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diff --git a/16017-0.txt b/16017-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b571a06 --- /dev/null +++ b/16017-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5759 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poor Scholar, 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: The Poor Scholar + 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 #16017] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POOR SCHOLAR *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY + +BY WILLIAM CARLETON + + + +PART VI + + +[Illustration: Frontispiece] + + +[Illustration: Titlepage] + + + + +THE POOR SCHOLAR. + + +One day about the middle of November, in the year 18--, Dominick M'Evoy +and his son Jemmy were digging potatoes on the side of a hard, barren +hill, called Esker Dhu. The day was bitter and wintry, the men +were thinly clad, and as the keen blast swept across the hill with +considerable violence, the sleet-like rain which it bore along pelted +into their garments with pitiless severity. The father had advanced +into more than middle age; and having held, at a rack-rent the miserable +waste of farm which he occupied, he was compelled to exert himself +in its cultivation, despite either obduracy of soil, or inclemency of +weather. This day, however, was so unusually severe, that the old man +began to feel incapable of continuing his toil. The son bore it better; +but whenever a cold rush of stormy rain came over them, both were +compelled to stand with their sides against it, and their heads turned, +so as that the ear almost rested back upon the shoulder in order to +throw the rain off their faces. Of each, however, that cheek which was +exposed to the rain and storm was beaten into a red hue; whilst the +other part of their faces was both pale and hunger-pinched. + +The father paused to take breath, and, supported by his spade, looked +down upon the sheltered inland which, inhabited chiefly by Prostestants +and Presbyterians, lay rich and warm-looking under him. + +“Why, thin,” he exclaimed to the son--a lad about fifteen,--“sure I know +well I oughtn't to curse yez, anyway, you black set! an yit, the Lord +forgive me my sins, I'm almost timpted to give yez a volley, an' that +from my heart out! Look at thim, Jimmy agra--only look at the black +thieves! how warm an' wealthy they sit there in our ould possessions, +an' here we must toil till our fingers are worn to the stumps, upon this +thievin' bent. The curse of Cromwell on it!--You might as well ax the +divil for a blessin', as expect anything like a dacent crop out of +it.--Look at thim two ridges!--such a poor sthring o' praties is in +it!--one here an' one there--an' yit we must turn up the whole ridge for +that same! Well, God sind the time soon, when the right will take place, +Jimmy agra!” + +“An' doesn't Pasthorini say it? Sure whin Twenty-five comes, we'll have +our own agin: the right will overcome the might--the bottomless pit will +be locked--ay, double: boulted, if St. Pettier gets the kays, for he's +the very boy that will accommodate the heretics wid a warm corner; an' +yit, faith, there's: many o' thim that myself 'ud put in a good word +for, affcher all.” + +“Throth, an' here's the same, Jimmy. There's Jack Stuart, an' if there's +a cool corner in hell, the same Jack will get it--an' that he may, I +pray Gor this day, an' amin. The Lord sind it to him! for he richly +desarves it. Kind, neighborly, and frindly, is he an' all belongin' to +him; an' I wouldn't be where a hard word 'ud be spoken of him, nor a dog +in connection wid the family ill-treated; for which reason may he get a +cool corner in hell, I humbly sufflicate.” + +“What do you think of Jack Taylor? Will he be cosey?” + +“Throth, I doubt so--a blessed youth is Jack: yit myself 'ud hardly wish +it. He's a heerum-skeemm, divil-may-care fellow, no doubt of it, an' +laughs at the priests, which same I'm thinkin' will get him below +stairs more nor a new-milk heat, any way; but thin agin, he thrates thim +dacent, an' gives thim good dinners, an' they take all this rolliken +in good part, so that it's likely he's not in airnest in it, and surely +they ought to know best, Jimmy.” + +“What do you think of Yallow Sam?--honest Sam, that they say was born +widout a heart, an' carries the black wool in his ears, to keep out +the cries of the widows an' the orphans, that are long rotten in their +graves through his dark villany!--He'll get a snug birth!”* + + * This was actually said of the person alluded to--a + celebrated usurer and agent to two or three estates, + who was a little deaf, and had his ears occasionally + stuffed with black wool. + +“Yallow Sam,” replied the old man, slowly, and a dark shade of intense +hatred blackened his weather-beaten countenance, as he looked in the +direction from which the storm blew: “'twas he left us where we're +standin', Jimmy--undher this blast, that's cowldher an' bittherer nor a +step-mother's breath, this cuttin' day! 'Twas he turned us on the wide +world, whin your poor mother was risin' out of her faver. 'Twas he +squenched the hearth, whin she wasn't able to lave the house, till I +carried her in my arms into Paddy Cassidy's--the tears fallin' from my +eyes upon her face, that I loved next to God. Didn't he give our farm to +his bastard son, a purple Orangeman? Out we went, to the winds an' skies +of heaven, bekase the rich bodagh made intherest aginst us. I tould him +whin he chated me out o' my fifteen goolden guineas, that his masther, +the landlord, should hear of it; but I could never get next or near to +him, to make my complaint. Eh? A snug birth! I'm only afeard that hell +has no corner hot enough for him--but lave that to the divil himself: +if he doesn't give him the best thratement hell can afford, why I'm not +here.” + +“Divil a one o' the ould boy's so bad as they say, father; he gives it +to thim hot an' heavy, at all evints.” + +“Why even if he was at a loss about Sam, depind upon it, he'd get a hint +from his betthers above, that 'ud be sarviceable.” + +“They say he visits him as it is, an' that Sam can't sleep widout some +one in the room wid him. Dan Philips says the priest was there, an' +had a Mass in every room in the house; but Charley Mack tells me there's +no! thruth in it. He was advised to it, he says; but it seems the ould +boy has too strong ahoult of him, for Sam said he'd have the divil any +time sooner nor the priest, and its likest what he would say.” + +“Och, och, Jimmy, avick, I'm tir'd out! We had betther give in; the +day's too hard, an' there's no use in standin' agin the weather that's +in it. Lave the ould villain to God, who he can't chate, any way.” + +“Well, may our curse go along wid the rest upon him, for dhrivin' us to +sich an unnatural spot as this! Hot an' heavy, into the sowl an' +marrow of him may it penethrate. An' sure that's no more than all the +counthry's wishin' him, whether or not--not to mintion the curses that's +risin' out o' the grave agin him, loud an' piercin'!” + +“God knows it's not slavin' yourself on sich a day as this you'd be, +only for him. Had we kep our farm, you'd be now well an in your larnin' +for a priest--an' there 'ud be one o' the family sure to be a gintleman, +anyhow; but that's gone too, agra. Look at the smoke, how comfortable +it rises from Jack Sullivan's, where the priest has a Station to-day. +'Tisn't fishin' for a sthray pratie he is, upon a ridge like this. But +it can't be helped; an' God's will be done! Not himself!--faix, it's +he that'll get the height of good thratement, an' can ride home, well +lined, both inside an' outside. Much good may it do him!--'tis but his +right.” + +The lad now paused in his turn, looked down on Jack Sullivan's +comfortable house, sheltered by a clump of trees, and certainly saw +such a smoke tossed up from the chimney, as gave unequivocal evidence of +preparation for a good dinner. He next looked “behind the wind,” with +a visage made more blank and meagre by the contrast; after which he +reflected for a few minutes, as if working up his mind to some sudden +determination. The deliberation, however, was short; he struck his open +hand upon the head of the spade with much animation, and instantly took +it in both hands, exclaiming: + +“Here, father, here goes; to the divil once an' for ever I pitch +slavery,” and as he spoke, the spade was sent as far from him as he had +strength to throw it. “To the divil I pitch slavery! An' now, father, +wid the help o' God, this is the last day's work I'll ever put my hand +to. There's no way of larnin' Latin here; but off to Munster I'll start, +an' my face you'll never see in this parish, till I come home either a +priest an a gintleman! But that's not all, father dear; I'll rise you +out of your distress, or die in the struggle. I can't bear to see your +gray hairs in sorrow and poverty.” + +“Well, Jimmy--well, agra--God enable you, avourneen; 'tis a good +intintion. The divil a one o' me will turn another spadeful aither, for +this day: I'm _dhrookin'_ (* dripping) wid the rain. We'll go home an' +take an air o' the fire we want it; and aftherwards we can talk about +what you're _on_ (* determined) for.” + +It is usual to attribute to the English and Scotch character, +exclusively, a cool and persevering energy in the pursuit of such +objects as inclination or interest may propose for attainment; whilst +Irishmen are considered too much the creatures of impulse to reach +a point that requires coolness, condensation of thought, and efforts +successively repeated. This is a mistake. It is the opinion of +Englishmen and Scotchmen who know not the Irish character thoroughly. +The fact is, that in the attainment of an object, where a sad-faced +Englishman would despair, an Irishman will, probably, laugh, drink, +weep, and fight, during his progress to accomplish it. A Scotchman will +miss it, perhaps, but, having done all that could be done, he will +try another speculation. The Irishman may miss it too; but to console +himself he will break the head of any man who may have impeded him in +his efforts, as a proof that he ought to have succeeded; or if he cannot +manage that point, he will crack the pate of the first man he meets, or +he will get drunk, or he will marry a wife, or swear a gauger never +to show his face in that quarter again; or he will exclaim, if it be +concerning a farm, with a countenance full of simplicity--“God bless +your honor, long life and honor to you, sir! Sure an' 'twas but a +thrifle, anyhow, that your Reverence will make up for me another time. +An' 'tis well I know your Lordship 'ud be the last man on airth to give +me the cowld shoulder, so you would, an' I an ould residenthur on your +own father's estate, the Lord be praised for that same! An' 'tis +a happiness, an' nothjn' else, so it is, even if I payed double +rint--wherein, maybe, I'm not a day's journey from that same, manin' +the double rint, your honor; only that one would do a great deal for +the honor an' glory of livin' undher a raal gintleman--an' that's but +rason.” + +There is, in short, a far-sightedness in an Irishman which is not +properly understood, because it is difficult to understand it. I do +not think there is a nation on earth, whose inhabitants mix up their +interest and their feelings together more happily, shrewdly, and yet +less ostensibly, than Irishmen contrive to do. An Irishman will make you +laugh at his joke, while the object of that joke is wrapped up from +you in the profoundest mystery, and you will consequently make the +concession to a certain point of his character, which has been really +obtained by a faculty you had not penetration to discover, or, rather, +which he had too much sagacity to exhibit. Of course, as soon as your +back is turned, the broad grin is on him, and one of his cheeks is stuck +out two inches beyond the other, because his tongue is in it at your +stupidity, simplicity, or folly. Of all the national characters on this +habitable globe, I verily believe that that of the Irish is the most +profound and unfathomable; and the most difficult on which to form a +system, either social, moral, or religious. + +It would be difficult, for example, to produce a more signal instance of +energy, system, and perseverance than that exhibited in Ireland during +the struggle for Emancipation. Was there not flattery to the dust? +blarney to the eyes? heads broken? throats cut? houses burned? and +cattle houghed? And why? Was it for the mere pleasure of blarney--of +breaking heads (I won't dispute the last point, though, because I +scorn to give up the glory of the national character),--of cutting +throats--burning houses--or houghing cattle? No; but to secure +Emancipation. In attaining that object was exemplified that Irish method +of gaining a point. + +“Yes,” said Jemmy, “to the divil I pitch slavery! I will come home able +to rise yez from your poverty, or never show my face in the parish of +Ballysogarth agin.” + +When the lad's determination was mentioned to his mother and the family, +there was a loud and serious outcry against it: for no circumstance is +relished that ever takes away a member from an Irish hearth, no matter +what the nature of that circumstance may be. + +“Och, thin, is it for that _bocaun_ (* soft, innocent person) of a boy +to set off wid himself, runnin' through the wide world afther larnin', +widout money or friends! Avourneen, put it out of yer head. No; struggle +on as the rest of us is doin', an' maybe yell come as well off at the +long run.” + +“Mother, dear,” said the son, “I wouldn't wish to go agin what you'd +say; but I made a promise to myself to 'rise yez out of your poverty if +I can, an' my mind's made up on it; so don't cross me, or be the manes +of my havin' bad luck on my journey, in regard of me goin' aginst yer +will, when you know 'twould be the last thing I wish to do.” + +“Let the gossoon take his way, Vara. Who knows but it was the Almighty +put the thoughts of it into his head. Pasthorini says that there +will soon be a change, an' 'tis a good skame it 'ill be to have him +a _sogarth_ when the fat living will be walkin' back to their ould +owners.” + +“Oh, an' may the Man above grant _that_, I pray Jamini this day! for are +not we harrished out of our lives, scrapin' an' scramblin' for the black +thieves, what we ought to put on our backs, an' into our own mouths. +Well, they say it's not lucky to take money from a priest, because +it's the price o' sin, an' no more it can, seein' that they want it +themselves; but I'm sure it's _their_ (* The Protestant clergy) money +that ought to carry the bad luck to them, in regard of their gettin' so +many bitter curses along wid it.” + +When a lad from the humblest classes resolves to go to Munster as a poor +scholar, there is but one course to be pursued in preparing his outfit. +This is by a collection at the chapel among the parishioners, to whom +the matter is made known by the priest, from the altar some Sunday +previous to his departure. Accordingly, when the family had all given +their consent to Jemmy's project, his father went, on the following day, +to communicate the matter to the priest, and to solicit his co-operation +in making a collection in behalf of the lad, on the next Sunday but one: +for there is always a week's notice given, and sometimes more, that the +people come prepared. + +The conversation already detailed between father and son took place +on Friday, and on Saturday, a day on which the priest never holds a +Station, and, of course, is generally at home, Dominick M'Evoy went to +his house with the object already specified in view. The priest was +at home; a truly benevolent man, but like the worthies of his day, not +over-burdened with learning, though brimful of kindness and hospitality +mixed up with drollery and simple cunning. + +“Good morning, Dominick!” said the priest, as Dominick entered. + +“Good morrow, kindly, Sir,” replied Dominick: “I hope your Reverence is +well, and in good health.” + +“Troth I am, Dominick! I hope there's nothing wrong at home; how is the +wife and children?” + +“I humbly, thank your Reverence for axin'! Troth there's no rason for +complainin' in regard o' the health; sarra one o' them but's bravely, +consitherin' all things: I believe I'm the worst o' them, myself, yer +Reverence.. I'm gettin' ould, you see, an' stiff', an' wake; but that's +only in the coorse o' nathur; a man can't last always. Wait till them +that's young an' hearty now, harrows as much as I ploughed in my day, +an' they won't have much to brag of. Why, thin, but yer Reverence stands +it bravely--faix, wondherfully itself--the Lord be praised! an' it warms +my own heart to see you look so well.” + +“Thank you, Dominick. Indeed, my health, God be thanked, is very good. +Ellish,” he added, calling to an old female servant--“you'll take a +glass, Dominick, the day is cowldish--Ellish, here take the kay, and +get some spirits--the poteen, Ellish--to the right hand in the cupboard. +Indeed, my health is very good, Dominick. Father Murray says he invies +me my appetite, an' I tell him he's guilty of one of the Seven deadly +sins.” + +“Ha, ha, ha!--Faix, an' Invy is one o' them sure enough; but a joke is +a joke in the mane time. A pleasant gintleman is the same Father Murray, +but yer Reverence is too deep for him in the jokin' line, for all that. +Ethen, Sir, but it's you that gave ould Cokely the keen cut about his +religion--ha, ha, ha! Myself laughed till I was sick for two days afther +it--the ould thief!” + +“Eh?--Did you hear that, Dominick? Are you sure that's the poteen, +Ellish? Ay, an' the best of it all was, that his pathrun, Lord +Foxhunter, was present. Come, Dominick, try that--it never seen wather. +But the best of it all was--” + +--“'Well, Father Kavanagh,' said he, 'who put you into the church? +Now,' said he, 'you'll come over me wid your regular succession from St. +Peter, but I won't allow that.' + +“'Why, Mr. Cokely,' says I, back to him, 'I'll giye up the succession;' +says I, 'and what is more, I'll grant that you have been called by the +Lord, and that I have not; but the Lord that called you,' says I, 'was +Lord Foxhunter.' Man, you'd tie his Lordship wid a cobweb, he laughed so +heartily. + +“'Bravo, Father Kavanagh,' said he. 'Cokely, you're bale,' said he; 'and +upon my honor you must both dine with me to-day, says he--and capital +claret he keeps.” + +“Your health, Father Kavanagh, an' God spare you to us! Hah! wather! Oh, +the divil a taste itself did the same stuff see! Why, thin, I think your +Reverence an' me's about an age. I bleeve. I'm a thrifle oulder; but I +don't bear it so well as you do. The family, you see, an' the childhre, +an' the cares o' the world, pull me down: throth, the same family's a +throuble to me. I wish I had them all settled safe, any way.” + +“What do you intind to do with them, Dominick?” + +“In throth, that's what brought me to yer Reverence. I've one +boy--Jimmy--a smart chap entirely, an' he has taken it into his head to +go as a poor scholar to Munster. He's fond o' the larnin', there's not +a doubt o' that, an' small blame to him to be sure; but then again, what +can I do? He's bint on goin', an' I'm not able to help him, poor fellow, +in any shape; so I made bould to see yer Reverence about it, in hopes +that you might be able to plan out something for him more betther nor +I could do. I have the good wishes of the neighbors, and indeed of the +whole parish, let the thing go as it may.” + +“I know that, Dominick, and for the same rason well have a collection at +the three althars. I'll mintion it to them after Mass to-morrow, and let +them be prepared for Sunday week, when we can make the collection. Hut, +man, never fear; we'll get as much as will send him half-way to the +priesthood; and I'll tell you what, Dominick, I'll never be the man to +refuse giving him a couple of guineas myself.” + +“May the heavenly Father bless an' keep your Reverence. I'm sure 'tis +a good right the boy has, as well as all of us, to never forget your +kindness. But as to the money--he'll be proud of your assistance +the other way, sir,--so not a penny--'tis only your good-will we +want--hem--except indeed, that you'd wish yourself to make a piece of +kindness of it to the poor boy. Oh, not a drop more, sir,--I declare +it'll be apt to get into my head. Well, well--sure an' we're not to +disobey our clargy, whether or not: so here's your health over agin, +your Reverence! an' success to the poor child that's bint on good!” + +“Two guineas his Reverence is to give you from himself, Jimmy,” said the +father, on relating the success of this interview with the priest; “an' +faix I was widin one of refusin' it, for feard it might bring something +unlucky* wid it; but, thought I, on the spur, it's best to take it, +any way. We can asily put it off on some o' these black-mouthed +Presbyterians or Orangemen, by way of changin' it, an' if there's +any hard fortune in it, let them have the full benefit of it, _ershi +misha_.” ( ** Say I.) + + * There is a superstitious belief in some parts of + Ireland, that priests' money is unlucky; “because,” say + the people, “it is the price of sin”--alluding to + absolution. + +It is by trifles of this nature that the unreasonable though enduring +hatred with which the religious sects of Ireland look upon those of a +different creed is best known. This feeling, however, is sufficiently +mutual. Yet on both sides there is something more speculative than +practical in its nature. When they speak of each other as a distinct +class, the animosity, though abstracted, appears to be most deep; but +when they mingle in the necessary intercourse of life, it is curious +to see them frequently descend, on both sides, from the general rule to +those exceptions of good-will and kindness, which natural benevolence +and mutual obligation, together with a correct knowledge of each other's +real characters, frequently produce. Even this abstracted hatred, +however, has been the curse of our unhappy country; it has kept us too +much asunder, or when we met exhibited us to each other in our darkest +and most offensive aspects. + +Dominick's conduct in the matter of the priest's money was also a happy +illustration of that mixture of simplicity and shrewdness with which +an Irishman can frequently make points meet, which superstition, alone, +without such ingenuity, would keep separate for ever. Many another +man might have refused the money from an ignorant dread of its proving +unlucky; but his mode of reasoning on the subject was satisfactory +to himself, and certainly the most ingenious which, according to his +belief, he could have adopted--that of foisting it upon a heretic. + +The eloquence of a country priest, though rude, and by no means +elevated, is sometimes well adapted to the end in view, to the feelings +of his auditory, and to the nature of the subject on which he speaks. +Pathos and humor are the two levers by which the Irish character is +raised or depressed; and these are blended, in a manner too anomalous to +be ever properly described. Whoever could be present at a sermon on +the Sunday when a Purgatorian Society is to be established, would hear +pathos and see grief of the first water. It is then he would get +a “nate” and glowing description of Purgatory, and see the broad, +humorous, Milesian faces, of three or four thousand persons, of both +sexes, shaped into an expression of the most grotesque and clamorous +grief. The priest, however, on particular occasions of this nature, very +shrewdly gives notice of the sermon, and of the purpose for which it is +to be preached:--if it be grave, the people are prepared to cry; but +if it be for a political, or any other purpose not decidedly religious, +there will be abundance of that rough, blunt satire and mirth, so keenly +relished by the peasantry, illustrated, too, by the most comical and +ridiculous allusions. That priest, indeed, who is the best master +of this latter faculty, is uniformly the greatest favorite. It is no +unfrequent thing to see the majority of an Irish congregation drowned +in sorrow and tears, even when they are utterly ignorant of the language +spoken; particularly in those districts where the Irish is still the +vernacular tongue. This is what renders notice of the sermon and its +purport necessary; otherwise the honest people might be seriously at a +loss whether to laugh or cry. + +“_Elliih avourneen, gho dhe dirsha?_”--“Ellish, my dear, what is he +saying?” + +“_Och, musha niel eshighum, ahagur--ta sha er Purgathor, ta +barlhum_.”--“Och, I dunna that, jewel; I believe he's on Purgatory.” + +“_Och, och, oh--och, och, oh--oh, i, oh, i, oh!_” + +And on understanding that Purgatory is the subject, they commence their +grief with a rocking motion, wringing their hands, and unconsciously +passing their beads through their fingers, whilst their bodies are bent +forward towards the earth. + +On the contrary, when the priest gets jocular--which I should have +premised, he never does in what is announced as a solemn sermon--you +might observe several faces charged with mirth and laughter, turned, +even while beaming with this expression, to those who kneel beside them, +inquiring: + +“Arrah, Barny, what is it--ha, ha, ha!--what is it he's sayin'? The Lord +spare him among us, anyhow, the darlin' of a man! Eh, Barny, you that's +in the inside the English?” This, of course is spoken in Irish. + +Barny, however, is generally too much absorbed in the fun to become +interpreter just then; but as soon as the joke is nearly heard out, in +compliance with the importunity of his neighbors, he gives them a brief +hint or two, and instantly the full chorus is rung out, long, loud, and +jocular. + +On the Sunday in question, as the subject could not be called strictly +religious, the priest, who knew that a joke or two would bring in many +an additional crown to Jemmy's _caubeen_,* was determined that they, +should at least have a laugh for their money. The man, besides, was +benevolent, and knew the way to the Irish heart; a knowledge which he +felt happy in turning to the benefit of the lad in question. + + * Such collections were generally made in hats--the + usual name for an Irish peasant's hat being--_caubeen_. + +With this object in view, he addressed the people somewhat in the +following language: “'_Blessed is he that giveth his money to him that +standeth in need of it._'” + +“These words, my brethren, are taken from St. Paul, who, among +ourselves, knew the value of a friend in distress as well as any other +apostle in the three kingdoms--hem. It's a nate text, my friends, +anyhow. He manes, however, when we have it to give, my own true, +well-tried, ould friends!--when we have it to give. It's absence althers +the case, in toto; because you have all heard the proverb--'there is no +takin' money out of an empty purse:' or, as an ould ancient author said +long ago upon the same subject: + +'Cantabit whaekuus coram lathrone whiathur!' + +--(Dshk, dshk, dshk*--that's the larnin'!)--He that carries an empty +purse may fwhistle at the thief. It's _sing_ in the Latin; but sing or +fwhistle, in my opinion, he that goes wid an empty purse seldom sings +or fwhistl'es to a pleasant tune. Melancholy music I'd call it, an' +wouldn't, may be, be much asthray al'ther--Hem. At all evints, may none +of this present congregation, whin at their devotions, ever sing or +fwhistle to the same time! No; let it be to 'money in both pockets,' +if you sing at all; and as long as you have that, never fear but you'll +also have the 'priest in his boots' into the bargain--(“Ha, ha, +ha!--God bless him, isn't he the pleasant gentleman, all out--ha, ha, +ha!--moreover, an' by the same a token, it's thrue as Gospel, so it +is,”)--for well I know you're the high-spirited people, who wouldn't see +your priest without them, while a fat parson, with half-a-dozen chins +upon him, red and rosy, goes about every day in the week bogged in +boots, like a horse-trooper!--(“Ha, ha, ha!--good, Father Dan! More +power to you--ha, ha, ha! We're the boys that wouldn't see you in want +o' them, sure enough. Isn't he the droll crathur?”) + + * This sound, which expresses wonder, is produced by + striking the tip of the tongue against the palate. + +“But suppose a man hasn't money, what is he to do? Now this divides +itself into what is called Hydrostatics an' Metaphuysics, and must be +proved logically in the following manner: + +“First, we suppose him not to have the money--there I may be wrong or I +may be right; now for the illustration and the logic. + +“Pether Donovan.” + +“Here, your Reverence.” + +“Now, Pether, if I suppose you to have no money, am I right, or am I +wrong?” + +“Why, thin, I'd be sarry to prove your Reverence to be wrong, so I +would; but, for all that, I believe I must give it aginst you.” + +“How much have you got, Pether?” + +“Ethen, but 'tis your Reverence that's comin' close upon me; two or +three small note an' some silver.” + +“How much silver, Pether?” + +“I'll tell your Reverence in a jiffy--I ought to have a ten shillin', +barring the price of a quarther o' tobaccy that I bought at the +crass-roads boyant. Nine shillins an' somo hapuns, yer Reverence.” + +“Very good, Pether, you must hand me the silver, till I give the rest of +the illustration wid it.” + +“But does your Reverence mind another ould proverb?--'a fool an' his +money's asy parted.' Sure an' I know you're goin' to do a joke upon me.” + +(“Give him the money, Pether,” from a hundred voices--“give his +Reverence the money, you nager you--give him the silver, you dirty +spalpeen you--hand it out, you misert.”) + +“Pether, if you don't give it dacently, I'll not take it; and in that +case--” + +“Here, here, your Reverence--here it is; sure I wouldn't have your +ill-will for all I'm worth.” + +“Why, you nager, if I wasn't the first orathor livin', barrin' Cicero or +Demosthenes himself, I couldn't schrew a penny out o' you! Now, Pether, +there's a specimen of logic for you; an' if it wasn't good, depind upon +it the money would be in your pocket still. I've never known you to give +a penny for any charitable purpose, since ever I saw your face: but I'm +doin' a good action in your behalf for once; so if you have any movin' +words to say to the money in question, say them, for you'll never finger +it more.” + +A burst of the most uproarious mirth followed this manoeuvre, in which +the simple priest himself joined heartily; whilst the melancholy +of Peter's face was ludicrously contrasted with the glee which +characterized those who surrounded him. + +“Hem!--Secondly--A man, you see, may have money, or he may not, when his +follow creature who stands in need of it makes an appale to his dacency +and his feelings; and sorry I'd be to think that there's a man before +me, or a woman either, who'd refuse to assist the distresses of any +one, of any creed, church, or persuasion, whether white, black, or +yallow--no; I don't except even the blue-bellies themselves. It's what I +never taught you, nor never will tache you to the day of my death! To be +sure, a fellow-creature may say, 'Help me, my brother, I am distressed,' +or, 'I am bent on a good purpose, that your kindness can enable me to +accomplish.' But suppose that you have not the money about you at the +time, wouldn't you feel sorry to the back-bone? Ay, would yez--to the +very core of the heart itself. Or if any man--an' he'd be' nothing else +than a bodagh that would say it--if any man would tell me that you would +not, I'd--yes--I'd give him his answer, as good as I gave to ould Cokely +long ago, and you all know what that was. + +“The next point is, what would you do if you hadn't it about you? +It's that can tell you what you'd do:--you'd say, 'I haven't got it, +brother,'--for ev'ry created bein' of the human kind is your brother, +barrin' the women, an' they are your sisters--[this produced a grin upon +many faces]--'but,' says you, 'if you wait a bit for a day or two, or a +week, or maybe for a fortnight, I'll try what I can do to help you.' + +“Picture to yourselves a fellow-creature in distress--suppose him +to have neither hat, shoe, nor stocking--[this was a touch of the +pathetic]--and altogether in a state of utter destitution! Can there be +a more melancholy picture than this? No, there can't. But 'tisn't +the tithe of it!--a barefaced robbery is the same tithe--think of him +without father, mother, or friend upon the earth--both dead, and ne'er +another to be had for love or money--maybe he has poor health--maybe +he's sick, an' in a sthrange country--[here Jemmy's mother and friends +sobbed aloud, and the contagion began to spread]--the priest, in fact, +knew where to touch--his face is pale--his eyes sunk with sickness and +sorrow in his head--his bones are cuttin' the skin--he knows not where +to turn himself--hunger and sickness are strivin' for him.--[Here the +grief became loud and general, and even the good-natured preacher's own +voice got somewhat unsteady.]--He's in a bad state entirely--miserable! +more miserable!! most miserable!!! [och, och, oh!] sick, sore, and +sorry!--he's to be pitied, felt for, and compassionated!--[a general +outcry!]--'tis a faver he has, or an ague, maybe, or a rheumatism, or an +embargo (* lumbago, we presume) on the limbs, or the king's evil, or +a consumption, or a decline, or God knows but it's the falling +sickness--[ooh, och, oh!--och, och, oh!] from the whole congregation, +whilst the simple old man's eyes were blinded with tears at the force of +the picture he drew.--[Ay, maybe it's the falling-sickness, and in that +case how on earth can he stand it.--He can't, he can't, wurra strew, +wurra strew!--och, och, oh!--ogh, ogh, ogh!]--The Lord in heaven look +down upon him--[amin, amin, this blessed an' holy Sunday that's in +it!--och, oh!]--pity him--[amin, amin!--och, och, an amin!]--with +miseracordial feeling and benediction! He hasn't a rap in his +company!--moneyless, friendless, houseless, an' homeless! Ay, my +friends, you all have homes--but he has none! Thrust back by every +hard-hearted spalpeen, and he, maybe, a better father's son than the +Turk that refuses him! Look at your own childre, my friends! Bring the +case home to yourselves! Suppose he was one of them--alone on the earth, +and none to pity him in his sorrows! Your own childre, I say, in a +strange land.--[Here the outcry became astounding; men, women, and +children in one general uproar of grief.]--An'--this may all be Jemmy +M'Evoy's case, that's going in a week or two to Munster, as a poor +scholar--may be his case, I say, except you befriend him, and show your +dacency and your feelings, like Christians and Catholics; and for either +dacency or kindness, I'd turn yez against any other congregation in the +diocess, or in the kingdom--ay, or against Dublin, itself, if it was +convanient, or in the neighborhood.” + +Now here was a coup de main--not a syllable mentioned about Jemmy +M'Evoy, until he had melted them down, ready for the impression, which +he accordingly made to his heart's content. + +“Ay,” he went on, “an' 'tis the parish of Ballysogarth that has the +name, far and near, for both, and well they desarve it. You won't see +the poor gossoon go to a sthrange country--with empty pockets. He's the +son of an honest man--one of yourselves; and although he's a poor man, +you know 'twas Yallow Sam that made him so--that put him out of his +comfortable farm and slipped a black-mouth * into it. You won't turn +your backs on the son in regard of that, any way. As for Sam, let him +pass; he'll not grind the poor, nor truckle to the rich, when he gives +up his stewardship in the kingdom come. Lave him to the friend of the +poor--to his God; but the son of them that he oppressed, you will stand +up for. He's going to Munster, to learn 'to go upon the Mission:' and, +on Sunday next, there will be a collection made here, and at the other +two althars for him; and, as your own characters are at stake, I trust +it will be neither mane nor shabby. There will be Protestants here, I'll +engage, and you must act dacently before them, if it was only to set +them a good example. And now I'll tell yez a story that the mintion of +the Protestants brings to my mind:-- + + * In the North of Ireland the word black-mouth means a + Presbyterian. + +“There was, you see, a Protestant man and a Catholic woman once married +together. The man was a swearing, drinking, wicked rascal, and his wife +the same: between them they were a blessed pair to be sure. She never +bent her knee under a priest until she was on her death-bed; nor was he +known ever to enter a church door, or to give a shilling in charity +but once, that being--as follows:--He was passing a Catholic place of +worship one Sunday, on his way to fowl--for he had his dog and gun with +him;--'twas beside a road, and many of the congregration were kneeling +out across the way. Just as he passed they were making a collection +for a poor scholar--and surely they that love the larning desarve to be +encouraged! Well, behold you, says one of them, 'will you remember the +poor scholar,' says he, 'and put something in the hat? You don't know,' +says he, 'but his prayers will be before you.' (* In the other world.) +'True enough, maybe,' says the man, 'and there's a crown to him, for +God's sake.' Well and good; the man died, and so did the wife; but the +very day before her departure, she got a scapular, and died in it. She +had one sister, however, a good crature, that did nothing but fast and +pray, and make her sowl. This woman had strong doubts upon her mind, and +was very much troubled as to whether or not her sister went to heaven; +and she begged it as a favor from the blessed Virgin, that the state of +her sister's sowl might be revaled to her. Her prayer was granted. +One night, about a week after her death, her sister came back to her, +dressed, all in white, and circled round by a veil of glory. + +“'Is that Mary?' said the living sister. + +“'It is,' said the other; 'I have got liberty to appear to you,' says +she, 'and to tell you that I'm happy.' + +“'May the holy Virgin be praised!' said the other. 'Mary, dear, you have +taken a great weight off of me,' says she: 'I thought you'd have a bad +chance, in regard of the life you led.' + +“'When I died,' said the spirit, 'and was on my way to the other world, +I came to a place where the road divided itself into three parts;--one +to heaven, another to hell, and a third to purgatory. There was a dark +gulf between me and heaven, and a breach between me and purgatory that +I couldn't step across, and if I had missed my foot there, I would have +dropped into hell. So I would, too, only that the blessed Virgin put my +own scapular over the breach, and it became firm, and I stepped on it, +and got over. The Virgin then desired me to look into hell, and the +first person I saw was my own husband, standing with a green sod under +his feet! 'He got that favor,' said the blessed Virgin, 'in consequence +of the prayers of a holy priest, that had once been a poor scholar, that +he gave assistance to, at a collection made for him in such a chapel,' +says she, 'Then,' continued the sowl, 'Mary,' says she, 'but there's +some great change in the world since I died, or why would the people +live so long? It can't be less than six thousand years since I departed, +and yet I find every one of my friends just as I left them.' + +“'Why,' replied the living sister, 'you're only six days dead.' + +“'Ah, avourneen!' said the other, 'it can't be--it can't be! for I have +been thousands on thousands of years in pain!'--and as she spoke this +she disappeared. + +“Now there's a proof of the pains of purgatory, where one day seems as +long as a thousand years; and you know we oughtn't to grudge a thrifle +to a fellow-crature, that we may avoid it. So you see, my friends, +there's nothing like good works. You know not when or where this lad's +prayers may benefit you. If he gets ordained, the first mass he says +will be for his benefactors; and in every one he celebrates after that, +they must also be remembered: the words are _pro omnibus benefactoribus +meis, per omnia secula secularum!_ + +“Thirdly--hem--I now lave the thing to yourselves. + +“But wasn't I match for Pettier Donovan, that would brake a stone for +the marrow *--Eh?--(a broad laugh at Pother's rueful visage.)--Pettier, +you Turk, will your heart never soften--will you never have dacency, an' +you the only man of your family that's so? Sure they say you're going to +be marrid some of these days. Well, if you get your wife in my parish, I +tell you, Pettier, I'll give you a fleecin', for don't think I'll marry +you as chape as I would a poor honest man. I'll make you shell out the +yallowboys, and 'tis that will go to your heart, you nager you; and then +I'll eat you out of house and home at the Stations. May the Lord grant +us, in the mane time, a dacent appetite, a blessing which I wish you +all,------&c.” + + * I know not whether this may be considered worthy of a + note or not. I have myself frequently seen and tasted + what is appropriately termed by the peasantry “Stone + Marrow.” It is found in the heart of a kind of soft + granite, or perhaps I should rather say freestone. The + country people use it medicinally, but I cannot + remember what particular disease it is said to cure. It + is a soft, saponaceous substance, not unpleasant to the + taste, of a bluish color, and melts in the mouth, like + the fat of cold meat, leaving the palate greasy. How + far an investigation into its nature and properties + might be useful to the geologist or physician, it is + not for me to conjecture. As the fact appeared to be a + curious one, and necessary, moreover, to illustrate the + expression used in the text, I thought it not amiss to + mention it. It may be a _bonne bouche_ for the + geologists. + +At this moment the congregation was once more in convulsions of laughter +at the dressing which Peter, whose character was drawn with much truth +and humor, received at the hands of the worthy pastor. + +Our readers will perceive that there was not a single prejudice, or +weakness, or virtue, in the disposition of his auditory, left untouched +in this address. He moved their superstition, their pride of character, +their dread of hell and purgatory, their detestation of Yellow Sam, and +the remembrance of the injury so wantonly inflicted on M'Evoy's family; +he glanced at the advantage to be derived from the lad's prayers, the +example they should set to Protestants, made a passing hit at tithes; +and indulged in the humorous, the pathetic, and the miraculous. In +short, he left no avenue to their hearts untouched; and in the process +by which he attempted to accomplish his object he was successful. + +There is, in fact, much rude, unpolished eloquence among the Roman +Catholic priesthood, and not a little which, if duly cultivated by study +and a more liberal education, would deserve to be ranked very high. + +We do not give this as a specimen of their modern pulpit eloquence, +but as a sample of that in which some of those Irish clergy shone, +who, before the establishment of Maynooth, were admitted to orders +immediately from the hedge-schools, in consequence of the dearth of +priests which then existed in Ireland. It was customary in those days to +ordain them even before they departed for the continental colleges, in +order that they might, by saying masses and performing other clerical +duties, be enabled to add something to the scanty pittance which was +appropriated to their support. Of the class to which Father Kavanagh +belonged, there are few, if any, remaining. They sometimes were called +“Hedge-priests,” * byway of reproach; though for our own parts, we wish +their non-interference in politics, unaffected piety, and simplicity of +character, had remained behind them. + + * This nickname was first bestowed upon them by the + continental priests, who generally ridiculed them for + their vulgarity. They were, for the most! part, simple + but worthy men. + +On the Sunday following, Dominick M'Evoy and his son Jemmy attended +mass, whilst the other members of the family, with that sense of +honest pride which is more strongly inherent in Irish character than is +generally supposed, remained at home, from a reluctance to witness what +they could not but consider a degradation. This decency of feeling was +anticipated by the priest, and not overlooked by the people; for the +former, the reader may have observed, in the whole course of his address +never once mentioned the word “charity;” nor did the latter permit the +circumstance to go without its reward, according to the best of their +ability. So keen and delicate are the perceptions of the Irish, and +so acutely alive are they to those nice distinctions of kindness and +courtesy, which have in their hearts a spontaneous and sturdy growth, +that mocks at the stunted virtues of artificial life. + +In the parish of Ballysogarth there were three altars, or places of +Roman Catholic worship; and the reader may suppose that the collection +made at each place was considerable. In truth, both father and son's +anticipations were far under the sum collected. Protestants and +Presbyterians attended with their contributions, and those of the +latter who scrupled to be present at what they considered an idolatrous +worship, did not hesitate to send their quota by some Roman Catholic +neighbor. + +Their names were accordingly announced with an encomium from the priest, +which never failed to excite a warm-hearted murmur of approbation. +Nor was this feeling transient, for, we will venture to say, that had +political excitement flamed up even to rebellion and mutual slaughter, +the persons and property of those individuals would have been held +sacred. + +At length Jemmy was equipped; and sad and heavy became the hearts of +his parents and immediate relations as the morning appointed for his +departure drew nigh. On the evening before, several of his more distant +relatives came to take their farewell of him, and, in compliance with +the usages of Irish hospitality, they were detained for the night. They +did not, however, come empty-handed: some brought money; some brought +linen, stockings, or small presents--“jist, Jimmy, asthore, to keep me +in yer memory, sure,--and nothin' else it is for, mavourneen.” + +Except Jemmy himself, and one of his brothers who was to accompany him +part of the way, none of the family slept. The mother exhibited deep +sorrow, and Dominick, although he made a show of firmness, felt, now +that the crisis was at hand, nearly incapable of parting with the +boy. The conversation of their friends and the cheering effects of the +poteen, enabled them to sustain his loss better than they otherwise +would have done, and the hope of seeing him one day “an ordained +priest,” contributed more than either to support them. + +When the night was nearly half spent, the mother took a candle and +privately withdrew to the room in which the boy slept. The youth was +fair, and interesting to look upon--the clustering locks of his white +forehead were divided; yet there was on his otherwise open brow, a shade +of sorrow, produced by the coming separation, which even sleep could not +efface. The mother held the candle gently towards his face, shading +it with one hand, lest the light might suddenly awake him; she then +surveyed his features long and affectionately, whilst the tears fell in +showers from her cheeks. + +“There you lie,” she softly sobbed out, in Irish, “the sweet pulse of +your mother's heart; the flower of our flock, the pride of our eyes, and +the music of our hearth! Jimmy, avourneen machree, an' how can I part +wid you, my darlin' son! Sure, when I look at your mild face, and think +that you're takin' the world on your head to rise us out of our poverty, +isn't my heart breakin'! A lonely house we'll have afther you, acushla! +Goin' out and comin' in, at home or abroad, your voice won't be in my +ears, nor your eye smilin' upon me. An' thin to think of what you may +suffer in a sthrange land! If your head aches, on what tendher breast +will it lie? or who will bind the ribbon of comfort * round it? or wipe +your fair, mild brow in sickness? Oh, Blessed Mother!--hunger, sickness, +and sorrow may come upon you when you'll be far from your own, an' from +them that loves you!” + + * The following quotation, taken from a sketch called + “The Irish Midwife,” by the author, gives an + illustration of this passage:--“The first, meaning + pain in the head, she cures by a very formal and + serious process called 'measuring the head.' This is + done by a ribbon, which she puts round the cranium, + repeating during the admeasurement a certain prayer or + charm from which the operation is to derive its whole + efficacy. The measuring is performed twice--in the + first instance, to show that its sutures are separated + by disease, or to speak more plainly, that the bones + of the head are absolutely opened, and that as a + natural consequence the head must be much larger than + when the patient is in a state of health. The + circumference of the first admeasurement is marked upon + a ribbon, after which she repeats the charm that is to + remove the headache, and measures the cranium again, in + order to show, by a comparison of the two ribbons, + that the sutures have been closed, the charm successful, + and the headache immediately removed. It is + impossible to say how the discrepancy in the + measurement is brought about; but be that as it may, + the writer of this has frequently seen the operation + performed in such a way as to defy the most + scrutinizing eye to detect any appearance of imposture, + and he is convinced that in the majority of cases there + is not the slightest imposture intended. The operator + is in truth a dupe to a strong and delusive + enthusiasm.” + +This melancholy picture was too much for the tenderness of the mother; +she sat down beside the bed, rested her face on her open hand, and wept +in subdued but bitter grief. At this moment his father, who probably +suspected the cause of her absence, came in and perceived her distress. + +“Vara,” said he, in Irish also, “is my darlin' son asleep?” + +She looked up, with streaming eyes, as he spoke, and replied to him in a +manner so exquisitely affecting, when the circumstances of the boy, and +the tender allusion made by the sorrowing mother, are considered--that +in point of fact no heart--certainly no Irish heart--could withstand +it. There is an old Irish melody unsurpassed in pathos, simplicity, +and beauty--named in Irish “_Tha ma mackulla's na foscal me,_”---or +in English, “I am asleep, and don't waken me.” The position of the boy +caused the recollection of the old melody to flash into the mother's +heart,--she simply pointed to him as the words streamed in a low +melodious murmur, but one full of heartrending sorrow, from her lips. +The old sacred association--for it was one which she had sung for him +a thousand times,--until warned to desist by his tears--deepened the +tenderness of her heart, and she said with difficulty, whilst she +involuntarily held over the candle to gratify the father's heart by a +sight of him. “I was keepin' him before my eye,” she said; “God knows +but it may be the last night we'll ever see him undher our own roof! +Dominick, achora, I doubt I can't part wid him from my heart.” + +“Then how can I, Vara?” he replied. “Wasn't he my right hand in +everything? When was he from me, ever since he took a man's work upon +him? And when he'd finish his own task for the day, how kindly he'd +begin an' help me wid mine! No, Vara, it goes to my heart to let him go +away upon sich a plan, and I wish he hadn't taken the notion into his +head at all.” + +“It's not too late, maybe,” replied his mother: “I think it wouldn't +be hard to put him off of it; the crathur's own heart is failin' him to +lave us. He has sorrow upon his face where he lies.” + +The father looked at the expression of affectionate melancholy which +shaded hia features as he slept; and the perception of the boy's +internal struggle against his own domestic attachments in accomplishing +hia first determination, powerfully touched his heart. + +“Vara,” said he, “I know the boy--he won't give it up; and 'twould be a +pity--maybe a sin--to put him from it. Let the child get fair play, and +thry his coorse. If, he fails, he can come back to us, an' our arms an' +hearts will be open to welcome him! But, if God prospers him, wouldn't +it be a blessin' that we never expected, to see him in the white robes, +celebratin' one mass for his parents. If these ould eyes could see that, +I would be continted to close them in pace an' happiness for ever.” + +“An' well you'd become them, _avourneen machree!_ Well would your mild +and handsome countenance look wid the long heavenly stole of innocence +upon you! and although it's atin' into my heart, I'll bear it for the +sake of seein' the same blessed sight. Look at that face, Dominick; +mightn't many a lord of the land be proud to have sich a son? May the +heavens shower down its blessin' upon him!” + +The father burst into tears. “It is--it is!” said he. “It is the face +that 'ud make many a noble heart proud to look at it! Is it any wondher +it 'ud cut our hearts, thin, to have it taken from afore our eyes? Come +away, Vara, come away, or I'll not be able to part wid it. It is the +lovely face--an' kind is the heart of my darlin' child!” As he spoke, +he stooped down and kissed the youth's cheek, on which the warm tears +of affection fell, soft as the dew from heaven. The mother followed his +example, and they both left the room. + +“We must bear it,” said Dominick, as they passed into another apartment; +“the money's gathered, an' it wouldn't look well to be goin' back wid it +to them that befrinded us. We'd have the blush upon our face for it, an' +the child no advantage.” + +“Thrue for you, Dominick; and we must make up our minds to live widout +him for a while.” + +The following morning was dark and cloudy, but calm and without rain. +When the family were all assembled, every member of it evinced traces +of deep feeling, and every eye was fixed upon the serene but melancholy +countenance of the boy with tenderness and sorrow. He himself maintained +a quiet equanimity, which, though apparently liable to be broken by +the struggles of domestic affection, and in character with his meek and +unassuming disposition, yet was supported by more firmness than might be +expected from a mind in which kindness and sensibility were so strongly +predominant. At this time, however, his character was not developed, +or at least not understood, by those that surrounded him. To strong +feelings and enduring affections he added a keenness of perception and +a bitterness of invective, of which, in his conversation with his father +concerning Yellow Sam, the reader has already had sufficient proofs. At +breakfast little or nothing was eaten; the boy himself could not taste +a morsel, nor any other person in the family. When the form of the meal +was over, the father knelt down--“It's right,” said he, “that we should +all go to our knees, and join in a Rosary in behalf of the child that's +goin' on a good intintion. He won't thrive the worse bekase the last +words that he'll hear from his father and mother's lips is a prayer for +bringin the blessin' of God down upon his endayvors.” + +This was accordingly performed, though not without tears and sobs, and +frequent demonstrations of grief; for religion among the peasantry is +often associated with bursts of deep and powerful feeling. + +When the prayer was over, the boy rose and calmly strapped to his back +a satchel covered with deer-skin, containing a few books, linen, and a +change of very plain apparel. While engaged in this, the uproar of grief +in the house was perfectly heart-rending. When just ready to set out, he +reverently took off his hat, knelt down, and, with tears streaming from +his eyes, craved humbly and meekly the blessing and forgiveness of his +father and mother. The mother caught him in her arms, kissed his lips, +and, kneeling also, sobbed out a fervent benediction upon his head; +the father now, in the grief of a strong man, pressed him to his heart, +until the big burning tears fell upon the boy's face; his brothers +and sisters embraced him wildly; next his more distant relations; and +lastly, the neighbors who were crowded about the door. After this he +took a light staff in his hand, and, first blessing himself after the +form of his church, proceeded to a strange land in quest of education. + +He had not gone more than a few perches from the door, when his mother +followed him with a small bottle of holy water. “Jimmy, _a lanna +voght_,” (* my poor child) said she, “here's this, an' carry it about +you--it will keep evil from you; an' be sure to take good care of the +written correckther you got from the priest an' Square Benson; an', +darlin', don't be lookin' too often at the cuff o' your coat, for feard +the people might get a notion that you have the bank-notes sewed in it. +An', Jimmy agra, don't be too lavish upon their Munster crame; they say +it's apt to give people the ague. Kiss me agin, agra; an' the heavens +above keep you safe and well till we see you once more!” + +She then tenderly, and still with melancholy pride, settled his shirt +collar, which she thought did not set well about his neck, and kissing +him again, with renewed sorrow left him to pursue his journey. + +M'Evoy's house was situated on the side of a dark hill--one of that +barren description which can be called neither inland nor mountain. It +commanded a wide and extended prospect, and the road along which the lad +travelled was visible for a considerable distance from it. On a small +hillock before the door sat Dominek and his wife, who, as long as their +son was visible, kept their eyes, which were nearly blinded with tears, +rivetted upon his person. It was now they gave full vent to their grief, +and discussed with painful and melancholy satisfaction all the excellent +qualities which he possessed. As James himself advanced, one neighbor +after another fell away from the train which accompanied him, not, +however, until they had affectionately embraced and bid him adieu, and +perhaps slipped, with peculiar delicacy, an additional mite into +his waistcoat pocket. After the neighbors, then followed the gradual +separation from his friends--one by one left him, as in the great +journey of life, and in a few hours he found himself accompanied only by +his favorite brother. + +This to him was the greatest trial he had yet felt; long and +heartrending was their embrace. Jemmy soothed and comforted his beloved +brother, but in vain. The lad threw himself on the spot at which they +parted, and remained there until Jemmy turned an angle of the road which +brought him out of his sight, when the poor boy kissed the marks of his +brother's feet repeatedly, and then returned home, hoarse and broken +down with the violence of his grief. + +He was now alone, and for the first time felt keenly the strange object +on which he was bent, together with all the difficulties connected with +its attainment. He was young and uneducated, and many years, he knew, +must elapse e'er he could find himself in possession of his wishes. But +time would pass at home, as well as abroad, he thought; and as there lay +no impediment of peculiar difficulty in his way, he collected all his +firmness and proceeded. + +There is no country on the earth in which either education, or the +desire to procure it, is so much reverenced as in Ireland. Next to the +claims of the priest and schoolmaster come those of the poor scholar for +the respect of the people. It matters not how poor or how miserable +he may be; so long as they see him struggling with poverty in the +prosecution of a purpose so laudable, they will treat him with +attention and kindness. Here there is no danger of his being sent to the +workhouse, committed as a vagrant, or passed from parish to parish until +he reaches his own settlement. Here the humble lad is not met by the +sneer of purse-proud insolence, or his simple tale answered only in the +frown of heartless contempt. No--no--no. The best bit and sup are placed +before him; and whilst his poor, but warm-hearted, entertainer can +afford only potatoes and salt to his own half-starved family, he will +make a struggle to procure something better for the poor scholar; +'_Becase he's far from his own, the craihur!_ An' sure the intuition in +him is good, anyhow; the Lord prosper him, an' every one that has the +heart set upon the larnin'!' + +As Jemmy proceeded, he found that his satchel of books and apparel gave +as clear an intimation of his purpose, as if he had carried a label to +that effect upon his back. + +“God save you, a bouchal!” said a warm, honest-looking countryman, whom +he met driving home his cows in the evening, within a few miles of the +town in which he purposed to sleep. + +“God save you kindly!” + +“Why, thin, 'tis a long journey you have before you, alanna, for I know +well it's for Munster you're bound.” + +“Thrue for you; 'tis there, wid the help of God, I'm goin'. A great +scarcity of larnin' was in my own place, or I wouldn't have to go at +all,” said the boy, whilst his eyes filled with, tears. + +“'Tis no discredit in life,” replied the countryman, with untaught +natural delicacy, for he perceived that a sense of pride lingered about +the boy which made the character of poor scholar sit painfully upon him; +“'tis no discredit, dear, nor don't be cast down. I'll warrant you that +God will prosper you; an' that He may, avick, I pray this day!” and as +he spoke, he raised his hat in reverence to the Being whom he invoked. +“An' tell me, dear--where do you intend to sleep to-night?” + +“In the town forrid here,” replied Jemmy. “I'm in hopes I'll be able to +reach it before dark.” + +“Pooh! asy you will. Have you any friends or acquaintances there that +'ud welcome you, _a bouchal dhas_ (my handsome boy)?” + +“No, indeed,” said Jemmy, “they're all strangers to me; but I can stop +in 'dhry lodgin',' for it's chaper.” + +“Well, alanna, I believe you; but _I'm no stranger to you_--so come home +wid me to-night; where you'll get a good bed, and betther thratement nor +in any of their dhry lodgins. Give me your books, and I'll carry them +for you. Ethen, but you have a great batch o' them entirely. Can you +make any hand o' the Latin at all yet?” + +“No, indeed,” replied Jemmy, somewhat sorrowfully; “I didn't ever open a +Latin book, at all at all.” + +“Well, acushla, everything has a beginnin';--you won't be so. An' I know +by your face that you'll be bright at it, an' a credit to them owes (* +owns) you. There's my house in the fields beyant, where you'll be well +kept for one night, any way, or for twinty, or for ten times twinty, if +you wanted them.” + +The honest farmer then commenced the song of _Colleen dhas Crotha na +Mho_ (* The pretty girl milking her cow), which he sang in a clear +mellow voice, until they reached the house. + +“Alley,” said the man to his wife, on entering, “here's a stranger I've +brought you.” + +“Well,” replied Alley, “he's welcome sure, any way; _Cead millia, failta +ghud_, alanna! sit over to the fire. Brian, get up, dear,” said she to +one of the children, “an' let the stranger to the hob.” + +“He's goin' on a good errand, the Lord bless him!” said the husband, “up +the country for the larnin'. Put thim books over on the settle; an' whin +the, _girshas_ are done milkin', give him a brave dhrink of the sweet +milk; it's the stuff to thravel on.” + +“Troth, an' I will, wid a heart an' a half, wishin' it was betther I had +to give him. Here, Nelly, put down a pot o' wather, an' lave soap an' +a _praskeen_, afore you go to milk, till I bathe the dacent boy's feet. +Sore an' tired they are afther his journey, poor young crathur.” + +When Jemmy placed himself upon the hob, he saw that some peculiarly +good fortune had conducted him to so comfortable a resting-place. Ho +considered this as a good omen; and felt, in fact, much relieved, for +the sense of loneliness among strangers was removed. + +The house evidently belonged to a wealthy farmer, well to do in +the world; the chimney was studded with sides upon sides of yellow +smoke-dried bacon, hams, and hung beef in abundance. The kitchen tables +were large, and white as milk; and the dresser rich in its shining array +of delf and pewter. Everything, in fact, was upon a large scale. Huge +meal chests were ranged on one side, and two or three settle beds on +the other, conspicuous, as I have said, for their uncommon cleanliness; +whilst hung from the ceiling were the _glaiks_, a machine for churning; +and beside the dresser stood an immense churn, certainly too unwieldy to +be managed except by machinery. The farmer was a ruddy-faced Milesian, +who wore a drab frieze coat, with a velvet collar, buff waistcoat, +corduroy small-clothes, and top-boots* well greased from the tops +down. He was not only an agriculturist, but a grazier--remarkable for +shrewdness and good sense, generally attended fairs and markets, and +brought three or four large droves of fat cattle to England every year. +From his fob hung the brass chain and almost rusty key of a watch, which +he kept certainly more for use than ornament. + + * This in almost every instance, is the dress of + wealthy Irish farmer. + +“A little sup o' this,” said he, “won't take your life,” approaching +Jemmy with a bottle of as good poteen as ever escaped the eye of an +exciseman; “it'll refresh you--for you're tired, or I wouldn't offer +it, by rason that one bint on what you're bint on, oughtn't to be makin' +freedoms wid the same dhrink. But there's a time for everything, an' +there's a time for this.--Thank you, agra,” he added, in reply to Jemmy, +who had drunk his health. “Now, don't be frettin'--but make yourself as +aisy as if you were at your own father's hearth. You'll have everything +to your heart's contint for this night; the carts are goin' in to the +market to-morrow airly--you can sit upon them, an' maybe you'll get +somethin' more nor you expect: sure the Lord has given it to me, an' why +wouldn't I share it wid them that wants it more nor I do?” + +The lad's heart yearned to the generous farmer, for he felt that his +kindness had the stamp of truth and sincerity upon it. He could only +raise his eyes in a silent prayer, that none belonging to him might ever +be compelled, as strangers and way-farers, to commit themselves, as he +did, to the casualties of life, in pursuit of those attainments which +poverty cannot otherwise command. Fervent, indeed, was his prayer; and +certain we are, that because it was sincere, it must have been heard. + +In the meantime, the good woman, or _vanithee_, had got the pot of water +warmed, in which Jemmy was made to put his feet. She then stripped up +her arms to the elbows, and, with soap and seedy meal, affectionately +bathed his legs and feet: then, taking the _praskeen_, or coarse towel, +she wiped them with a kindness which thrilled to his heart. + +“And now,” said she, “I must give you a cure for blisthers, an' it's +this:--In the mornin', if we're all spared, as we will, plase the +Almighty, I'll give you a needle and some white woollen thread, well +soaped. When your blisthers gets up, dhraw the soapy thread through +them, clip it on each side, an', my life for yours, they won't throuble +you. Sure I thried it the year I went on my Station to Lough Derg, an' I +know it to be the rale cure.” + +“Here, Nelly,” said the farmer,--who sat iwith a placid benevolent face, +smoking his pipe on the opposite hob--to one of the maids who came in +from milking,--“bring up a noggin of that milk, we want it here: let it +be none of your washy _foremilk_, but the _strippins_, Nelly, that has +the strinth in it. Up wid it here, a colleen.” + +“The never a one o' the man but's doatin' downright, so he is,” observed +the wife, “to go to fill the tired child's stomach wid plash. Can't you +wait till he ates a thrifle o' some-thin' stout, to keep life in him, +afther his hard journey? Does your feet feel themselves cool an' asy +now, ahagur?” + +“Indeed,” said Jemmy, “I'm almost as fresh as when I set out. 'Twas +little thought I had, when I came away this mornin', that I'd meet wid +so much friendship on my journey. I hope it's a sign that God's on my +side in my undertakin'!” + +“I hope so, avourneen--I hope so, an' it is, too,” replied the farmer, +taking the pipe out of his mouth, and mildly whiffing away the smoke, +“an' God'll be always on your side, as long as your intentions are good. +Now ate somethin'--you must want it by this; an' thin, when you rest +yourself bravely, take a tass into a good feather-bed, where you can +_sleep rings round you_. (* As much as you please.) Who knows but you'll +be able to say mass for me or some o' my family yit. God grant that, any +way, avick!” + +Poor James's heart was too full to eat much; he took, therefore, only +a very slender portion of the refreshments set before him; but his +hospitable entertainer had no notion of permitting him to use the free +exercise of his discretion on this important point. When James put away +the knife and fork, as an indication of his having concluded the meal, +the farmer and his wife turned about, both at the same moment, with a +kind of astonishment. + +“Eh? is it giving over that way you are? Why, alanna, it's nothin' at +all you've tuck; sure little Brian there would make a fool of you, so +he would, at the atin'. Come, come, a bouchal--don't be ashamed, or make +any way sthrange at all, but ate hearty.” + +“I declare I have ate heartily, thank you,” replied James; “oceans +itself, so I did. I couldn't swally a bit more if the house was full.” + +“Arrah, Brian,” said the wife, “cut him up more o' that hung beef, it's +ashamed the crathur is! Take it, avick; don't we know the journey you +had! Faix, if one o' the boys was out on a day's thravellin', you'd see +how he'd handle himself.” + +“Indeed,” said James, “I can't--if I could I would. Sure I would be no +way backward at all, so I wouldn't.” + +“Throth, an' you can an' must,” said the farmer: “the never a rise +you'll rise, till you finish that”--putting over a complement out of all +reasonable proportion with his age and size. + +“There now's a small taste, an' you must finish it. To go to ate nothin' +at all! Hut tut! by the tops o' my boots, you must put that clear an' +clane out o' sight, or I'll go mad an' barn them.” + +The lad recommenced, and continued to eat as long as he could possibly +hold out; at length he ceased:-- + +“I can't go on,” said he; “don't ax me: I can't indeed.” + +“Bad manners to the word I'll hear till you finish it; you know it's but +a thrifle to spake of. Thry agin, avick, but take your time; you'll be +able for it.” + +The poor lad's heart was engaged on other thoughts and other scenes; his +home, and its beloved inmates--sorrow and the gush of young affections, +were ready to burst forth. + +“I cannot ate,” said he, and he looked imploringly on the farmer and his +wife, whilst the tears started to his eyes--“don't ax me, for my heart's +wid them I left behind me, that I may never see agin!” and he wept in a +burst of grief which he could not restrain. + +Neither the strength nor tenderness of the lad's affection was +unappreciated by this excellent couple. In a moment the farmer's wife +was also in tears; nor did her husband break the silence for some +minutes. + +“The Almighty pity an' strengthen him!” said the farmer's wife, “but +he has the good an' the kind heart, an' would be a credit to any +family.--Whisht, acushla machree--whisht, we won't ax you to ate--no +indeed. It was out o' kindness we did it: don't be cast down aither; +sure it isn't the ocean you're crossin'; but goin' from one county +like to another. God 'll guard an' take care o' you, so he will. Your +intintion's good, an' he'll prosper it.” + +“He will, avick,” said the farmer himself--“he will. Cheer up, my good +boy! I know thim that's larned an' creditable clargy this day, that went +as you're goin'--ay, an' that ris an' helped their parents, an' put them +above poverty an' distress; an' never fear, wid a blessin', but you'll +do the same.” + +“That's what brings me at all,” replied the boy, drying his tears; “if +I was once able to take them out o' their distresses, I'd be happy: only +I'm afeard the cares o' the world will break my father's heart before I +have it in my power to assist him.” + +“No such thing, darlin',” said the good woman. “Sure his hopes out o' +you, an' his love for you will keep him up; an' you dunna but God may +give him a blessin' too, avick.” + +“Mix another sup o'that for him,” said the fanner: “he's low spirited, +an' it's too strong to give him any more of it as it is. Childhre, +where's the masther from us--eh? Why, thin, God help them, the +crathurs--wasn't it thoughtful o' them to lave the place while he was at +his dinner, for fraid he'd be dashed--manin' them young crathurs, Alley, +But can you tell us where the 'masther' is? Isn't this his night wid us? +I know he tuck his dinner here.” + +“Ay did he; but it's up to Larry Murphy's he's gone, to thry his son +in his book-keepin'. Mavrone, but he had time enough to put him well +through it afore this, any way.” + +As she spoke, a short thickset man, with black twinkling eyes and ruddy +cheeks entered. This personage was no other than the schoolmaster of +that district, who circulated, like a newspaper, from one farmer's house +to another, in order to expound for his kind entertainers the news +of the day, his own learning, and the very evident extent of their +ignorance. + +The moment he came in, the farmer and his wife rose with an air of much +deference, and placed a chair for him exactly opposite the fire, leaving +a respectful distance on each side, within which no illiterate mortal +durst presume to sit. + +“Misther Corcoran,” said the farmer, presenting Jemmy's satchel, through +which the shapes of the books were quite plain, “_thig in thu shinn?_” + (* Do you understand this) and as he spoke he looked significantly at +its owner. + +“Ah,” replied the man of letters, “thigum, thigum. (* I understand) God +be wid the day when I carried the likes of it. 'Tis a badge of polite +genius, that no boy need be ashamed of. So my young suckling of +litherature, you're bound for Munster?--for that counthry where the +swallows fly in conic sections--where the magpies and the turkey's +confab in Latin, and the cows and bullocks will roar you Doric +Greek--bo-a-o--clamo. What's your pathronymic? _quo nomine gowdes, +Domine doctissime?_” + +The lad was silent; but the farmer's wife turned up the whites of her +eyes with an expression of wonder and surprise at the erudition of the +“masther.” + +“I persave you are as yet uninitiated into the elementary principia of +the languages; well--the honor is still before you. What's your name?” + +“James M'Evoy, sir.” + +Just now the farmer's family began to assemble round the spacious +hearth; the young lads, whose instruction the worthy teacher claimed as +his own peculiar task, came timidly forward, together with two or three +pretty bashful girls with sweet flashing eyes, and countenances full of +feeling and intelligence. Behind on the settles, half-a-dozen servants +of both sexes sat in pairs--each boy placing himself beside his favorite +girl. These appeared to be as strongly interested in the learned +conversation which the master held, as if they were masters and +mistresses of Munster Latin and Doric Greek themselves; but an +occasional thump cautiously bestowed by no slender female hand upon the +sturdy shoulder of her companion, or a dry cough from one of the young +men, fabricated to drown the coming blow, gave slight indications that +they contrived to have a little amusement among themselves, altogether +independent of Mr. Corcoran's erudition. + +When the latter came in, Jemmy was taking the tumbler of punch which the +farmer's wife had mixed for him; on this he fixed an expressive glance, +which instantly reverted to the _vanithee_, and from her to the large +bottle which stood in a window to the right of the fire. It is a quick +eye, however, that can anticipate Irish hospitality. + +“Alley,” said the farmer, ere the wife had time to comply with the hint +conveyed by the black, twinkling eye of the schoolmaster; “why, Alley”-- + +“Sure, I am,” she replied, “an' will have it for you in less than no +time.” + +She accordingly addressed herself to the bottle, and in a few minutes +handed a reeking jug of punch to the _Farithee_, or good man. + +“Come, Masther, by the hand o' my body, I don't like dhry talk so long +as I can get anything to moisten the discoorse. Here's your health, +Masther,” continued the farmer, winking at the rest, “and a speedy +conclusion to what you know! In throth, she's the pick of a good +girl--not to mintion what she has for her portion. I'm a friend to the +same family, an' will put a spoke in your wheel, Masther, that'll sarve +you.” + +“Oh, Mr. Lanigan, very well, sir--very well--you're becoming quite +facetious upon me,” said the little man, rather confused; “but upon my +credit and reputation, except the amorous inclination and regard to me +is on her side,” and he looked sheepishly at his hands, “I can't say +that the arrows of Cupid have as yet pinethrated the sintimintal side of +my heart. It is not with me as it was wid Dido--hem-- + +Non 'haeret lateri lethalis arundo,' + +as Virgil says. Yet I can't say, but if a friend were to become +spokesman for me, and insinuate in my behalf a small taste of amorous +sintimintality, why--hem, hem, hem! The company's health! Lad, James +M'Evoy, your health, and success to you, my good boy!--hem, hem!” + +“Here's wishin' him the same!” said the farmer. + +“James,” said the schoolmaster, “you are goin' to Munsther, an' I can +say that I have travelled it from end to end, not to a bad purpose, I +hope--hem! Well, a bouchal, there are hard days and nights before you, +so keep a firm heart. If you have money, as 'tis likely you have, don't +let a single rap of it into the hands of the schoolmaster, although the +first thing he'll do will be to bring you home to his own house, an' +palaver you night an' day, till he succeeds in persuading you to leave +it in his hands for security. You might, if not duly pre-admonished, +surrender it to his solicitations, for-- + +'Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit.' + +Michael, what case is mortalium?” added he, suddenly addressing one of +the farmer's sons; “come, now, Michael, where's your brightness? What +case is mortalium?” + +The boy was taken by surprise, and for a few minutes could not reply. + +“Come man,” said the father, “be sharp, spake out bravely, an' don't be +afraid; nor don't be in a hurry aither, we'll wait for you.” + +“Let him alone--let him alone,” said Corcoran; “I'll face the same boy +agin the county for cuteness. If he doesn't expound that, I'll never +consthru a line of Latin, or Greek, or Masoretic, while I'm livin'.” + +His cunning master knew right well that the boy, who was only confused +at the suddenness of the question, would feel no difficulty in answering +it to his satisfaction. Indeed, it was impossible for him to miss it, as +he was then reading the seventh book of Virgil, and the fourth of Homer. +It is, however, a trick with such masters to put simple questions of +that nature to their pupils, when at the houses of their parents, as +knotty and difficult, and when they are answered, to assume an air of +astonishment at the profound reach of thought displayed by the pupil. + +When Michael recovered himself, he instantly replied, “_Mortalium_ is +the genitive case of nemo, by '_Nomina Partiva_.'” + +Corcoran laid down the tumbler, which he was in the act of raising to +his lips, and looked at the lad with an air of surprise and delight, +then at the farmer and his wife, alternately, and shook his head with +much mystery. “Michael,” said he to the lad; “will you go out and tell +us what the night's doin'.” + +The boy accordingly went out--“Why,” said Corcoran, in his absence, “if +ever there was a phanix, and that boy will be the bird--an Irish phanix +he will be, a + +_Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno!_ + +There's no batin' him at anything he undher-takes. Why, there's thim +that are makin' good bread by their larnin', that couldn't resolve that; +and you all saw how he did it widout the book! Why, if he goes on at +this rate, I'm afraid he'll soon be too many for myself--hem!” + +“Too many for yourself! Fill the masther's tumbler, Alley. Too many for +yourself! No, no! I doubt he'll never see that day, bright as he is, an' +cute. That's it--put a hape upon it. Give me your hand, masther. I thank +you for your attention to him, an' the boy is a credit to us. Come over, +Michael, avourneen. Here, take what's in this tumbler, an' finish it. +Be a good boy and mind your lessons, an' do everything the masther +here--the Lord bless him!--bids you; an' you'll never want a frind, +masther, nor a dinner, nor a bed, nor a guinea, while the Lord spares me +aither the one or the other.” + +“I know it, Mr. Lanigan, I know it; and I will make that boy the pride +of Ireland, if I'm spared. I'll show him _cramboes_ that would puzzle +the great Scaliger himself; and many other difficulties I'll let him +into, that I have never let out yet, except to Tim Kearney, that bate +them all at Thrinity College in Dublin up, last June.” + +“Arrah, how was that, Masther?” + +“Tim, you see, went in to his Entrance Examinayshuns, and one of the +Fellows came to examine him, but divil a long it was till Tim sacked +him. + +“'Go back agin', says Tim, 'and sind some one that's able to tache me, +for you're not.' + +“So another greater scholar agin came to yry Tim, and did thry him, and +Tim made a _hare_ of _him_, before all that was in the place--five or +six thousand ladies and gintlemen, at laste! + +“The great learned Fellows thin began to look odd enough; so they picked +out the best scholar among them but one, and slipped him at Tim; but +well becomes Tim, the never a long it was till he had him, too, as dumb +as a post. The fellow went back-- + +“'Gintlemen,' says he to the rest, 'we'll be disgraced all out,' says +he, 'for except the Prowost sacks that Munsther spalpeen, he'll bate us +all, an' we'll never be able to hould up our heads afther.' + +“Accordingly, the Prowost attacks Tim; and such a meetin' as they had, +never was seen in Thrinity College since its establishment. At last when +they had been nine hours and a half at it, the Prowost put one word to +him that Tim couldn't expound, so he lost it by one word only. For +the last two hours the Prowost carried on the examinashun in Hebrew, +thinking, you see, he had Tim there; but he was mistaken, for Tim +answered him in good Munsther Irish, and it so happened that they +understood each other, for the two languages are first cousins, or, at +all evints, close blood relations. Tim was then pronounced to be the +best scholar in Ireland except the Prowost; though among ourselves, they +might have thought of the man that taught him. That, however, wasn't +all. A young lady fell in love wid Tim, and is to make him a present of +herself and her great fortune (three estates) the moment he becomes a +counsellor; and in the meantime she allows him thirty pounds a year to +bear his expenses, and live like a gintleman. + +“Now to return to the youth in the corner: _Nemo mortalium omnibus horis +sapit_, Jemmy keep your money, or give it to the priest to keep, and +it will be safest; but by no means let the Hyblean honey of the +schoolmaster's blarney deprive you of it, otherwise it will be a _vale, +vale, longum vale_ between you. _Crede experto!_” + +“Masther,” said the farmer, “many a sthrange accident you met wid on yer +thravels through Munsther?” + +“No doubt of that, Mr. Lanigan. I and another boy thravelled it in +society together. One day we were walking towards a gintleman's house +on the road side, and it happened that we met the owner of it in the +vicinity, although we didn't know him to be such. + +“'_Salvete Domini!_' said he, in good fresh Latin. + +“'_Tu sis salvus, quoque!_' said I to him, for my comrade wasn't cute, +an' I was always orathor. + +“'_Unde veniti?_' said he, comin' over us wid another deep piece of +larnin' the construction of which was, 'where do yez come from?' + +“I replied, '_Per varios casus et tot discrimina rerum, venimus a +Mayo._' + +“'Good!' said he, 'you're bright; follow me.' + +“So he brought us over to his own house, and ordered us bread and cheese +and a posset; for it was Friday, an' we couldn't touch mate. He, in the +mane time, sat an chatted along wid us. The thievin' cook, however, in +makin' the posset, kept the curds to herself, except a slight taste here +and there, that floated on the top; but she was liberal enough of the +whey, any how. + +“Now I had been well trained to fishing in my more youthful days; and no +gorsoon could grope a trout wid me. I accordingly sent the spoon through +the pond before me wid the skill of a connoisseur; but to no purpose--it +came up wid nothin' but the whey. + +“So, said I off hand to the gintleman, houlding up the bowl, and looking +at it with a disappointed face, + +'Apparent _rari_ nantes in gurgite vasto.' + +'This,' says I, 'plase your hospitality, may be Paotolus, but the divil +a taste o' the proper sand is in the bottom of it.' + +“The wit of this, you see, pleased him, and we got an excellent treat +in his _studium_, or study: for he was determined to give myself another +trial. + +“'What's the wickedest line in Virgil?' said he. + +“Now I had Virgil at my fingers' ends, so I answered him: + +'Flectere si nequeo superos, Aeheronta movebo,' + +“'Very good,' said he, 'you have the genius, and will come to somethin' +yet: now tell me the most moral line in Virgil.' + +“I answered: + +'Discere justitiam moniti et non temnere divos.' * + + * He is evidently drawing the long-bow here; this + anecdote has been told before. + +“'Depend upon it,' said he, 'you will be a luminary. The morning star +will be but a farthing candle to you; and if you take in the learning as +you do the cheese, in a short time there won't be a man in Munsther +fit to teach you,' and he laughed, for you see he had a tendency to +jocosity. + +“He did not give me up here, however, being determined to go deeper wid +me. + +“'Can you translate a newspaper into Latin prose?' said he. + +“Now the divil a one o' me was just then sure about the prose, so I was +goin' to tell him; but before I had time to speak, he thrust the paper +into my hand, and desired me to thranslate half-a-dozen barbarous +advertisements. + +“The first that met me was about a reward offered for a Newfoundland dog +and a terrier, that had been stolen from a fishing-tackle manufacturer, +and then came a list of his shabby merchandise, ending with a +long-winded encomium upon his gunpowder, shot, and double-barrelled +guns. Now may I be shot with a blank cartridge, if I ever felt so much +at an amplush in my life, and I said so. + +“'Your honor has hooked me wid the fishing hooks,' said I; 'but I grant +the cheese was good bait, any how.' + +“So he laughed heartily, and bid me go on. + +“Well, I thought the first was difficult: but the second was Masoretic +to it--something about drawbacks, excisemen, and a long custom-house +list, that would puzzle Publius Virgilius Maro, if he was set to +translate it. However, I went through wid it as well as I could; where I +couldn't find Latin, I laid in the Greek, and where the Greek failed +me, I gave the Irish, which, to tell the truth, in consequence of its +vernacularity, I found to be the most convanient. Och, och many a larned +scrimmage I have signalized myself in, during my time. Sure my name's +as common as a mail-coach in Thrinity College; and 'tis well known +there isn't a fellow in it but I could sack, except may be, the prowost. +That's their own opinion. 'Corcoran,' says the prowost, 'is the most +larned man in Ireland; an' I'm not ashamed,' says he, 'to acknowledge +that I'd rather decline meeting him upon deep points.' Ginteels, all +your healths--hem! But among ourselves I could bog him in a very short +time; though I'd scorn to deprive the gintleman of his reputaytion or +his place, even if he sent me a challenge of larnin' to-morrow, although +he's too cute to venture on doing that--hem, hem!” + +To hear an obscure creature, whose name was but faintly known in the +remote parts even of the parish in which he lived, draw the long-bow +at such a rate, was highly amusing. The credulous character of his +auditory, however, was no slight temptation to him; for he knew that +next to the legends of their saints, or the Gospel itself, his fictions +ranked in authenticity; and he was determined that it should not be his +fault if their opinion of his learning and talents were not raised to +the highest point. The feeling experienced by the poor scholar, when +he awoke the next morning, was one both of satisfaction and sorrow. He +thought once more of his home and kindred, and reflected that it might +be possible he had I seen the last of his beloved relations. His grief, +however, was checked when he remembered the warm and paternal affection +with which he was received on the preceding night by his hospitable +countryman. He offered up his prayers to God; humbly besought his grace +and protection; nor did he forget to implore a blessing upon those who I +had thus soothed his early sorrows, and afforded him, though a stranger +and friendless, I shelter, comfort, and sympathy. + +“I hope,” thought he, “that I will meet many such, till I overcome my +difficulties, an' find myself able to assist my poor father an' mother!” + +And he did meet many such among the humble, and despised, and neglected +of his countrymen; for--and we say it with pride--the character of this +excellent farmer is thoroughly that of our peasantry within the range of +domestic life. + +When he had eaten a comfortable breakfast, and seen his satchel stuffed +with provision for his journey, the farmer brought him up to his own +room, in which were also his wife and children. + +“God,” said he, “has been good to me; blessed be his holy name!--betther +it appears in one sinse, than he has been to you, dear, though maybe I +don't desarve it as well. But no matther, acushla; I have it, an' you +want it; so here's a thrifle to help your forrid in your larnin'; an' +all I ax from you is to offer up a bit of a prayer for me, of an odd +time, an' if ever you live to be a priest, to say, if it wouldn't be +throublesome, one Mass for me an' those that you see about me. It's not +much, James agra--only two guineas. They may stand your friend, whin +friends will be scarce wid you; though, I hope, that won't be the case +aither.” + +The tears were already streaming down. Jemmy's cheeks. “Oh,” said the +artless boy, “God forever reward you! but sure I have a great dale of +money in the--in the--cuff o' my coat. Indeed I have, an' I won't want +it!” + +The farmer, affected by the utter simplicity of the lad, looked at his +wife and smiled, although a tear stood in his eye at the time. She wiped +her eyes with her apron, and backed the kind offer of her husband. + +“Take it, asthore,” she added, “in your cuff! Musha, God help you! sure +it's not much you or the likes of you can have in your cuff, avourneen! +Don't be ashamed, but take it; we can well afford it, glory be to God +for it! It's not, agra, bekase you're goin' the way you are--though that +same's an honor to you--but bekase our hearts warmed to you, that we +offered it, an' bekase we would wish you to be thinkin' of us now an' +thin, when you're in a strange part of the country. Let me open your +pocket an' put them into it. That's a good, boy, thank you, an' God +bless an' prosper you! I'm sure you were always biddable.” + +“Now childre,” said the farmer, addressing his sons and daughters, +“never see the sthranger widout a friend, nor wantin' a bed or a dinner, +when you grow up to be men an' women. There's many a turn in this world; +we may be strangers ourselves; an' think of what I would feel if any of +you was far from me, widout money or friends, when I'd hear that you +met a father in a strange counthry that lightened your hearts by his +kindness. Now, dear, the carts 'll be ready in no time--eh? Why there +they are at the gate waitin' for you. Get into one of them, an' they'll +lave you in the next town. Come, roan, budan' age, be stout-hearted, an' +don't cry; sure we did nothin' for you to spake of.” + +He shook the poor scholar by the hand, and drawing his hat over his +eyes, passed hurriedly out of the room. Alley stooped down, kissed his +lips, and wept; and the children each embraced him with that mingled +feeling of compassion and respect which is uniformly entertained for the +poor scholar in Ireland. + +The boy felt as if he had been again separated from his parents; with a +sobbing bosom and wet cheeks he bid them farewell, and mounting one of +the carts was soon beyond sight and hearing of the kind-hearted farmer +and his family. + +When the cart had proceeded about a mile, it stopped, and one of the +men who accompanied it addressing a boy who passed with two sods of turf +under his arm, desired him to hurry on and inform his master that they +waited for him. + +“Tell Misther Corcoran to come into coort,” said the man, laughing, “my +Lordship's waitin' to hear his defince for intindin' not to run away wid +Miss Judy Malowny. Tell him Lord Garty's ready to pass sintince on him +for not stalin' the heart of her wid his Rule o' Three. Ha! by the holy +farmer, you'll get it for stayin' from school to this hour. Be quick, +abouchal!” + +In a few minutes the trembling urchin, glad of any message that might +serve to divert the dreaded birch from himself, entered the, uproarious +“Siminary,” caught his forelock, bobbed down his head to the master, +and pitched his “two sods” into a little'heap of turf which lay in the +corner of the school. + +“Arrah, Pat Roach, is this an hour to inter into my establishment wid +impunity? Eh, you Rosicrusian?” + +“Masther, sir,” replied the adroit monkey, “I've a message for you, sir, +i' you plase.” + +“An' what might the message be, Masther; Pat Roach? To dine to-day wid +your worthy father, abouchal?” + +“No, sir; it's from one o' Mr. Lanigan's boys--him that belongs to the +carts, sir; he wants to spake to you, sir, i' you plase.” + +“An' do you give that by way of an apologetical oration for your absence +from the advantages of my tuition until this hour? However, non constat +Patrici; I'll pluck the crow wid you on my return. If you don't find +yourself a well-flogged youth for your 'mitchin,' never say that this +right hand can administer condign punishment to that part of your +physical theory which constitutes the antithesis to your vacuum caput. +En et ewe, you villain,” he added, pointing to the birch, “it's newly +cut and trimmed, and pregnant wid alacrity for the operation. I correct, +Patricius, on fundamental principles, which you'll soon feel to your +cost.” + +“Masther, sir,” replied the lad, in a friendly, conciliating tone, “my +father 'ud be oblaged to you, if you'd take share of a fat goose wid him +to-morrow.” + +“Go to your sate, Paddy, avourneen; devil a dacent boy in the seminary I +joke--so much wid, as I do wid yourself; an' all out of respect for your +worthy parents. Faith, I've a great regard for them, all out, an' tell +them so.” + +He then proceeded to the carts, and approaching Jemmy, gave him such +advice touching his conduct in Munster, as he considered to be most +serviceable to an inexperienced lad of his years. + +“Here,” said the kind-hearted soul--“here, James, is my mite; it's but +bare ten shillings; but if I could make it a pound for you, it would +give me a degree of delectability which I have not enjoyed for a long +time. The truth is, there's something like the _nodus matrimonii_, or +what they facetiously term the priest's gallows, dangling over my head, +so that any little thrifle I may get must be kept together for that +crisis, James, abouchal; so that must be my apology for not giving +you more, joined to the naked fact, that I never was remarkable for a +superfluity of cash under any circumstances. Remember what I told you +last night. Don't let a shilling of your money into the hands of the +masther you settle wid. Give it to the parish priest, and dhraw it from +him when you want it. Don't join the parties or the factions of the +school. Above all, spake ill of nobody; and if the; masther is harsh +upon you, either bear it patiently, or mintion it to the priest, or +to some other person of respectability in the parish, and you'll be +protected. You'll be apt to meet cruelty enough, my good boy: for there +are larned Neros in Munster, who'd flog if the province was in flames. + +“Now, James, I'll tell you what you'll do, when you reach the larned +south. Plant yourself on the highest hill in the neighborhood wherein +the academician with whom you intend to stop, lives. Let the hour of +reconnoitring be that in which dinner is preparing. When seated there, +James, take a survey of the smoke that ascends from the chimneys of the +farmer's houses, and be sure to direct your steps to that from which +the highest and merriest column issues. This is the old plan and it is +a sure one. The highest smoke rises from the largest fire, the largest +fire boils the biggest pot, the biggest pot generally holds the fattest +bacon, and the fattest bacon is kept by the richest farmer. It's a +wholesome and comfortable climax, my boy, and one by which I myself was +enabled to keep a dacent portion of educated flesh between the master's +birch and my ribs. The science itself is called Gastric Geography, and +is peculiar only to itinerant young gintlemen who seek for knowledge in +the classical province of Munster. + +“Here's a book that thravelled along wid myself through all my +peregrinations--Creech's Translation of Horace. Keep it for my sake; +and when you accomplish your education, if you return home this way, I'd +thank you to give me a call. Farewell! God bless you and prosper you as +I wish, and as I am sure you desarve.” + +He shook the lad by the hand; and as it was probable that his own former +struggles with poverty, when in the pursuit of education, came with all +the power of awakened recollection to his mind, he hastily drew his hand +across his eyes, and returned to resume the brief but harmless authority +of the ferula. + +After arriving at the next town, Jemmy found himself once more +prosecuting his journey alone. In proportion as he advanced into a +strange land, his spirits became depressed, and his heart cleaved more +and more to those whom he had left behind him. There is, however, an +enthusiasm in the visions of youth, in the speculations of a young +heart, which frequently overcomes difficulties that a mind taught by +the experience of life would often shrink from encountering. We may all +remember the utter recklessness of danger, with which, in our +youthful days, we crossed floods, or stood upon the brow of yawning +precipices--feats which, in after years, the wealth of kingdoms could +not induce us to perform. Experience, as well as conscience, makes +cowards of us all. + +The poor scholar in the course of his journey had the satisfaction +of finding himself an object of kind and hospitable attention to his +countrymen. His satchel of books was literally a passport to their +hearts. For instance, as he wended his solitary way, depressed and +travel-worn, he was frequently accosted by laborers from behind a ditch +on the roadside, and, after giving a brief history of the object he had +in view, brought, if it was dinner-hour, to some farm-house or cabin, +where he was made to partake of their meal. Even those poor creatures +who gain a scanty subsistence by keeping what are called “dhry lodgins,” + like _lucus a non lucendo_, because they never keep out the rain, and +have mostly a bottle of whiskey for those who know how to call for +it, even they, in most instances, not only refused to charge the poor +scholar for his bed, but declined to receive any remuneration for his +subsistence. + +“Och, och, no, you poor young cratlrur, not from you. No, no; if we +wouldn't help the likes o' you, who ought we to help? No dear; but +instead o' the _airighad_, (* money) jist lave us your blessin', +an' maybe we'll thrive as well wid that, as we would wid your little +'pences, that you'll be wanting for yourself whin your frinds won't be +near to help you.” + +Many, in fact, were the little marks of kindness and attention which the +poor lad received on his way. Sometimes a ragged peasant, if he happened +to be his fellow-traveller, would carry his satchel so long as they +travelled together, or a carman would give him a lift on his empty car; +or some humorous postilion, or tipsy “shay-boy,” with a comical leer in +his eye, would shove him into his vehicle; remarking-- + +“Bedad, let nobody say you're a poor scholar now, an' you goin' to +school in a coach! Be the piper that played afore Moses, if ever any +rascal upraids you wid it, tell him, says you--'You damned rap,' says +you, 'I wint to school in a coach! an' that,' says you, 'was what +none o' yer beggarly gin oration was ever able to do,' says you; 'an' +moreover, be the same token,' says you, 'be the holy farmer, if you +bring it up to me, I'll make a third eye in your forehead wid the butt +o' this whip,' says you. Whish! darlins! That's the go! There's drivin', +Barny! Eh?” + +At length, after much toil and travel, he reached the South, having +experienced as he proceeded a series of affectionate attentions, which +had, at least, the effect of reconciling him to the measure he had +taken, and impressing upon his heart a deeper confidence in the kindness +and hospitality of his countrymen. + +Upon the evening of the day on which he terminated his journey, twilight +was nearly falling; the town in which he intended to stop for the night +was not a quarter of a mile before him, yet he was scarcely able to +reach it; his short, yielding steps were evidently those of a young and +fatigued traveller: his brow was moist with perspiration: he had just +begun, too, to consider in what manner he should introduce himself to +the master who taught the school at which he had been advised to stop, +when he heard a step behind him, and on looking back, he discovered a +tall, well-made, ruddy-faced young man, dressed in black, with a book in +his hand, walking after him. + +“_Unde et quo viator?_” said the stranger, on coming up to him. + +“Oh, sir,” replied Jemmy, “I have not Latin _yet_.” + +“You are on your way to seek it, however,” replied the other. “Have you +travelled far?” + +“A long way, indeed, sir; I came from the County ------, sir--the upper +part of it.” + +“Have you letters from your parish priest?” + +“I have, sir, and one from my father's landlord, Square Benson, if you +ever heard of him.” + +“What's your object in learning Latin?” + +“To be a priest, wid the help o' God; an' to rise my poor father an' +mother out of their poverty.” + +His companion, after hearing this reply, bent a glance upon him, that +indicated the awakening of an interest in the lad much greater than he +probably otherwise would have felt. + +“It's only of late,” continued the boy, “that my father an' mother got +poor; they were once very well to do in the world. But they were put out +o' their farm in ordher that the agint might put a man that had married +a _get_ (* A term implying illegitimacy) of his own into it. My father +intended to lay his case before Colonel B------, the landlord; but he +couldn't see him at all, bekase he never comes near the estate. +The agint's called Yallow Sam, sir; he's rich through cheatery an' +dishonesty; puts money out at intherest, then goes to law, an' brakes +the people entirely; for, somehow, he never was known to lose a lawsuit +at all, sir. They say it's the divil, sir, that keeps the lawyers on his +side; an' that when he an' the lawyers do be dhrawin' up their writins, +the devil--God betune me an' harm!--does be helpin' them!” + +“And is Colonel B------ actually--or, rather, was he your father's +landlord?” + +“He was, indeed, sir; it's thruth I'm tellin' you.” + +“Singular enough! Stand beside me here--do you see that large house to +the right among the trees?” + +“I do, sir; a great big house, entirely--like a castle, sir.” + +“The same. Well, that house belongs to Colonel B------, and I am very +intimate with him. I am Catholic curate of this parish; and I was, +before my ordination, private tutor in his family for four years.” + +“Maybe, sir, you might have intherest to get my father back into his +farm?” + +“I do not know that, my good lad, for I am told Colonel B-----is rather +embarrassed, and, if I mistake not, in the power of the man you call +Yellow Sam, who has, I believe, heavy mortgages upon his property. +But no matter; if I cannot help your father, I shall be able to serve +yourself. Where do you intend to stop for the night?” + +“In dhry lodgin', sir, that's where my father and mother bid me stop +always. They war very kind to me, sir, in the dhry lddgins.” + +“Who is there in Ireland who would not be kind to you, my good boy? I +trust you do not neglect your religious duties?” + +“Wid the help o' God, sir, I strive to attind to them as well as I can; +particularly since I left my father and mother. Every night an' mornin', +sir, I say five Fathers, five Aves, an' a Creed; an' sometimes when I'm +walkin' the road, I slip up an odd Father, sir, an' Ave, that God may +grant me good luck.” + +The priest smiled at his candor and artlessness, and could not help +feeling the interest which the boy had already excited in him increase. + +“You do right,” said he, “and take care that you neglect not the worship +of God. Avoid bad company; be not quarrelsome at school; study to +improve yourself diligently; attend mass regularly; and be punctual in +going to confession.” + +After some further conversation, the priest and he entered the town +together. + +“This is my house,” said the former; “or if not altogether mine--at +least, that in which I lodge; let me see you here at two o'clock +to-morrow. In the meantime, follow me, and I shall place you with a +family where you will experience every kindness and attention that can +make you comfortable.” + +He then led him a few doors up the street, till he stopped at a +decent-looking “House of Entertainment,” to the proprietors of which he +introduced him. + +“Be kind to this strange boy,” said the worthy clergyman, “and whatever +the charges of his board and lodging may be until we get him settled, I +shall be accountable for them.” + +“God forbid, your Reverence, that ever a penny belongin' to a poor boy +lookin' for his larnin' should go into our pockets, if he was wid us +twelve months in the year. No--no! He can stay with the _bouchaleens_; +(* little boys) let them be thryin' one another in their books. If he is +fardher on in the Latin then Andy, he can help Andy; an' if Andy has +the foreway of him, why Andy can help him. Come here, boys, all of yez. +Here's a comrade for yez--a dacent boy that's lookin' for his larnin', +the Lord enable him! Now be kind to him, an' whisper,” he added, in an +undertone, “don't be bringin' a blush to the gorsoon's face. Do ye hear? +Ma chorp! if ye do!--Now mind it. Ye know what I can do whin I'm well +vexed! Go, now, an' get him somethin' to ate an' dhrink, an' let him +sleep wid Barney in the feather bed.” + +During the course of the next day, the benevolent curate introduced +him to the parish priest, who from the frequent claims urged by poor +scholars upon his patronage, felt no particular interest in his case. He +wrote a short letter, however, to the master with whom Jemmy intended +to become a pupil, stating that “he was an honest boy, the son of +legitimate parents, and worthy of consideration.” + +The curate, who saw further into the boy's character than the parish +priest, accompanied him on the following day to the school; introduced +him to the master in the most favorable manner, and recommended him in +general to the hospitable care of all the pupils. This introduction did +not serve the boy so much as might have been expected; there was nothing +particular in the letter of the parish priest, and the curate was but a +curate--no formidable personage in any church where the good-will of the +rector has not been already secured. + +Jemmy returned that day to his lodgings, and the next morning, with his +Latin Grammar under his arm, he went to school to taste the first bitter +fruits of the tree of knowledge. + +On entering it, which he did with a beating heart, he found the despot +of a hundred subjects sitting behind a desk, with his hat on, a brow +superciliously severe, and his nose crimped into a most cutting and +vinegar curl. The truth was, the master knew the character of the +curate, and felt that because he had taken Jemmy under his protection, +no opportunity remained for him of fleecing the boy, under the pretence +of securing his money, and that consequently the arrival of the poor +scholar would be no windfall, as he had expected. + +When Jemmy entered, he looked first at the master for his welcome; but +the master, who verified the proverb, that there are none so blind as +those who will not see, took no notice whatsoever of him. The boy then +looked timidly about the school in quest of a friendly face, and indeed +few faces except friendly ones were turned upon him. + +Several of the scholars rose up simultaneously to speak to him; but +the pedagogue angrily inquired why they had left their seats and their +business. + +“Why, sir,” said a young Munsterman, with a fine Milesian face--“be +gorra, sir, I believe if we don't welcome the poor scholar, I think you +won't. This is the boy, sir, that Mr. O'Brien came along wid yistherday, +an' spoke so well of.” + +“I know that, Thady; and Misther O'Brien thinks, because he himself +first passed through that overgrown hedge-school wid slates upon the +roof of it, called Thrinity College, and matriculated in Maynooth +afther, that he has legal authority to recommend every young vagrant to +the gratuitous benefits of legitimate classicality. An' I suppose, that +you are acting the Pathrun, too, Thady, and intind to take this young +wild-goose under your protection?” + +“Why, sir, isn't he a poor scholar? Sure he mustn't want his bit an' +sup, nor his night's lodgin', anyhow. You're to give him his larnin' +only, sir.” + +“I suppose so, Mr. Thaddeus; but this is the penalty of celebrity. If I +weren't so celebrated a man for classics as I am, I would have none of +this work. I tell you, Thady, if I had fifty sons I wouldn't make one o' +them celebrated.” + +“Wait till you have one first, sir, and you may make him as great a +numskull as you plase, Master.” + +“But in the meantime, Thady, I'll have no dictation from you, as to +whether I have one or fifty; or as to whether he'll be an ass or a +Newton. I say that a dearth of larnin' is like a year of famine in +Ireland. When the people are hard pushed, they bleed the fattest +bullocks, an' live on their blood; an' so it is wid us Academicians. +It's always he that has the most larned blood in his veins, and the +greatest quantity of it that such hungry leeches fasten on.” + +“Thrue for you, sir,” said the youth with a smile; “but they say the +bullocks always fatten the betther for it. I hope you'll bleed well now, +sir.” + +“Thady, I don't like, the curl of your nose; an', moreover, I have +always found you prone to sedition. You remember your conduct at the +'Barring out.' I tell you it's well that your worthy father is a dacent +wealthy man, or I'd be apt to give you a _memoria technica_ on the +_subtratum_, Thady.” + +“God be praised for my father's wealth, sir! But I'd never wish to have +a good memory in the way you mention.” + +“Faith, an' I'll be apt to add that to your other qualities, if you +don't take care of yourself.” + +“I want no such addition, Masther; if you do, you'll be apt to subtract +yourself from this neighborhood, an', maybe, ther'e won't be more than a +cipher gone out of it, afther all.” + +“Thady, you're a wag,” exclaimed the crestfallen pedagogue; “take the +lad to your own sate, and show him his task. How! is your sister's sore +throat, Thady?” + +“Why, sir,” replied the benevolent young wit, “she's betther than I am. +She can swallow more, sir.” + +“Not of larnin', Thady; there you've the widest gullet in the parish.” + +“My father's the richest man in it, Masther,” replied Thady. “I think, +sir, my! gullet and his purse are much about the same size--wid you.” + +“Thady, you're first-rate at a reply;--but exceedingly deficient in the +retort courteous. Take the lad to your sate, I say, and see how far he +is advanced, and what he is fit for. I suppose, as you are so ginerous, +you will volunteer to tache him yourself.” + +“I'll do that wid pleasure, sir; but I'd like to know whether you intind +to tache him or not.” + +“An' I'd like to know, Thady, who's to pay me for it, if I do. A purty +return Michael Rooney made me for making him such a linguist as he is. +'You're a tyrant,' said he, when he grew up, 'and instead of expecting +me to thank you for your instructions, you ought to thank me for not +preparing you for the county hospital, as a memento of the cruelty +and brutality you made me feel, when I had the misfortune to be a poor +scholar! under you.' And so, because he became curate of the parish, he +showed me the outside of it.” + +“But will you tache this poor young boy, sir?” + +“Let me know who's to guarantee his payments.” + +“I have money myself, sir, to pay you for two years,” replied Jemmy. +'They told me, sir, that you were a great scholar, an' I refused to stop +in other schools by rason of the name you have for Latin and Greek.” + +“Verbum sat,” exclaimed the barefaced knave. “Come here. Now, you see, +I persave you have dacency. Here is your task; get that half page by +heart. You have a cute look, an' I've no doubt but the stuff's in you. +Come to me afther dismiss, 'till we have a little talk together.” + +He accordingly pointed out the task, after which he placed him at his +side, lest the inexperienced boy might be put on his guard by any of the +scholars. In this intention, however, he was frustrated by Thady, who, +as he thoroughly detested the knavish tyrant, resolved to caution +the poor scholar against his dishonesty. Thady, indeed most heartily +despised the mercenary pedagogue, not only for his obsequiousness to the +rich, but on account of his severity to the children of the poor. About +two o'clock the young wag went out for a few minutes, and immediately +returned in great haste to inform the master, that Mr. Delaney, the +parish priest, and two other gentlemen wished to see him over at the +Cross-Keys, an inn which was kept at a place called the Nine Mile +House, within a few perches of the school. The parish priest, though an +ignorant, insipid old man, was the master's patron, and his slightest +wish a divine law to him. The little despot, forgetting his prey, +instantly repaired to the Cross-Keys, and in his absence, Thady, +together with the larger boys of the school, made M'Evoy acquainted with +the fraud about to be practised on him. + +“His intintion,” said they, “is to keep you at home to-night, in ordher +to get whatever money you have into his own hands, that he may keep it +safe for you; but if you give him a penny, you may bid farewell to it. +Put it in the curate's hands,” added Thady, “or in my father's, an' thin +it'll be safe. At all evints, don't stay wid him this night. He'll take +your money and then turn you off in three or four weeks.” + +“I didn't intind to give him my money,” replied Jemmy; “a schoolmaster I +met on my way here, bid me not to do it. I'll give it to the priest.” + +“Give it to the curate,” said Thady--“wid him it'll be safe; for the +parish priest doesn't like to throuble himself wid anything of the +mind.” + +This was agreed upon; the boy was prepared against the designs of the +master, and a plan laid down for his future conduct. In the meantime, +the latter re-entered the school in a glow of indignation and +disappointment. + +Thady, however, disregarded him; and as the master knew that the +influence of the boy's father could at any time remove him from the +parish, his anger subsided without any very violent consequences. The +parish priest was his avowed patron, it is true; but if the parish +priest knew that Mr. O'Rorke was dissatisfied with him, that moment +he would join Mr. O'Rorke in expelling him: from the neighborhood. Mr. +O'Rorke was a wealthy and a hospitable man, but the schoolmaster was +neither the one nor the other. + +During school-hours that day, many a warm-hearted urchin entered into +conversation with the poor scholar; some moved by curiosity to hear his +brief and simple history; others anxious to offer him a temporary asylum +in their father's houses; and several to know if he had the requisite +books, assuring him if he had not they would lend, them to him. These +proofs of artless generosity touched the homeless youth's heart the more +acutely, inasmuch as he could perceive but too clearly that the eye +of the master rested upon him, from time to time, with no auspicious +glance. + +When the scholars were dismissed, a scene occurred which was calculated +to produce a smile, although it certainly placed the poor scholar in a +predicament by no means agreeable. It resulted from a contest among +the boys as to who should first bring him home. The master who, by that +cunning for which the knavish are remarkable, had discovered in the +course of the day that his designs upon the boy's money was understood, +did not ask him to his house. The contest was, therefore, among the +scholars; who, when the master had disappeared from the school-room, +formed themselves into a circle, of which Jemmy was the centre, each +pressing his claim to secure him. + +“The right's wid me,” exclaimed Thady; “I stood to him all day, and I +say I'll have him for this night. Come wid me, Jimmy. Didn't I do most +for you to-day?” + +“I'll never forget your kindness,” replied poor Jemmy, quite alarmed at +the boisterous symptoms of pugilism which already began to appear. In +fact, many a tiny fist was shut, as a suitable, accompaniment to the +auguments with which they enforced their assumed rights. + +“There, now,” continued Thady, “that I puts an ind to it; he says he'll +never forget my kindness. That's enough; come wid me, Jimmy.” + +“Is it enough?” said a lad, who, if his father was less wealthy than +Thady's, was resolved to put strength of arm against strength of purse. +“Maybe it isn't enough! I say I bar it, if your fadher was fifty times +as rich!--Rich! Arrah, don't be comin' over us in regard of your riches, +man alive! I'll bring the sthrange boy home this very night, an' it +isn't your father's dirty money that'll prevint me.” + +“I'd advise you to get a double ditch about your nose,” replied Thady, +“before you begin to say anything disrespectful aginst my father.--Don't +think to ballyrag over me. I'll bring the boy, for I have the best right +to him. Didn't I do (* outwit) the masther on his account?” + +“A double ditch about my nose?” + +“Aye!” + +“Are you able to fight me?” + +“I'm able to thry it, anyhow, an' willin too.” + +“Do you say you're able to fight me?” + +“I'll bring the boy home whether or not.” + +“Thady's not your match, Jack Ratigan,” said another boy. “Why don't you +challenge your match?” + +“If you say a word, I'll half-sole your eye. Let him say whether he's +able to fight me like a man or not. That's the chat.” + +“Half-sole my eye! Thin here I am, an' why don't you do it. You're +crowin' over a boy that you're bigger than. I'll fight you for Thady. +Now half-sole my eye if you dar! Eh? Here's my eye, now! Arrah, be +the holy man, I'd--Don't we know the white hen's in you. Didn't Barny +Murtagh cow you at the black-pool, on Thursday last, whin we wor +bathin'?” + +“Come, Ratigan,” said Thady, “peel an' turn out. I say, I am able to +fight you; an' I'll make you ate your words aginst my father, by way of +givin' you your dinner. An' I'll make the dacent strange boy walk home +wid me over your body--that is, if he'd not be afraid to dirty his +feet.” + +Ratigan and Thady immediately set to, and in a few minutes there were +scarcely a little pair of fists present that were not at work, either +on behalf of the two first combatants, or with a view to determine their +own private rights in being the first to exercise hospitality towards +the amazed poor scholar. The fact was, that while the two largest boys, +were arguing the point, about thirty or forty minor disputes all ran +parallel to theirs, and their mode of decision was immediately adopted +by the pugnacious urchins of the school. In this manner they were +engaged, poor Jemmy attempting to tranquillize and separate them, when +the master, armed in all his terrors, presented himself. + +With the tact of a sly old disciplinarian, he first secured the door, +and instantly commenced the agreeable task of promiscuous castigation. +Heavy and vindictive did his arm descend upon those whom he suspected +to have cautioned the boy against his rapacity; nor amongst the +warm-hearted lads, whom he thwacked so cunningly, was Thady passed over +with a tender hand. Springs, bouncings, doublings, blowing of fingers, +scratching of heads, and rubbing of elbows--shouts of pain, and +doleful exclamations, accompanied by action that displayed surpassing +agility-marked the effect with which he plied the instrument of +punishment. In the meantime the spirit of reaction, to use a modern +phrase, began to set in. The master, while thus engaged in dispensing +justice, first received a rather vigorous thwack on the ear from behind, +by an anonymous contributor, who gifted him with what is called a +musical ear, for it sang during five minutes afterwards. The monarch, +when turning round to ascertain the traitor, received another insult on +the most indefensible side, and that with a cordiality of manner, that +induced him to send his right hand reconnoitring the invaded part. He +wheeled round a second time with more alacrity than before; but nothing +less than the head of James could have secured him on this occasion. The +anonymous contributor sent him a fresh article. This was supported by +another kick behind: the turf began to fly; one after another came in +contact with his head and shoulders so rapidly, that he found himself, +instead of being the assailant, actually placed upon his defence. + + +[Illustration: PAGE 1099-- Received a rather vigorous thwack on the ear] + + +The insurrection spread, the turf flew more thickly; his subjects closed +in upon him in a more compact body; every little fist itched to be +at him; the larger boys boldly laid in the facers, punched him in the +stomach, I treated him most opprobriously behind, every kick and cuff +accompanied by a memento of his cruelty; in short, they compelled him, +like Charles the Tenth, ignominiously to fly from his dominions. + +On finding the throne vacant, some of them suggested that it ought to be +overturned altogether. Thady, however, who was the ringleader of +the rebellion, persuaded them to be satisfied with what they had +accomplished, and consequently succeeded in preventing them from +destroying the fixtures. + +Again they surrounded the poor scholar, who, feeling himself the cause +of the insurrection, appeared an object of much pity. Such was his grief +that he could scarcely reply to them. Their consolation on witnessing +his distress was overwhelming. They desired him to think nothing of it; +if the master, they told him, should wreak his resentment on him, “be +the holy farmer,” they would _pay_ (* pay) the masther. Thady's claim +was now undisputed. With only the injury of a black eye, and a lip +swelled to the size of a sausage, he walked home in triumph, the poor +scholar accompanying him. + +The master, who feared, that this open contempt of his authority, +running up, as it did, into a very unpleasant species of retaliation, +was something like a signal for him to leave the parish, felt rather +more of the penitent the next morning than did any of his pupils. He was +by no means displeased, therefore, to see them drop in about the usual +hour. They came, however, not one by one, but in compact groups, each +officered by two or three of the larger boys; for they feared that, +had they entered singly, he might have punished them singly, until his +vengeance should be satisfied. It was by bitter and obstinate struggles +that they succeeded in repressing their mirth, when he; appeared at his +desk with one of his eyes literally closed, and his nose considerably +improved in size and richness of color. When they were all assembled, +he hemmed several times, and, in a woo-begone tone of voice, split--by +a feeble attempt at maintaining authority and suppressing his +terrors--into two parts, that jarred most ludicrously, he briefly +addressed them as follows:-- + +“Gintlemen classics, I have been now twenty-six years engaged in +the propagation of Latin and Greek litherature, in conjunction wid +mathematics, but never, until yesterday, has my influence been spurned; +never, until yesterday, have sacrilegious hands been laid upon my +person; never, until yesterday, have I been kicked--insidiously, +ungallantly, and treacherously kicked--by my own subjects. No, +gintlemen,--and, whether I ought to bestow that respectable epithet +upon you after yesterday's proceedings is a matter which admits of +dispute,--never before has the lid of my eye been laid drooping, and +that in such a manner that I' must be blind to the conduct of half of +my pupils, whether I will or not. You have complained, it appears, of +my want of impartiality; but, God knows, you have compelled me to be +partial for a week to come. Neither blame me if I may appear to look +upon you with scorn for the next fortnight; for I am compelled to turn +up my nose at you much against my own inclination. You need never want +an illustration of the _naso adunco_ of Horace again; I'm a living +example of it. That, and the doctrine of projectile forces, have been +exemplified in a manner that will prevent me from ever relishing these +subjects in future. No king can consider himself properly such until +after he has received the oil of consecration; but you, it appears, +think differently. You have unkinged me first, and anointed me +afterwards; but, I say, no potentate would relish such unction. It +smells confoundedly of republicanism. Maybe this is what you understand +by the Republic of Letters; but, if it be, I would advise you to change +your principles. You treated my ribs as if they were the ribs of a +common man; my shins you took liberties with even to excoriation; +my head you made a target of, for your hardest turf; and my nose you +dishonored to my fage. Was this ginerous? was it discreet? was it +subordinate? and, above all, was it classical? However, I will show you +what greatness of mind is. I will convince you that it is more noble and +god-like to forgive an injury, or rather five dozen injuries, than to +avenge one; when--hem---yes, I say, when I--I--might so easily avenge +it. I now present you wid an amnesty: return to you allegiance; but +never, while in this seminary, under my tuition, attempt to take the +execution of the laws into your own hands. Homerians, come up!” + +This address, into which he purposely threw a dash of banter and mock +gravity, delivered with the accompaniments of his swelled nose and +drooping eye, pacified his audience more readily than a serious one +would have done. It was received without any reply or symptom of +disrespect, unless the occasional squeak of a suppressed laugh, or the +visible shaking of many sides with inward convulsions, might be termed +such. + +In the course of the day, it is true, their powers of maintaining +gravity were put to a severe test, particularly when, while hearing a +class, he began to adjust his drooping eye-lid, or coax back his nose +into its natural, position. On these occasions a sudden pause might be +noticed in the business of the class; the boy's voice, who happened +to read at the time, would fail him; and, on resuming his sentence by +command of the master, its tone was tremulous, and scarcely adequate to +the task of repeating the words without his bursting into laughter. The +master observed all this clearly enough, but his mind was already made +up to take no further notice of what had happened. + +All this, however, conduced to render the situation of the poor scholar +much more easy, or rather less penal, than it would otherwise have been. +Still the innocent lad was on all possible occasions a butt for this +miscreant. To miss a word was a pretext for giving him a cruel blow. To +arrive two or three minutes later than the appointed hour was certain +on his part to be attended with immediate punishment. Jemmy bore it all +with silent heroism. He shed no tear--he uttered no remonstrance; but, +under the anguish of pain so barbarously inflicted, he occasionally +looked round upon his schoolfellows with an I expression of silent +entreaty that was seldom lost upon them. Cruel to him the master often +was; but to inhuman barbarity the large scholars never permitted him to +descend. Whenever any of the wealthier farmers'-sons had neglected their +lessons, or deserved chastisement, the mercenary creature substituted a +joke for the birch; but as soon as the son of a poor man, or, which was +better still, the poor scholar, came before him, he transferred +that punishment which the wickedness or idleness of respectable boys +deserved, to his or their shoulders. For this outrageous injustice the +hard-hearted: old villain had some plausible excuse ready, so that +it was in many cases difficult for Jemmy's generous companions to +interfere; in his behalf, or parry the sophistry of such: a petty +tyrant. + +In this miserable way did he pass over the tedious period of a year, +going about every night in rotation with the scholars, and severely +beaten on all possible occasions by the master. His conduct and manners +won him: the love and esteem of all except his tyrant instructor. His +assiduity was remarkable, and his progress in the elements of English +and classical literature surprisingly rapid. This added considerably +to his character, and procured him additional respect. It was not long +before he made himself useful and obliging to all the boys beneath his +standing in the school. These services he rendered with an air of such +kindness, and a grace so naturally winning, that the attachment of +his schoolfellows increased towards him from day to day. Thady was his +patron on all occasions: neither did the curate neglect him. The latter +was his banker, for the boy had very properly committed his purse to his +keeping. At the expiration of every quarter the schoolmaster received +the amount of his bill, which he never failed to send in, when due. + +Jemmy had not, during his first year's residence in the south, forgotten +to request the kind curate's interference with the landlord, on behalf +of his father. To be the instrument of restoring his family to their +former comfortable holding under Colonel B------; would have afforded +him, without excepting the certainty of his own eventual success, the +highest gratification. Of this, however, there was no hope, and nothing +remained for him but assiduity in his studies, and patience under the +merciless scourge of his teacher. In addition to an engaging person and +agreeable manners, nature had gifted him with a high order of intellect, +and great powers of acquiring knowledge. The latter he applied to the +business before him with indefatigable industry. The school at; which +he settled was considered the first in Munster; and the master, +notwithstanding his known severity, stood high, and justly so, in +the opinion of the people, as an excellent classical and mathematical +scholar. Jemmy applied himself to the study of both, and at the +expiration of his second year had made such progress that he stood +without a rival in the school. + +It is usual, as we have said, for the poor scholar to go night after +night, in rotation, with his schoolfellows; he is particularly welcome +in the houses of those farmers whose children are not so far advanced +as himself. It is expected that he should instruct them in the evenings, +and enable them, to prepare their lessons for the following day, a task +which he always performs with pleasure, because in teaching them he +is confirming his own mind in the knowledge which he has previously +acquired. Towards the end of the second year, however, he ceased +to circulate in this manner. Two or three of the most independent +parishioners, whose sons were only commencing their studies, agreed to +keep him week about; an arrangement highly convenient to him, as by that +means he was not so frequently dragged, as he had been, to the remotest +parts of the parish. Being an expert penman, he acted also as secretary +of grievances to the poor, who frequently employed him to draw up +petitions to obdurate landlords, or to their more obdurate agents, and +letters to soldiers in all parts of the world, from their anxious and +affectionate relations. All these little services he performed kindly +and promptly; many a blessing was fervently invoked upon his head; the +“good word” and “the prayer” were all they could afford, as they said, +“to the bouchal dhas oge * that tuck the world an him for sake o' the +larnin', an' that hasn't the kindliness o' the mother's breath an' the +mother's hand near him, the crathur.” + + * The pretty young boy. Boy in Ireland does not always + imply youth. + +About the middle of the third year he was once more thrown upon the +general hospitality of the people. The three farmers with whom he had +lived for the preceding six months emigrated to America, as did many +others of that class which, in this country, most nearly approximates to +the substantial yeomanry of England. The little purse, too, which he +had placed in the hands of the kind priest, was exhausted; a season of +famine, sickness, and general distress had set in; and the master, on +understanding that he was without money, became diabolically savage. +In short, the boy's difficulties increased to a perplexing degree. Even +Thady and his grown companions, who usually interposed in his behalf +when the master became excessive in correcting him, had left the school, +and now the prospect before him was dark and cheerless indeed. For a few +months longer, however, he struggled on, meeting every difficulty with +meek endurance. From his very boyhood he had reverenced the sanctity of +religion, and was actuated by a strong devotional spirit. He trusted in +God, and worshipped Him night and morning with a sincere heart. + +At this crisis he was certainly an object of pity; his clothes, which, +for some time before had been reduced to tatters, he had replaced by a +cast-off coat and small-clothes, a present from his friend the Curate, +who never abandoned him. This worthy young man could not afford him +money, for as he had but fifty pounds a year, with which to clothe, +subsist himself, keep a horse, and pay rent, it was hardly to be +expected that his benevolence could be extensive. In addition to this, +famine and contagious disease raged with formidable violence in the +parish; so that the claims upon his bounty of hundreds who lay huddled +together in cold cabins, in out-houses, and even behind ditches, were +incessant as well, as heart-rending. The number of interments that took +place daily in the parish was awful; nothing could be seen but funerals +attended by groups of ragged and emaciated creatures from whose hollow +eyes gleamed forth the wolfish fire of famine. The wretched mendicants +were countless, and the number of coffins that lay on the public +roads--where, attended by the nearest relatives of the deceased, they +had been placed for the purpose of procuring charity--were greater than +ever had been remembered by the oldest inhabitant. + +Such was the state of the parish when our poor scholar complained one +day in school of severe illness. The early symptoms of the prevailing +epidemic were well known; and, on examining more closely into his +situation, it was clear that, according to the phraseology of the +people, he had “got the faver on his back”--had caught “a heavy load +of the faver.” The Irish are particularly apprehensive of contagious +maladies. The moment it had been discovered that Jemmy was infected, his +schoolfellows avoided him with a feeling of terror scarcely credible, +and the inhuman master was delighted at any circumstance, however +calamitous, that might afford him a pretext for driving the friendless +youth out of the school. + +“Take,” said he, “every thing belongin' to you out of my establishment: +you were always a plague to me, but now more so than ever. Be quick, +sirra, and nidificate for yourself somewhere else. Do you want to +thranslate my siminary into an hospital, and myself into Lazarus, as +president? Go off, you wild goose! and conjugate _aegroto_ wherever +you find a convenient spot to do it in.” The poor boy silently and with +difficulty arose, collected his books, and, slinging on his satchel, +looked to his schoolfellows, as if he had said, “Which of you will +afford me a place where to lay my aching head?” All, however, kept aloof +from him; he had caught the contagion, and the contagion, they knew, had +swept the people away in vast numbers. At length he spoke. “Is there any +boy among you,” he inquired, “who will bring me home? You know I am a +stranger, an' far from my own, God help me!” + +This was followed by a profound silence. Not one of those who had so +often befriended him, or who would, on any other occasion, share their +bed and their last morsel with him, would even touch his person, much +less allow him, when thus plague-stricken, to take shelter under their +roof. Such are the effects of selfishness, when it is opposed only by +the force of those natural qualities that are not elevated into a sense +of duty by clear and profound views of Christian truth. It is one thing +to perform a kind action from constitutional impulse, and another to +perform it as a fixed duty, perhaps contrary to that impulse. + +Jemmy, on finding himself avoided like a Hebrew leper of old, silently +left the school, and walked on without knowing whither he should +ultimately direct his steps. He thought of his friend the priest, but +the distance between him and his place of abode was greater, he felt, +than his illness would permit him to travel. He walked on, therefore, +in such a state of misery as can scarcely be conceived, much less +described. His head ached excessively, an intense pain shot like +death-pangs through his lower back and loins, his face was flushed, and +his head giddy. In this state he proceeded, without money or friends; +without a house to shelter him, or a bed on which to lie, far from +his own relations, and with the prospect of death, under circumstances +peculiarly dreadful, before him! He tottered on, however, the earth, as +he imagined, reeling under him; the heavens, he thought, streaming with +fire, and the earth indistinct and discolored. Home, the paradise of the +absent--home, the heaven of the affections--with all its tenderness and +blessed sympathies, rushed upon his heart. His father's deep but quiet +kindness, his mother's sedulous love; his brothers, all that they had +been to him--these, with their thousand heart-stirring associations, +started into life before him again and again. But he was now ill, and +the mother--Ah! the enduring sense of that mother's love placed her +brightest, and strongest, and tenderest, in the far and distant group +which his imagination bodied forth. + +“Mother!” he exclaimed--“Oh, mother, why--why did I ever lave you? +Mother! the son you loved is dyin' without a kind word, lonely and +neglected, in a strange land! Oh, my own mother! why did I ever lave +you?” + +The conflict between his illness and his affections overcame him; he +staggered--he grasped as if for assistance at the vacant air--he fell, +and lay for some time in a state of insensibility. + +The season was then that of midsummer, and early meadows were falling +before the scythe. As the boy sank to the earth, a few laborers were +eating their scanty dinner of bread and milk so near him, that only +a dry low ditch ran between him and them. They had heard his words +indistinctly, and one of them was putting the milk bottle to his lips +when, attracted by the voice, he looked in the direction of the speaker, +and saw him fall. They immediately recognized “the poor scholar,” and in +a moment were attempting to recover him. + +“Why thin, my poor fellow, what's a shaughran wid you?” + +Jemmy started for a moment, looked about him, and asked, “Where am I?” + +“Faitha, thin, you're in Rory Connor's field, widin a few perches of the +high-road. But what ails you, poor boy? Is it sick you are?” + +“It is,” he replied; “I have got the faver. I had to lave school; +none o' them would take me home, an' I doubt I must die in a Christian +counthry under the open canopy of heaven. Oh, for God's sake, don't lave +me! Bring me to some hospital, or into the next town, where people may +know that I'm sick, an' maybe some kind Christian will relieve me.” + +The moment he mentioned “faver,” the men involuntarily drew back, after +having laid him reclining against the green ditch. + +“Thin, thundher an' turf, what's to be done?” exclaimed one of them, +thrusting his spread fingers into his hair. “Is the poor boy to die +widout help among Christyeens like us?” + +“But hasn't he the sickness?” exclaimed another: “an' in that case, +Pether, what's to be done?” + +“Why, you gommoch, isn't that what I'm wantin' to know? You wor ever and +always an ass, Paddy, except before you wor born, an' thin you wor like +Major M'Curragh, worse nor nothin'. Why the sarra do you be spakin' +about the sickness, the Lord protect us, whin you know I'm so timersome +of it?” + +“But considher,” said another, edging off from Jemmy, however, “that +he's a poor scholar, an' that there's a great blessin' to thim that +assists the likes of him.” + +“Ay, is there that, sure enough, Dan; but you see--blur-an-age, what's +to be done? He can't die this way, wid nobody wid him but himself.” + +“Let us help him!” exclaimed another, “for God's sake, an' we won't be +apt to take it thin.” + +“Ay, but how can we help him, Frank? Oh, bedad, it 'ud be a murdherin' +shame, all out, to let the crathur die by himself, widout company, so it +would.” + +“No one wul take him in, for fraid o' the sickness. Why, I'll tell +you what we'll do:--Let us shkame the remainder o' this day off o' the +Major, an' build a shed for him on the road-side here, jist against the +ditch. It's as dhry as powdher. Thin we can go through the neighbors, +an' git thim to sit near him time about, an' to bring him little +_dhreeniens_ o' nourishment.” + +“Divil a purtier! Come thin, let us get a lot o' the neighbors, an' set +about it, poor bouchal. Who knows but it may bring down a blessin' upon +us aither in this world or the next.” + +“Amin! I pray Gorra! an' so it will sure I doesn't the Catechiz say +it? 'There is but one Church,' says the Catechiz, 'one Faith, an' one +Baptism.' Bedad, there's a power o' fine larnin' in the same Catechiz, +so there is, an' mighty improvin'.” + +An Irishman never works for wages with half the zeal which he displays +when working for love. Ere many hours passed, a number of the neighbors +had assembled, and Jemmy found himself on a bunch of clean straw, in a +little shed erected for him at the edge of the road. + +Perhaps it would be impossible to conceive a more gloomy state of misery +than that in which young M'Evoy found himself. Stretched on the side +of the public road, in a shed formed of a few loose sticks covered +over with “scraws,” that is, the sward of the earth pared into thin +stripes--removed above fifty perches from any human habitation--his body +racked with a furious and oppressive fever--his mind conscious of all +the horrors by which he was surrounded--without the comforts even of a +bed or bedclothes--and, what was worst of all, those from whom he might +expect kindness, afraid; to approach him! Lying helpless, under these +circumstances, it ought not to be wondered at, if he wished that death +might at once close his extraordinary sufferings, and terminate those +straggles which filial piety had prompted him to encounter. + +This certainly is a dark picture, but our humble hero knew that even +there the power and goodness of God could support him. The boy trusted +in God; and when removed into his little shed, and stretched upon his +clean straw, he felt that his situation was, in good sooth, comfortable +when contrasted with what it might have been, if left to perish behind a +ditch, exposed to the scorching-heat of the sun by day, and the dews +of heaven by night. He felt the hand of God even in this, and placed +himself, with a short but fervent prayer, under his fatherly protection. + +Irishmen however, are not just that description of persons who can +pursue their usual avocations, and see a fellow-creature-die, without +such attentions as they can afford him; not precisely so bad as that, +gentle reader! Jemmy had not been two hours on his straw, when a second +shed much larger than his own, was raised within a dozen yards of it: +In this a fire was lit; a small pot was then procured, milk was sent +in, and such other little comforts brought together, as they supposed +necessary for the sick boy. Having accomplished these matters, a kind of +guard was set to watch and nurse-tend him; a pitchfork was got, on the +prongs of which they intended to reach him bread across the ditch; and +a long-shafted shovel was borrowed, on which to furnish him drink with +safety to themselves. That inextinguishable vein of humor, which in +Ireland mingles even with death and calamity, was also visible here. The +ragged, half-starved creatures laughed heartily at the oddity of their +own inventions, and enjoyed the ingenuity with which they made shift +to meet the exigencies of the occasion, without in the slightest degree +having their sympathy and concern for the afflicted youth lessened. + +When their arrangements were completed, one of them (he of the scythe) +made a little whey, which, in lieu of a spoon, he stirred with the +end of his tobacco-pipe; he then extended it across the ditch upon the +shovel, after having put it in a tin porringer. + +“Do you want a taste o' whay, avourneen?” + +“Oh, I do,” replied Jemmy; “give me a drink for God's sake.” + +“There it is, _a bouchal_, on the shovel. Musha if myself rightly knows +what side you're lyin' an, or I'd put it as near your lips as I could. +Come, man, be stout, don't be cast down at all at all; sure, bud-an-age, +we' shovelin' the way to you, any how.” + +“I have it,” replied the boy--“oh, I have it. May God never forget this +to you, whoever you are.” + +“Faith, if you want to know who I am; I'm Pettier Connor the mower, that +never seen to-morrow. Be Gorra, poor boy, you mustn't let your spirits +down at all at all. Sure the neighbors is all bint to watch an' take +care of you.--May I take away the shovel?--an' they've built a brave +snug shed here beside yours, where they'll stay wid you time about until +you get well. We'll feed you wid whay enough, bekase we've made up our +minds to stale lots o' sweet milk for you. Ned Branagan an' I will milk +Kody Hartigan's cows to-night, wid the help o' God. Divil a bit sin in +it, so there isn't, an' if there is, too, be my sowl there's no harm in +it any way--for he's but a nager himself, the same Rody. So, acushla, +keep a light heart, for, be Gorra, you're sure o' the thin pair o' +throwsers, any how. Don't think you're desarted--for you're not. It's +all in regard o' bein' afeard o' this faver, or it's not this way you'd +be; but, as I said a while agone, when you want anything, spake, for +you'll still find two or three of us beside you here, night an' day. +Now, won't you promise to keep your mind asy, when you know that we're +beside you?” + +“God bless you,” replied Jemmy, “you've taken a weight off of my heart. +I thought I'd die wid nobody near me at all.” + +“Oh, the sorra fear of it. Keep your heart up. We'll stale lots o' milk +for you. Bad scran to the baste in the parish but we'll milk, sooner nor +you'd want the whay, you crathur you.” + +The boy felt relieved, but his malady increased; and were it not that +the confidence of being thus watched and attended to supported him, it +is more than probable he would have sunk under it. + +When the hour of closing the day's labor arrived, Major ------ came down +to inspect the progress which his mowers had made, and the goodness of +his crop upon his meadows. No sooner was he perceived at a distance, +than the scythes were instantly resumed, and the mowers pursued their +employment with an appearance of zeal and honesty that could not be +suspected. + +On arriving at the meadows, however, he was evidently startled at the +miserable day's work they had performed. + +“Why, Connor,” said he, addressing the nurse-tender, “how is this? I +protest you have not performed half a day's labor! This is miserable and +shameful.” + +“Bedad, Major, it's thrue for your honor, sure enough. It's a poor day's +work, the I never a doubt of it. But be all the books; that never was +opened or shut, busier men! than we wor since mornin' couldn't be had; +for love or money. You see, Major, these meadows, bad luck to them!--God +pardon me for cursin' the harmless crathurs, for sure 'tisn't their +fau't, sir: but you see, Major, I'll insinse you into it. Now look +here, your honor. Did you ever see deeper: meadow nor that same, since +you war foal---hem--sintce you war born, your honor? Maybe, your honor, +Major, 'ud just take the scythe an' sthrive to cut a swaythe?” + +“Nonsense, Connor; don't you know I cannot.” + +“Thin, be Gorra, sir, I wish you could; thry it. I'd kiss the book, we +did more labor, an' worked harder this day, nor any day for the last +fortnight. If it was light grass, sir--see here, Major, here's alight +bit--now, look at how the scythe runs through it! Thin look at here +agin--just observe this, Major--why, murdher alive, don't you see how +slow she goes through that where the grass is heavy! Bedad, Major, +you'll be made up this suson wid your hay, any how. Divil carry the +finer meadow ever I put the scythe in nor this same meadow, God bless +it!” + +“Yes, I see it, Connor; I agree with you as to its goodness. But the +reason of that is, Connor, that I always direct my steward myself in +laying it down for grass. Yes, you're right, Connor; if the meadow were +light, you could certainly mow comparatively a greater space in a day.” + +“Be the livin' farmer, God pardon me for swearin', it's a pleasure to +have dalins wid a gintleman like you, that knows things as cute as +if you war a mower yourself, your honor. Bedad, I'll go bail, sir, it +wouldn't be hard to tache you that same.” + +“Why, to tell you the truth, Connor, you have hit me off pretty well. +I'm beginning to get a taste for agriculture.” + +“But,” said Connor, scratching his head, “won't your honor allow us the +price of a glass, or a pint o' portlier, for our hard day's work. Bad +cess to me, sir, but this meadow 'ill play the puck wid us afore we +get it finished.--Atween ourselves, sir--if it wouldn't be takin' +freedoms--if you'd look to your own farmin' yourself. The steward, sir, +is a dacent kind of a man; but, sowl, he couldn't hould a candle to your +honor in seein' to the best way of doin' a thing, sir. Won't you allow +us glasses apiece, your honor? Faix, we're kilt entirely, so we are.” + +“Here is half-a-crown among you, Connor; but don't get drunk.” + +“Dhrunk! Musha, long may you reign, Sir! Be the scythe in my hand, I'd +rather--Och, faix, you're one o' the ould sort, sir--the raal Irish +gintleman, your honor. An' sure your name's far and near for that, any +how.” + +Connor's face would have done the heart of Brooke or Cruikshank good, +had either of them seen it charged with humor so rich as that which +beamed upon it, when the Major left them to enjoy their own comments +upon what had happened. + +“Oh, be the livin' farmer,” said Connor, “are we all alive at all afther +doin' the Major! Pp., thin, the curse o' the crows upon you, pijor, +darlin', but you are a Manus!* The damn' rip o' the world, that wouldn't +give the breath he breathes to the poor for God's sake, and he'll threwn +a man half-a-crown that 'll blarney him for farmin', and him doesn't +know the differ atween a Cork-red a Yellow-leg.” ** + + * A soft booby easily hoaxed. + + **Different kinds of potatoes. + +“Faith, he's the boy that knows how to make a Judy of himself any way, +Pether,” exclaimed another. “The divil a hapurt'h asier nor to +give these Quality the bag to hould, so there isn't. An' they think +themselves so cute, too!” + +“Augh!” said a third, “couldn't a man find the soft side o' them as asy +as make out the way to' his own nose, widout being led to it. Divil a +sin it is to do them, any way. Sure, he thinks we wor tooth an' nail at +the meadow all day; an' me thought I'd never recover it, to see Pether +here--the rise he tuck out of him! Ha, ha, ha--och, och, murdher, oh!” + +“Faith,” exclaimed Connor, “'twas good, you see, to help the poor +scholar; only for it we couldn't get shkamin' the half-crown out of him. +I think we ought to give the crathur half of it, an' him so sick: he'll +be wantin' it worse nor ourselves.” + +“Oh, be Gorra, he's fairly entitled to that. I vote him fifteen pince.” + +“Surely!” they exclaimed unanimously. “Tundher-an'-turf! wasn't he the +manes of gettin' it for us?” + +“Jemmy, a bouchal,” said Connor, across the ditch to M'Evoy, “are you +sleepin'?” + +“Sleepin'! Oh, no,” replied Jemmy; “I'd give the wide world for one wink +of asy sleep.” + +“Well, aroon, here's fifteen pince for you, that we skham--Will I tell +him how we cot it?” + +“No, don't,” replied his neighbors; “the boy's given to devotion, and +maybe might scruple to take it.” + +“Here's fifteen pince, avourneen, on the shovel, that we're givin' you +for God's sake. If you over * this, won't you offer up a prayer for us? +Won't you, avick?” + + *That is--to get over--to survive. + +“I can never forget your kindness,” replied Jemmy; “I will always pray +for you, and may God for ever bless you and yours! + +“Poor crathur! May the Heavens above have prosthration on him! Upon my +sowl, it's good to have his blessin' an' his prayer. Now don't fret, +Jemmy; we're lavin' you wid a lot o' neighbors here. They'll watch +you time about, so that whin you want anything, call, avourneen, an' +there'll still be some one here to answer. God bless you, an' restore +you, till we come wid the milk we'll stale for you, wid the help o' God. +Bad cess to me, but it 'ud be a mortual sin, so it would, to let the +poor boy die at all, an' him so far from home. For, as the Catechiz +says 'There is but one Faith, one Church, and one Baptism!' Well, the +readin' that's in that Catechiz is mighty improvin', glory be to God!” + +It would be utterly impossible to detail the affliction which our poor +scholar suffered in this wretched shed, for the space of a fortnight, +notwithstanding the efforts of those kind-hearted people to render his +situation comfortable. + +The little wigwam they had constructed near him was never, even for a +moment, during his whole illness, without two or three persons ready to +attend him. In the evening their numbers increased; a fire was always +kept burning, over which a little pot for making whey or gruel was +suspended. At night they amused each other with anecdotes and laughter, +and occasionally with songs, when certain that their patient was not +asleep. Their exertions to steal milk for him were performed with +uncommon glee, and related among themselves with great humor. These +thefts would have been unnecessary, had not the famine which then +prevailed through the province been so excessive. The crowds that +swarmed about the houses of wealthy farmers, supplicating a morsel to +keep body and soul together, resembled nothing which our English readers +ever had an opportunity of seeing. Ragged, emaciated creatures, tottered +about with an expression of wildness and voracity in their gaunt +features; fathers and mothers reeled under the burthen of their beloved +children, the latter either sick, or literally expiring for want of +food; and the widow, in many instances, was compelled to lay down her +head to die, with the wail, the feeble wail, of her withered orphans +mingling with her last moans! In such a state of things it was difficult +to procure a sufficient quantity of milk to allay the natural thirst +even of one individual, when parched by the scorching heat of a fever. +Notwithstanding this, his wants were for the most part anticipated, so +far as their means would allow them; his shed was kept waterproof; and +either shovel or pitchfork always ready to be extended to him, by way of +substitution for the right hand of fellowship. + +When he called for anything, the usual observation was, “Husht! the +crathur's callin'. I must take the shovel an' see what he wants.” + +There were times, it is true, when the mirth of the poor fellows was' +very low, for hunger was generally among themselves; there were +times when their own little shed presented a touching and melancholy +spectacle--perhaps we ought also to add, a noble one; for, to +contemplate a number of men, considered rude and semi-barbarous, +devoting themselves, in the midst of privations the most cutting and +oppressive, to the care and preservation of a strange lad, merely +because they knew him to be without friends and protection, is to +witness a display of virtue truly magnanimous. The food on which some +of the persons were occasionally compelled to live, was blood boiled up +with a little oatmeal; for when a season of famine occurs in Ireland, +the people usually bleed the cows and bullocks to preserve themselves +from actual starvation. It is truly a sight of appalling misery to +behold feeble women gliding across the country, carrying their cans and +pitchers, actually trampling upon fertility, and fatness, and collected +in the corner of some grazier's farm waiting, gaunt and ravenous as +Ghouls, for their portion of blood. During these melancholy periods of +want, everything in the shape of an esculent disappears. The miserable +creatures will pick up chicken-weed, nettles, sorrell, bug-loss, +preshagh, and sea-weed, which they will boil and eat with the voracity +of persons writhing under the united agonies of hunger and death! Yet +the very country thus groaning under such a terrible sweep of famine is +actually pouring from all her ports a profusion of food, day after day; +flinging it from her fertile bosom, with the wanton excess of a prodigal +oppressed by abundance. + +Despite, however, of all the poor scholar's nurse-guard suffered, he was +attended with a fidelity of care and sympathy which no calamity could +shake. Nor was this care fruitless; after the fever had passed through +its usual stages he began to recover. In fact, it has been observed +very truly, that scarcely any person has been known to die under +circumstances similar to those of the poor scholar. These sheds, the +erection of which is not unfrequent in case of fever, have the advantage +of pure free air, by which the patient is cooled and refreshed. Be the +cause of it what it may, the fact has been established, and we feel +satisfaction in being able to adduce our humble hero as an additional +proof of the many recoveries which take place in situations apparently +so unfavorable to human life. But how is it possible to detail what +M'Evoy suffered during this fortnight of intense agony? Not those +who can command the luxuries of life--not those who can reach +its comforts--nor those who can supply themselves with its bare +necessaries--neither the cotter who struggles to support his wife and +helpless children--the mendicant who begs from door to door--nor even +the felon in his cell--can imagine what he felt in the solitary misery +of his feverish bed. Hard is the heart that cannot feel his sorrows, +when, stretched beside the common way, without a human face to look +on, he called upon the mother whose brain, had she known his situation, +would have been riven--whose affectionate heart would have been broken, +by the knowledge of his affliction. It was a situation which afterwards +appeared to him dark and terrible. The pencil of the painter could +not depict it, nor the pen of the poet describe it, except like a dim +vision, which neither the heart nor the imagination are able to give to +the world as a tale steeped in the sympathies excited by reality. + +His whole heart and soul, as he afterwards acknowledged, were, during +his trying illness, at home. The voices of his parents, of his sisters, +and of his brothers, were always in his ears; their countenances +surrounded his cold and lonely shed; their hands touched him; their eyes +looked upon him in sorrow--and their tears bedewed him. Even there, the +light of his mother's love, though she herself was distant, shone upon +his sorrowful couch; and he has declared, that in no past moment +of affection did his soul ever burn with a sense of its presence so +strongly as it did in the heart-dreams of his severest illness. But God +is love, and “temporeth the wind to the shorn lamb.” + +Much of all his sufferings would have been alleviated, were it not that +his two best friends in the parish, Thady and the curate, had been +both prostrated by the fever at the same time with himself. There was +consequently no person of respectability in the neighborhood cognizant +of his situation. He was left to the humbler class of the peasantry, and +honorably did they, with all their errors and ignorance, discharge those +duties which greater wealth and greater knowledge would, probably, have +left unperformed. + +On the morning of the last day he ever intended to spend in the shed, +at eleven o'clock he hoard the sounds of horses' feet passing along +the road, The circumstance was one quite familiar to him; but these +horsemen, whoever they might be, stopped, and immediately after, two +respectable looking men, dressed in black, approached him. His forlorn +state and frightfully wasted appearance startled them, and the younger +of the two asked, in a tone of voice which went directly to his heart, +how it was that they found him in a situation so desolate. + +The kind interest implied by the words, and probably a sense of his +utterly destitute state, affected him strongly, and he burst into tears. +The strangers looked at each other, then at him; and if looks could +express sympathy, theirs expressed it. + +“My good boy,” said the first, “how is it that we find you in a +situation so deplorable and wretched as this? Who are you, or why is it +that you have not a friendly roof I to shelter you?” + +“I'm a poor scholar,” replied Jemmy, “the son of honest but reduced +parents: I came to this part of the country with the intention of +preparing myself for Maynooth and, if it might plase God, with the hope +of being able to raise them out of their distress.” + +The strangers looked more earnestly at the boy; sickness had touched his +fine intellectual features into a purity of expression almost ethereal. +His fair skin appeared nearly transparent, and the light of truth and +candor lit up his countenance with a lustre which affliction could not +dim. + +The other stranger approached him more nearly, stooped for a moment, and +felt his pulse. + +“How long have you been in this country?” he inquired. + +“Nearly three years.” + +“You have been ill of the fever which is so prevalent; how did you come +to be left to the chance of perishing upon the highway?” + +“Why, sir, the people were afeard to let me into their houses in +consequence of the faver. I got ill in school, sir, but no boy would +venture to bring me home, an' the master turned me out, to die, I +believe. May God forgive him!” + +“Who was your master, my child?” + +“The great' Mr.------, sir. If Mr. O'Brien, the curate of the parish, +hadn't been ill himself at the same time, or if Mr. O'Rorke's son, +Thady, hadn't been laid on his back, too, sir, I wouldn't suffer what I +did.” + +“Has the curate been kind to you?” + +“Sir, only for him and the big boys I couldn't stay in the school, on +account of the master's cruelty, particularly since my money was out.” + +“You are better now--are you not?” said the other gentleman. + +“Thank God, sir!--oh, thanks be to the Almighty, I am! I expect to be +able to lave this place to-day or to-morrow.” + +“And where do you intend to go when you recover?” + +The boy himself had not thought of this, and the question came on him so +unexpectedly, that he could only reply-- + +“Indeed, sir, I don't know.” + +“Had you,” inquired the second stranger, “testimonials from your parish +priest?” + +“I had, sir: they are in the hands of Mr. O'Brien. I also had a +character from my father's landlord.” + +“But how,” asked the other, “have you existed here during your illness? +Have you been long sick?” + +“Indeed I can't tell you, sir, for I don't know how the time passed +at all; but I know, sir, that there were always two or three people +attendin' me. They sent me whatever they thought I wanted, upon a shovel +or a pitchfork, across the ditch, because they were afraid to come near +me.” + +During the early part of the dialogue, two or three old hats, or +caubeens, might have been seen moving steadily over from the wigwam +to the ditch which ran beside the shed occupied by M'Evoy. Here they +remained stationary, for those who wore them were now within hearing of +the conversation, and ready to give their convalescent patient a good +word, should it be necessary. + +“How were you supplied with drink and medicine?” asked the younger +stranger. + +“As I've just told you, sir,” replied Jemmy; “the neighbors here let me +want for nothing that they had. They kept me in more whey than I could +use; and they got me medicine, too, some way or other. But indeed, sir, +during a great part of the time I was ill, I can't say how they attended +me: I wasn't insinsible, sir, of what was goin' on about me.” + +One of those who lay behind the ditch now arose, and after a few hems +and scratchings of the head, ventured to join in the conversation. + +“Pray have you, my man,” said the elder of the two, “been acquainted +with the circumstances of this boy's illness?” + +“Is it the poor scholar, my Lord?* Oh thin bedad it's myself that has +that. The poor crathur was in a terrible way all out, so he was. He +caught the faver in the school beyant, one day, an' was turned out by +the nager o' the world that he was larnin' from.” + + * The peasantry always address a Roman Catholic Bishop + as “My Lord.” + +“Are you one of the persons who attended him?” + +“Och, och, the crathar! what could unsignified people like us do for +him, barrin' a thrifle? Any how, my Lord, it's the meracle o' the world +that he was ever able to over it at all. Why, sir, good luck to the one +of him but suffered as much, wid the help o' God, as 'ud overcome fifty +men!” + +“How did you provide him with drink at such a distance from any human +habitation?” + +“Throth, hard enough we found it, sir, to do that same: but sure, +whether or not, my Lord, we couldn't be sich nagers as to let him die +all out, for want o' sometlrm' to moisten his throath wid.” + +“I hope,” inquired the other, “you had nothing to do in the +milk-stealing which has produced such an outcry in this immediate +neighborhood?” + +“Milk-stalin'! Oh, bedad, sir, there never was the likes known afore +in the caunthry. The Lord forgive them, that did it! Be gorra, sir, the +wickedness o' the people': mighty improving if one 'ud take warnin' by +it, glory be to God!” + +“Many of the fanners' cows have been milked at night, Connor--perfectly +drained. Even my own cows have not escaped; and we who have suffered are +certainly determined, if possible, to ascertain those who have committed +the theft. I, for my part, have gone even beyond my ability in relieving +the wants of the poor, during this period of sickness and famine; I +therefore deserved this the less.” + +“By the powdbers, your honor, if any gintleman desarved to have his cows +_unmilked_, it's yourself. But, as I said this minute, there's no end to +the wickedness o' the people, so there's not, although the Catechiz is +against them; for, says it, 'there is but one Faith, one Church, an' one +Baptism.' Now, sir, isn't it quare that people, wid sich words in the +book afore them, won't be guided by it? I suppose they thought it only a +_white_ sin, sir, to take the milk, the thieves o' the world.” + +“Maybe, your honor,” said another, “that it was only to keep the life in +some poor sick crathur that wanted it more nor you or the farmers, that +they did it. There's some o' the same farmers desarve worse, for they're +keepin' up the prices o' their male and praties upon the poor, an' did +so all along, that they might make money by our outlier destitution.” + +“That is no justification for theft,” observed the graver of the two. +“Does any one among you suspect those who committed it in this instance? +If you do, I command you, as your Bishop, to mention them.” + +“How, for instance,” added the other, “were you able to supply this sick +boy with whey during his illness?” + +“Oh thin, gintlemen,” replied Connor, dexterously parrying the question, +“but it's a mighty improvin' thing to see our own Bishop,--God spare +his Lordship to us!--an the Protestant minister o' the parish joinin' +together to relieve an' give good advice to the poor! Bedad, it's +settin' a fine example, so it is, to the Quality, if they'd take +patthern by it.” + +“Reply,” said the Bishop, rather sternly, “to the questions we have +asked you.” + +“The quistions, your Lordship? It's proud an' happy we'd be to do what +you want; but the sarra man among us can do it, barin' we'd say what we +ought not to say. That's the thruth, my Lord; an' surely 'tisn't your +Gracious Reverence that 'ud want us to go beyant that?” + +“Certainly not,” replied the Bishop. “I warn you both against falsehood +and fraud; two charges which might frequently be brought against you in +your intercourse with the gentry of the country, whom you seldom scruple +to deceive and mislead, by gliding into a character, when speaking to +them, that is often the reverse of your real one; whilst at the same +time you are both honest and sincere to persons of your own class. Put +away this practice, for it is both sinful and discreditable.” + +“God bless your Lordship! an' many thanks to your Gracious Reverence +for advisin' us! Well we know that it's the blessed thing to folly your +words.” + +“Bring over that naked, starved-looking man, who is stirring the fire +under that pot,” said the Hector. “He looks like Famine itself.” + +“Paddy Dunn! will you come over here to his honor, Paddy! He's goin' +to give you somethin,” said Connor, adding of his own accord the last +clause of his message. + +The tattered creature approached him with a gleam of expectation in his +eyes that appeared like insanity. + +“God bless your honor for your goodness,” exclaimed Paddy. “It's me +that's in it, sir!--Paddy Dunn, sir, sure enough; but, indeed, I'm the +next thing to my own ghost, sir, now God help me!” + +“What, and for whom are you cooking?” + +“Jist the smallest dhrop in life, sir, o' gruel, to keep the sowl in +that lonely crathur, sir, the poor scholar.” + +“Pray how long is it since you have eaten anything yourself?” + +The tears burst from the eyes of the miserable creature as he replied-- + +“Before God in glory, your honor, an' in the presence of his Lordship +here, I only got about what 'ud make betther nor half a male widin the +last day, sir. 'Twas a weeshy grain o' male that I got from a friend; +an' as Ned Connor here tauld me that this crathur had nothin' to make +the gruel for him, why I shared it wid him, bekase he couldn't even beg +it, sir, if he wanted it, an' him not able to walk yit.” + +The worthy pastor's eyes glistened with a moisture that did him honor. +Without a word of observation, he slipped a crown into the hand of Dunn, +who looked at it as if he had been paralyzed. + +“Oh thin,” said he, fervently, “may every hair on your honor's head +become a mould-candle to light you into glory! The world's goodness is +in your heart, sir; an' may all the blessin's of Heaven rain down upon +you an' yours!” + +The two gentlemen then gave assistance to the poor scholar, whom the +Bishop addressed in kind and encouraging language: + +“Come to me, my good boy,” he added, “and if, on further inquiry, I find +that your conduct has been such as I believe it to have been, you may +rest assured, provided also you continue worthy of my good opinion, that +I shall be a friend and protector to you. Call on me when you got well, +and I will speak to you at greater length.” + +“Well,” observed Connor, when they were gone, “the divil's own hard +puzzle the Bishop had me in, about stalin' the milk. It went agin' the +grain wid me to tell him the lie, so I had to invint a bit o' truth to +keep my conscience clear; for sure there was not a man among us that +could tell him, barrin' we said that we oughtn't to say. Doesn't all the +world know that a man oughtn't to condimn himself? That was thruth, any +way; but divil a scruple I'd have in blammin' the other--not but that +he's one o' the best of his sort. Paddy Dunn, quit lookin' at that +crown, but get the shovel an' give the boy his dhrink--he's wantin' it.” + +The agitation of spirits produced by Jemmy's cheering interview with +the Bishop was, for three days afterwards, somewhat prejudicial to his +convalescence. In less than a week, however, he was comfortably settled +with Mr. O'Rorke's family, whose kindness proved to him quite as warm as +he had expected. + +When he had remained with them a few days, he resolved to recommence +his studies under his tyrant master. He certainly knew that his future +attendance at the school would be penal to him, but he had always looked +forward to the accomplishment of his hopes as a task of difficulty and +distress. The severity to be expected from the master could not, +he thought, be greater than that which he had already suffered; he +therefore decided, if possible, to complete his education under him. + +The school, when Jemmy appeared in it, had been for more than an hour +assembled, but the thinness of the attendance not only proved the woful +prevalence of sickness and distress in the parish, but sharpened the +pedagogue's vinegar aspect into an expression of countenance singularly +peevish and gloomy. When the lad entered, a murmur of pleasure and +welcome ran through the scholars, and joy beamed forth from every +countenance but that of his teacher. When the latter noticed this, his +irritability rose above restraint, and he exclaimed:-- + +“Silence! and apply to business, or I shall cause some of you to denude +immediately. No school ever can prosper in which that _hirudo_, called +a poor scholar, is permitted toleration. I thought, sarra, I told you +to nidificate and hatch your wild project undher some other wing than +mine.” + +“I only entrate you,” replied our poor hero, “to suffer me to join the +class I left while I was sick, for about another year. I'll be very +quiet and humble, and, as far as I can, will do everything you wish me.” + +“Ah! you are a crawling reptile,” replied the savage, “and, in my +opinion, nothing but a chate and impostor. I think you have imposed +yourself upon Mr. O'Brien for what you are not; that is, the son of an +honest man. I have no doubt, but many of your nearest relations died +after having seen their own funerals. Your mother, you runagate, wasn't +your father's wife, I'll be bail.” + +The spirit of the boy could bear this no longer; his eyes flashed, and +his sinews stood out in the energy of deep indignation. + +“It is false,” he exclaimed; “it is as false as your own cruel and +cowardly heart, you wicked and unprincipled tyrant! In everything you +have said of my father, mother, and friends, and of myself, too, you +are' a liar, from the hat on your head to the dirt undher your feet--a +liar, a coward, and a villain!” + +The fury of the miscreant was ungovernable:--he ran at the still feeble +lad, and, by a stroke of his fist, dashed him senseless to the earth. +There were now no large boys in the school to curb his resentment, he +therefore kicked him in the back when he fell. Many voices exclaimed in +alarm--“Oh, masther! sir; don't kill him! Oh, sir! dear, don't kill him! +Don't kill poor Jemmy, sir, an' him still sick!” + +“Kill him!” replied the master; “kill him, indeed! Faith, he'd be no +common man who could kill him; he has as many lives in him as a cat! +Sure, he can live behind a ditch, wid the faver on his back, wid-out +dying; and he would live if he was stuck on the spire of a steeple.” + +In the meantime the boy gave no symptoms of returning life, and the +master, after desiring a few of the scholars to bring him oat to the +air, became pale as death with apprehension. He immediately withdrew +to his private apartment, which joined the schoolroom, and sent out his +wife to assist in restoring him to animation. With some difficulty +this was accomplished. The unhappy boy at once remembered what had just +occurred; and the bitter tears gushed from his eyes, as he knelt down, +and exclaimed “Merciful Father of heaven and earth, have pity on me! You +see my heart, great God! and that what I did, I did for the best!” + +“Avourneen,” said the woman, “he's passionate, an' never mind him. Come +in an' beg his pardon for callin' him a liar, an' I'll become spokesman +for you myself. Come, acushla, an' I'll get lave for you to stay in the +school still.” + +“Oh, I'm hurted!” said the poor youth: “I'm hurted inwardly--somewhere +about the back, and about my ribs!” The pain he felt brought the tears +down his pale cheeks. “I wish I was at home!” said he. “I'll give up all +and go home!” The lonely boy then laid his head upon his hands, as he +sat on the ground, and indulged in a long burst of sorrow. + +“Well,” said a manly-looking little fellow, whilst the tears stood in +his eyes, “I'll tell my father this, anyhow. I know he won't let me come +to this school any more. Here, Jemmy, is a piece of my bread, maybe it +will do you good.” + +“I couldn't taste it, Frank dear,” said Jemmy; “God bless you; but I +couldn't taste it.” + +“Do,” said Frank; “maybe it will bate back the pain.” + +“Don't ask me, Frank dear,” said Jemmy; “I couldn't ate it: I'm hurted +inwardly.” + +“Bad luck to me!” exclaimed the indignant boy, “if ever my ten toes will +darken this school door agin. By the livin' farmer, if they ax me at +home to do it, I'll run away to my uncle's, so I will. Wait, Jemmy, I'll +be big yit; an', be the blessed Gospel that's about my neck, I'll give +the same masther a shirtful of sore bones, the holy an' blessed minute +I'm able to do it.” + +Many of the other boys declared that they would acquaint their friends +with the master's cruelty to the poor scholar; but Jemmy requested them +not to do so, and said that he was determined to return home the moment +he should be able to travel. + +The affrighted woman could not prevail upon him to seek a reconciliation +with her husband, although the expressions of the other scholars +induced her to press him to it, even to entreaty. Jemmy arose, and with +considerable difficulty reached the Curate's house, found him at home, +and, with tears in his eyes, related to him the atrocious conduct of the +master. + +“Very well,” said this excellent man, “I am glad that I can venture to +ride as far as Colonel B------'s to-morrow. You must accompany me; for +decidedly such brutality cannot be permitted to go unpunished.” + +Jemmy knew that the curate was his friend; and although he would +not himself have thought of summoning the master to answer for his +barbarity, yet he acquiesced in the curate's opinion. He stopped that +night in the house of the worthy man to whom Mr. O'Brien had recommended +him on his first entering the town. It appeared in the morning, however, +that he was unable to walk; the blows which he had received were then +felt by him to be more dangerous than had been supposed. Mr. O'Brien, on +being informed of this, procured a jaunting-car, on which they both sat, +and at an easy pace reached the Colonel's residence. + +The curate was shown into an ante-room, and Jemmy sat in the hall: the +Colonel joined the former in a few minutes. He had been in England and +on the continent, accompanied by his family, for nearly the last three +years, but had just returned, in order to take possession of a large +property in land and money, to which he succeeded at a very critical +moment, for his own estates were heavily encumbered. He was now +proprietor of an additional estate, the rent-roll of which was six +thousand per annum, and also master of eighty-five thousand pounds in +the funds. Mr. O'Brien, after congratulating him upon his good fortune, +introduced the case of our hero as one which, in his opinion, called for +the Colonel's interposition as a magistrate. + +“I have applied to you, sir,” he proceeded, “rather than to any other +of the neighboring gentlemen, because I think this friendless lad has a +peculiar claim upon any good offices you could render him.” + +“A claim upon me! How is that, Mr. O'Brien?” + +“The boy, sir, is not a native of this province. His father was formerly +a tenant of yours, a man, as I have reason to believe, remarkable for +good conduct and industry. It appears that his circumstances, so long as +he was your tenant, were those of a comfortable independent farmer. If +the story which his son relates be true--and I, for one, believe it--his +family have been dealt with in a manner unusually cruel and iniquitous. +Your present agent, Colonel, who is known in his own neighborhood by the +nickname of Yellow Sam, thrust him out of hia farm, when his wife was +sick, for the purpose of putting into it a man who had married his +illegitimate daughter. If this be found a correct account of the +transaction, I have no hesitation in saying, that you, Colonel B------, +as a gentleman of honor and humanity, will investigate the conduct of +your agent, and see justice done to an honest man, who must have been +oppressed in your name, and under color of your authority.” + +“If my agent has dared to be unjust to a worthy tenant,” said the +Colonel, “in order to provide for his bastard, by my sacred honor, he +shall cease to be an agent of mine! I admit, certainly, that from some +circumstances which transpired a few years ago, I have reason to suspect +his integrity. That, to be sure, was only so far as he and I were +concerned; but, on the other hand, during one or two visits I made to +the estate which he manages, I heard the tenants thank and praise him +with much gratitude, and all that sort of thing. There was 'Thank your +honor!'--'Long may you reign over us, sir!'--and, 'Oh, Colonel, you've +a mighty good man to your agent!' and so forth. I do not think, Mr. +O'Brien, that he has acted so harshly, or that he would dare to do it. +Upon my honor, I heard those warm expressions of gratitude from the lips +of the tenants themselves.” + +“If you knew the people in general, Colonel, as well as I do,” replied +the curate, “you would admit, that such expressions are often either +cuttingly ironical, or the result of fear. You will always find, sir, +that the independent portion of the people have least of this forced +dissimulation among them. A dishonest and inhuman agent has in his own +hands the irresponsible power of harassing and oppressing the tenantry +under him. The class most hateful to the people are those low wretches +who spring up from nothing into wealth, accumulated by dishonesty +and rapacity. They are proud, overbearing, and jealous, even to +vindictiveness, of the least want of respect. It is to such upstarts +that the poorer classes are externally most civil; but it is also such +persons whom they most hate and abhor. They flatter them to their faces, +'tis true even to nausea; but they seldom spare them in their absence. +Of this very class, I believe, is your agent, Yellow Sam; so that any +favorable expressions you may have heard from your tenantry towards him, +were most probably the result of dissimulation and fear. Besides, sir, +here is a testimonial from M'Evoy's parish priest, in which his father +is spoken of as an honest, moral, and industrious man.” + +“If what you say, Mr. O'Brien, be correct,” observed the Colonel, “you +know the Irish peasantry much better than I do. Decidedly, I have +always thought them in conversation exceedingly candid and sincere. With +respect to testimonials from priests to landlords in behalf of their +tenants, upon my honor I am sick of them. I actually received, about +four years ago, such an excellent character of two tenants, as induced +me to suppose them worthy of encouragement. But what was the fact? Why, +sir, they were two of the greatest firebrands on my estate, and put both +me and my agent to great trouble and expense. No, sir, I wouldn't give +a curse for a priest's testimonial upon such an occasion. These fellows +were subsequently convicted of arson on the clearest evidence, and +transported.” + +“Well, sir, I grant that you may have been misled in that instance. +However, from what I've observed, the two great faults of Irish +landlords are these:--In the first place, they suffer themselves +to remain ignorant of their tenantry; so much so, indeed, that they +frequently deny them access and redress when the poor people are anxious +to acquaint them with their grievances; for it is usual with landlords +to refer them to those very agents against whose cruelty and rapacity +they are appealing. This is a _carte blanche_ to the agent to trample +upon them if he pleases. In the next place, Irish landlords too +frequently employ ignorant and needy men to manage their estates; men +who have no character, no property, or standing in society, beyond the +reputation of being keen shrewd, and active. These persons, sir, make +fortunes; and what means can they have of accumulating wealth, except by +cheating either the landlord or his tenants, or both? A history of +their conduct would be a black catalogue of dishonesty, oppression, and +treachery. Respectable men, resident on or-near the estate, possessing +both character and property, should always be selected for this +important trust. But, above all things, the curse of a tenantry is +a percentage agent. He racks, and drives, and oppresses, without +consideration either of market or produce, in order that his receipts +may be ample, and his own income large.” + +“Why, O'Brien, you appear to be better acquainted with all this sort of +thing than I, who am a landed proprietor.” + +“By the by, sir, without meaning you any disrespect, it is the landlords +of Ireland who know least about the great mass of its inhabitants; and +I might also add, about its history, its literature, the manners of the +people, their customs, and their prejudices. The peasantry know this, +and too often practise upon their ignorance. There is a landlord's _Vade +mecum_ sadly wanted in Ireland, Colonel.” + +“Ah! very good, O'Brien, very good! Well, I shall certainly inquire into +this case, and if I find that Yellow Ham has been playing the oppressor, +out he goes. I am now able to manage him, which I could not readily do +before, for, by the by, he had mortgages on my property.” + +“I would take it, Colonel, as a personal favor, if you would investigate +the transaction I have mentioned.” + +“Undoubtedly I shall, and that very soon. But about this outrage +committed against the boy himself? We had better take his informations, +and punish the follow.” + +“Certainly; I think that is the best way. His conduct to the poor youth +has been merciless and detestable. We must put him out of this part of +the country.” + +“Call the lad in. In this case I shall draw up the informations myself, +although Gregg usually does that.” + +Jemmy, assisted by the curate, entered the room, and the humane Colonel +desired him, as he appeared ill, to sit down. + +“What is your name?” asked the Colonel. + +“James M'Evoy,” he replied. “I'm the son, sir, of a man who was once a +tenant of yours.” + +“Ay! and pray how did he cease to be a tenant of mine?” + +“Why, sir, your agent, Yallow Sam, put him out of our farm, when my +poor mother was on her sick-bed. He chated my father, sir, out of some +money--part of our rent it was, that he didn't give him a receipt for. +When my father went to him afterwards for the receipt, Yallow Sam abused +him, and called him a rogue, and that, sir, was what no man ever called +my father either before or since. My father, sir, threatened to tell +you about it, and you came to the country soon after; but Yallow Sam got +very great wid my father at that time, and sent him to sell bullocks for +him about fifty miles off, but when he come back again, you had left the +country. Thin, sir, Yallow Sam said nothing till the next half-year's +rent became due, whin he came down on my father for all--that is, what +he hadn't got the receipt for, and the other gale--and, without any +warning in the world, put him out. My father offered to pay all; but +he said he was a rogue, and that you had ordered him off the estate. In +less than a week after this he put a man that married a bastard daughter +of his own into our house and place. That's God's truth, sir; and you'll +find it so, if you inquire into it. It's a common trick of his to keep +back receipts, and make the tenants pay double.” * + + * This is the fact. The individual here alluded to, + frequently kept back receipts when receiving rents, + under pretence of hurry, and afterwards compelled the + tenants to pay the same gale twice! + +“Sacred Heaven, O'Brien! can this be possible?” + +“Your best way, Colonel, is to inquire into it.” + +“Was not your father able to educate you at home, my boy?” + +“No, sir. We soon got into poverty after we left your farm; and another +thing, sir, there was no Latin school in our neighborhood.” + +“For what purpose did you become a poor scholar?” + +“Why, sir, I hoped one day or other to be able to raise my father and +mother out of the distress that Yallow Sam brought on us.” + +“By Heaven! a noble aim, and a noble sentiment. And what has this d--d +fellow of a schoolmaster done to you?” + +“Why, sir, yesterday, when I went back to the school, he abused me, and +said that he supposed that most of my relations were hanged; spoke ill +of my father; and said that my mother”--Here the tears started to his +eyes--he sobbed aloud. + +“Go on, and be cool,” said the Colonel. “What did he say of your +mother?” + +“He said, sir, that she was never married to my father. I know I was +wrong, sir; but if it was the king on his throne that said it of my +mother, I'd call him a liar. I called him a liar, and a coward, and a +villain: ay, sir, and if I had been able, I would have tramped him under +my feet.” + +The Colonel looked steadily at him, but the open clear eye which the boy +turned upon him was full of truth and independence. “And you will find,” + said the soldier, “that this spirited defence of your mother will be the +most fortunate action of your life. Well; he struck you then, did he?” + +“He knocked me down, sir, with his fist--then kicked me in the back and +sides. I think some of my ribs are broke.” + +“Ay!--no doubt, no doubt,” said the Colonel. “And you were only after +recovering from this fever which is so prevalent?” + +“I wasn't a week out of it, sir.” + +“Well, my boy, we shall punish him for you.” + +“Sir, would you hear me for a word or two, if it would be pleasing to +you?” + +“Speak on,” said the Colonel. + +“I would rather change his punishment to--I would--that is--if it would +be agreeable to you--It's this, sir--I wouldn't throuble you now against +the master, if you'd be pleased to rightify my father, and punish Yallow +Sam. Oh, sir, for God's sake, put my heart-broken father into his farm +again! If you would, sir, I could shed my blood, or lay down my life +for you, or for any belonging to you. I'm but a poor boy, sir, low and +humble; but they say there's a greater Being than the greatest in this +world, that listens to the just prayers of the poor and friendless. I +was never happy, sir, since we left it--neither was any of us; and when +we'd sit cowld and hungry, about our hearth, We used to be talking of +the pleasant days we spent in it, till the tears would be smothered in +curses against him that put us out of it. Oh, sir, if you could know +all that a poor and honest family suffers, when they are thrown into +distress by want of feeling in their landlords, or by the dishonesty of +agents, you would consider my father's case. I'm his favorite son, sir, +and good right have I to speak for him. If you could know the sorrow, +the misery, the drooping down of the spirits, that lies upon the +countenances and the hearts of such people, you wouldn't, as a man and a +Christian, think it below you to spread happiness and contentment among +them again. In the morning they rise to a day of hardship, no matter +how bright and cheerful it may be to others--nor is there any hope of a +brighter day for them: and at night they go to their hard beds to strive +to sleep away their hunger in spite of cowld and want. If you could see +how the father of a family, after striving to bear up, sinks down at +last; if you could see the look he gives at the childhre that he would +lay down his heart's blood for, when they sit naked and hungry about +him; and the mother, too, wid her kind word and sorrowful smile, proud +of them in all their destitution, but her heart breaking silent! All the +time, her face wasting away. Her eye dim, and her strength gone--Sir, +make one such family happy--for all this has been in my father's house! +Give us back our light spirits, our pleasant days, and our cheerful +hearts again! We lost them through the villainy of your agent. Give +them back to us, for you can do it; but you can never pay us for what we +suffered. Give us, sir, our farm, our green fields, our house, and every +spot and nook that we had before. We love the place, sir, for its own +sake;--it is the place of our fathers, and our hearts are in it. I often +think I see the smooth river that runs through it, and the meadows +that I played in when I was a child;--the glen behind our house, the +mountains that rose before us when we left the door, the thorn-bush at +the garden, the hazels in the glen, the little beach-green beside the +river--Oh, sir, don't blame me for crying, for they are all before my +eyes, in my ears, and in my heart! Many a summer evening have I gone to +the march-ditch of the farm that my father's now in, and looked at the +place I loved, till the tears blinded me, and I asked it as a favor of +God to restore us to it! Sir, we are in great poverty at home; before +God we are; and my father's heart is breaking.” + +The Colonel drew his breath deeply, rubbed his hands, and as he looked +at the fine countenance of the boy--expressing, as it did, enthusiasm +and sorrow--his eye lightened with a gleam of indignation. It could +not be against the poor scholar; no, gentle reader, but against his own +agent. + +“O'Brien,” said he, “what do you think, and this noble boy is the son +of a man who belongs to a class of which I am ignorant! By Heaven, we +landlords are, I fear, a guilty race.” + +“Not all, sir,” replied the Curate. “There are noble exceptions among +them; their faults are more the faults of omission than commission.” + +“Well, well, no matter. Come, I will draw up the informations against +this man; afterwards I have something to say to you, my boy,” he added, +addressing Jemmy, “that will not, I trust, be unpleasant.” + +He then drew up the informations as strongly as he could word them, +after which Jemmy deposed to their truth and accuracy, and the Colonel, +rubbing his hands again, said-- + +“I will have the fellow secured. When you go into town, Mr. O'Brien, +I'll thank you to call on Meares, and hand him these. He will lodge the +miscreant in limbo this very night.” + +Jemmy then thanked him, and was about to withdraw, when the Colonel +desired him to remain a little longer. + +“Now,” said he, “your father has been treated inhumanly, I believe; but +no matter. That is not the question. Your sentiments, and conduct, and +your affection for your parents, are noble, my boy. At present, I say, +the question is not whether the history of your father's wrongs be true +or false; you, at least, believe it to be true. From this forward--but +by the by, I forgot; how could your becoming a poor scholar relieve your +parents?” + +“I intended to become a priest, sir, and then to help them.” + +“Ay! so I thought; and, provided your father were restored to the farm, +would you be still disposed to become a priest?” + +“I would, sir; next to helping my father, that is what I wish to be.” + +“O'Brien, what would it cost to prepare him respectably for the +priesthood?--I mean to defray his expenses until he completes his +preparatory education, in the first place, and afterwards during his +residence in Maynooth?” + +“I think two hundred pounds, sir, would do it easily and respectably.” + +“I do not think it would. However, do you send him--but first let me ask +what progress he has already made?” + +“He has read--in fact he is nearly prepared to enter Maynooth. His +progress has been very rapid.” + +“Put him to some respectable boarding-school for a year; then let him +enter Maynooth, and I will bear the expense. But remember I do not adopt +this course in consequence of his father's history. Not I, by Jupiter; I +do it on his own account. He is a noble boy, and full of fine qualities, +if they be not nipped by neglect and poverty. I loved my father myself, +and fought a duel on his account; and I honor the son who has spirit to +defend his absent parent.” + +“This is a most surprising turn in the boy's fortunes, Colonel.” + +“He deserves it. A soldier, Mr. O'Brien, is not without his enthusiasm, +nor can he help admiring it in others, when nobly and virtuously +directed. To see a boy in the midst of poverty, encountering the +hardships and difficulties of life, with the hope of raising up his +parents from distress to independence, has a touch of sublimity in it.” + +“Ireland, Colonel, abounds with instances of similar virtue, brought +out, probably, into fuller life and vigor by the sad changes and +depressions which are weighing down the people. In her glens, on her +bleak mountain sides, and in her remotest plains, such examples of pure +affection, uncommon energy, and humble heroism, are to be seen; but, +unfortunately, few persons of rank or observation mingle with the Irish +people, and their many admirable qualities pass away without being +recorded in the literature of their country. They are certainly a +strange people, Colonel, almost an anomaly in the history of the human +race. They are the only people who can rush out from the very virtues +of private life to the perpetration of crimes at which we shudder. There +is, to be sure, an outcry about their oppression; but that is wrong. +Their indigence and ignorance are rather the result of neglect;--of +neglect, sir, from the government of the country--from the earl to +the squireen. They have been taught little that is suitable to their +stations and duties in life, either as tenants who cultivate our lands, +or as members of moral or Christian society.” + +“Well, well: I believe what you say is too true. But touching the +records of virtue in human life, pray who would record it when nothing +goes down now-a-days but what is either monstrous or fashionable?” + +“Very true, Colonel; yet in my humble opinion, a virtuous Irish peasant +is far from being so low a character as a profligate man of rank.” + +“Well, well, well! Come, O'Brien, we will drop the subject. In the +meantime, touching this boy, as I said, he must be looked to, for he has +that in him which ought not to be neglected. We shall now see that this +d--d pedagogue be punished for his cruelty.” The worthy Colonel in a +short time dismissed poor Jemmy with an exulting heart; but not until +he had placed a sufficient sum in the Curate's hands for enabling him to +make a respectable appearance. Medical advice was also procured for him, +by which he sooner overcame the effects of his master's brutality. + +On their way home Jemmy related to his friend the conversation which he +had had with his Bishop in the shed, and the kind interest which that +gentleman had taken in his situation and prospects. Mr. O'Brien told him +that the Bishop was an excellent man, possessing much discrimination +and benevolence; “and so,” said he, “is the Protestant clergyman who +accompanied him. They have both gone among the people during this heavy +visitation of disease and famine, administering advice and assistance; +restraining them from those excesses which they sometimes commit, when, +driven by hunger, they attack provision-carts, bakers' shops, or the +houses of farmers who are known to possess a stock of meal or potatoes. +God knows, it is an excusable kind of robbery; yet it is right to +restrain them.” + +“It is a pleasant thing, sir, to see clergymen of every religion working +together to make the people happy.” + +“It is certainly so,” replied the curate; “and I am bound to say, in +justice to the Protestant clergy, that there is no class of men in +Ireland, James, who do so much good without distinction of creed or +party. They are generally kind and charitable to the poor; so are their +wives and daughters. I have often known them to cheer the sick-bed--to +assist the widow and the orphan--to advise and admonish the profligate, +and, in some instances, even to reclaim them. But now about your own +prospects; I think you should go and see your family as soon as your +health permits you.” + +“I would give my right hand,” replied Jemmy, “just to see them, if it +was only for five minutes: but I cannot go. I vowed that I would never +enter my native parish until I should become a Catholic clergyman. I +vowed that, sir, to God--and with his assistance I will keep my vow.” + +“Well,” said the curate, “you are right. And now lot me give you a +little advice. In the first place, learn to speak as correctly as you +can; lay aside the vulgarisms of conversation peculiar to the common +people; and speak precisely as you would write. By the by, you acquitted +yourself to admiration with the Colonel. A little stumbling there was in +the beginning; but you got over it. You see, James, the force of truth +and simplicity. I could scarcely restrain my tears while you spoke.” + +“If I had not been in earnest, sir, I could never have spoken as I did.” + +“You never could. Truth, James, is the foundation of all eloquence; he +who knowingly speaks what is not true, may dazzle and perplex; but he +will never touch with that power and pathos which spring from truth. +Fiction is successful only by borrowing her habiliments. Now, James, for +a little more advice. Don't let the idea of having been a poor scholar +deprive you of self-respect; neither let your unexpected turn of fortune +cause you to forget what you have suffered. Hold a middle course; be +firm and independent; without servility on the one hand, or vanity on +the other. You have also too much good sense, and, I hope, too much +religion, to ascribe what this day has brought forth in your behalf, to +any other cause than God. It has pleased him to raise you from misery to +ease and comfort; to him, therefore, be it referred, and to him be your +thanks and prayers directed. You owe him much, for you now can perceive +the value of what he has done for you! May his name be blessed!” + +Jemmy was deeply affected by the kindness of his friend, for such, in +friendship's truest sense, was he to him. He expressed, the obligations +which he owed him, and promised to follow the excellent advice he had +just received. + +The schoolmaster's conduct to the poor scholar had, before the close +of the day on which it occurred, been known through the parish. Thady +O'Rorke, who had but just recovered from the epidemic, felt so bitterly +exasperated at the outrage, that he brought his father to the parish +priest, to whom he give a detailed account of all that our hero and the +poorer children of the school had suffered. In addition to this, he +went among the more substantial farmers of the neighborhood, whose +cooperation he succeeded in obtaining, for the laudable purpose of +driving the tyrant out of the parish. + +Jemmy, who still lived at the “House of Entertainment,” on hearing what +they intended to do, begged Mr. O'Brien, to allow him, provided the +master should be removed from the school, to decline prosecuting him. +“He has been cruel to me, no doubt,” he added; “still I cannot forget +that his cruelty has been the means of changing my condition in life +so much for the better. If he is put out of the parish it will be +punishment enough; and, to say the truth, sir, I can now forgive +everybody. Maybe, had I been still neglected I might punish him; but, +in the meantime, to show him and the world that I didn't deserve his +severity, I forgive him.” + +Mr. O'Brien was not disposed to check a sentiment that did the boy's +heart so much honor; he waited on the Colonel the next morning, +acquainted him with Jemmy's wishes, and the indictment was quashed +immediately after the schoolmaster's removal from his situation. + +Our hero's personal appearance was by this time incredibly changed for +the better. His countenance, naturally expressive of feeling, firmness, +and intellect, now appeared to additional advantage; so did his whole +person, when dressed in a decent suit of black. No man acquainted with +life can be ignorant of the improvement which genteel apparel produce in +the carriage, tone of thought, and principles of an individual. It +gives a man confidence, self-respect, and a sense of equality with +his companions; it inspires him with energy, independence, delicacy +of sentiment, courtesy of manner, and elevation of language. The face +becomes manly, bold, and free; the brow open, and the eye clear; there +is no slinking through narrow lanes and back streets: but, on the +contrary, the smoothly dressed man steps out with a determination not +to spare the earth, or to walk as if he trod on eggs or razors. No; he +brushes onward; is the first to accost his friends; gives a careless +bow to this, a bluff nod to that, and a patronizing “how dy'e do” to a +third, who is worse dressed than himself. Trust me, kind reader, that +good clothes are calculated to advance a man in life nearly as well +as good principles, especially in a world like this, where external +appearance is taken as the exponent of what is beneath it. + +Jemmy, by the advice of his friend, now waited upon the Bishop, who was +much surprised at the uncommon turn of fortune which had taken place in +his favor. He also expressed his willingness to help him forward, as far +as lay in his power, towards the attainment of his wishes. In order to +place the boy directly under suitable patronage, Mr. O'Brien suggested +that the choice of the school should be left to the Bishop. This, +perhaps, mattered him a little, for who is without his weaknesses? A +school near the metropolis was accordingly fixed upon, to which Jemmy, +now furnished with a handsome outfit, was accordingly sent. There we +will leave him, reading with eagerness and assiduity, whilst we return +to look after Colonel B. and his agent. + +One morning after James's departure, the Colonel's servant waited upon +Mr. O'Brien with a note from his master, intimating a wish to see him. +He lost no time in waiting upon that gentleman, who was then preparing +to visit the estate which he had so long neglected. + +“I am going,” said he, “to see how my agent, Yellow Sam, as they call +him, and my tenants agree. It is my determination, Mr. O'Brien, to +investigate the circumstances attending the removal of our protege's +father. I shall, moreover, look closely into the state and feelings of +my tenants in general. It is probable I shall visit many of them, and +certain that I will inquire into the character of this man.” + +“It is better late than never, Colonel; but still, though I am a friend +to the people, yet I would recommend you to be guided by great caution, +and the evidence of respectable and disinterested men only. You must +not certainly entertain all the complaints you may hear, without clear +proof, for I regret to say, that too many of the idle and political +portion of the peasantry are apt to throw the blame of their own folly +and ignorance--yes, and of their crimes, also--upon those who in no +way have occasioned either their poverty or their wickedness. They are +frequently apt to consider themselves oppressed, if concessions are not +made, to which they, as idle and indolent men, who neglected their own +business, have no fair claim. Bear this in mind, Colonel--be cool, +use discrimination, take your proofs from others besides the parties +concerned, or their friends, and, depend upon it, you will arrive at the +truth.”. + +“O'Brien, you would make an excellent agent.” + +“I have studied the people, sir, and know them. I have breathed +the atmosphere of their prejudices, habits, manners, customs, and +superstitions. I have felt them all myself, as they feel them; but I +trust I have got above their influence where it is evil, for there are +many fine touches of character among them, which I should not willingly +part with. No, sir, I should make a bad agent, having no capacity for +transacting business. I could direct and overlook, but nothing more.” + +“Well, then, I shall set out to-morrow; and in the meantime, permit me +to say that I am deeply sensible of your kindness in pointing out my +duty as an Irish landlord, conscious that I have too long neglected it.” + +“Kindness, Colonel, is the way to the Irish heart. There is but one man +in Ireland who can make an Irishman ungrateful, and that is his priest. +I regret that in times of political excitement, and especially during +electioneering struggles, the interference of the clergy produces +disastrous effects upon the moral feelings of the people. When a tenant +meets the landlord whom he has deserted in the critical momont of the +contest the landlord to whom he has solemnly promised his support, and +who, perhaps, as a member of the legislature, has advocated his claims +and his rights, and who, probably, has been kind and indulgent to him--I +say, when he meets him afterwards, his shufflings, excuses, and evasions +are grievous. He is driven to falsehood and dissimulation in explaining +his conduct; he expresses his repentance, curses himself for his +ingratitude, promises well for the future, but seldom or never can +be prevailed upon to state candidly that he acted in obedience to +the priest. In some instances, however, he admits this, and inveighs +bitterly against his interference--but this is only whilst in the +presence of his landlord. I think, Colonel, that no clergyman, set apart +as he is for the concerns of a better world, should become a firebrand +in the secular pursuits and turmoils of this.” + +“I wish, Mr. O'Brien, that every clergyman of your church resembled you, +and acted up to your sentiments: our common country would be the better +for it.” + +“I endeavor to act, sir, as a man who has purely spiritual duties to +perform. It is not for us to be agitated and inflamed by the political +passions and animosities of the world. Our lot is differently cast, and +we ought to abide by it. The priest and politician can no more agree +than good and evil. I speak with respect to all churches.” + +“And so do I.” + +“What stay do you intend to make, Colonel?” + +“I think about a month. I shall visit some of my old friends there, from +whom I expect a history of the state and feelings of the country.” + +“You will hear both sides of the question before you act?” + +“Certainly. I have written to my agent to say that I shall look very +closely into my own affairs on this occasion. I thought it fair to give +him notice.” + +“Well, sir, I wish you all success.” + +“Farewell, Mr. O'Brien; I shall see you immediately after my return.” + +The Colonel performed his journey by slow stages, until he reached “the +hall of his fathers,”--for it was such, although he had not for years +resided in it. It presented the wreck of a fine old mansion, situated +within a crescent of stately beeches, whose moss-covered and ragged +trunks gave symptoms of decay and neglect. The lawn had been once +beautiful, and the demesne a noble one; but that which blights the +industry of the tenant--the curse of absenteeism--had also left the +marks of ruin stamped upon every object around him. The lawn was +little better than a common; the pond was thick with weeds and sluggish +water-plants, that almost covered its surface; and a light, elegant +bridge, that spanned a river which ran before the house, was also +moss-grown and dilapidated. The hedges were mixed up with briers, the +gates broken, or altogether removed, the fields were rank with the +ruinous luxuriance of weeds, and the grass-grown avenues spoke of +solitude and desertion. The still appearance, too, of the house itself, +and the absence of smoke from its time-tinged chimneys--all told a +tale which constitutes one, perhaps the greatest, portion of Ireland's +misery! Even then he did not approach it with the intention of residing +there during his sojourn in the country. It was not habitable, nor had +it been so for years. The road by which he travelled lay near it, and +he could not pass without looking upon the place where a long line +of gallant ancestors had succeeded each other, lived their span, and +disappeared in their turn. + +He contemplated it for some time in a kind of reverie. There, it stood, +sombre and silent;--its gray walls mouldering away--its windows dark and +broken;--like a man forsaken by the world, compelled to bear the storms +of life without the hand of a friend to support him, though age and +decay render him less capable of enduring them. For a momont fancy +repeopled it;--again the stir of life, pastime, mirth, and hospitality +echoed within its walls; the train of his long departed relatives +returned; the din of rude and boisterous enjoyment peculiar to the +times; the cheerful tumult of the hall at dinner; the family feuds and +festivities; the vanities and the passions of those who now slept in +dust;--all--all came before him once more, and played their part in the +vision of the moment! + +As he walked on, the flitting wing of a bat struck him lightly in +its flight; he awoke from the remembrances which crowded on him, and, +resuming his journey, soon arrived at the inn of the nearest town, where +he stopped that night. The next morning he saw his agent for a short +time, but declined entering upon business. For a few days more he +visited most of the neighboring gentry, from whom he received sufficient +information to satisfy him that neither he himself nor his agent +was popular among his tenantry. Many flying reports of the agent's +dishonesty and tyranny were mentioned to him, and in every instance he +took down the names of the parties, in order to ascertain the truth. +M'Evoy's case had occurred more than ten years before, but he found +that the remembrance of the poor man's injury was strongly and bitterly +retained in the recollections of the people--a circumstance which +extorted from the blunt, but somewhat sentimental soldier, a just +observation:--“I think,” said he, “that there are no people in the world +who remember either an injury or a kindness so long as the Irish.” + +When the tenants were apprised of his presence among them, they +experienced no particular feeling upon the subject. During all his +former visits to his estate, he appeared merely the creature and puppet +of his agent, who never acted the bully, nor tricked himself out in his +brief authority more imperiously than he did before him. The knowledge +of this damped them, and rendered any expectations of redress or justice +from the landlord a matter not to be thought of. + +“If he wasn't so great a man,” they observed, “who thinks it below him +to speak to his tenants, or hear their complaints, there 'ud be some +hope. But that rip of hell, Yallow Sam, can wind him round his finger +like a thread, an' does, too. There's no use in thinkin' to petition +him, or to lodge a complaint against Stony Heart, for the first thing +he'd do 'ud be to put it into the yallow-boy's hands, an' thin, God be +marciful to thim that 'ud complain. No, no; the best way is to wait till +Sam's _masther_* takes him; an' who knows but that 'ud be sooner nor we +think.” + + * The devil;--a familiar name for him when mentioned in + connection with a villain. + +“They say,” another would reply, “that the Colonel is a good gintleman +for all that, an' that if he could once know the truth, he'd pitch the +'yallow boy' to the 'ould boy.'” + +No sooner was it known by his tenantry that the head landlord was +disposed to redress their grievances, and hear their complaints, than +the smothered attachment, which long neglect had nearly extinguished, +now burst forth with uncommon power. + +“Augh! by this an' by that the throe blood's in him still. The rale +gintleman to dale wid, for ever! We knew he only wanted to come at the +thruth, an' thin he'd back us agin the villain that harrished us! To the +divil wid skamin' upstarts, that hasn't the ould blood 'in thim! What +are they but sconces an' chates, every one o' thim, barrin' an odd one, +for a wondher!” + +The Colonel's estate now presented a scene of gladness and bustle. Every +person who felt in the slightest degree aggrieved, got his petition +drawn up; and, but that we fear our sketch is already too long, we +could gratify the reader's curiosity by submitting a few of them. It +is sufficient to say, that they came to him in every shape--in all the +variety of diction that the poor English language admits of--in the +schoolmaster's best copy-hand, and choicest sesquipedalianism of +pedantry--in the severer, but more Scriptural terms of the parish +clerk--in the engrossing hand and legal phrase of the attorney--in the +military form, evidently redolent of the shrewd old pensioner--and +in the classical style of the young priest:--for each and all of the +foregoing were enlisted in the cause of those who had petitions to send +in “to the Colonel himself, God bless him!” + +Early in the morning of the day on which the Colonel had resolved to +compare the complaints of his tenantry with the character which his +agent gave him of the complainants, he sent for the former, and the +following dialogue took place between them. + +“Good morning, Mr. Carson! Excuse me for requesting your presence to-day +earlier than usual. I have taken it into my head to know something of my +own tenantry, and as they have pestered me with petitions, and letters, +and complaints, I am anxious to have your opinion, as you know them +better than I do.” + +“Before we enter on business, Colonel, allow me to inquire if you +feel relieved of that bilious attack you complained of the day before +yesterday? I'm of a bilious habit myself, and know something about the +management of digestion!” + +“A good digestion is an excellent thing, Carson; as for me, I drank too +much claret with my friend B----y; and there's the secret. I don't like +cold wines, they never agree with me.” + +“Nor do I; they are not constitutional. Your father was celebrated +for his wines, Colonel: I remember an anecdote told me by Captain +Ferguson--by the by, do you know where Ferguson could be found, now, +sir?” + +“Not I. What wines do you drink, Carson?” + +“A couple of glasses of sherry, sir, at dinner; and about ten o'clock, a +glass of brandy and water.” + +“Carson, you are sober and prudent. Well about these cursed petitions; +you must help me to dispose of them. Why, a man would think by the tenor +of them, that these tenants of mine are ground to dust by a tyrant.” + +“Ah! Colonel, you know little about these fellows. They would make black +white. Go and take a ride, sir, return about four o'clock, and I will +have everything as it ought to be.” + +“I wish to heaven, Carson, I had your talents for business. Do you think +my tenants attached to me?” + +“Attached! sir, they are ready to cut your throat or mine, on the first +convenient opportunity. You could not conceive their knavishness and +dishonesty, except you happened to be an agent for a few years. + +“So I have been told, and I am resolved to remove every dishonest tenant +from my estate. Is there not a man, for instance, called Brady? He has +sent me a long-winded petition here. What do you think of him?” + +“Show me the petition, Colonel.” + +“I cannot lay my hand on it just now; but you shall see it. In the mean +time, what's your opinion of the fellow?” + +“Brady! Why, I know the man particularly well. He is one of my +favorites. What the deuce could the fellow petition about, though? I +promised the other day to renew his lease for him.” + +“Oh, then, if he be a favorite of yours, his petition may go to the +devil, I suppose? Is the man honest?” + +“Remarkably so; and has paid his rents very punctually. He is one of our +safest tenants.” + +“Do you know a man called Cullen?” + +“The most litigious scoundrel on the estate.” + +“Indeed? Oh, then, we must look into the merits of his petition, as +he is not honest. Had he been honest like Brady, Carson, I should have +dismissed it.” + +“Cullen, sir, is a dangerous fellow. Do you know, that rascal has +charged me with keeping back his receipts, and with making I him pay +double rent!--ha, ha, ha! Upon my honor, its fact.” + +“The scoundrel! We shall sift him to some purpose, however.” + +“If you take my advice, sir, you will send him about his business; for +if it be once known that you listen to malicious petitions, my authority +over such villains as Cullen is lost.” + +“Well, I set him aside for the present. Here's a long list of others, +all of whom have been oppressed, forsooth. Is there a man called M'Evoy +on my estate?--Dominick M'Evoy, I think.” + +“M'Evoy! Why that rascal, sir, has not been your tenant for ten years? +His petition, Colonel, is a key to the nature of their grievances in +general.” + +“I believe you, Carson--most implicitly do I believe that. Well, about +that rascal?” + +“Why, it is so long since, that upon my honor, I cannot exactly remember +the circumstances of his misconduct. He ran away.” + +“Who is in his farm now, Carson?” + +“A very decent man, sir. One Jackson, an exceedingly worthy, honest, +industrious fellow. I take some credit to myself for bringing Jackson on +your estate.” + +“Is Jackson married? Has he a family?” + +“Married! Let me see! Why--yes--I believe he is. Oh, by the by, now +I think of it, he is married, and to a very respectable woman, too. +Certainly, I remember--she usually accompanies him when he pays his +rents.” + +“Then your system must be a good one, Carson; you weed out the idle and +profligate, to replace them by the honest and industrious.” + +“Precisely so, sir; that is my system.” + +“Yet there are agents who invert your system in some cases; who drive +out the honest and industrious, and encourage the idle and profligate; +who connive at them, Carson, and fill the estates they manage with their +own dependents, or relatives, as the case may be. You have been alway's +opposed to this, and I'm glad to hear it.” + +“No man, Colonel B------, filling the situation which I have the honor +to hold under you, could study your interests with greater zeal and +assiduity. God knows, I have had so many quarrels, and feuds, and +wranglings, with these fellows, in order to squeeze money out of them to +meet your difficulties, that, upon my honor, I think if it required +five dozen oaths to hang me, they could be procured upon your estate. An +agent, Colonel, who is faithful to the landlord, is seldom popular with +the tenants.” + +“I can't exactly see that, Carson; and I have known an unpopular +landlord rendered highly popular by the judicious management of an +enlightened and honest agent, who took no bribes, Carson, and who +neither extorted from nor ground the tenantry under him--something like +a counterpart of yourself. But you may be right in general.” + +“Is there anything particular, Colonel, in which I can assist you now?” + +“Not now. I was anxious to hear the character of those fellows from +you who know them. Come down about eleven or twelve o'clock; these +petitioners will be assembled, and you may be able to assist me.” + +“Colonel, remember I forewarn you, that you are plunging into a mesh +of difficulties, which you will never be able to disentangle. Leave +the fellows to me, sir; I know how to deal with them. Besides, upon my +honor, you are not equal to it, in point of health. You look ill. Pray +allow me to take home their papers, and I shall have all clear and +satisfactory before two o'clock. They know my method, sir.” + +“They do, Carson, they do; but I am anxious they should also know mine. +Besides, it will amuse me, for I want excitement. Good day, for the +present; you will be down about twelve, or one at the furthest.” + +“Certainly, sir. Good morning, Colonel.” + +The agent was too shrewd a man not to perceive that there were touches +of cutting irony in some of the Colonel's expressiqns, which he did +not like. There was a dryness, too, in the tone of his voice and words, +blended with a copiousness of good humor, which, taken altogether, +caused him to feel uncomfortable. He could have wished the Colonel at +the devil: yet had the said Colonel never been more familiar in his +life, nor, with one or two exceptions, readier to agree with almost +every observation made to him. + +“Well,” thought he, “he may act as he pleases; I have feathered my nest, +at all events, and disregard him.” + +Colonel B-----, in fact, ascertained with extreme regret, that something +was necessary to be done, to secure the good-will of his tenants; that +the conduct of his agent had been marked by rapacity and bribery almost +incredible. He had exacted from the tenantry in general the performance +of duty-labor to such an extent, that his immense agricultural farms +were managed with little expense to himself. If a poor man's corn were +drop ripe, or his hay in a precarious state, or his turf undrawn, he +must suffer his oats, hay, and turf, to be lost, in order to secure the +crops of the agent. If he had spirit to refuse, he must expect to become +a martyr to his resentment. In renewing leases his extortions were +exorbitant; ten, thirty, forty, and fifty guineas he claimed as a fee +for his favor, according to the ability of the party; yet this was quite +distinct from the renewal tine, and went into his own pocket. When such +“glove money” was not to be had, he would accept of a cow or horse, to +which he usually made a point to take a fancy; or he wanted to purchase +a firkin of butter at that particular time; and the poor people usually +made every sacrifice to avoid his vengeance. It is due to Colonel +B------ to say, that he acted in the investigation of his agent's +conduct with the strictest honor and impartiality. He scrutinized every +statement thoroughly, pleaded for him as temperately as he could; found, +or pretended to find, extenuating motives for his most indefensible +proceedings; but all would not do. The cases were so clear and evident +against him, even in the opinion of the neighboring gentry, who had been +for years looking upon the system of selfish misrule which he practised, +that at length the generous Colonel's blood boiled with indignation +in his veins at the contemplation of his villany. He accused himself +bitterly for neglecting his duties as a landlord, and felt both +remorse and shame for having wasted his time, health, and money, in +the fashionable dissipation of London and Paris; whilst a cunning, +unprincipled upstart played the vampire with his tenants, and turned his +estate into a scene of oppression and poverty. Nor was this all; he +had been endeavoring to bring the property more and more into his own +clutches, a point which he would ultimately have gained, had not the +Colonel's late succession to so large a fortune enabled him to meet his +claims. + +At one o'clock the tenants were all assembled about the inn door, where +the Colonel had resolved to hold his little court. The agent himself +soon arrived, as did several other gentlemen, the Colonel's friends, who +knew the people and could speak to their character. + +The first man called was Dominick M'Evoy. No sooner was his name +uttered, than a mild, poor-looking man, rather advanced in years, came +forward. + +“I beg your pardon, Colonel,” said Carson, “here is some mistake; this +man is not one of your tenants. You may remember I told you so this +morning.” + +“I remember it,” replied the Colonel; “this is 'the rascal' you spoke +of--is he not? M'Evoy,” the Colonel proceeded, “you will reply to +my questions with strict truth. You will state nothing but what has +occurred between you and my agent; you must not even turn a circumstance +in your own favor, nor against Mr. Carson, by either adding to, or +taking away from it, more or less than the truth. I say this to you, and +to all present; for, upon my honor, I shall dismiss the first case in +which I discover a falsehood.” + +“Wid the help o' the Almighty, sir, I'll state nothing but the bare +thruth.” + +“How long are you off my estate?” + +“Ten years, your honor, or a little more.” + +“How came you to run away out of your farm?” + +“Run away, your honor! Grod he knows, I didn't run away, sir. The whole +counthry knows that.” + +“Yes, ran away! Mr. Carson, here, stated to me this morning, that +you ran away. He is a gentleman of integrity, and would not state a +falsehood.” + +“I beg your pardon, Colonel, not positively. I told you I did not +exactly remember the circumstances; I said I thought so; but I may be +wrong, for, indeed, my memory of facts is not good. M'Evoy, however, +is a very honest man, and I have no doubt will state everything as it +happened, fairly and without malice.” + +“An honest 'rascal,' I suppose you mean, Mr. Carson,” said the Colonel, +bitterly. “Proceed, M'Evoy.” + +M'Evoy stated the circumstances precisely as the reader is already +acquainted with them, after which the Colonel turned round to his agent +and inquired what he had to say in reply. + +“You cannot expect, Colonel B------,” he replied, “that with such a +multiplicity of business on my hands, I could remember, after a lapse of +ten years, the precise state of this particular case. Perhaps I may have +some papers, a memorandum or so, at home, that may throw light upon it. +At present I can only say, that the man failed in his rents, I ejected +him, and put a better tenant in his place. I cannot see a crime in +that.” + +“Plase your honor,” replied M'Evoy, “I can prove by them that's standin' +to the fore this minute, as well as by this written affidavit, sir, +that I offered him the full rint, havin', at the same time, as God is my +judge, ped part of it afore.” + +“That is certainly false--an untrue and malicious statement,” said +Carson. “I now remember that the cause of my resentment--yes, of my just +resentment against you, was your reporting that I received your rent and +withheld your receipt.” + +“Then,” observed the Colonel, “There has been more than one charge +of that nature brought against you? You mentioned another to me this +morning if I mistake not.” + +“I have made my oath, your honor, of the thruth of it; an' here is a +dacent man, sir, a Protestant, that lent me the money, an' was present +when I offered it to him. Mr. Smith, come forrid, sir, an' spake up for +the poor man, as you're always willin' to do.” + +“I object to his evidence,” said Carson: “he is my open enemy.” + +“I am your enemy, Mr. Carson, or rather the enemy of your corruption and +want of honesty,” said Smith: “but, as you say, an open one. I scorn to +say behind your back what I wouldn't say to your face. Right well you +know I was present when he tendered you his rent. I lent him part of it. +But why did you and your bailiffs turn him out, when his wife was on her +sick bed? Allowing that he could not pay his rent, was that any reason +you should do so barbarous an act as to drag a woman from her sick bed, +and she at the point of death? But we know your reasons for it.” + +“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “pray what character do M'Evoy and Smith +here bear in the country?” + +“We have known them both for years to be honest, conscientious men,” + said those whom he addressed: “such is their character, and in our +opinion they well deserve it.” + +“God bless you, gintlemen!” said M'Evoy--“God bless your honors, for +your kind Words! I'm sure for my own part, I hope though but a poor man +now, God help me!” + +“Pray, who occupies the farm at present, Mr. Carson?” + +“The man I mentioned to you this morning, sir. His name is Jackson.” + +“And pray, Mr. Carson, who is his wife?” + +“Oh, by the by, Colonel, that's a little too close! I see the gentlemen +smile; but they know I must beg to decline answering that question---not +that it matters much. We have all sown our wild oats in our time--myself +as well as another--ha, ha, ha!” + +“The fact, under other circumstances,” observed the Colonel, “could +never draw an inquiry from me; but as it is connected with, or probably +has occasioned, a gross, unfeeling, and an unjust act of oppression +towards an honest man, I therefore alluded to it, as exhibiting the +motives from which you acted. She is your illegitimate daughter, sir!” + +“She's one o' the baker's dozen o' them, plase your honor,” observed a +humorous little Presbyterian, with a sarcastic face, and sharp northern +accent--“for feth, sir, for my part, A thenk he lies one on every hill +head. All count, your honor, on my fingers a roun' half-dozen, all on +your estate, sir, featherin' their nests as fast as they can.” + +“Is this Jackson a good tenant, Mr. Carson?” + +“I gave you his character this morning, Colonel B.” + +“Hout, Colonel!” said the Presbyterian, “deil a penny rent the man pays, +at all, at all. A'll swear a hev it from Jackson's own lips. He made him +a Bailey, sir; he suts rent free. Ask the man, sir, for his receipts, +an' a'll warrant the truth will come out.” + +“I have secured Jackson's attendance,” said the Colonel; “let him be +called in.” + +The man in a few minutes entered. + +“Jackson,” said the Colonel, “how long is it since you paid Mr. Carson +here any rent?” + +Jackson looked at Carson for his cue; but the Colonel rose up +indignantly: “Fellow!” he proceeded, “if you tamper with me a single +moment, you shall find Mr. Carson badly able to protect you. If you +speak falsehood, be it at your peril.” + +“By Jing, sir,” said Jackson, “All say nothin' aginst my father-in-laa, +an' A don't care who teks it well or ull. A was just tekin' a _gun_ (* a +half-tumbler of punch) with a fren' or two--an d---me, A say, A'll stick +to my father-m-laa, for he hes stuck to me.” + +“You appear to be a hardened, drunken wretch,” observed the Colonel. +“Will you be civil enough to show your last receipt for rent?” + +“Wull A show it? A dono whether A wull or not, nor A dono whether A hey +it or not; but ef aall the receipts in Europe wur burnt, d---- my blood, +but A'll stick to my father-in-laa.” + +“Your father-in-law may be proud of you,” said the Colonel. + +“By h----, A'll back you en that,” said the fellow nodding his head, and +looking round him confidently. “By h-----, A say that, too!” + +“And I am sorry to be compelled to add,” continued the Colonel, “that +you may be equally proud of your father-in-law.” + +“A say, right agane! D---- me, bit A'll back that too!”and he nodded +confidently, and looked around the room once more. “A wull, d---- my +blood, bit no man can say agane it. A'm married to his daughter; an', by +the sun that shines A'll still stan' up for my father-in-laa.” + +“Mr. Carson,” said the Colonel, “can you disprove these facts? Can you +show that you did not expel M'Evoy from his farm, and put the husband of +your illegitimate daughter into it? That you did not receive his rent, +decline giving him a receipt, and afterwards compel him to pay twice, +because he could not produce the receipt which you withheld?” + +“Gentlemen,” said Carson, not directly replying to the Colonel, “there +is a base conspiracy got up against me; and I can perceive, moreover, +that there is evidently some unaccountable intention on the part of +Colonel B. to insult my feelings and injure my character. When paltry +circumstances that have occurred above ten years ago, are raked up in my +teeth, I have little to say, but that it proves how very badly off +the Colonel must have been for an imputation against my conduct and +discretion as his agent, since he finds himself compelled to hunt so far +back for a charge.” + +“That is by no means the heaviest charge I have to bring against you,” + replied the Colonel. “There is no lack of them; nor shall you be able to +complain that they are not recent, as well as of longer standing. Your +conduct in the case of poor honest M'Evoy here is black and iniquitous. +He must be restored to his farm, but by other hands than yours, and that +ruffian instantly expelled from it. From this moment, sir, you cease to +be my agent. You have betrayed the confidence I reposed in you; you have +misled me as to the character of my tenants; you have been a deceitful, +cunning, cringing, selfish and rapacious tyrant. My people you have +ground to dust; my property you have lessened in value nearly one-half, +and for your motives in doing this, I refer you to certain transactions +and legal documents which passed between us. There is nothing cruel or +mercenary which you did not practice, in order to enrich yourself. The +whole tenor of your conduct is before me. Your profligacy is not only +discovered, but already proved; and you played those villainous pranks, +I suppose, because I have been mostly an absentee. Do not think, +however, that you shall enjoy the fruits of your extortion? I will place +the circumstances, and the proofs of the respective charges against you, +in the hands of my solicitor, and, by the sacred heaven above me! you +shall disgorge the fruits of your rapacity. My good people, I shall +remain among you for another fortnight, during which time I intend to go +through my estate, and set everything to rights as well as I can, until +I may appoint a humane and feeling gentleman as my agent--such a one as +will have, at least, a character to lose. I also take this opportunity +of informing you, that in future I shall visit you often, will redress +your grievances, should you have any to complain of, and will give such +assistance to the honest and industrious among you--but to them +only--as I trust may make us better pleased with each other than we have +been.--Do not you go, M'Evoy, until I speak to you.” + +During these observations Carson sat with a smile, or rather a sneer +upon his lips. It was the sneer of a purse-proud villain confident that +his wealth, no matter how ill-gotten, was still wealth, and worth its +value. + +“Colonel,” said he, “I have heard all you said, but you see me 'so +strong in honesty,' that I am not moved. In the course of a few weeks +I shall have purchased an estate of my own, which I shall manage +differently, for my fortune is made, sir. I intend also to give up my +other agencies: I am rather old and must retire to enjoy a little of the +_otium cum dignitate_. I wish you all goo'd-morning!” + +The Colonel turned away in abhorrence, but disdained any reply. + +“A say, Sam,” said the Presbyterian, “bring your son-in-laa wuth you.” + +“An' I say that, too,” exclaimed the drunken ruffian--“A say that; A do. +A'm married to his daughter; an' A say stull, that d------my blood, bit +A'll stick to my father-in-laa! That's the point!”--and again he nodded +his head, and looked round him with a drunken swagger:--“A'll stick to my +father-in-laa! A'll do that; feth, A wull!”* + + * This dialect is local. + +It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader, that the Colonel's +address to Carson soon got among the assembled tenantry, and a vehement +volley of groans and hisses followed the discarded agent up the street. + +“Ha! bad luck to you for an ould villain. You were made to hear on the +deaf side o' your head at last! You may take the black wool out o' your +ears now, you rip! The cries an' curses o' the widows an' orphans that +you made and oppressed, has ris up agin you at the long run! Ha! you +beggarly nager! maybe you'll make us neglect our own work to do yours +agin! Go an' gather the dhry cow-cakes, you misert, an' bring them home +in your pocket, to throw on the dunghill!” + +“Do you remimber the day,” said others, “you met Mr. M., an' you goin' +up the street wid a cake of it in your fists, undher your shabby skirts; +an' whin the gintlemen wint to shake hands wid you, how he discovered +your maneness? Three groans for Yallow Sam, the extortioner! a short +coorse to him! Your corner's warm for you, you villain!” + +“But now, boys, for the Colonel!” they exclaimed.--“Huzza for noble +Colonel B------ the rale Irish gintlemen, that wouldn't see his tenants +put upon by a villain!--Huzza! Hell resave yees, shout! Huzza! Huzza! +Huzza! Huz--tundher-an'-ounze, my voice is cracked! Where's his +coach?--where's his honor's coach? Come, boys, out wid it,--out wid it! +Tattheration to yees, come! We'll dhraw it to the divil, to hell an' +back agin, if it plases him! Success to Colonel B------! Blood-an-turf! +what'll we do for a fight? Long life to noble Colonel B------, the poor +man's friend!--long life to him for ever an' a day longer! Whoo! my +darlins! Huzza!” etc. + +The warm interest which the Colonel took in M'Evoy's behalf, was looked +upon by the other tenants as a guarantee of his sincerity in all he +promised. Their enthusiasm knew no bounds. They got out his carriage +from the Inn-Yard, and drew it through the town, though the Colonel +himself, beyond the fact of their shouting, remained quite ignorant of +what was going forward. + +After Carson's departure, the Colonel's friends, having been first asked +to dine with him at the inn, also took their leave, and none remained +but M'Evoy, who waited with pleasing anxiety to hear what the Colonel +proposed to say--for he felt certain that it would be agreeable. + +“M'Evoy,” said the Colonel, “I am truly sorry for what you have suffered +through the villany of my agent; but I will give you redress, and allow +you for what you have lost by the transaction. It is true, as I +have been lately told by a person who pleaded your cause nobly and +eloquently, that I can never repay you for what you have suffered. +However, what we can, we will do. You are poor, I understand?” + +“God he sees that, sir; and afflicted, too, plase your honor.” + +“Afflicted? How is that?” + +“I had a son, sir--a blessed boy! a darlin' boy!--once our comfort, an' +once we thought he'd be our pride an' our staff, but”-- + +The poor man's tears here flowed fast; he took up the skirt of his +“Cotha More,” or great-coat, and, after wiping his eyes, and clearing +his voice, proceeded:-- + +“He was always, as I said, a blessed boy, and we looked up to him +alwayrs, sir. He saw our poverty, your honor, an' he felt it, sir, keen +enough, indeed, God help him! How an'-iver, he took it on him to go +up to Munster, sir, undher hopes of risin' us--undher the hopes, poor +child--an' God knows, sir,--if--oh, Jemmy avourneen ma-chree!--doubt--I +doubt you sunk undher what proved too many for you!--I doubt my child's +dead, sir--him that all our hearts wor fixed upon; and if that 'ud +happen to be the case, nothin'--not even your kindness in doin' us +justice, could make us happy. We would rather beg wid him, sir, nor have +the best in the world widout him. His poor young heart, sir, was fixed +upon the place your honor is restorin' us to; an I'm afeard his mother, +sir, would break her heart if she thought he couldn't share our good +fortune! And we don't know whether he's livin' or dead! That, sir, is +what's afflictin' us. I had some notion of goin' to look for him; but +he tould us he would never write, or let us hear from him, till he'd be +either one thing or other.” + +“I can tell you, for your satisfaction, that your son is well, M'Evoy. +Believe me, he is well--I know it.” + +“Well! Before God, does your honor spake truth? Well! Oh, sir, for His +sake that died for us, an' for the sake of his blessed mother, can you +tell me is my darlin' son alive?” + +“He is living; is in excellent health; is as well dressed as I am; and +has friends as rich and as capable of assisting him as myself. But +how is this? What's the matter with you? You are pale! Good God! Here, +waiter! Waiter! Waiter, I say!” + +The Colonel rang the bell violently, and two or three waiters entered at +the same moment. + +“Bring a little wine and water, one of you, and let the other two remove +this man to the open window. Be quick. What do you stare at?” + +In a few minutes the old man recovered, and untying the narrow coarse +cravat which he wore, wiped the perspiration off his pale face. + +“Pray, don't be too much affected,” said the Colonel. “Waiter, bring +up refreshment--bring wine--be quiet and calm--you are weak, poor +fellow--but we will strengthen you by-and-by.” + +“I am wake, sir,” he replied; “for, God help us! this was a hard year +upon us; and we suffered what few could bear. But he's livin', Colonel. +Our darlin' is livin! Oh, Colonel, your kindness went to my heart this +day afore, but that was nothin'--he's livin' an' well! On my two knees, +before God, I thank you for them words! I thank you a thousand an' a +thousand times more for them words, nor for what your honor did about +Yallow Sam.” + +“Get up,” said the Colonel--“get up. The proceedings of the day have +produced a revulsion of feeling which has rendered you incapable of +sustaining intelligence of your son. He is well, I assure you. Bring +those things to this table, waiter.” + +“But can your honor tell me anything in particular about him, sir? What +he's doin'--or what he intends to do?” + +“Yes! he is at a respectable boarding-school.” + +“Boordin'-school! But isn't boordin'-schools Protestants, sir?” + +“Not at all; he is at a Catholic boarding-school, and reading hard to be +a priest, which, I hope, he will soon be. He has good friends, and you +may thank him for being restored to your farm.” + +“Glory be to my Maker for that! Oh, sir, your tenants wor desaved in +you! They thought, sir, that you wor a hard-hearted gintleman, that +didn't care whether they lived or died.” + +“I feel that I neglected them too long, M'Evoy. Now take some +refreshment: eat something, and afterwards drink a few glasses of wine. +Your feelings have been much excited, and you will be the better for it. +Keep up your spirits. I am going to ride, and must leave you: but if you +call on me to-morrow, at one o'clock, I shall have more good news +for you. We must stock your farm, and enable you to enter upon it +creditably.” + +“Sir,” said M'Evoy, “you are a Protestant; but, as I hope to enther +glory, I an' my wife an' childhre will pray that your bed may be made in +heaven, this night; and that your honor may be led to see the truth an' +the right coorse.” + +The Colonel then left him; and the simple man, on looking at the cold +meat, bread, and wine before him, raised his hands and eyes towards +heaven, to thank God for his goodness, and to invoke a blessing upon his +noble and munificent benefactor. + +But how shall we describe the feelings of his family, when, after +returning home, he related the occurrences of that day. The severe and +pressing exigencies under which they labored had prevented his sons +from attending the investigation that was to take place in town. Their +expectations, however, were raised, and they looked out with intense +anxiety for the return of their father. + +At length he was seen coming slowly up the hill; the spades were thrown +aside, and the whole family assembled to hear “what was done.” + +The father entered in silence, sat down, and after wiping his brow and +laying down his hat, placing his staff across it upon the floor, he drew +his breath deeply. + +“Dominick,” said the wife, “what news? What was done?” + +“Vara,” replied Dominick, “do you remimber the day--fair and handsome +you wor then--when I first kissed your lips, as my own darlin' wife?” + +“Ah, avourneen, Dominick, don't spake of them times. The happiness we +had then is long gone, acushla, in one sense.” + +“It's before me like yestherday, Vara--the delight that went through my +heart, jist as clear as yestherday, or the blessed sun that's shinin' +through the broken windy on the floor there. I remimber, Vara, saying +to you that day--I don't know whether you remimber it or not--but I +remimber sayin' to you, that if I lived a thousand years, I could never +feel sich happiness as I did when I first pressed you to my heart as my +own wife.” + +“Well, but we want to hear what happened, Dominick, achora.” + +“Do you remimber the words, Vara?” + +“Och! I do, avourneen. Didn't they go into my heart at the time, an' how +could I forget them? But I can't bear, somehow, to look back at what we +wor then, bekase I feel my heart brakin', acushla!” + +“Well, Vara, look at me. Amn't I a poor wasted crathur now, in +comparishment to what I was thin?” + +“God he sees the change that's in you, darlin'! But sure 'twasn't your +fau't, or mine either, Dominick, avilish!” + +“Well, Vara, you see me now--I'm happpier--before God, I'm +happier--happier, a thousand degrees than I was thin! Come to my arms, +asthore machree--my heart s breakin'--but it's wid happiness--don't be +frightened--it's wid joy I'm sheddin' these tears--it's wid happiness +an' delight In' cryin'! Jemmy is livin', an' well, childhre--he's livin' +an' well, Vara--the star of our hearts is livin', an' well, an' happy! +Kneel down, childhre--kneel down! Bend before the great God, an' thank +him for his kindness to your blessed brother--to our blessed son. +Bless the Colonel, childhre; bless him whin you're down, Protestant an' +all, as he is. Oh, bless him as if you prayed for myself, or for Jemmy, +that's far away from us!” + +He paused for a few minutes, bent his head upon his hands as he knelt +in supplication at the chair, then resumed his seat, as did the whole +family, deeply affected. + +“Now, childhre,” said he, “I'll tell yez all; but don't any of you be so +poor a crathur as I was to-day. Bear it mild an' asy, Vara, acushla, for +I know it will take a start out of you. Sure we're to go back to our own +ould farm! Ay, an' what'a more--oh, God of heaven, bless him!--what's +more, the Colonel is to stock it for us, an' to help us; an' what is +more, Yallow Sam is out! out!!” + +“Out!” they exclaimed: “Jemmy well, an' Yallow Sam out! Oh, father, +surely”-- + +“Now behave, I say. Ay, and never to come in again! But who do you think +got him out?” + +“Who?--why God he knows. Who could get him out?” + +“Our son, Vara--our son, childhre: Jemmy got him out, an' got ourselves +back to our farm! I had it partly from the noble Colonel's own lips, +an' the remainder from Mr. Moutray, that I met on my way home. But +there's more to come:--sure Jemmy has friends aquil to the Colonel +himself: an' sure he's at a Catholic boordin'-school, among gintlemen's +childhre, an' in a short time he'll be a priest in full ordhers.” + +We here draw a veil over the delight of the family. Questions upon +questions, replies upon replies, sifting and cross-examinations, +followed in rapid succession, until all was known that the worthy man +had to communicate. + +Another simple scene followed, which, as an Irishman, I write with +sorrow. When the joy of the family had somewhat subsided, the father, +putting his hand in his coat-pocket, pulled out several large slices of +mutton. + +“Along wid all, childhre,” said he, “the Colonel ordhered me my dinner. +I ate plinty myself, an' slipped these slices in my pocket for you: but +the devil a one o' me knows what kind o' mate it is. An' I got wine, +too! Oh!--Well, they may talk, but wine is the drink! Bring me the ould +knife, till I make a fair divide of it among ye. Musha, what kind o' +mate can it be, for myself doesn't remimber atin' any sort, barrin' +bacon an' a bit o' slink-veal of an odd time?” + +They all ate it with an experimental air of sagacity that was rather +amusing. None, however, had ever tasted mutton before, and consequently +the name of the meat remained, on that occasion, a profound secret to +M'Evoy and his family.* It is true, they supposed it to be mutton; +but not one of them could pronounce it to be such, from any positive +knowledge of its peculiar flavor. + + * There are hundreds of thousands--yes, millions--of + the poorer classes in Ireland, who have never tasted + mutton! + +“Well,” said Dominick, “it's no matther what the name of it is, in +regard that it's good mate, any way, for them that has enough of it.” + +With a fervent heart and streaming eyes did this virtuous family offer +up their grateful prayers to that God whose laws they had not knowingly +violated, and to whose providence they owed so much. Nor was their +benefactor forgotten. The strength and energy of the Irish language, +being that in which the peasantry usually pray, were well adapted to +express the depth of their gratitude towards a man who had, as they +said, “humbled himself to look into their wants, as if he was like one +of themselves!” + +For upwards of ten years they had not gone to bed free from the +heaviness of care, or the wasting grasp of poverty. Now their hearth +was once more surrounded by peace and contentment; their burthens were +removed, their pulses beat freely, and the language of happiness again +was heard under their humble roof. Even sleep could not repress the +vivacity of their enjoyments: they dreamt of their brother--for in the +Irish heart domestic affections hold the first place;--they dreamt of +the farm to which those affections had so long yearned. They trod it +again as its legitimate possessors. Its fields were brighter, its corn +waved with softer murmurs to the breeze, its harvests were richer, and +the song of their harvest home more cheerful than before. Their delight +was tumultuous, but intense; and when they arose in the morning to a +sober certainty of waking bliss, they again knelt in worship to God with +exulting hearts, and again offered up their sincere prayers in behalf of +the just man who had asserted their rights against the oppressor. + +Colonel B. was a man who, without having been aware of it, possessed an +excellent capacity for business. The neglect of his property resulted +not from want of feeling, but merely from want of consideration. There +had, moreover, been no precedent for him to follow. He had seen no +Irishman of rank ever bestow a moment's attention on his tenantry. They +had been, for the most part, absentees like himself, and felt satisfied +if they succeeded in receiving their half-yearly remittance in due +course, without ever reflecting for a moment upon the situation of those +from whom it was drawn. + +Nay, what was more--he had not seen even the resident gentry enter into +the state and circumstances of those who lived upon their property. It +was a mere accident that determined him to become acquainted with his +tenants; but no sooner had he seen his duty, and come to the resolution +of performing it, than the decision of his character became apparent. +It is true, that, within the last few years, the Irish landlords have +advanced in knowledge. Many of them have introduced more improved +systems of agriculture, and instructed their tenants in the best methods +of applying them; but during the time of which we write, an Irish +landlord only saw his tenants when canvassing them for their votes, and +instructed them in dishonesty and perjury, not reflecting that he was +then teaching them to practise the arts of dissimulation and fraud +against himself. This was the late system: let us hope that it will be +superseded by a better one; and that the landlord will think it a duty, +but neither a trouble nor a condescension, to look into his own affairs, +and keep an eye upon the morals and habits of his tenantry. + +The Colonel, as he had said, remained more than a fortnight upon his +estate; and, as he often declared since, the recollections arising from +the good which he performed during that brief period, rendered it +the portion of his past life upon which he could look with most +satisfaction. He did not leave the country till he saw M'Evoy and his +family restored to their farm, and once more independent;--until he had +redressed every well-founded complaint, secured the affections of those +who had before detested him, and diffused peace and comfort among every +family upon his estate. From thenceforth he watched the interests of his +tenants, and soon found that in promoting their welfare, and instructing +them in their duties, he was more his own benefactor than theirs. +Before many years had elapsed, his property was wonderfully improved; +he himself was called the “Lucky Landlord,” “bekase,” said the people, +“ever since he spoke to, an' advised his tenants, we find that it's +lucky to live undher him. The people has heart to work wid a gintleman +that won't grind thim; an' so sign's on it, every one thrives upon his +land: an' dang my bones, but I believe a rotten stick 'ud grow on it, +set in case it was thried.” + +In sooth, his popularity became proverbial; but it is probable, that not +even his justice and humanity contributed so much to this, as the +vigor with which he prosecuted his suit against “Yellow Sam,” whom he +compelled literally to “disgorge” the fruits of his heartless extortion. +This worthy agent died soon after his disgrace, without any legitimate +issue; and his property, which amounted to about fifty thousand pounds, +is now inherited by a gentleman of the strictest honor and integrity. To +this day his memory is detested by the people, who, with that bitterness +by which they stigmatized a villain, have erected him into a standard +of dishonesty. If a man become remarkable for want of principle, they +usually say--“he's as great a rogue as Yallow Sam;” or, “he is the +greatest sconce that ever was in the country, barrin' Yallow Sam.” + +We now dismiss him, and request our readers, at the same time, not +to suppose that we have held him up as a portrait of Irish agents +in general. On the contrary, we believe that they constitute a most +respectable class of men, who have certainly very difficult duties to +perform. The Irish landlords, we are happy to say, taught by experience, +have, for the most part, both seen and felt the necessity of appointing +gentlemen of property to situations so very important, and which require +so much patience, consideration, and humanity, in those who fill them. +We trust they will persevere in this plan; * but we can assure them, +that all the virtues of the best agent can never compensate, in the +opinion of the people, for neglect in the “Head Landlord.” One visit, +or act, even of nominal kindness, for him, will at any time produce more +attachment and gratitude among them, than a whole life spent in good +offices by an agent. Like Sterne's French Beggar, they would prefer a +pinch of snuff from the one, to a guinea from the other. The agent only +renders them a favor, but the Head Landlord does them an honor. + + * This tale has been written nearly twelve years, but + the author deeply regrets that the Irish landlords have + disentitled themselves to the favorable notice taken of + them in the text. + +Colonel B., immediately after his return home, sent for Mr. O'Brien, +who waited on him with a greater degree of curiosity than perhaps he had +ever felt before. The Colonel smiled as he extended his hand to him. + +“Mr. O'Brien,” said he, “I knew you would feel anxious to hear the +result of my visit to the estate which this man with the nickname +managed for me.” + +“Managed, sir? Did you say managed?” + +“I spoke in the past time, O'Brien: he is out.” + +“Then your protege's story was correct, sir?” + +“True to a title. O'Brien, there is something extraordinary in that +boy; otherwise, how could it happen that a sickly, miserable-looking +creature, absolutely in tatters, could have impressed us both so +strongly with a sense of the injustice done ten years ago to his father? +It is, indeed, remarkable.” + +“The boy, Colonel, deeply felt that act of injustice, and the expression +of it came home to the heart.” + +“I have restored his father, however. The poor man and his family are +once more happy. I have stocked their old farm for them; in! fact, they +now enjoy comfort and independence.” + +“I am glad, sir, that you have done them justice. That act, alone, will +go far to redeem your character from the odium which the conduct of your +agent was calculated to throw upon it.” + +“There is not probably in Ireland a landlord so popular as I am this +moment--at least among my tenants on that property. Restoring M'Evoy, +however, is but a small part of what I have done. Carson's pranks were +incredible. He was a rack-renter of the first water. A person named +Brady had paid him twenty-five guineas as a douceur--in other words, as +a bribe--for renewing a lease for him; yet, after having received the +money, he kept the poor man dangling after him, and at length told him +that he was offered a larger sum by another. In some cases he kept back +the receipts, and made the poor people pay twice, which was still more +iniquitous. Then, sir, he would not take bank notes in payment. No; he +was so wonderfully concientious, and so zealously punctual in fulfilling +my wishes, as he told them on the subject, that nothing would pass in +payment but gold. This gold, sir, they were compelled to receive from +himself, at a most oppressive premium; so that he actually fleeced them +under my name, in every conceivable manner and form of villainy. He is a +usurer, too; and, I am told, worth forty or fifty thousand pounds: but, +thank heaven! he is no longer an agent of mine.” + +“It gives me sincere pleasure, sir, that you have at length got correct +habits of thinking upon your duties as an Irish landlord; for believe +me, Colonel B., as a subject involving a great portion of national +happiness or national misery, it is entitled to the deepest and most +serious consideration, not only of the class to which you belong, but of +the legislature. Something should be done, sir, to improve the condition +of the poorer classes. A rich country and poor inhabitants is an +anomaly; and whatever is done should be prompt and effectual. If the +Irish landlords looked directly into the state of their tenantry, and +set themselves vigorously to the task of bettering their circumstances, +they would, I am certain, establish the tranquillity and happiness of +the country at large. The great secret, Colonel, of the dissensions +that prevail among us is the poverty of the people. They are poor, and +therefore the more easily wrought up to outrage; they are poor, and +think that any change must be for the better; they are not only poor, +but imaginative, and the fittest recipients for those vague speculations +by which they are deluded. Let their condition be improved, and the most +fertile source of popular tumult and crime is closed. Let them be taught +how to labor: let them not be bowed to the earth by rents so far above +the real value of their lands. The pernicious maxims which float among +them must be refuted--not by theory, but by practical lessons performed +before their eyes for their own advantage. Let them be taught how to +discriminate between their real interests and their prejudices; and none +can teach them all this so effectually as their landlords, if they could +be roused from their apathy, and induced to undertake the task. Who ever +saw a poor nation without great crimes?” + +“Very true, O'Brien; quite true. I am resolved to inspect personally +the condition of those who reside on my other estates. But now about our +protege? How is he doing?” + +“Extremely well. I have had a letter from him a few days ago, in which +he alludes to the interest you have taken in himself and his family, +with a depth of feeling truly affecting.” + +“When you write to him, let him know that I have placed his father in +his old farm; and that Carson is out. Say I am sure he will conduct +himself properly, in which case I charge myself with his expenses until +he shall have accomplished his purpose. After that he may work his +own way through life, and I have no doubt but he will do it well and +honorably.” + +Colonel B------'s pledge on this occasion was nobly redeemed. Our humble +hero pursued his studies with zeal and success. In due time he entered +Maynooth, where he distinguished himself not simply for smartness as +a student, but as a young man possessed of a mind far above the common +order. During all this time nothing occurred worthy of particular +remark, except that, in fulfilment of his former vow, he never wrote to +any of his friends; for the reader should have been told, that this was +originally comprehended in the determination he had formed. He received +ordination at the hands of his friend the Bishop, whom we have already +introduced to the reader, and on the same day he was appointed by that +gentleman to a curacy in his own parish. The Colonel, whose regard +for him never cooled, presented him with fifty pounds, together with +a horse, saddle, and bridle; so that he found himself in a capacity +to enter upon his duties in a decent and becoming manner. Another +circumstance that added considerably to his satisfaction, was the +appointment of Mr. O'Brien to a parish adjoining that of the Bishop. +James's afflictions had been the means of bringing the merits of that +excellent man before his spiritual superior, who became much attached +to him, and availed himself of the earliest opportunity of rewarding his +unobtrusive piety and benevolence. + +No sooner was his ordination completed, than the long suppressed +yearnings after his home and kindred came upon his spirit with a power +that could not be restrained. He took leave of his friends with a +beating heart, and set out on a delightful summer morning to revisit all +that had been, notwithstanding his long absence and severe trials, +so strongly wrought into his memory and affections. Our readers may, +therefore, suppose him on his journey home, and permit, themselves to be +led in imagination to the house of his former friend, Lanigan, where we +must lay the scene for the present. + +Lanigan's residence has the same comfortable and warm appearance which +always distinguishes the habitation of the independent and virtuous man. +What, however, can the stir, and bustle, and agitation which prevail +in it mean? The daughters run out to a little mound, a natural terrace, +beside the house, and look anxiously towards the road; then return, and +almost immediately appear again, with the same intense anxiety to catch +a glimpse of some one whom they expect. They look keenly; but why is it +that their disappointment appears to be attended with such dismay? +They go into their father's house once more, wringing their hands, and +betraying all the symptoms of affliction. Here is their mother, too, +coming to peer into the distance, she is rocking with that motion +peculiar to Irishwomen when suffering distress. She places her open hand +upon her brows that she may collect her sight to a particular spot; she +is blinded by her tears; breaks out into a low wail, and returns with +something like the darkness of despair on her countenance. She goes into +the house, passes through the kitchen, and enters into a bed-room; seats +herself on a chair beside the bed, and renews her low but' bitter wail +of sorrow. Her husband is lying in that state which the peasantry know +usually precedes the agonies of death. + +“For the sake of the livin' God,” said he, on seeing her, “is there any +sign o' them?” + +“Not yet, a _suillish_; (* My light) but they will soon--they must soon, +asthore, be here, an' thin your mind will be asy.” + +“Oh, Alley, Alley, if you could know what I suffer for 'fraid I'd die +widout the priest you'd pity me!” + +“I do pity you, asthore: but don't be cast down, for I have my trust in +God that he won't desart you in your last hour. You did what you could, +my heart's pride; you bent before him night an' mornin', and sure the +poor neighbor never wint from your door widout lavin' his blessin' +behind him.” + +The dying man raised his hands feebly from the bed-clothes; “Ah!” he +exclaimed, “I thought I did a great dale, Alley: but now--but now--it +appears nothin' to what I ought to a' done when I could. Still, +avour-neen, my life's not unpleasant when I look back at it; for I can't +remimber that I ever purposely offinded a livin' mortal. All I want to +satisfy me is the priest.” + +“No, avourneen, you did not; for it wasn't in you to offind a child.” + +“Alley, you'll pardon me an' forgive me acushla, if ever--if ever I did +what was displasin' to you! An' call in the childhre, till I see them +about me--I want to have their forgiveness, too. I know I'll have +it--for they wor good childhre, an' ever loved me.” + +The daughters now entered the room, exclaiming--“_Ahir dheelish_ +(beloved father), Pether is comin' by himself, but no priest! Blessed +Queen of Heaven, what will we do! Oh! father darlin', are you to die +widout the Holy Ointment?” + +The sick man clasped his hands, looked towards heaven and groaned aloud. + +“Oh, it's hard, this,” said he. “It's hard upon me! Yet I won't be cast +down. I'll trust in my good God; I'll trust in his blessed name!” + +His wife, on hearing that her son was returned without the priest, sat, +with her face shrouded by her apron, weeping in grief that none but they +who know the dependence which those belonging to her church place in +its last rites can comprehend. The children appeared almost distracted; +their grief had more of that stunning character which attends unexpected +calamity, than of sorrow for one who is gradually drawn from life. + +At length the messenger entered the room, and almost choked with tears, +stated that both priests were absent that day at Conference, and would +not return till late. + +The hitherto moderated grief of the wife arose to a pitch much wilder +than the death of her husband could, under ordinary circumstances, +occasion. To die without absolution--to pass away into eternity +“unanointed, unaneled”--without being purified from the inherent +stains of humanity--was to her a much deeper affliction than her final +separation from him. She cried in tones of the most piercing despair, +and clapped her hands, as they do who weep over the dead. Had he died in +the calm confidence of having received the Viaticum, or Sacrament before +death, his decease would have had nothing remarkably calamitous in +it, beyond usual occurrences of a similar nature. Now the grief was +intensely bitter in consequence of his expected departure without the +priest. His sons and daughters felt it as forcibly as his wife; their +lamentations were full of the strongest and sharpest agony. + +For nearly three hours did they remain in this situation; poor Lanigan +sinking by degrees into that collapsed state from which there is no +possibility of rallying. He was merely able to speak; and recognize his +family; but every moment advanced him, with awful certainty, nearer and +nearer to his end.. + +A great number of the neighbors were now assembled, all participating in +the awful feeling which predominated, and anxious to compensate by their +prayers for the absence of that confidence derived by Roman Catholics +during the approach of death, from the spiritual aid of the priest. +They were all at prayer; the sick-room and kitchen were crowded with his +friends and acquaintances, many of whom knelt out before the door, +and joined with loud voices in the Rosary which was offered up in his +behalf. + +In this crisis were they, when a horseman, dressed in black, approached +the house. Every head was instantly turned round, with a hope that it +might be the parish priest or his curate; but, alas! they were doomed to +experience a fresh disappointment. The stranger, though clerical enough +in his appearance, presented a countenance with which none of them +was acquainted. On glancing at the group who knelt around the door, he +appeared to understand the melancholy cause which brought them together. + +“How is this?” he exclaimed. “Is there any one here sick or dying?” + +“Poor Misther Lanigan, sir, is jist departing glory be to God! An' +what is terrible all out upon himself and family, he's dyin' widout the +priest. They're both at Conwhirence, sir, and can't come--Mr. Dogherty +an' his curate.” + +“Make way!” said the stranger, throwing himself off his horse, and +passing quickly through the people. “Show me to the sick man's room--be +quick, my friends--I am a Catholic clergyman.” + +In a moment a passage was cleared, and the stranger found himself +beside the bed of death. Grief in the room was loud and bitter; but his +presence stilled it despite of what they felt. + +“My dear friends,” said he, “you know there should be silence in the +apartment of a dying man. For shame!--for shame! Cease this clamor, it +will but distract him for whom you weep, and prevent him from composing +his mind for the great trial that is before him.” + +“Sir,” said Lanigan's wife, seizing his hand in both hers, and looking +distractedly in his face, “are you a priest? For heaven's sake tell us?” + +“I am,” he replied; “leave the room every one of you. I hope your +husband is not speechless?” + +“Sweet Queen of Heaven, not yet, may her name be praised! but near it, +your Reverence--widin little or no time of it.”. + +Whilst they spoke, he was engaged in putting the stole about his +neck, after which he cleared the room, and commenced hearing Lanigan's +confession. + +The appearance of a priest, and the consolation it produced, rallied the +powers of life in the benevolent farmer. He became more collected; made +a clear and satisfactory confession; received the sacrament of Extreme +Unction; and felt himself able to speak with tolerable distinctness and +precision. The effects of all this were astonishing. A placid serenity, +full of hope and confidence, beamed from the pale and worn features of +him who was but a few minutes before in a state of terror altogether +indescribable. When his wife and family, after having been called in, +observed this change, they immediately participated in his tranquillity. +Death had been deprived of its sting, and grief of its bitterness; their +sorrow was still deep, but it was not darkened by the dread of future +misery. They felt for him as a beloved father, a kind husband, and a +clear friend, who had lived a virtuous life, feared God, and was now +about to pass into happiness. + +When the rites of the church were administered, and the family again +assembled round the bed, the priest sat down in a position which enabled +him to see the features of this good man more distinctly. + +“I would be glad,” said Lanigan, “to know who it is that God in his +goodness has sent to smooth my bed in death, if it 'ud be plasin', sir, +to you to tell me?” + +“Do you remember,” replied the priest, “a young lad whom you met some +years ago on his way to Munster, as a poor scholar! You and your family +were particularly kind to him; so kind that he has never since forgotten +your affectionate hospitality.” + +“We do, your Reverence, we do. A mild, gentle crathur he was, poor boy. +I hope God prospered him.” + +“You see him now before you,” said the priest. “I am that boy, and I +thank God that I can testify, however slightly, my deep sense of the +virtues which you exercised towards me; although I regret that the +occasion is one of such affliction.” + +The farmer raised his eyes and feeble hands towards heaven. “Praise an' +glory to your name, good God!” he exclaimed. “Praise an' glory to your +holy name! Now I know that I'm not forgotten, when you brought back the +little kindness I did that boy for your sake, wid so many blessins to me +in the hour of my affliction an' sufferin'! Childher remimber this, +now that I'm goin' to lave yez for ever! Remimber always to help the +stranger, an' thim that's poor an' in sorrow. If you do, God won't +forget it to you; but will bring it back to yez when you stand in need +of it, as he done to me this day. You see, childhre dear, how small +thrifles o' that kind depend on one another. If I hadn't thought of +helpin' his Reverence here when he was young and away from his own, he +wouldn't think of callin' upon us this day as he was passin'. You see +the hand of God is in it, childhre: which it is, indeed, in every thing +that passes about us, if we could only see it as we ought to do. Thin, +but I'd like to look upon your face, sir, if it's plasin' to you? A +little more to the light, sir. There, I now see you. Ay, indeed, it's +changed for the betther it is--: the same mild, clear countenance, but +not sorrowful, as when I seen it last. Suffer me to put my hand on your +head, sir; I'd like to bless you before I die, for I can't forget what +you undertook to do for your parents.” + +The priest sat near him; but finding he was scarcely able to raise his +hand to his head, he knelt down, and the farmer, before he communicated +the blessing inquired-- + +“Musha, sir, may I ax, wor you able to do anything to help your family +as you expected?” + +“God,” said the priest, “made me the instrument of raising them from +their poverty; they are now comfortable and happy.” + +“Ay! Well I knew at the time, an' I said it, that a blessin' would +attind your endayvors. An' now resave my blessin'. May you never depart +from the right way! May the blessin' of God rest upon you for +ever--Amin! Childhre, I'm gettin' wake; come near me, till, till I bless +you, too, for the last time! They were good childhre, sir--they were +ever an' always good to me, an' to their poor mother, your Reverence; +an'--God forgive me if it's a sin!--but I feel a great dale o' my heart +an' my love fixed upon them. But sure I'm their father, an' God, I hope, +will look over it! Now, darlins, afore I bless yez, I ax your +forgiveness if ever I was harsher to yez than I ought!” + +The children with a simultaneous movement encircled his bed, and could +not reply for some minutes. + +“Never, father darlin'! Oh, never did you offind us! Don't speak in that +way, or you'll break our hearts; but forgive us, father asthore! Oh, +forgive an' bless us, an' don't remimber against us, our folly an' +disobedience, for it's only now that we see we warn't towards you as we +ought to be. Forgive us an' pardon us!” + +He then made them all kneel around his bed, and with solemn words, and +an impressive manner, placed his hand upon their heads, and blessed them +with a virtuous father's last blessing. + +He then called for his wife, and the scene became not only more +touching, but more elevated. There was an exultation in her manner, and +an expression of vivid hope in her eye, arising from the fact of her +husband having received, and been soothed by the rites of her church, +that gave evident proof of the unparalleled attachment borne by persons +of her class to the Catholic religion. The arrival of our hero had been +so unexpected, and the terrors of the tender wife for her husband's soul +so great, that the administration of the sacrament almost superseded +from her heart every other sensation than that of devotional triumph. +Even now, in the midst of her tears, that triumph kindled in her eye +with a light that shone in melancholy beauty upon the bed of death. +In proportion, however, as the parting scene--which was to be their +last--began to work with greater power upon her sorrow, so did this +expression gradually fade away. Grief for his loss resumed its dominion +over her heart so strongly, that their last parting was afflicting even +to look upon. + +When it was over, Lanigan once more addressed the priest:-- + +“Now, sir,” he observed, but with great difficulty, “let me have your +blessin' an' your prayers; an' along wid that, your Reverence, if you +remimber a request I once made to you”-- + +“I remember it well,” replied the priest; “you allude to the masses +which you-wished I me to say for you, should I ever receive Orders. Make +your mind easy on that point. I not only shall offer up mass for the +repose of your soul, but I can assure you that I have mentioned you by +name in every mass which I celebrated since my ordination.” + +He then proceeded to direct the mind of his dying benefactor to such +subjects as were best calculated to comfort and strengthen him. + +About day-break the next morning, this man of many virtues, after +struggling rather severely for two hours preceding his death, passed +into eternity, there to enjoy the recompense of a well-spent life. + +When he was dead, the priest, who never left him during the night, +approached the bed, and after surveying his benevolent features, now +composed in the stillness of death, exclaimed-- + +“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for they rest from their +labors, and their works do follow them!” + +Having uttered the words aloud, he sat down beside the bed, buried his +face in his handkerchief, and wept. + +He was now only a short day's journey from home, and as his presence, he +knew, would be rather a restraint upon a family so much in affliction, +he bade them farewell, and proceeded on his way. He travelled slowly, +and, as every well-known hill or lake appeared to him, his heart +beat quickly, his memory gave up its early stores, and his affections +prepared themselves for the trial that was before them. + +“It is better for me not to arrive,” thought he, “until the family +shall have returned from their daily labor, and are collected about the +hearth.” + +In the meantime, many an impression of profound and fervid piety +came over him, when he reflected upon the incontrovertible proofs of +providential protection and interference which had been, during his +absence from home, under his struggles, and, in his good fortune, so +clearly laid before him. “Deep,” he exclaimed, “is the gratitude I owe +to God for this; may I never forget to acknowledge it!” + +It was now about seven o'clock; the evening was calm, and the sun +shone with that clear amber light which gives warmth, and the power of +exciting tenderness to natural scenery. He had already gained the ascent +which commanded a view of the rich sweep of country that reposed below. +There it lay--his native home--his native parish--bathed in the light +and glory of the hour. Its fields were green--its rivers shining like +loosened silver; its meadows already studded with hay-cocks, its green +pastures covered with sheep, and its unruffled lakes reflecting the +hills under which they lay. Here and there a gentleman's residence rose +among the distant trees, and well did he recognize the church spire +that cut into the western sky on his right. It is true, nothing of the +grandeur and magnificence of nature was there; everything was simple in +its beauty. The quiet charm, the serene light, the air of happiness +and peace that reposed upon all he saw, stirred up a thousand tender +feelings in a heart whose gentle character resembled that of the +prospect which it felt so exquisitely. The smoke of a few farm-houses +and cottages rose in blue, graceful columns to the air, giving just +that appearance of life which was necessary; and a figure or two, with +lengthened shadows, moved across the fields and meadows a little below +where he stood. + +But our readers need not to be told, that there was one spot which, +beyond all others, riveted his attention. On that spot his eager eye +rested long and intensely. The spell of its remembrance had clung to +his early heart: he had never seen it in his dreams without weeping; +and often had the agitation of his imaginary sorrow awoke him with his +eye-lashes steeped in tears. He looked down on it steadily. At length he +was moved with a strong sensation like grief: he sobbed twice or thrice, +and the tears rolled in showers from his eyes. His gathering affections +were relieved by this: he felt lighter, and in the same slow manner rode +onward to his father's house. + +To this there were two modes of access: one by a paved bridle-way, or +boreen, that ran up directly before the door--the other by a green lane, +that diverged from the boreen about a furlong below the house. He took +the latter, certain that the family could not notice his approach, nor +hear the noise of his horse's footsteps, until he could arrive at the +very threshold.. On dismounting, he felt that he could scarcely walk. He +approached the door, however, as steadily as he could. He entered--and +the family, who had just finished their supper, rose up, as a mark of +their respect to the stranger. + +“Is this,” he inquired, “the house in which Dominick M'Evoy lives?” + +“That's my name, sir,” replied Dominick. “The family, I trust, +are--all--well? I have been desired--but--no--no--I cannot--I +cannot--father!--mother! + +“It's him!” shrieked the mother--“Its himself!--Jemmy” + +“Jemmy!--Jemmy!” shouted the lather, with a cry of joy which might be +heard far beyond the house. + +“Jemmy!--our poor Jemmy!--Jemmy!!” exclaimed his brothers and sisters. + +“Asy, childhre,” said the father--“asy; let the mother to him--let her +to him. Who has the right that she has? Vara, asthore--Vara, think of +yourself. God of heaven! what is comin' over her?--Her brain's turned!” + +“Father, don't remove her,” said the son. “Leave her arms where they +are: it's long since they encircled my neck before. Often--often would I +have given the wealth of the universe to be encircled in my blessed and +beloved mother's arms! Yes, yes!--Weep, my father--weep, each of +you. You see those tears:--consider them as a proof that I have never +forgotten you! Beloved mother! recollect yourself: she knows me not--her +eyes wander!--I fear the shock has been too much for her. Place a chair +at the door, and I will bring her to the air.” + +After considerable effort, the mother's faculties were restored so far +as to be merely conscious that our hero was her son. She had not yet +shed a tear, but now she surveyed his countenance, smiled and named +him, placed her hands upon him, and examined his dress with a singular +blending of conflicting emotions, but still without being thoroughly +collected. + +“I will speak to her,” said Jemmy, “in Irish, it will go directly to her +heart:--_Mhair, avourneen, tha ma, laht, anish!_--Mother, my darling, I +am with you at last.” + +“_Shamus, aroon, vick machree, wuil thu Ihum? wuil thu--wuil thu +Ihum?_--Jemmy, my beloved, son of my heart, are you with me?--are +you--are you with me?” + +“_Ish maheen a tha in, a vair dheelish machree_--It is I who am with +you, beloved mother of my heart!” + +She smiled again--but only for a moment. She looked at him, laid his +head upon her bosom, bedewed his face with her tears, and muttered out, +in a kind of sweet, musical cadence, the Irish cry of joy. + +We are incapable of describing the scene further. Our readers must be +contented to know, that the delight and happiness of our hero's whole +family were complete. Their son, after many years of toil and struggle, +had at length succeeded, by a virtuous course of action, in raising them +from poverty to comfort, and in effecting his own object, which was, +to become a member of the Catholic priesthood. During all his trials he +never failed to rely on God; and it is seldom that those who rely upon +Him, when striving to attain a laudable purpose, are ever ultimately +disappointed. + +***** + +We regret to inform our readers, that the poor scholar is dead! He did +not, in fact, long survive the accomplishment of his wishes. But as we +had the particulars of his story from his nearest friends, we thought +his virtues of too exalted a nature to pass into oblivion without some +record, however humble. He died as he had lived--the friend of God and +of man. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poor Scholar, by William Carleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POOR SCHOLAR *** + +***** This file should be named 16017-0.txt or 16017-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16017/ + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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