantime allow me -to ask, what can you propose to yourself by drinking so incessantly as -you do?" - -"What do I propose to myself by dhrinkin', is it? Why thin to banish -grief, your honor. Surely you'll allow that no man has reason to -complain who's able to banish the thief for two shillins a-day. I reckon -the whiskey at first cost, so that it doesn't come to more nor that at -the very outside." - -"That is taking a commercial view of affliction, Connell; but you must -promise me to give up drinking." - -"Why thin upon my credit, your honor astonishes me. Is it to give up -banishin' grief? I have a regard for you, sir, for many a dalin we had -together; but for all that, faix, I'd be miserable for no man, barrin' -for her that's gone. If I'd be so to oblage any one, I'd do it for your -family; for divil the family in all Europe "-- - -"Easy, Connell--I am not to be palmed off in that manner; I really have -a respect for the character which you bore, and wish you to recover it -once more. Consider that you are disgracing yourself and your children -by drinking so excessively from day to day--indeed, I am told, almost -from hour to hour." - -"Augh! don't believe the half o' what you hear, sir. Faith, somebody -has been dhraw-in' your honor out! Why I'm never dhrunk, sir; faith, I'm -not." - -"You will destroy your health, Connell, as well as your character; -besides, you are not to be told that it is a sin, a crime against. God, -and an evil example to society." - -"Show me the man, plase your honor, that ever seen me incapable. That's -the proof o' the thing." - -"But why do you drink at all? It is not-necessary." - -"An' do you never taste a dhrop yourself, sir, plase your honor? I'll be -bound you do, sir, raise your little finger of an odd time, as well as -another. Eh, Ma'am? That's comin' close to his honor! An' faix, small -blame to him, an' a weeshy sup o' the wine to the misthress herself, to -correct the tindherness of her dilicate appetite." - -"Peter, this bantering must not pass: I think I have a claim upon your -respect and deference. I have uniformly been your friend and the friend -of your children and family, but more especially of your late excellent -and exemplary wife." - -"Before God an' man I acknowledge that, sir--I do--I do. But, sir; -to spake sarious--it's thruth, Ma'am, downright--to spake sarious, my -heart's broke, an' every day it's brakin' more an' more. She's gone, -sir, that used to manage me; an' now I can't turn myself to anything, -barrin' the dhrink--God help me!" - -"I honor you, Connell, for the attachment which you bear towards the -memory of your wife, but I utterly condemn the manner in which you -display it. To become a drunkard is to disgrace her memory. You know it -was a character she detested." - -"I know it all, sir, an' that you have thruth an rason on your side; -but, sir, you never lost a wife that you loved; an' long may you be so, -I pray the heavenly Father this day! Maybe if you did, sir, plase your -honor, that, wid your heart sinkin' like a stone widin you, you'd thry -whether or not something couldn't rise it. Sir, only for the dhrink I'd -be dead." - -"There I totally differ from you, Connell. The drink only prolongs -your grief, by adding to it the depression of spirits which it always -produces. Had you not become a drinker, you would long before this have -been once more a cheerful, active, and industrious man. Your -sorrow would have worn away gradually, and nothing but an agreeable -melancholy--an affectionate remembrance of your excellent wife--would -have remained. Look at other men." - -"But where's the man, sir, had sich a wife to grieve for as she was? -Don't be hard on me, sir. I'm not a dhrunkard. It's thrue I dhrink -a great dale; but thin I can bear a great dale, so that I'm never -incapable." - -"Connell," said the lady, "you will break down your constitution, and -bring yourself to an earlier death than you would otherwise meet." - -"I care very little, indeed, how soon I was dead, not makin' you, Ma'am, -an ill answer." - -"Oh fie, Connell, for you, a sensible man and a Christian, to talk in -such a manner!" - -"Throth, thin, I don't, Ma'am. She's gone, an' I'd be glad to folly her -as soon as I could. Yes, asthore, you're departed from me! an' now -I'm gone asthray--out o' the right an' out o' the good! Oh, Ma'am," he -proceeded, whilst the tears rolled fast down his cheeks, "if you knew -her--her last words, too--Oh, she was--she was--but where's the use o' -sayin' what she was?--I beg your pardon, Ma'am,--your honor, sir, 'ill -forgive my want o' manners, sure I know it's bad breedin', but I can't -help it." - -"Well, promise," said his landlord, "to give up drink. Indeed, I wish -you would take an oath against it: you are a conscientious man, and -I know would keep it, otherwise I should not propose it, for I -discountenance such oaths generally. Will you promise me this, Connell?" - -"I'll promise to think of it, your honor,--aginst takin' a sartin -quantity, at any rate." - -"If you refuse it, I'll think you are unmindful of the good feeling -which we have ever shown your family." - -"What?--do you think, sir, I'm ungrateful to you? That's a sore cut, -sir, to make a villain o' me. Where's the book?--I'll swear this minute. -Have you a Bible, Ma'am?--I'll show you that I'm not mane, any way." - -"No, Connell, you shall not do it rashly; you must be cool and composed: -but go home, and turn it in your mind," she replied; "and remember, that -it is the request of me and my husband, for your own good." - -"Neither must you swear before me," said his landlord, "but before Mr. -Mulcahy, who, as it is an oath connected with your moral conduct, is the -best person to be present. It must be voluntary, however. Now, good-bye, -Connell, and think of what we said; but take care never to carry home -any of my servants in the same plight in which you put John Smith -to-day." - -"Faix thin, sir, he had no business, wid your honor's livery upon his -back, to begin lecthurin' me again dhrinkin', as he did. We may all do -very well, sir, till the timptation crasses us--but that's what thries -us. It thried him, but he didn't stand it--faix he didn't!--ha, ha, ha! -Good-mornin', sir--God bless you, Ma'am! Divil resave the family in all -Europe"-- - -"Good-morning, Connell--good-morning! --Pray remember what we said." - -Peter, however, could not relinquish the whiskey. His sons, daughters, -friends, and neighbors, all assailed him, but with no success. He either -bantered them in his usual way, or reverted to his loss, and sank -into sorrow. This last was the condition in which they found him most -intractable; for a man is never considered to be in a state that admits -of reasoning or argument, when he is known to be pressed by strong -gushes of personal feeling. A plan at length struck Father Mulcahy, -which lie resolved to put into immediate execution. - -"Peter," said he, "if you don't abandon drink, I shall stop the masses -which I'm offering up for the repose of your wife's soul, and I will -also return you the money I received for saying them." - -This was, perhaps, the only point on which Peter was accessible. He -felt staggered at such an unexpected intimation, and was for some time -silent. - -"You will then feel," added the priest, "that your drunkenness is -prolonging the sufferings of your wife, and that she is as much -concerned in your being sober as you are yourself." - -"I will give in," replied Peter; "I didn't see the thing in that light. -No--I will give it up; but if I swear against it, you must allow me a -rasonable share every day, an' I'll not go beyant it, of coorse. The -truth is, I'd die soon if I gev it up altogether." - -"We have certainly no objection against that," said the priest, -"provided you keep within what would injure your health, or make you -tipsy. Your drunkenness is not only sinful but disreputable; besides, -you must not throw a slur upon the character of your children, who hold -respectable and rising situations in the world." - -"No," said Peter, in a kind of soliloquy, "I'd lay down my life, -avoumeen, sooner nor I'd cause you a minute's sufferin'. Father Mulcahy, -go an wid the masses. I'll get an oath drawn up, an' whin it's done, -I'll swear to it. I know a man that'll do it for me." - -The priest then departed, quite satisfied with having accomplished his -object; and Peter, in the course of that evening, directed his steps to -the house of the village schoolmaster, for the purpose of getting him to -"draw up" the intended oath. - -"Misther O'Flaherty," said he, "I'm comin' to ax a requist of you an' -I hope you'll grant it to me. I brought down a sup in this flask, an' -while we're takin' it, we can talk over what I want." - -"If it be anything widin the circumference of my power, set it down, -Misther Connell, as already operated upon. I'd drop a pen to no man at -keepin' books by double enthry, which is the Italian method invinted by -Pope Gregory the Great. The Three sets bear a theological ratio to the -three states of a thrue Christian. 'The Waste-book,' says Pope Gregory, -'is this world, the Journal is purgatory, an' the Ledger is heaven. Or -it may be compared,' he says, in the priface of the work, 'to the three -states of the Catholic church--the church Militant, the church Suffering -and the church Triumphant.' The larnin' of that man was beyant the reach -of credibility." - -"Arra, have you a small glass, Masther? You see, Misther O'Flaherty, -it's consarnin' purgatory, this that I want to talk about." - -"Nancy, get us a glass--oh, here it is! Thin if it be, it's a wrong -enthry in the Journal." - -"Here's your health, Masther!--Not forgetting you, Mrs. O'Flaherty. -No, indeed, thin it's not in the Journal, but an oath I'm goin' to take -against liquor." - -"Nothin' is asier to post than it is. We must enter it it undher the -head of--let me see!--it must go in the spirit account, undher the head -of Profit an' Loss, Your good health, Mr. Connell!--Nancy, I dhrink ta -your improvement in imperturbability! Yes, it must be enthered undher -the"---- - -"Faix, undher the rose, I think," observed Pether; "don't you know the -smack, of it? You see since I took to it, I like the smell o' what I -used to squeeze out o' the barley myself, long ago. Mr. O'Flaherty, I -only want you to dhraw up an oath against liquor for me; but it's not -for the books, good or bad. I promised to Father Mulcahy, that I'd do -it. It's regardin' my poor Ellish's sowl in purgatory." - -"Nancy, hand me a slate an' cutter. Faith, the same's a provident -resolution; but how is it an' purgatory concatenated?" - -"The priest, you see, won't go an wid the masses for her till I take the -oath." - -"That's but wake logic, if you ped him for thim." - -"Faix, an' I did--an' well, too;--but about the oath? Have you the -pencil?" - -"I have; jist lave the thing to me." - -"Asy, Masther--you don't undherstand it yit. Put down two tumblers for -me at home." - -"How is that, Misther Connell?--It's mysterious, if you're about to -swear against liquor!" - -"I am. Put down, as I said, two tumblers for me at home--Are they down?" - -"They are down--but"-- - -"Asy!--very good!--Put down two more for me at Dan's. Let me see!--two -more; behind the garden. Well!--put down one at Father Mulcahy's;--two -more at, Frank M'Carrol's of Kilclay. How many's that?" - -"Nine!!!" - -"Very good. Now put down one wid ould' Bartle Gorman, of Cargah; an' two -over wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey. How-many have you now?" - -"Twelve in all!!!! But, Misther Connelly there's a demonstration badly -wanted here. I must confis I was always bright, but at present I'm as -dark as Nox. I'd thank you for a taste of explanation." - -"Asy, man alive! Is there twelve in all?" - -"Twelve in all: I've calculated them." - -"Well, we'll hould to that. Och, och!--I'm sure, avourneen, afore -I'd let you suffer one minute's pain, I'd not scruple to take an oath -against liquor, any way. He may go an wid the masses now for you, as -soon as he likes! Mr. O'Flaherty, will you put that down on paper,--an' -I'll swear to it, wid a blessin', to-morrow." - -"But what object do you wish to effectuate by this?" - -"You see, Masther, I dhrink one day wid another from a score to two -dozen tumblers, an' I want to swear to no more nor twelve in the -twenty-four hours." - -"Why, there's intelligibility in that!--Wid great pleasure, Mr. -Connell, I'll indite it. Katty, tare me a lafe out o' Brian Murphy's -copy there." - -"You see, Masther, it's for Ellish's sake I'm doin' this. State that in -the oath." - -"I know it; an' well she desarved that specimen of abstinence from you, -Misther Connell. Thank you!--Your health agin! an' God grant you grace -an' fortitude to go through wid the same oath!--An' so he will, or I'm -greviously mistaken in you." - - "OATH AGAINST LIQUOR, - - made by me, Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath, on behalf - of Mr. Peter Connell, of the cross-roads, Merchant, on - one part--and of the soul of Mrs. Ellish Connell, now - in purgatory, Merchantess, on the other. - - "I solemnly and meritoriously, and soberly swear, that - a single tumbler of whiskey punch shall not cross my - lips during the twenty-four hours of the day, barring - twelve, the locality of which is as followeth: - - "Imprimis--Two tumblers at home, 2 - Secundo--Two more ditto at my son Dan's, 2 - Tertio--Two more ditto behind my own garden, 2 - Quarto--One ditto at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's, 1 - Quinto--Two more ditto at Frank M'Carroll s, of Kilclay, 2 - Sexto--One ditto wid ould Bartle Gorman, of Cargah, 1 - Septimo--Two more ditto wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey, 2 - ==== - 12 - N.B.--Except in case any Docthor of Physic might - think it right and medical to ordher me more for my - health; or in case I could get Father Mulcahy to take - the oath off of me for a start, at a wedding, or a - christening, or at any other meeting of friends where - there's drink. - - his - Peter X Connell. - mark. - - Witness present, - Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath. - _June the 4th, 18--_ - - I certify that I have made and calculated this oath for - Misther Pettier Connell, Merchant, and that it is - strictly and arithmetically proper and correct. - - "Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath. - "_Dated this Mh day of June, 18--_." - - -"I think, Misther O'Flaherty, it's a dacent oath as it stands. Plase -God, I'll swear to it some time to-morrow evenin'." - -"Dacent! Why I don't wish to become eulogistically addicted; but I'd -back tha same oath, for both grammar and arithmetic, aginst any that -ever was drawn up by a lawyer--ay, by the great Counsellor himself!--but -faith, I'd not face him at a Vow, for all that; he's the greatest man at -a Vow in the three kingdoms." - -"I'll tell you what I'm thinkin', Masther--as my hand's in, mightn't I -as well take another wid an ould friend of mine, Owen Smith, of Lisbuy? -He's a dacent ould residenther, an' likes it. It'll make the baker's or -the long dozen." - -"Why, it's not a bad thought; but won't thirteen get into your head?" - -"No, nor three more to the back o' that. I only begin to get hearty -about seventeen, so that the long dozen, afther all, is best; for--God -he knows, I've a regard for Owen Smith this many a year, an' I wouldn't -wish to lave him out." - -"Very well,--I'll add it up to the other part of the oath. - - 'Octavo--One ditto out of respect for dacent Owen Smith, of - Lisbuy, 1 - -Now I must make the total amount thirteen, an' all will be right." - -"Masther, have you a prayer-book widin?--bekase if you have, I may as -well swear here, and you can witness it." - -"Katty, hand over the Spiritual Exercises--a book aquil to the Bible -itself for piety an' devotion." - -"Sure they say, Masther, any book that, the name o' God's in, is good -for an oath. Now, wid the help o' goodness, repate the words afore me, -an' I'll sware thim." - -O'Flaherty hemmed two or three times, and complied with Peter's wishes, -who followed him in the words until the oath was concluded. He then -kissed the book, and expressed himself much at ease, as well, he said, -upon the account of Ellish's soul, as for the sake of his children. - -For some time after this, his oath was the standing jest of the -neighborhood: even to this day, Peter Connell's oath against liquor is a -proverb in that part of the country. Immediately after he had sworn, -no one could ever perceive that he violated it in the slightest degree; -indeed there could be no doubt as to literally fulfilling it. A day -never passed in which he did not punctually pay a visit to those whose -names wore dotted down, with whom he sat, pulled out his flask, and -drank his quantum. In the meantime the poor man was breaking down -rapidly; so much so, that his appearance generally excited pity, if not -sorrow, among his neighbors. His character became simpler every day, and -his intellect evidently more exhausted. The inoffensive humor, for which -he had been noted, was also completely on the wane; his eye waxed dim, -his step feeble, but the benevolence of his heart never failed him. Many -acts of his private generosity are well known, and still remembered with -gratitude. - -In proportion as the strength of his mind and constitution diminished, -so did his capacity for bearing liquor. When he first bound himself -by the oath not to exceed the long dozen, such was his vigor, that the -effects of thirteen tumblers could scarcely be perceived on him. This -state of health, however, did not last. As he wore away, the influence -of so much liquor was becoming stronger, until at length he found that -it was more than he could bear, that he frequently confounded the -names of the men, and the number of tumblers mentioned in the oath, and -sometimes took in, in his route, persons and places not to be found in -it at all. This grieved him, and he resolved to wait upon O'Flaherty -for the purpose of having some means devised of guiding him during his -potations. - -"Masther," said he, "we must thry an' make this oath somethin' plainer. -You see when I get confused, I'm not able to remimber things as I ought. -Sometimes, instid o' one tumbler, I take two at the wrong place; an' -sarra bit o' me but called in an' had three wid ould Jack Rogers, that -isn't in it at all. On another day I had a couple wid honest Barney -Casey, an my way acrass to Bartle Gorman's. I'm not what I was, Masther, -ahagm; so I'd thank you to dhraw it out more clearer, if you can, nor it -was." - -"I see, Mr. Connell; I comprehend wid the greatest ase in life, the -very plan for it. We must reduce the oath to Geography, for I'm at home -there, bein' a Surveyor myself. I'll lay down a map o' the parish, an' -draw the houses of your friends at their proper places, so that you'll -never be out o' your latitude at all." - -"Faix, I doubt that, Masther--ha, ha, ha!" replied Peter; "I'm afeard I -will, of an odd time, for I'm not able to carry what I used to do; but -no matther: thry what you can do for me this time, any how. I think I -could bear the long dozen still if I didn't make mistakes." - -O'Flaherty accordingly set himself to work; and as his knowledge, not -only of the parish, but of every person and house in it, was accurate, -he soon had a tolerably correct skeleton map of it drawn for Peter's -use. - -"Now," said he, "lend me your ears." - -"Faix, I'll do no sich thing," replied Peter--"I know a thrick worth two -of it. Lend you my ears, inagh!--catch me at it! You have a bigger pair -of your own nor I have--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Well, in other words, pay attintion. Now, see this dot--that's your own -house." - -"Put a crass there," said Peter, "an' thin I'll know it's the -Crass-roads." - -"Upon my reputation, you're right; an' that's what I call a good -specimen of ingenuity. I'll take the hint from that, an' we'll make it -a Hieroglyphical as well as a Geographical oath. Well, there's a crass, -wid two tumblers. Is that clear?" - -"It is, it is! faix" - -"Now here we draw a line to your son Dan's. Let me see; he keeps a mill, -an' sells cloth. Very good. I'll dhraw a mill-wheel an' a yard-wand. -There's two tumblers. Will you know that?" - -"I see it: go an, nothin' can be clearer. So far, I can't go asthray." - -"Well, what next? Two behind your own garden. What metaphor for the -garden? Let me see!--let me cogitate! A dragon--the Hesperides! That's -beyant you. A bit of a hedge will do, an' a gate." - -"Don't put a gate in, it's not lucky. You know, when a man takes to -dhrink, they say he's goin' a gray gate, or a black gate, or a bad -gate. Put that out, an' make the hedge longer, an' it'll do--wid the two -tumblers, though." - -"They're down. One at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's. How will we -thranslate the priest?" - -"Faix, I doubt that will be a difficquilt business." - -"Upon my reputation, I agree wid you in that, especially whin he repates -Latin. However, we'll see. He writes P.P. afther his name;--pee-pee is -what we call the turkeys wid. What 'ud you think o' two turkeys?" - -"The priest would like them roasted, but I couldn't undherstand that. -No; put down the sign o' the horsewhip, or the cudgel; for he's handy, -an' argues well wid both?" - -"Good! I'll put down the horsewhip first, an' the cudgel alongside of -it; then the tumbler, an' there'll be the sign o' the priest." - -"Ay, do, Masther, an' faix the priest 'll be complate--there can be no -mistakin' him thin. Divil a one but that's a good thought!" - -"There it is in black an' white. Who comes next? Frank M'Carroll. He's -a farmer. I'll put down a spade an' a harrow. Well, that's done--two -tumblers." - -"I won't mistake that, aither. It's clear enough." - -"Bartle Gorman's of Cargah. Bartle's a little lame, an' uses a staff wid -a cross on the end that he houlds in his hand. I'll put down a staff wid -a cross on it." - -"Would there be no danger of me mistakin' that for the priest's cudgel?" - -"Divil the slightest. I'll pledge my knowledge of geography, they're two -very different weapons." - -"Well, put it down--I'll know it." - -"Roger M'Gaugy of Nurchasy. What for him? Roger's a pig-driver. I'll put -down pig. You'll comprehend that?" - -"I ought; for many a pig I sould in my day. Put down the pig; an' if you -could put two black spots upon his back, I'd know it to be one I sould -him about four years agone--the fattest ever was in the country--it had -to be brought home on a car, for it wasn't able to walk wid fat." - -"Very good; the spots are on it. The last is Owen Smith of Lisbuy. Now, -do you see that I've drawn a line from place to place, so that you have -nothing to do only to keep to it as you go. What for Owen?" - -"Owen! Let me see--Owen! Pooh! What's come over me, that I've nothin' -for Owen? Ah! I have it. He's a horse-jockey: put down a gray mare I -sould him about five years agone." - -"I'll put down a horse; but I can't make a gray mare wid black ink." - -"Well, make a mare of her, any way." - -"Faith, an' that same puzzles me. Stop, I have it; I'll put a foal along -wid her." - -"As good as the bank. God bless you, Misther O'Flaherty. I think this -'ll keep me from mistakes. An' now, if you'll slip up to me afther dusk, -I'll send you down a couple o' bottles and a flitch. Sure you desarve -more for the throuble you tuck." - -Many of our readers, particularly of our English readers, will be -somewhat startled to hear that, except the change of names and places, -there is actually little exaggeration in the form of this oath; so just -is the observation, that the romance of truth frequently exceeds that of -fiction. - -Peter had, however, over-rated his own strength in supposing that he -could bear the long dozen in future; ere many months passed he was -scarcely able to reach the half of that number without sinking into -intoxication. Whilst in this state, he was in the habit of going to the -graveyard in which his wife lay buried, where he sat, and wept like a -child, sang her favorite songs, or knelt and offered up his prayers for -the repose of her soul. None ever mocked him for this; on the contrary, -there was always some kind person to assist him home. And as he -staggered on, instead of sneers and ridicule, one might hear such -expressions as these:-- - -"Poor Pether! he's nearly off; an' a dacent, kind neighbor he ever was. -The death of the wife broke his heart--he never ris his head since." - -"Ay, poor man! God pity him! Hell soon be sleepin' beside her, beyant -there, where she's lyin'. It was never known of Peter Connell that he -offinded man, woman, or child since he was born, barrin' the gaugers, -bad luck to thim, afore he was marrid--but that was no offince. Sowl, he -was their match, any how. When he an' the wife's gone, they won't lave -their likes behind them. The sons are bodaghs--gintlemen, now; an' -it's nothin' but dinners an' company. Ahagur, that wasn't the way their -hardworkin' father an' mother made the money that they're houldin' their -heads up wid such consequence upon." - -The children, however, did not give Peter up as hopeless. Father -Mulcahy, too, once-more assailed him on his weak side. One morning, when -he was sober, nervous, and depressed, the priest arrived, and finding -him at home, addressed him as follows:-- - -"Peter, I'm sorry, and vexed, and angry this morning; and you are the -cause of it" - -"How is that, your Reverence?" said Peter. "God help me," he added, -"don't be hard an me, sir, for I'm to be pitied. Don't be hard on me, -for the short time I'll be here. I know it won't be long--I'll be wid -her soon. Asthore machree, we'll' be together, I hope, afore long--an', -oh! if it was the will o' God, I would be glad if it was afore night!" - -The poor, shattered, heart-broken creature wept bitterly, for he felt -somewhat sensible of the justice of the reproof which he expected from -the priest, as well as undiminished sorrow for his wife. - -"I'm not going to be hard on you," said the good-natured priest; "I only -called to tell you a dream that your son Dan had last night about you -and his mother." - -"About Ellish! Oh, for heaven's sake what about her, Father, avourneen?" - -"She appeared to him, last night," replied Father Mulcahy, "and told him -that your drinking kept her out of happiness." - -"Queen of heaven!" exclaimed Peter, deeply affected, "is that true? Oh," -said he, dropping on his knees, "Father, ahagur machree, pardon me--oh, -forgive me! I now promise, solemnly and seriously, to drink neither -in the house nor out of it, for the time to come, not one drop at all, -good, bad, or indifferent, of either whiskey, wine, or punch--barrin' -one glass. Are you now satisfied? an' do you think she'll get to -happiness?" - -"All will be well, I trust," said the priest. "I shall mention this to -Dan and the rest, and depend upon it, they, too, will be happy to hear -it." - -"Here's what Mr. O'Flaherty an' myself made up," said Peter: "burn it, -Father; take it out of my sight, for it's now no use to me." - -"What is this at all?" said Mr. Mulcahy, looking into it. "Is it an -oath?" - -"It's the Joggraphy of one I swore some time ago; but it's now out of -date--I'm done wid it." - -The priest could not avoid smiling when he perused it, and on getting -from Peter's lips an explanation of the hieroglyphics, he laughed -heartily at the ingenious shifts they had made to guide his memory. - -Peter, for some time after this, confined himself to one glass, as -he had promised; but he felt such depression and feebleness, that he -ventured slowly, and by degrees, to enlarge the "glass" from which he -drank. His impression touching the happiness of his wife was, that as he -had for several months strictly observed his promise, she had probably -during that period gone to heaven. He then began to exercise his -ingenuity gradually, as we have said, by using, from time to time, a -glass larger than the preceding one; thus receding from the spirit of -his vow to the letter, and increasing the quantity of his drink from a -small glass to the most capacious tumbler he could find. The manner in -which he drank this was highly illustrative of the customs which prevail -on this subject in Ireland. He remembered, that in making the vow, he -used the words, "neither in the house nor out of it;" but in order -to get over this dilemma, he usually stood with one foot outside the -threshold, and the other in the house, keeping himself in that position -which would render it difficult to determine whether he was either -out or in. At other times, when he happened to be upstairs, he usually -thrust one-half of his person out of the window, with the same ludicrous -intention of keeping the letter of his vow. - -Many a smile this adroitness of his occasioned to the lookers-on: but -further ridicule was checked by his wobegone and afflicted look. He was -now a mere skeleton, feeble and tottering. - -One night, in the depth of winter, he went into the town where his two -sons resided; he had been ill in mind and body during the day, and he -fancied that change of scene and society might benefit him. His daughter -and son-in-law, in consequence of his illness, watched him so closely, -that he could not succeed in getting his usual "glass." This offended -him, and he escaped without their knowledge to the son who kept the inn. -On arriving there, he went upstairs, and by a douceur to the waiter, -got a large tumbler filled with spirits. The lingering influences of -a conscience that generally felt strongly on the side of a moral duty, -though poorly instructed, prompted him to drink it in the usual manner, -by keeping one-half of his body, as, nearly as he could guess, out of -the window, that it might be said he drank it neither in nor out of the -house. He had scarcely finished his draught, however, when he lost his -balance, and was precipitated upon the pavement. The crash of his fall -was heard in the bar, and his son, who had just come in, ran, along with -several others, to ascertain what had happened. They found him, however, -only severely stunned. He was immediately brought in, and medical aid -sent for; but, though he recovered from the immediate effects of the -fall, the shock it gave to his broken constitution, and his excessive -grief, carried him off in a few months afterwards. He expired in the -arms of his son and daughter, and amidst the tears of those who knew his -simplicity of character, his goodness of heart, and his attachment to -the wife by whose death that heart had been broken. - -Such was the melancholy end of the honest and warm-hearted Peter -Connell, who, unhappily, was not a solitary instance of a man driven to -habits of intoxication and neglect of business by the force of sorrow, -which time and a well-regulated mind might otherwise have overcome. We -have held him up, on the one hand, as an example worthy of imitation -in that industry and steadiness which, under the direction of his wife, -raised him from poverty to independence and wealth; and, on the other, -as a man resorting to the use of spirituous liquors that he might -be enabled to support affliction--a course which, so far from having -sustained him under it, shattered his constitution, shortened his life, -and destroyed his happiness. In conclusion, we wish our countrymen of -Peter's class would imitate him in his better qualities, and try to -avoid his failings. - - - - - -THE LIANHAN SHEE. - - -One summer evening Mary Sullivan was sitting at her own well-swept -hearthstone, knitting feet to a pair of sheep's gray stockings for -Bartley, her husband. It was one of those serene evenings in the -month of June, when the decline of day assumes a calmness and repose, -resembling what we might suppose to have irradiated Eden, when our first -parents sat in it before their fall. The beams of the sun shone through -the windows in clear shafts of amber light, exhibiting millions of those -atoms which float to the naked eye within its mild radiance. The dog lay -barking in his dreams at her feet, and the gray cat sat purring placidly -upon his back, from which even his occasional agitation did not dislodge -her. - -Mrs. Sullivan was the wife of a wealthy farmer, and niece to the Rev. -Felix O'Rourke; her kitchen was consequently large, comfortable, and -warm. Over where she sat, jutted out the "brace" well lined with bacon; -to the right hung a well-scoured salt-box, and to the left was the jamb, -with its little gothic paneless window to admit the light. Within it -hung several ash rungs, seasoning for flail-sooples, or boulteens, a -dozen of eel-skins, and several stripes of horse-skin, as hangings for -them. The dresser was a "parfit white," and well furnished with the -usual appurtenances. Over the door and on the "threshel," were nailed, -"for luck," two horse-shoes, that had been found by accident. In a -little "hole" in the wall, beneath the salt-box, lay a bottle of holy -water to keep the place purified; and against the cope-stone of the -gable, on the outside, grew a large lump of house-leek, as a specific -for sore eyes and other maladies. - -In the corner of the garden were a few stalks of tansy "to kill the -thievin' worms in the childhre, the crathurs," together with a little -Rose-noble, Solomon's Seal, and Bu-gloss, each for some medicinal -purpose. The "lime wather" Mrs. Sullivan could make herself, and the -"bog bane" for the Unh roe, (* Literally, red water) or heart-burn, grew -in their own meadow drain; so that, in fact, she had within her reach a -very decent pharmacopoeia, perhaps as harmless as that of the profession -itself. Lying on the top of the salt-box was a bunch of fairy flax, and -sewed in the folds of her own scapular was the dust of what had once -been a four-leaved shamrock, an invaluable specific "for seein' the good -people," if they happened to come within the bounds of vision. Over the -door in the inside, over the beds, and over the cattle in the outhouses, -were placed branches of withered palm, that had been consecrated by the -priest on Palm Sunday; and when the cows happened to calve, this good -woman tied, with her own hands, a woollen thread about their tails, to -prevent them from being overlooked by evil eyes, or elf-shot* by the -fairies, who seem to possess a peculiar power over females of every -species during the period of parturition. It is unnecessary to mention -the variety of charms which she possessed for that obsolete malady the -colic, the toothache, headache, or for removing warts, and taking motes -out of the eyes; let it suffice to inform our readers that she was well -stocked with them; and that, in addition to this, she, together with her -husband, drank a potion made up and administered by an herb-doctor, for -preventing forever the slightest misunderstanding or quarrel between man -and wife. Whether it produced this desirable object or not our readers -may conjecture, when we add, that the herb-doctor, after having taken a -very liberal advantage of their generosity, was immediately compelled to -disappear from the neighborhood, in order to avoid meeting with Bartley, -who had a sharp lookout for him, not exactly on his own account, but -"in regard," he said, "that it had no effect upon Mary, at all, at all;" -whilst Mary, on the other hand, admitted its efficacy upon herself, but -maintained, "that Bartley was worse nor ever afther it." - - * This was, and in remote parts of the country still - is, one of the strongest instances of belief in the - power of the Fairies. The injury, which, if not - counteracted by a charm from the lips of a "Fairy-man," - or "Fairy-woman," was uniformly inflicted on the animal - by what was termed an elf-stone--which was nothing - more nor less than a piece of sharp flint, from three - to four or five ounces in weight. The cow was supposed - to be struck upon the loin with it by these mischievous - little beings, and the nature of the wound was indeed - said to be very peculiar--that is, it cut the midriff - without making any visible or palpable wound on the - outward skin. All animals dying of this complaint, - were supposed to be carried to the good people, and - there are many in the country who would not believe - that the dead carcass of the cow was that of the real - one at all, but an old log or block of wood, made to - resemble it. All such frauds, however, and deceptions - were inexplicable to every one, but such as happened to - possess a four-leaved shamrock, and this enabled its - possessor to see the block or log in its real shape, - although to others it appeared to be the real carcass. - -Such was Mary Sullivan, as she sat at her own hearth, quite alone, -engaged as we have represented her. What she may have been meditating on -we cannot pretend to ascertain; but after some time, she looked sharply -into the "backstone," or hob, with an air of anxiety and alarm. By -and by she suspended her knitting, and listened with much earnestness, -leaning her right ear over to the hob, from whence the sounds to which -she paid such deep attention proceeded. At length she crossed herself -devoutly, and exclaimed, "Queen of saints about us!--is it back ye are? -Well sure there's no use in talkin', bekase they say you know what's -said of you, or to you--an' we may as well spake yez fair.--Hem--musha, -yez are welcome back, crickets, avourneenee! I hope that, not like the -last visit ye ped us, yez are comin' for luck now! Moolyeen (* a cow -without horns) died, any way, soon afther your other kailyee, (* short -visit) ye crathurs ye. Here's the bread, an' the salt, an' the male for -yez, an' we wish ye well. Eh?--saints above, if it isn't listenin' they -are jist like a Christhien! Wurrah, but ye are the wise an' the quare -crathurs all out!" - -She then shook a little holy water over the hob, and muttered to herself -an Irish charm or prayer against the evils which crickets are often -supposed by the peasantry to bring with them, and requested, still in -the words of the charm, that their presence might, on that occasion, -rather be a presage of good fortune to man and beast belonging to her. - -"There now, ye _dhonans_ (* a diminuitive, delicate little thing) ye, -sure ye can't say that ye're ill-thrated here, anyhow, or ever was -mocked or made game of in the same family. You have got your hansel, an' -full an' plenty of it; hopin' at the same time that you'll have no rason -in life to cut our best clothes from revinge. Sure an' I didn't desarve -to have my brave stuff long body (* an old-fashioned Irish gown) riddled -the way it was, the last time ye wor here, an' only bekase little Barny, -that has but the sinse of a gorsoon, tould yez in a joke to pack off wid -yourself somewhere else. Musha, never heed what the likes of him says; -sure he's but a caudy, (* little boy) that doesn't mane ill, only the -bit o' divarsion wid yez." - -She then resumed her knitting, occasionally stopping, as she changed her -needles, to listen, with her ear set, as if she wished to augur from the -nature of their chirping, whether they came for good or for evil. This, -however, seemed to be beyond her faculty of translating their language; -for--after sagely shaking her head two or three times, she knit more -busily than before.* - - * Of the origin of this singular superstition I can - find no account whatsoever; it is conceived, however, - in a mild, sweet, and hospitable spirit. The visits of - these migratory little creatures, which may be termed - domestic grasshoppers, are very capricious and - uncertain, as are their departures; and it is, I should - think, for this reason, that they are believed to be - cognizant of the ongoings of human life. We can easily - suppose, for instance, that the coincidence of their - disappearance from a family, and the occurrence of a - death in that family, frequently multiplied as such - coincidences must be in the country at large, might - occasion the people, who are naturally credulous, to - associate the one event with the other; and on that - slight basis erect the general superstition. Crickets, - too, when chirupping, have a habit of suddenly ceasing, - so that when any particularly interesting conversation - happens to go on about the rustic hearth, this stopping - of their little chaunt looks so like listening, that it - is scarcely to be wondered at that the country folks - think they understand every word that is spoken. They - are thought, also, to foresee both good and evil, and - are considered vindictive, but yet capable of being - conciliated by fair words and kindness. They are also - very destructive among wearing-apparel, which they - frequently nibble into holes; and this is always looked - upon as a piece of revenge, occasioned by some - disrespectful language used towards them, or some - neglect of their little wants. This note was necessary - in order to render the conduct and language of Mary - Sullivan perfectly intelligible. - -At this moment, the shadow of a person passing the house darkened the -window opposite which she sat, and immediately a tall female, of a wild -dress and aspect, entered the kitchen. - -"_Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr!_ the blessin' o' goodness upon -you, dacent woman," said Mrs. Sullivan, addressing her in those kindly -phrases so peculiar to the Irish language. - -Instead of making her any reply, however, the woman, whose eye glistened -with a wild depth of meaning, exclaimed in low tones, apparently of much -anguish, "_Husht, husht', dherum!_ husht, husht, I say--let me alone--I -will do it--will you husht? I will, I say--I will--there now--that's -it--be quiet, an' I will do it--be quiet!" and as she thus spoke, she -turned her face back over her left shoulder, as if some invisible being -dogged her steps, and stood bending over her. - -"_Gho manhy dhea ghud, a ban chohr, dherhum areesh!_ the blessin' o' God -on you, honest woman, I say again," said Mrs. Sullivan, repeating that -sacred form of salutation with which the peasantry address each other. -"'Tis a fine evenin', honest woman, glory be to him that sent the same, -and amin! If it was cowld, I'd be axin' you to draw your chair in to the -fire: but, any way, won't you sit down?" - -As she ceased speaking, the piercing eye of the strange woman became -riveted on her with a glare, which, whilst it startled Mrs. Sullivan, -seemed full of an agony that almost abstracted her from external -life. It was not, however, so wholly absorbing as to prevent it from -expressing a marked interest, whether for good or evil, in the woman who -addressed her so hospitably. - -"Husht, now--husht," she said, as if aside--"husht, won't you--sure I -may speak the thing to her--you said it--there now, husht!" And then -fastening her dark eyes on Mrs. Sullivan, she smiled bitterly and -mysteriously. - -"I know you well," she said, without, however, returning the blessing -contained in the usual reply to Mrs. Sullivan's salutation--"I know you -well, Mary Sullivan--husht, now, husht--yes, I know you well, and the -power of all that you carry about you; but you'd be better than you -are--and that's well enough now--if you had sense to know--ah, ah, -ah!--what's this!" she exclaimed abruptly, with three distinct shrieks, -that seemed to be produced by sensations of sharp and piercing agony. - -"In the name of goodness, what's over you, honest woman?" inquired Mrs. -Sullivan, as she started from her chair, and ran to her in a state of -alarm, bordering on terror--"Is it sick you are?" - -The woman's face had got haggard, and its features distorted; but in a -few minutes they resumed their peculiar expression of settled wildness -and mystery. "Sick!" she replied, licking her parched lips, "awirck, -awirek! look! look!" and she pointed with a shudder that almost -convulsed her whole frame, to a lump that rose on her shoulders; this, -be it what it might, was covered with a red cloak, closely pinned and -tied with great caution about her body--"'tis here! I have it!" - -"Blessed mother!" exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan, tottering over to her chair, -as finished a picture of horror as the eye could witness, "this day's -Friday: the saints stand betwixt me an' all harm! Oh, holy Mary -protect me! _Nhanim an airh_," in the name of the Father, etc., and she -forthwith proceeded to bless herself, which she did thirteen times in -honor of the blessed virgin and the twelve apostles. - -"Ay, it's as you see!" replied the stranger, bitterly. "It is -here--husht, now--husht, I say--I will say the thing to her, mayn't I? -Ay, indeed, Mary Sullivan, 'tis with me always--always. Well, well, no, -I won't. I won't--easy. Oh, blessed saints, easy, and I won't." - -In the meantime Mrs. Sullivan had uncorked a bottle of holy water, and -plentifully bedewed herself with it, as a preservative against this -mysterious woman and her dreadful secret. - -"Blessed mother above!" she ejaculated, "the _Lianhan Shee_" And as -she spoke, with the holy water in the palm of her hand, she advanced -cautiously, and with great terror, to throw it upon the stranger and the -unearthly thing she bore. - -"Don't attempt it!" shouted the other, in tones of mingled fierceness -and terror, "do you want to give me pain without keeping yourself -anything at all safer? Don't you know it doesn't care about your holy -water? But I'd suffer for it, an' perhaps so would you." - -Mrs. Sullivan, terrified by the agitated looks of the woman, drew back -with affright, and threw the holy water with which she intended to -purify the other on her own person. - -"Why thin, you lost crathur, who or what are you at all?--don't, -don't--for the sake of all the saints and angels of heaven, don't come -next or near me--keep your distance--but what are you, or how did you -come to get that 'good thing' you carry about wid you?" - -"Ay, indeed!" replied the woman bitterly, "as if I would or could tell -you that! I say, you woman, you're doing what's not right in asking me -a question you ought not let to cross your lips--look to yourself, and -what's over you." - -The simple woman, thinking her meaning literal, almost leaped off her -seat with terror, and turned up her eyes to ascertain whether or not any -dreadful appearance had approached her, or hung over her where she sat. - -"Woman," said she, "I spoke you kind an' fair, an' I wish you -well--but"-- - -"But what?" replied the other--and her eyes kindled into deep and -profound excitement, apparently upon very slight grounds. - -"Why--hem--nothin' at all sure, only"-- - -"Only what?" asked the stranger, with a face of anguish that seemed to -torture every feature out of its proper lineaments. - -"Dacent woman," said Mrs. Sullivan, whilst the hair began to stand -with terror upon her head, "sure it's no wondher in life that I'm in a -perplexity, whin a _Lianhan Shee_ is undher the one roof wid me. 'Tisn't -that I want to know anything' at all about it--the dear forbid I should; -but I never hard of a person bein' tormented wid it as you are. I always -used to hear the people say that it thrated its friends well." - -"Husht!" said the woman, looking wildly over her shoulder, "I'll not -tell: it's on myself I'll leave the blame! Why, will you never pity me? -Am I to be night and day tormented? Oh, you're wicked an' cruel for no -reason!" - -"Thry," said Mrs. Sullivan, "an' bless yourself; call on God." - -"Ah!" shouted the other, "are you going to get me killed?" and as she -uttered the words, a spasmodic working which must have occasioned great -pain, even to torture, became audible in her throat: her bosom heaved -up and down, and her head was bent repeatedly on her breast, as if by -force. - -"Don't mention that name," said she, "in my presence, except you mean -to drive me to utter distraction. I mean," she continued, after a -considerable effort to recover her former tone and manner--"hear me with -attention--I mean, woman--you, Mary Sullivan--that if you mention that -holy name, you might as well keep plunging sharp knives into my heart! -Husht! peace to me for one minute, tormentor! Spare me something, I'm in -your power!" - -"Will you ate anything?" said Mrs. Sullivan; "poor crathur, you look -like hunger an' distress; there's enough in the house, blessed be them -that sent it! an' you had betther thry an' take some nourishment, any -way;" and she raised her eyes in a silent prayer of relief and ease for -the unhappy woman, whose unhallowed association had, in her opinion, -sealed her doom. - -"Will I?--will I?--oh!" she replied, "may you never know misery for -offering it! Oh, bring me something--some refreshment--some food--for -I'm dying with hunger." - -Mrs. Sullivan, who, with all her superstition, was remarkable for -charity and benevolence, immediately placed food and drink before her, -which the stranger absolutely devoured--taking care occasionally to -secrete under the protuberance which appeared behind her neck, a portion -of what she ate. This, however, she did, not by stealth, but openly; -merely taking means to prevent the concealed thing, from being, by any -possible accident discovered. - -When the craving of hunger was satisfied, she appeared to suffer less -from the persecution of her tormentor than, before; whether it was, as -Mrs. Sullivan thought, that the food with which she plied it, appeased -in some degree its irritability, or lessened that of the stranger, it -was difficult to say; at all events, she became more composed; her eyes -resumed somewhat of a natural expression; each sharp ferocious glare, -which shot, from them! with such intense and rapid flashes, partially -disappeared; her knit brows dilated, and part of a forehead, which had -once been capacious and handsome, lost the contractions which deformed -it by deep wrinkles. Altogether the change was evident, and very-much -relieved Mrs. Sullivan, who could not avoid observing it. - -"It's not that I care much about it, if you'd think it not right o' me, -but it's odd enough for you to keep the lower part of your face muffled -up in that black cloth, an' then your forehead, too, is covered down on -your face a bit? If they're part of the bargain,"--and she shuddered at -the thought--"between you an' anything that's not good--hem!--I think -you'd do well to throw thim off o' you, an' turn to thim that can -protect you from everything that's bad. Now a scapular would keep all -the divils in hell from one; an' if you'd"-- - -On looking at the stranger she hesitated, for the wild expression of her -eyes began to return. - -"Don't begin my punishment again," replied the woman; "make no -allus--don't make mention in my presence of anything that's good. -Husht,--husht,--it's beginning--easy now--easy! No," said she, "I came -to tell you, that only for my breakin' a vow I made to this thing upon -me, I'd be happy instead of miserable with it. I say, it's a good thing -to have, if the person will use this bottle," she added, producing one, -"as I will direct them." - -"I wouldn't wish, for my part," replied Mrs. Sullivan, "to have anything -to do wid it--neither act nor part;" and she crossed herself devoutly, -on contemplating such an unholy alliance as that at which her companion -hinted. - -"Mary Sullivan," replied the other, "I can put good fortune and -happiness in the way of you and yours. It is for you the good is -intended; if you don't get both, no other can," and her eyes kindled as -she spoke, like those of the Pythoness in the moment of inspiration. - -Mrs. Sullivan looked at her with awe, fear, and a strong mixture of -curiosity; she had often heard that the _Lianhan Shee_ had, through -means of the person to whom it was bound, conferred wealth upon several, -although it could never render this important service to those who -exercised direct authority over it. She therefore experienced something -like a conflict between her fears and a love of that wealth, the -possession of which was so plainly intimated to her. - -"The money," said she, "would be one thing, but to have the _Lianhan -Shee_ planted over a body's shouldher--och; the saints preserve us!--no, -not for oceans' of hard goold would I have it in my company one minnit. -But in regard to the money--hem!--why, if it could be managed widout -havin' act or part wid that thing, people would do anything in rason and -fairity." - -"You have this day been kind to me," replied the woman, "and that's -what I can't say of many--dear help me!--husht! Every door is shut in -my face! Does not every cheek get pale when I am seen? If I meet a -fellow-creature on the road, they turn into the field to avoid me; if I -ask for food, it's to a deaf ear I speak; if I am thirsty, they send -me to the river. What house would shelter me? In cold, in hunger, in -drought, in storm, and in tempest, I am alone and unfriended, hated, -feared, an' avoided; starving in the winter's cold, and burning in the -summer's heat. All this is my fate here; and--oh! oh! oh!--have mercy, -tormentor--have mercy! I will not lift my thoughts there--I'll keep the -paction--but spare me now!" - -She turned round as she spoke, seeming to follow an invisible object, -or, perhaps, attempting to get a more complete view of the mysterious -being which exercised such a terrible and painful influence over her. -Mrs. Sullivan, also, kept her eye fixed upon the lump, and actually -believed that she saw it move. Fear of incurring the displeasure of what -it contained, and a superstitious reluctance harshly to thrust a person -from her door who had eaten of her food, prevented her from desiring the -woman to depart. - -"In the name of Goodness," she replied, "I will have nothing to do wid -your gift. Providence, blessed be his name, has done well for me an' -mine, an' it mightn't be right to go beyant what it has pleased him to -give me." - -"A rational sentiment!--I mean there's good sense in what you say," -answered the stranger: "but you need not be afraid," and she accompanied -the expression by holding up the bottle and kneeling: "now," she added, -"listen to me, and judge for yourself, if what I say, when I swear it, -can be a lie." She then proceeded to utter oaths of the most solemn -nature, the purport of which Was to assure Mrs. Sullivan that drinking -of the bottle would be attended with no danger. "You see this little -bottle, drink it. Oh, for my sake and your own drink it; it will give -wealth without end to you and to all belonging to you. Take one-half of -it before sunrise, and the other half when he goes down. You must stand -while drinking it, with your face to the east, in the morning; and at -night, to the west. Will you promise to do this?" - -"How would drinkin' the bottle get me money?" inquired Mrs. Sullivan, -who certainly felt a strong tendency of heart to the wealth. - -"That I can't tell you now, nor would you understand it, even if I -could; but you will know all when what I say is complied with." - -"Keep your bottle, dacent woman. I wash my hands of it: the saints above -guard me from the timptation! I'm sure it's not right, for as I'm a -sinner, 'tis getting stronger every minute widin me? Keep it! I'm loth -to bid any one that ett o' my bread to go from my hearth, but if you go, -I'll make it worth your while. Saints above, what's comin' over me. In -my whole life I never had such a hankerin' afther money! Well, well, but -it's quare entirely!" - -"Will you drink it?" asked her companion. "If it does hurt or harm -to you or yours, or anything but good, may what is hanging over me be -fulfilled!" and she extended a thin, but, considering her years, -not ungraceful arm, in the act of holding out the bottle to her kind -entertainer. - -"For the sake of all that's good and gracious take it without -scruple--it is not hurtful, a child might drink every drop that's in it. -Oh, for the sake of all you love, and of all that love you, take it!" -and as she urged her, the tears streamed down her cheeks. - -"No, no," replied Mrs. Sullivan, "it'll never cross my lips; not if it -made me as rich as ould Hendherson, that airs his guineas in the sun, -for fraid they'd get light by lyin' past." - -"I entreat you to take it?" said the strange woman. - -"Never, never!--once for all--I say, I won't; so spare your breath." - -The firmness of the good housewife was not, in fact to be shaken; so, -after exhausting all the motives and arguments with which she could urge -the accomplishments of her design, the strange woman, having again put -the bottle into her bosom, prepared to depart. - -She had now once more become calm, and resumed her seat with the languid -air of one who has suffered much exhaustion and excitement. She put -her hand upon her forehead for a few moments, as if collecting her -faculties, or endeavoring to remember the purport of their previous -conversation. A slight moisture had broken through her skin, and -altogether, notwithstanding her avowed criminality in entering into an -unholy bond, she appeared an object of deep compassion. - -In a moment her manner changed again, and her eyes blazed out once more, -as she asked her alarmed hostess:-- - -"Again, Mary Sullivan, will you take the gift that I have it in my power -to give you? ay or no? speak, poor mortal, if you know what is for your -own good?" - -Mrs. Sullivan's fears, however, had overcome her love of money, -particularly as she thought that wealth obtained in such a manner could -not prosper; her only objection being to the means of acquiring it. - -"Oh!" said the stranger, "am I doomed never to meet with any one who -will take the promise off me by drinking of this bottle? Oh! but I am -unhappy! What it is to fear--ah! ah!--and keep his commandments. Had -I done so in my youthful time, I wouldn't now--ah--merciful mother, is -there no relief? kill me, tormentor; kill me outright, for surely the -pangs of eternity cannot be greater than those you now make me suffer. -Woman," said she, and her muscles stood out in extraordinary energy-- -"woman, Mary Sullivan--ay, if you should kill me--blast me--where I -stand, I will say the word--woman--you have daughters--teach them--to -fear-" - -Having got so far, she stopped--her bosom heaved up and down--her frame -shook dreadfully--her eyeballs became lurid and fiery--her hands were -clenched, and the spasmodic throes of inward convulsion worked the white -froth up to her mouth; at length she suddenly became like a statue, with -this wild, supernatural expression intense upon her, and with an awful -calmness, by far more dreadful than excitement could be, concluded by -pronouncing, in deep, husky tones, the name of God. - -Having accomplished this with such a powerful struggle, she turned -round, with pale despair in her countenance and manner, and with -streaming eyes slowly departed, leaving Mrs. Sullivan in a situation not -at all to be envied. - -In a short time the other members of the family, who had been out -at their evening employments, returned. Bartley, her husband, having -entered somewhat sooner than his three daughters from milking, was the -first to come in; presently the girls followed, and in a few minutes -they sat down to supper, together with the servants, who dropped in -one by one, after the toil of the day. On placing themselves about the -table, Bartley, as usual, took his seat at the head; but Mrs. Sullivan, -instead of occupying hers, sat at the fire in a state of uncommon -agitation. Every two or three minutes she would cross herself devoutly, -and mutter such prayers against spiritual influences of an evil nature, -as she could compose herself to remember. - -"Thin, why don't you come to your supper, Mary," said the husband, -"while the sowans are warm? Brave and thick they are this night, any -way." - -His wife was silent; for so strong a hold had the strange woman and her -appalling secret upon her mind, that it was not till he repeated his -question three or four times--raising his head with surprise, and -asking, "Eh, thin, Mary, what's come over you--is it unwell you -are?"--that she noticed what he said. - -"Supper!" she exclaimed, "unwell! 'tis a good right I have to be -unwell,--I hope nothin' bad will happen, any way. Feel my face, Nanny," -she added, addressing one of her daughters, "it's as cowld an' wet as a -lime-stone--ay, an' if you found me a corpse before you, it wouldn't be -at all strange." - -There was a general pause at the seriousness of this intimation. The -husband rose from his supper, and went up to the hearth where she sat. - -"Turn round to the light," said he; "why, Mary dear, in the name of -wondher, what ails you? for you're like a corpse, sure enough. Can't -you tell us what has happened, or what put you in such a state? Why, -childhre, the cowld sweat's teemin' off her!" - -The poor woman, unable to sustain the shock produced by her interview -with the stranger, found herself getting more weak, and requested a -drink of water; but before it could be put to her lips, she laid her -head upon the back of the chair and fainted. Grief, and uproar, and -confusion followed this alarming incident. The presence of mind, so -necessary on such occasions, was wholly lost; one ran here, and another -there, all jostling against each other, without being cool enough to -render her proper assistance. The daughters were in tears, and Bartley -himself was dreadfully shocked by seeing his wife apparently lifeless -before him. - -She soon recovered, however, and relieved them from the apprehension of -her death, which they thought had actually taken place. "Mary," said the -husband, "something quare entirely has happened, or you wouldn't be in -this state!" - -"Did any of you see a strange woman lavin' the house, a minute or two -before ye came in?" she inquired. - -"No," they replied, "not a stim of any one did we see." - -"_Wurrah dheelish!_ No?--now is it possible ye didn't?" She then -described her, but all declared they had seen no such person. - -"Bartley, whisper," said she, and beckoning him over to her, in a -few words she revealed the secret. The husband grew pale, and crossed -himself. "Mother of Saints! childhre," said he, "a _Lianhan Shee!_" -The words were no sooner uttered than every countenance assumed the -pallidness of death: and every right hand was raised in the act of -blessing the person, and crossing the forehead. "The _Lianhan Shee!!_" -all exclaimed in fear and horror--"This day's Friday, God betwixt us -an' harm!"* - - * This short form is supposed to be a safeguard against - the Fairies. The particular day must be always named. - -It was now after dusk, and the hour had already deepened into the -darkness of a calm, moonless, summer night; the hearth, therefore, in a -short time, became surrounded by a circle, consisting of every person in -the house; the door was closed and securely bolted;--a struggle for the -safest seat took place, and to Bartley's shame be it spoken, he lodged -himself on the hob within the jamb, as the most distant situation -from the fearful being known as the _Lianhan Shee_. The recent terror, -however, brooded over them all; their topic of conversation was the -mysterious visit, of which Mrs. Sullivan gave a painfully accurate -detail; whilst every ear of those who composed her audience was set, -and every single hair of their heads bristled up, as if awakened into -distinct life by the story. Bartley looked into the fire soberly, except -when the cat, in prowling about the dresser, electrified him into a -start of fear, which sensation went round every link of the living chain -about the hearth. - -The next day the story spread through the whole neighborhood, -accumulating in interest and incident as it went. Where it received the -touches, embellishments, and emendations, with which it was amplified, -it would be difficult to say; every one told it, forsooth, exactly as -he heard it from another; but indeed it is not improbable, that those -through whom it passed were unconscious of the additions it had received -at their hands. It is not unreasonable to suppose that imagination -in such cases often colors highly without a premeditated design of -falsehood. Fear and dread, however, accompanied its progress; such -families as had neglected to keep holy water in their houses borrowed -some from their neighbors; every old prayer which had become rusty -from disuse, was brightened up--charms were hung about the necks of -cattle--and gospels about those of children--crosses were placed over -the doors and windows;--no unclean water was thrown out before sunrise -or after dusk-- - - "E'en those prayed now who never prayed before. - And those who always prayed, still prayed the more." - -The inscrutable woman who caused such general dismay in the parish was -an object of much pity. Avoided, feared, and detested, she could find -no rest for her weary feet, nor any shelter for her unprotected head. If -she was seen approaching a house, the door and windows were immediately -closed against her; if met on the way she was avoided as a pestilence. -How she lived no one could tell, for none would permit themselves to -know. It was asserted that she existed without meat or drink, and that -she was doomed to remain possessed of life, the prey of hunger and -thirst, until she could get some one weak enough to break the spell by -drinking her hellish draught, to taste which, they said, would be to -change places with herself, and assume her despair and misery. - -There had lived in the country about six months before her appearance -in it, a man named Stephenson. He was unmarried, and the last of his -family. This person led a solitary and secluded life, and exhibited -during the last years of his existence strong symptoms of eccentricity, -which, for some months before his death, assumed a character of -unquestionable derangement. He was found one morning hanging by a halter -in his own stable, where he had, under the influence of his malady, -committed suicide. At this time the public press had not, as now, -familiarized the minds of the people to that dreadful crime, and it was -consequently looked upon then with an intensity of horror, of which -we can scarcely entertain any adequate notion. His farm remained -unoccupied, for while an acre of land could be obtained in any other -quarter, no man would enter upon such unhallowed premises. The house was -locked up, and it was currently reported that Stephenson and the devil -each night repeated the hanging scene in the stable; and that when the -former was committing the "hopeless sin," the halter slipped several -times from the beam of the stable-loft, when Satan came, in the shape of -a dark complexioned man with a hollow voice, and secured the rope until -Stephenson's end was accomplished. - -In this stable did the wanderer take up her residence at night; and when -we consider the belief of the people in the night-scenes, which were -supposed to occur in it, we need not be surprised at the new feature -of horror which this circumstance super-added to her character. Her -presence and appearance, in the parish were dreadful; a public outcry -was soon raised against her, which, were it not from fear of her power -over their lives and cattle, might have ended in her death. None, -however, had courage to grapple with her, or to attempt expelling her -by violence, lest a signal vengeance might be taken on any who dared -to injure a woman that could call in the terrible aid of the _Lianhan -Shee_. - -In this state of feeling they applied to the parish priest, who, -on hearing the marvellous stories related concerning her, and on -questioning each man closely upon his authority, could perceive, that, -like most other reports, they were to be traced principally to the -imagination and fears of the people. He ascertained, however, enough -from Bartley Sullivan to justify a belief that there was something -certainly uncommon about the woman; and being of a cold, phlegmatic -disposition, with some humor, he desired them to go home, if they were -wise--he shook his head mysteriously as he spoke--"and do the woman no -injury, if they didn't wish--" and with this abrupt hint he sent them -about their business. - -This, however, did not satisfy them. In the same parish lived a -suspended priest, called Father Philip O'Dallaghy, who supported -himself, as most of them do, by curing certain diseases of the -people--miraculously! He had no other means of subsistence, nor indeed -did he seem strongly devoted to life, or to the pleasures it -afforded. He was not addicted to those intemperate habits which -characterize "Blessed Priests" in general; spirits he never tasted, nor -any food that could be termed a luxury, or even a comfort. His communion -with the people was brief, and marked by a tone of severe contemptuous -misanthropy. He seldom stirred abroad except during morning, or in -the evening twilight, when he might be seen gliding amidst the coming -darkness, like a dissatisfied spirit. His life was an austere one, -and his devotional practices were said to be of the most remorseful -character. Such a man, in fact, was calculated to hold a powerful sway -over the prejudices and superstitions of the people. This was true. His -power was considered almost unlimited, and his life one that would not -disgrace the highest saint in the calendar. There were not wanting some -persons in the parish who hinted that Father Felix O'Rourke, the parish -priest, was himself rather reluctant to incur the displeasure, or -challenge the power, of the _Lianhan Shee_, by, driving its victim -out of the parish. The opinion of these persons was, in its distinct -unvarnished reality, that Father Felix absolutely showed the white -feather on this critical occasion--that he became shy, and begged -leave to decline being introduced to this intractable pair--seeming to -intimate that he did not at all relish adding them to the stock of his -acquaintances. - -Father Philip they considered as a decided contrast to him on this -point. His stern and severe manner, rugged, and, when occasion demanded, -daring, they believed suitable to the qualities requisite for sustaining -such an interview. They accordingly waited, on him; and after Bartley -and his friends had given as faithful a report of the circumstances as, -considering all things, could be expected, he told Bartley he would hear -from Mrs. Sullivan's own lips the authentic narrative. This was quite -satisfactory, and what was expected from him. As for himself, he -appeared to take no particular interest in the matter, further than that -of allaying the ferment and alarm which had spread through the parish. -"Plase your Reverence," said Bartley, "she came in to Mary, and she -alone in the house, and for the matther o' that, I believe she laid -hands upon her, and tossed and tumbled the crathur, and she but a sickly -woman, through the four corners of the house. Not that Mary lets an so -much, for she's afeard; but I know from her way, when she spakes about -her, that it's thruth, your Reverence." - -"But didn't the _Lianhan Shee_," said one of them, "put a sharp-pointed -knife to her breast, wid a divilish intintion of makin' her give the -best of aitin' an' dhrinkin' the house afforded?" - -"She got the victuals, to a sartinty," replied Bartley, "and 'overlooked' -my woman for her pains; for she's not the picture of herself since." - -Every one now told some magnified and terrible circumstance, -illustrating the formidable power of the _Lianhan Shee_. - -When they had finished, the sarcastic lip of the priest curled into an -expression of irony and contempt; his brow, which was naturally black -and heavy, darkened; and a keen, but rather a ferocious-looking eye, -shot forth a glance, which, while it intimated disdain for those to whom -it was directed, spoke also of a dark and troubled spirit in himself. -The man seemed to brook with scorn the degrading situation of a -religious quack, to which some incontrollable destiny had doomed him. - -"I shall see your wife to-morrow," said he to Bartley; "and after -hearing the plain account of what happened, I will consider what is best -to be done with this dark, perhaps unhappy, perhaps guilty character; -but whether dark, or unhappy, or guilty, I, for one, should not and will -not avoid her. Go, and bring me word to-morrow evening, when I can see -her on the following day. Begone!" - -When they withdrew, Father Philip paced his room for some time in -silence and anxiety. - -"Ay," said he, "infatuated people! sunk in superstition and ignorance, -yet, perhaps, happier in your degradation than those who, in the pride -of knowledge, can only look back upon a life of crime and misery. What -is a sceptic? What is an infidel? Men who, when they will not submit to -moral restraint, harden themselves into scepticism and infidelity, until -in the headlong career of guilt, that which was first adopted to -lull the outcry of conscience, is supported by the pretended pride of -principle. Principle in a sceptic! Hollow and devilish lie! Would I have -plunged into scepticism, had I not first violated the moral sanctions of -religion? Never. I became an infidel, because I first became a villain! -Writhing under a load of guilt, that which I wished might be true I soon -forced myself to think true: and now"--he here clenched his hands and -groaned--"now--ay--now--and hereafter--oh, that hereafter! Why can I -not shake the thoughts of it from my conscience? Religion! Christianity! -With all the hardness of an infidel's heart I feel your truth; because, -if every man were the villain that infidelity would make him, then -indeed might every man curse God for his existence bestowed upon him--as -I would, but dare not do. Yet why can I not believe?--Alas! why should -God accept an unrepentant heart? Am I not a hypocrite, mocking him by -a guilty pretension to his power, and leading the dark into thicker -darkness? Then these hands--blood!--broken vows!--ha! ha! ha! Well, -go--let misery have its laugh, like the light that breaks from the -thunder-cloud. Prefer Voltaire to Christ; sow the wind, and reap the -whirlwind, as I have done--ha, ha, ha! Swim, world--swim about me! I -have lost the ways of Providence, and am dark! She awaits me; but I -broke the chain that galled us: yet it still rankles--still rankles!" - -The unhappy man threw himself into a chair in a paroxysm of frenzied -agony. For more than an hour he sat in the same posture, until he became -gradually hardened into a stiff, lethargic insensibility, callous and -impervious to feeling, reason, or religion--an awful transition from a -visitation of conscience so terrible as that which he had just suffered. -At length he arose, and by walking moodily about, relapsed into his -usual gloomy and restless character. - -When Bartley went home, he communicated to his wife Father Philip's -intention of calling on the following day, to hear a correct account of -the Lianhan Shee. - -"Why, thin," said she, "I'm glad of it, for I intinded myself to go to -him, any way, to get my new scapular consecrated. How-an'-ever, as he's -to come, I'll get a set of gospels for the boys an' girls, an' he can -consecrate all when his hand's in. Aroon, Bartley, they say that man's -so holy that he can do anything--ay, melt a body off the face o' the -earth, like snow off a ditch. Dear me, but the power they have is -strange all out!" - -"There's no use in gettin' him anything to ate or dhrink," replied -Bartley; "he wouldn't take a glass o' whiskey once in seven years. -Throth, myself thinks he's a little too dry; sure he might be holy -enough, an' yet take a sup of an odd time. There's Father Felix, an' -though we all know he's far from bein' so blessed a man as him, yet he -has friendship an' neighborliness in him, an' never refuses a glass in -rason." - -"But do you know what I was tould about Father Philip, Bartley?" - -"I'll tell you that afther I hear it, Mary, my woman; you won't expect -me to tell what I don't know?--ha, ha, ha!" - -"Behave, Bartley, an' quit your jokin' now, at all evints; keep it till -we're talkin' of somethin' else, an' don't let us be committin' sin, -maybe, while we're spakin' of what we're spakin' about; but they say -it's as thrue as the sun to the dial:--the Lent afore last itself it -was,--he never tasted mate or dhrink durin' the whole seven weeks! Oh, -you needn't stare! it's well known by thim that has as much sinse -as you--no, not so much as you'd carry on the point o' this -knittin'-needle. Well, sure the housekeeper an' the two sarvants -wondhered--faix, they couldn't do less--an' took it into their heads -to watch him closely; an' what do you think--blessed be all the saints -above!--what do you think they seen?" - -"The Goodness above knows; for me--I don't." - -"Why, thin, whin he was asleep they seen a small silk thread in his -mouth, that came down through the ceilin' from heaven, an' he suckin' -it, just as a child would his mother's breast whin the crathur 'ud -be asleep: so that was the way he was supported by the angels! An' I -remimber myself, though he's a dark, spare, yallow man at all times, yet -he never looked half so fat an' rosy as he did the same Lent!" - -"Glory be to Heaven! Well, well--it is sthrange the power they have! As -for him, I'd as fee meet St. Pettier, or St. Pathrick himself, as him; -for one can't but fear him, somehow." - -"Fear him! Och, it 'ud be the pity o' thim that 'ud do anything to -vex or anger that man. Why, his very look 'ud wither thim, till there -wouldn't be the thrack* o' thim on the earth; an' as for his curse, why -it 'ud scorch thim to ashes!" - - * Track, foot-mark, put for life - -As it was generally known that Father Philip was to visit Mrs. Sullivan -the next day, in order to hear an account of the mystery which filled -the parish with such fear, a very great number of the parishioners were -assembled in and about Bartley's long before he made his appearance. At -length he was seen walking slowly down the road, with an open book in -his hand, on the pages of which he looked from time to time. When he -approached the house, those who were standing about it assembled in -a body, and, with one consent, uncovered their heads, and asked his -blessing. His appearance bespoke a mind ill at ease; his face was -haggard, and his eyes bloodshot. On seeing the people kneel, he -smiled with his usual bitterness, and, shaking his hand with an air -of impatience over them, muttered some words, rather in mockery of the -ceremony than otherwise. They then rose, and blessing themselves, put -on their hats, rubbed the dust off their knees, and appeared to think -themselves recruited by a peculiar accession of grace. - -On entering the house the same form was repeated; and when it was over, -the best chair was placed for him by Mary's own hands, and the fire -stirred up, and a line of respect drawn, within which none was to -intrude, lest he might feel in any degree incommoded. - -"My good neighbor," said he to Mrs. Sullivan, "what strange woman is -this, who has thrown the parish into such a ferment? I'm told she paid -you a visit? Pray sit down." - -"I humbly thank your Reverence," said Mary, curtseying lowly, "but I'd -rather not sit, sir, if you plase. I hope I know what respect manes, -your Reverence. Barny Bradagh, I'll thank you to stand up, if you plase, -an' his Reverence to the fore, Barny." - -"I ax your Reverence's pardon, an' yours, too, Mrs. Sullivan: sure we -didn't mane the disrespect, any how, sir, plase your Reverence." - -"About this woman, and the _Lianhan Shee?_" said the priest, without -noticing Barny's apology. "Pray what do you precisely understand by a -_Lianhan Shee?_" - -"Why, sir," replied Mary, "some sthrange bein' from the good people, -or fairies, that sticks to some persons. There's a bargain, sir, your -Reverence, made atween thim; an' the divil, sir, that is, the ould -boy--the saints about us!--has a hand in it. The _Lianhan Shee_, your -Reverence, is never seen only by thim it keeps wid; but--hem!--it -always, with the help of the ould boy, conthrives, sir, to make the -person brake the agreement, an' thin it has thim in its power; but if -they don't brake the agreement, thin it's in their power. If they can -get any body to put in their place, they may get out o' the bargain; for -they can, of a sartainty, give oceans o' money to people, but can't take -any themselves, plase your Reverence. But sure, where's the use o' me -to be tellin' your Reverence what you know betther nor myself?--an' why -shouldn't you, or any one that has the power you have?" - -He smiled again at this in his own peculiar manner, and was proceeding -to inquire more particularly into the nature of the interview between -them, when the noise of feet, and sounds of general alarm, accompanied -by a rush of people into the house, arrested his attention, and he -hastily inquired into the cause of the commotion. Before he could -receive a reply, however, the house was almost crowded; and it was not -without considerable difficulty, that, by the exertions of Mrs. Sullivan -and Bartley, sufficient order and quiet were obtained to hear distinctly -what was said. - -"Plase your Reverence," said several voices at once, "they're comin', -hot-foot, into the very house to us! Was ever the likes seen! an' they -must know right well, sir, that you're widin in it." - -"Who are coming?" he inquired. "Why the woman, sir, an' her good pet, -the _Lianhan Shee_, your Reverence." - -"Well," said he, "but why should you all appear so blanched with terror? -Let her come in, and we shall see how far she is capable of injuring her -fellow-creatures: some maniac," he muttered, in a low soliloquy, "whom -the villany of the world has driven into derangement--some victim to a -hand like m----. Well, they say there is a Providence, yet such things -are permitted!" - -"He's sayin' a prayer now," observed one of them; "haven't we a good -right to be thankful that he's in the place wid us while she's in it, -or dear knows what harm she might do us--maybe rise the wind!"* As the -latter speaker concluded, there was a dead silence. The persons about -the door crushed each other backwards, their feet set out before them, -and their shoulders laid with violent pressure against those who stood -behind, for each felt anxious to avoid all danger of contact with a -being against whose power even a blessed priest found it necessary to -guard himself by a prayer. - - * It is generally supposed by the people, that persons - who have entered into a compact with Satan can raise - the wind by calling him up, and that it cannot be laid - unless by the death of a black cock, a black dog, or an - unchristened child. - -At length a low murmur ran among the people--"Father O'Rourke!--here's -Father O'Rourke!--he has turned the corner after her, an' they're both -comin' in." Immediately they entered, but it was quite evident from the -manner of the worthy priest that he was unacquainted with the person -of this singular being. When they crossed the threshold, the priest -advanced, and expressed his surprise at the throng of people assembled. - -"Plase your Reverence," said Bartley, "that's the woman," nodding -significantly towards her as he spoke, but without looking at her -person, lest the evil eye he dreaded so much might meet his, and give -him "the blast." - -The dreaded female, on seeing the house in such a crowded state, -started, paused, and glanced with some terror at the persons assembled. -Her dress was not altered since her last visit; but her countenance, -though more meagre and emaciated, expressed but little of the unsettled -energy which then flashed from her eyes, and distorted her features by -the depth of that mysterious excitement by which she had been agitated. -Her countenance was still muffled as before, the awful protuberance rose -from her shoulders, and the same band which Mrs. Sullivan had alluded to -during their interview, was bound about the upper part of her forehead. - -She had already stood upwards of two minutes, during which the fall of -a feather might be heard, yet none bade God bless her--no kind hand was -extended to greet her--no heart warmed in affection towards her; on -the contrary, every eye glanced at her, as a being marked with enmity -towards God. Blanched faces and knit brows, the signs of fear and -hatred, were turned upon her; her breath was considered pestilential, -and her touch paralysis. There she stood, proscribed, avoided, and -hunted like a tigress, all fearing to encounter, yet wishing to -exterminate her! Who could she be?--or what had she done, that the -finger of the Almighty marked her out for such a fearful weight of -vengeance? - -Father Philip rose and advanced a few steps, until he stood confronting -her. His person was tall, his features dark, severe, and solemn: and -when the nature of the investigation about to take place is considered, -it need not be wondered at, that the moment was, to those present, one -of deep and impressive interest--such as a visible conflict between -a supposed champion of God and a supernatural being was calculated to -excite. - -"Woman," said he, in his deep stern voice, "tell me who and what you -are, and why you assume a character of such a repulsive and mysterious -nature, when it can entail only misery, shame, and persecution on -yourself? I conjure you, in the name of Him after whose image you are -created, to speak truly?" - -He paused, and the tall figure stood mute before him. The silence was -dead as death--every breath was hushed and the persons assembled stood -immovable as statues! Still she spoke not; but the violent heaving of -her breast evinced the internal working of some dreadful struggle. Her -face before was pale--it was now ghastly; her lips became blue, and her -eyes vacant. - -"Speak!" said he, "I conjure you in the name of the power by whom we -live!" - -It is probable that the agitation under which she labored was produced -by the severe effort made to sustain the unexpected trial she had to -undergo. - -For some minutes her struggle continued; but having begun at its highest -pitch, it gradually subsided until it settled in a calmness which -appeared fixed and awful as the resolution of despair. With breathless -composure she turned round, and put back that part of her dress which -concealed her face, except the band on her forehead, which she did not -remove; having done this she turned again, and walked calmly towards -Father Philip, with a deadly smile upon her thin lips. When within -a step of where he stood, she paused, and riveting her eyes upon him -exclaimed-- - -"Who and what am I? The victim of infidelity and you, the bearer of a -cursed existence, the scoff and scorn of the world, the monument of a -broken vow and a guilty life, a being scourged by the scorpion lash -of conscience, blasted by periodical insanity, pelted by the winter's -storm, scorched by the summer's heat, withered by starvation, hated by -man, and touched into my inmost spirit by the anticipated tortures of -future misery. I have no rest for the sole of my foot, no repose for a -head distracted by the contemplation of a guilty life; I am the unclean -spirit which walketh to seek rest and findeth none; I am--_what you have -made me!_ Behold," she added, holding up the bottle, "this failed, and I -live to accuse you. But no, you are my husband--though our union was but -a guilty form, and I will bury that in silence. You thought me dead, and -you flew to avoid punishment--did you avoid it? No; the finger of God -has written pain and punishment upon your brow. I have been in all -characters, in all shapes, have spoken with the tongue of a peasant, -moved in my natural sphere; but my knees were smitten, my brain -stricken, and the wild malady which banishes me from society has been -upon me for years. Such I am, and such, I say, have you made me. As -for you, kind-hearted woman, there was nothing in this bottle but pure -water. The interval of reason returned this day, and having remembered -glimpses of our conversation, I came to apologize to you, and to explain -the nature of my unhappy distemper, and to beg a little bread, which I -have not tasted for two days. I at times conceive myself attended by -an evil spirit shaped out by a guilty conscience, and this is the only -familiar which attends me, and by it I have been dogged into madness -through every turning of life. Whilst it lasts I am subject to spasms -and convulsive starts which are exceedingly painful. The lump on my back -is the robe I wore when innocent in my peaceful convent." - -The intensity of general interest was now transferred to Father Philip; -every face was turned towards him, but he cared not. A solemn stillness -yet prevailed among all present. From the moment she spoke, her eye drew -his with the power of a basilisk. His pale face became like marble, not -a muscle moved; and when she ceased speaking, his blood-shot eyes were -still fixed upon her countenance with a gloomy calmness like that which -precedes a tempest. They stood before each other, dreadful counterparts -in guilt, for truly his spirit was as dark as hers. - -At length he glanced angrily around him;--"Well," said he, "what is it -now, ye poor infatuated wretches, to trust in the sanctity of man. -Learn from me to place the same confidence in God which you place in -his guilty creatures, and you will not lean on a broken reed. Father -O'Rourke, you, too, witness my disgrace, but not my punishment. It -is pleasant, no doubt, to have a topic for conversation at your -Conferences; enjoy it. As for you, Margaret, if society lessen -misery, we may be less miserable. But the band of your order, and the -remembrance of your vow is on your forehead, like the mark of Cain--tear -it off, and let it not blast a man who is the victim of prejudice -still,--nay of superstition, as well as of guilt; tear it from my -sight." His eyes kindled fearfully, as he attempted to pull it away by -force. - -She calmly took it off, and he immediately tore it into pieces, and -stamped upon the fragments as he flung them on the ground. - -"Come," said the despairing man--"come--there is a shelter for you, but -no peace!--food, and drink, and raiment, but no peace!--no peace!" As he -uttered these words, in a voice that sank to its deepest pitch, he took -her hand, and they both departed to his own residence. - -The amazement and horror of those who were assembled in Bartley's house -cannot be described. Our readers may be assured that they deepened in -character as they spread through the parish. An undefined, fear of this -mysterious pair seized upon the people, for their images were associated -in their minds with darkness and crime, and supernatural communion. The -departing words of Father Philip rang in their ears: they trembled, -and devoutly crossed themselves, as fancy again repeated the awful -exclamation of the priest--"No peace! no peace!" - -When Father Philip and his unhappy associate went home, he instantly -made her a surrender of his small property; but with difficulty did -he command sufficient calmness to accomplish even this. He was -distracted--his blood seemed to have been turned to fire--he clenched -his hands, and he gnashed his teeth, and exhibited the wildest symptoms -of madness. About ten o'clock he desired fuel for a large fire to be -brought into the kitchen, and got a strong cord, which he coiled and -threw carelessly on the table. The family were then ordered to bed. -About eleven they were all asleep; and at the solemn hour of twelve he -heaped additional fuel upon the living turf, until the blaze shone with -scorching light upon everything around. Dark and desolating was the -tempest within him, as he paced, with agitated steps, before the -crackling fire. - -"She is risen!" he exclaimed--"the spectre of all my crimes is risen to -haunt me through life! I am a murderer--yet she lives, and my guilt -is not the less! The stamp of eternal infamy is upon me--the finger of -scorn will mark me out--the tongue of reproach will sting me like that -of a serpent--the deadly touch of shame will cover me like a leper--the -laws of society will crush the murderer, not the less that his -wickedness in blood has miscarried: after that comes the black and -terrible tribunal of the Almighty's vengeance--of his fiery indignation! -Hush!--What sounds are those? They deepen--they deepen! Is it thunder? -It cannot be the crackling of the blaze! It is thunder!--but it speaks -only to my ear! Hush!--Great God, there is a change in my voice! It is -hollow and supernatural! Could a change have come over me? Am I living? -Could I have----Hah!--Could I have departed? and am I now at length -given over to the worm that never dies? If it be at my heart, I may feel -it. God!--I am damned! Here is a viper twined about my limbs trying to -dart its fangs into my heart! Hah!--there are feet pacing in the -room, too, and I hear voices! I am surrounded by evil spirits! Who's -there?--What are you?--Speak!--They are silent!--There is no answer! -Again comes the thunder! But perchance this is not my place of -punishment, and I will try to leave these horrible spirits!" - -[Illustration: PAGE 975-- Who's there?--What are you?--Speak!] - -He opened the door, and passed out into a small green field that lay -behind the house. The night was calm, and the silence profound as death. -Not a cloud obscured the heavens; the light of the moon fell upon the -stillness of the scene around him, with all the touching beauty of a -moonlit midnight in summer. Here he paused a moment, felt his brow, -then his heart, the palpitations of which fell audibly upon his ear. He -became somewhat cooler; the images of madness which had swept through -his stormy brain disappeared, and were succeeded by a lethargic vacancy -of thought, which almost deprived him of the consciousness of his own -identity. From the green field he descended mechanically to a little -glen which opened beside it. It was one of those delightful spots to -which the heart clingeth. Its sloping sides were clothed with patches of -wood, on the leaves of which the moonlight glanced with a soft lustre, -rendered more beautiful by their stillness. That side on which the light -could not fall, lay in deep shadow, which occasionally gave to the rocks -and small projecting precipices an appearance of monstrous and unnatural -life. Having passed through the tangled mazes of the glen, he at length -reached its bottom, along which ran a brook, such as in the description -of the poet,-- - - ----In the leafy month of June, - Unto the sleeping woods all night, - Singeth a quiet tune." - -Here he stood, and looked upon the green winding margin of the -streamlet--but its song he heard not. With the workings of a guilty -conscience, the beautiful in nature can have no association. He looked -up the glen, but its picturesque windings, soft vistas, and wild -underwood mingling with gray rocks and taller trees, all mellowed by the -moonbeams, had no charms for him. He maintained a profound silence--but -it was not the silence of peace or reflection. He endeavored to recall -the scenes of the past day, but could not bring them back to his memory. -Even the fiery tide of thought, which, like burning lava, seared his -brain a few moments before, was now cold and hardened. - -He could remember nothing. The convulsion of his mind was over, and his -faculties were impotent and collapsed. - -In this state he unconsciously retraced his steps, and had again reached -the paddock adjoining his house, where, as he thought, the figure of his -paramour stood before him. In a moment his former paroxysm returned, and -with it the gloomy images of a guilty mind, charged with the extravagant -horrors of brain-stricken madness. - -"What!" he exclaimed, "the band still on your forehead! Tear it off!" - -He caught at the form as he spoke, but there was no resistance to his -grasp. On looking again towards the spot it had ceased to be visible. -The storm within him arose once more; he rushed into the kitchen, -where the fire blazed out with fiercer heat; again he imagined that the -thunder came to his ears, but the thunderings which he heard were only -the voice of conscience. Again his own footsteps and his voice sounded -in his fancy as the footsteps and voices of fiends, with which his -imagination peopled the room. His state and his existence seemed to -him a confused and troubled dream; he tore his hair--threw it on the -table--and immediately started back with a hollow groan; for his locks, -which but a few hours before had been as black as a raven's wing, were -now white as snow! - -On discovering this, he gave a low but frantic laugh. "Ha, ha, ha!" he -exclaimed; "here is another mark--here is food for despair. Silently, -but surely, did the hand of God work this, as proof that I am hopeless! -But I will bear it; I will bear the sight! I now feel myself a man -blasted by the eye of God Himself! Ha, ha, ha! Food for despair! Food -for despair!" - -Immediately he passed into his own room, and approaching the -looking-glass beheld a sight calculated to move a statue. His hair -had become literally white, but the shades of his dark complexion, now -distorted by terror and madness, flitted, as his features worked -under the influence of his tremendous passions, into an expression so -frightful, that deep fear came over himself. He snatched one of his -razors, and fled from the glass to the kitchen. He looked upon the fire, -and saw the white ashes lying around its edge. - -"Ha!" said he, "the light is come! I see the sign. I am directed, and I -will follow it. There is yet one hope. The immolation! I shall be saved, -yet so as by fire. It is for this my hair has become white;--the sublime -warning for my self-sacrifice! The color of ashes!--white--white! It is -so! I will sacrifice my body in material fire, to save my soul from that -which is eternal! But I had anticipated the sign. The self-sacrifice is -accepted!"* - - * As the reader may be disposed to consider the nature - of the priest's death an unjustifiable stretch of - fiction, I have only to say in reply, that it is no - fiction at all. It is not, I believe, more than forty, - or perhaps fifty, years since a priest committed his - body to the flames, for the purpose of saving his soul - by an incrematory sacrifice. The object of the suicide - being founded on the superstitious belief, that a - priest guilty of great crimes possesses the privilege - of securing salvation by self-sacrifice. We have heard - two or three legends among the people in which this - principle predominated. The outline of one of these, - called "The Young Priest and Brian Braar," was as - follows:-- - - A young priest on his way to the College of Valladolid, - in Spain, was benighted; but found a lodging in a small - inn on the roadside. Here he was tempted by a young - maiden of great beauty, who, in the moment of his - weakness, extorted from him a bond signed with his - blood, binding himself to her forever. She turned out - to be an evil spirit: and the young priest proceeded to - Valladolid with a heavy heart, confessed his crime to - the Superior, who sent him to the Pope, who sent him to - a Friar in the County of Armagh, called Brian Braar, - who sent him to the devil. The devil, on the strength - of Brian Braar's letter, gave him a warm reception, - held a cabinet council immediately, and laid the - despatch before his colleagues, who agreed that the - claimant should get back his bond from the brimstone - lady who had inveigled him. She, however, obstinately - refused to surrender it, and stood upon her bond, until - threatened with being thrown three times into Brian - Braar's furnace. This tamed her: the man got his bond, - and returned to Brian Braar on earth. Now Brian Braar - had for three years past abandoned God, and taken to - the study of magic with the devil; a circumstance which - accounts for his influence below. The young priest, - having possessed himself of his bond, went to Lough - Derg to wash away his sins; and Brian Braar, having - also become penitent, the two worthies accompanied each - other to the lake. On entering the boat, however, to - cross over to the island, such a storm arose as drove - them back. Brian assured his companion that he himself - was the cause of it. - - "There is now," said he, "but one more chance for me; - and we must have recourse to it." He then returned - homewards, and both had reached a hill-side near - Bryan's house, when the latter desired the young priest - to remain there a few minutes, and he would return to - him; which he did with a hatchet in his hand. - - "Now," said he, "you must cut me into four quarters, - and mince my body into small bits, then cast them into - the air, and let them go with the wind." - - The priest, after much entreaty, complied with his - wishes, and returned to Lough Derg, where he afterwards - lived twelve years upon one meal of bread and water per - diem. Having thus purified himself, he returned home; - but, on passing the hill where he had minced the Friar, - he was astonished to see the same man celebrating mass, - attended by a very penitential looking congregation of - spirits. - - "Ah," said Brian Braar, when mass was over, "you are - now a happy man. With regard to my state for the - voluntary sacrifice I have made of myself, I am to be - saved; but I must remain on this mountain until the Day - of Judgment." So saying, he disappeared. - - There is little to be said about the superstition of - the _Lianhan Shee_, except that it existed as we have - drawn it, and that it is now fading fast away. There is - also something appropriate in associating the heroine - of this little story with the being called the _Lianhan - Shee_, because, setting the superstition aside, any - female who fell into her crime was called _Lianhan - Shee_. _Lianhan Shee an Sogarth_ signifies a priest's - paramour, or, as the country people say, "Miss." Both - terms have now nearly become obsolete. - -We must here draw a veil over that which ensued, as the description of -it would be both unnatural and revolting. Let it be sufficient to -say, that the next morning he was found burned to a cinder, with the -exception of his feet and legs, which remained as monuments of, perhaps, -the most dreadful suicide that ever was committed by man. His razor, -too, was found bloody, and several clots of gore were discovered about -the hearth; from which circumstances it was plain that he had reduced -his strength so much by loss of blood, that when he committed himself to -the flames, he was unable, even had he been willing, to avoid the fiery -and awful sacrifice of which he made himself the victim. If anything -could deepen the the impression of fear and awe, already so general -among the people, it was the unparalleled nature of his death. Its -circumstances are yet remembered in the parish and county wherein it -occurred--for it is no fiction, gentle reader! and the titular bishop -who then presided over the diocese, declared, that while he lived, no -person bearing the unhappy man's name should ever be admitted to the -clerical order. - -The shock produced by his death struck the miserable woman into the -utter darkness of settled derangement. She survived him some years, -but wandered about through the province, still, according to the -superstitious belief of the people, tormented by the terrible enmity of -the _Lianhan Shee_. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil Purcel, The Pig-Driver; The -Geography Of An Irish Oath; The Lianhan Shee, by William Carleton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL PURCEL, THE PIG-DRIVER *** - -***** This file should be named 16015.txt or 16015.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16015/ - -Produced by David Widger - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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