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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16019-0.txt b/16019-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..37e018c --- /dev/null +++ b/16019-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14386 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other Stories +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: Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other Stories + 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 #16019] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY + +BY WILLIAM CARLETON + + + +Contents: + + Phelim O'toole's Courtship + Wildgoose Lodge + Tubber Derg; Or, The Red Well. + Neal Malone + Art Maguire; Or, The Broken Pledge. + + + + +PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP. + + +Phelim O'Toole, who had the honor of being that interesting personage, +an only son, was heir to a snug estate of half an acre, which had been +the family patrimony since the time of his grandfather, Tyrrell O'Toole, +who won it from the Sassenah at the point of his reaping-hook, during a +descent once made upon England by a body of “spalpeens,” in the month +of August. This resolute little band was led on by Tyrrell, who, having +secured about eight guineas by the excursion, returned to his own +country, with a coarse linen travelling-bag slung across his shoulder, a +new hat in one hand, and a staff in the other. On reaching once more his +native village of Teernarogarah, he immediately took half an acre, for +which he paid a moderate rent in the shape of daily labor as a cotter. +On this he resided until death, after which event he was succeeded by +his son, Larry O'Toole, the father of the “purty boy” who is about to +shine in the following pages. + +Phelim's father and mother had been married near seven years without +the happiness of a family. This to both was a great affliction. Sheelah +O'Toole was melancholy from night to morning, and Larry was melancholy +from morning to night. Their cottage was silent and solitary; the floor +and furniture had not the appearance of any cottage in which Irish +children are wont to amuse themselves. When they rose in the morning, +a miserable stillness prevailed around them; young voices were not +heard--laughing eyes turned not on their parents--the melody of angry +squabbles, as the urchins, in their parents' fancy, cuffed and scratched +each other--half, or wholly naked among the ashes in the morning, +soothed not the yearning hearts of Larry and his wife. No, no; there was +none of this. + +Morning passed in a quietness hard to be borne: noon arrived, but the +dismal dreary sense of childlessness hung upon the house and their +hearts; night again returned, only to add its darkness to that which +overshadowed the sorrowful spirits of this disconsolate couple. + +For the first two or three years, they bore this privation with a strong +confidence that it would not last. The heart, however, sometimes becomes +tired of hoping, or unable to bear the burthen of expectation, which +time only renders heavier. They first began to fret and pine, then to +murmur, and finally to recriminate. + +Sheelah wished for children, “to have the crathurs to spake to,” she +said, “and comfort us when we'd get ould an' helpless.” + +Larry cared not, provided they had a son to inherit the “half acre.” + This was the burthen of his wishes, for in all their altercations, his +closing observation usually was--“well, but what's to become of the half +acre?” + +“What's to become of the half acre? Arrah what do I care for the half +acre? It's not that you ought to be thinkin' of, but the dismal poor +house we have, wid not the laugh or schreech of a _single pastiah_ (* +child) in it from year's end to year's end.” + +“Well, Sheelah?--” + +“Well, yourself, Larry? To the diouol I pitch your half acre, man.” + +“To the diouol you--pitch--What do you fly at me for?” + +“Who's flyin' at you? They'd have little tow on their rock that 'ud fly +at you.” + +“You are flyin' at me; an' only you have a hard face, you wouldn't do +it.” + +“A hard face! Indeed it's well come over wid us, to be tould that by the +likes o' you! ha!” + +“No matther for that! You had betther keep a soft tongue in your head, +an' a civil one, in the mane time. Why did the divil timpt you to take a +fancy to me at all?” + +“That's it. Throw the _grah_ an' love I _once_ had for you in my teeth, +now. It's a manly thing for you to do, an' you may be proud, of it. Dear +knows, it would be betther for me I had fell in consate wid any face +but yours.” + +“I wish to goodness you had! I wouldn't be as I am to-day. There's that +half acre--” + +“To the diouol, I say, I pitch yourself an' your half acre! Why do you +be comin' acrass me wid your half acre? Eh?--why do you?” + +“Come now; don't be puttin' your hands agin your sides, an waggin' your +impty head at me, like a rockin' stone.” + +“An' why do you be aggravatin' at me wid your half acre?” + +“Bekase I have a good right to do it. What'll become of it when I d--” + +“----That for you an' it, you poor excuse!” + +“When I di--” + +“----That for you an' it, I say! That for you an' it, you atomy!” + +“What'll become of my half acre when I die? Did you hear that?” + +“You ought to think of what'll become of yourself, when you die; that's +what you ought to think of; but little it throubles you, you sinful +reprobate! Sure the neighbors despises you.” + +“That's falsity; but they know the life I lade wid you. The edge of your +tongue's well known. They pity me, for bein' joined to the likes of you. +Your bad tongue's all you're good for.” + +“Aren't you afeard to be flyin' in the face o' Providence the way you +are? An' to be ladin' me sich a heart-scalded life for no rason?” + +“It's your own story you're tellin'. Sure I haven't a day's pace wid +you, or ever had these three years. But wait till next harvest, an' if +I'm spared, I'll go to England. Whin I do, I've a consate in my head, +that you'll never see my face agin.” + +“Oh, you know that's an' ould story wid you. Many a time you threatened +us wid that afore. Who knows but you'd be dhrowned on your way, an' thin +we'd get another husband.” + +“An' be these blessed tongs, I'll do it afore I'm much oulder!” + +“An' lave me here to starve an' sthruggle by myself! Desart me like a +villain, to poverty an' hardship! Marciful Mother of Heaven, look down +upon me this day! but I'm the ill-thrated, an' ill-used poor crathur, +by a man that I don't, an' never did, desarve it from! An' all in regard +that that 'half acre' must go to strangers! Och! oh!” + +“Ay! now take to the cryin', do; rock yourself over the ashes, an' wipe +your eyes wid the corner of your apron; but, I say agin, _what's to +become of the half acre?_” + +“Oh, God forgive you, Larry! That's the worst I say to you, you poor +half-dead blaguard!” + +“Why do you massacray me wid your tongue as you do?” + +“Go. an--go an. I won't make you an answer, you atomy! That's what I'll +do. The heavens above turn your heart this day, and give me strinth to +bear my throubles an' heart burnin', sweet Queen o' Consolation! Or take +me into the arms of Parodies, sooner nor be as I am, wid a poor baste of +a villain, that I never turn my tongue on, barrin' to tell him the kind +of a man he is, the blaguard!” + +“You're betther than you desarve to be!” + +To this, Sheelah made no further reply; on the contrary, she sat +smoking her pipe with a significant silence, that was only broken by an +occasional groan, an ejaculation, or a singularly devout upturning +of the eyes to heaven, accompanied by a shake of the head, at once +condemnatory and philosophical; indicative of her dissent from what he +said, as well as of her patience in bearing it. + +Larry, however, usually proceeded to combat all her gestures by viva +voce argument; for every shake of her head he had an appropriate answer: +but without being able to move her from the obstinate silence she +maintained. Having thus the field to himself, and feeling rather annoyed +by the want of an antagonist, he argued on in the same form of dispute, +whilst she, after first calming her own spirit by the composing effects +of the pipe, usually cut him short with-- + +“Here, take a blast o' this, maybe it'll settle you.” + +This was received in silence. The good man smoked on, and every puff +appeared, as an evaporation of his anger. In due time he was as placid +as herself, drew his breath in a grave composed manner, laid his pipe +quietly on the hob, and went about his business as if nothing had +occurred between them. + +These bickerings were strictly private, with the exception of some +disclosures made to Sheelah's mother and sisters. Even these were +thrown out rather as insinuations that all was not right, than as direct +assertions that they lived unhappily. Before strangers they were perfect +turtles. + +Larry, according to the notices of his life furnished by Sheelah, was +“as good a husband as ever broke the world's bread;” and Sheelah “was +as good a poor man's wife as ever threw a gown over her shoulders.” + Notwithstanding all this caution, their little quarrels took wind; their +unhappiness became known. Larry, in consequence of a failing he had, was +the cause of this. He happened to be one of those men who can conceal +nothing when in a state of intoxication. Whenever he indulged in +liquor too freely, the veil which discretion had drawn over their +recriminations was put aside, and a dolorous history of their +weaknesses, doubts, hopes, and wishes, most unscrupulously given to +every person on whom the complainant could fasten. When sober, he had no +recollection of this, so that many a conversation of cross-purposes took +place between him and his neighbors, with reference to the state of his +own domestic inquietude, and their want of children. + +One day a poor mendicant came in at dinner hour, and stood as if to +solicit alms. It is customary in Ireland, when any person of that +description appears during meal times, to make him wait until the meal +is over, after which he is supplied with the fragments. No sooner had +the boccagh--as a certain class of beggars is termed--advanced past the +jamb, than he was desired to sit until the dinner should be concluded. +In the mean time, with the tact of an adept in his calling, he began +to ingratiate himself with Larry and his wife; and after sounding the +simple couple upon their private history, he discovered that want of +children was the occasion of their unhappiness. + +“Well good people,” said the pilgrim, after listening to a dismal story +on the subject, “don't be cast down, sure, whether or not. There's a +Holy Well that I can direct yez to in the county--. Any one, wid trust +in the Saint that's over it, who'll make a pilgrimage to it on the +Patthern day, won't be the worse for it. When you go there,” he added, +“jist turn to a Lucky Stone that's at the side of the well, say a Rosary +before it, and at the end of every dicken (decade) kiss it once, ache of +you. Then you're to go round the well nine times, upon your bare knees, +sayin' your Pathers and Avers all the time. When that's over, lave a +ribbon or a bit of your dress behind you, or somethin' by way of an +offerin', thin go into a tent an' refresh yourselves, an' for that +matther, take a dance or two; come home, live happily, an' trust to the +holy saint for the rest.” + +A gleam of newly awakened hope might be discovered lurking in the +eyes of this simple pair, who felt that natural yearning of the, heart +incident to such as are without offspring. + +They looked forward with deep anxiety to the anniversary of the Patron +Saint; and when it arrived, none certainly who attended it, felt a more +absorbing interest in the success of the pilgrimage than they did. + +The days on which these pilgrimages are performed at such places are +called Pattern or Patron days. The journey to holy wells or holy lakes +is termed a Pilgrimage, or more commonly a Station. It is sometimes +enjoined by the priest, as an act of penance; and sometimes undertaken +voluntarily, as a devotional, work of great merit in the sight of God. +The crowds in many places amount to from five hundred to a thousand, and +often to two, three, four, or five thousand people. + +These Stations have, for the most part, been placed in situations +remarkable for wild and savage grandeur, or for soft, exquisite, and +generally solitary beauty. They may be found on the high and rugged +mountain top; or sunk in the bottom of some still and lonely glen, far +removed from the ceaseless din of the world. Immediately beside them, or +close in their vicinity, stand the ruins of probably a picturesque +old abbey, or perhaps a modern chapel. The appearance of these gray, +ivy-covered walls is strongly calculated to stir up in the minds of +the people the memory of bygone times, when their religion, with its +imposing solemnities, was the religion of the land. It is for this +reason, probably, that patrons are countenanced; for if there be not +a political object in keeping them up, it is beyond human ingenuity to +conceive how either religion or morals can be improved by debauchery, +drunkenness, and bloodshed. + +Let the reader, in order to understand the situation of the place we are +describing, imagine to himself a stupendous cliff overhanging a green +glen, into which tumbles a silver stream down a height of two or three +hundred feet. At the bottom of this rock, a few yards from the basin +formed by the cascade, in a sunless nook, was a well of cool, delicious +water. This was the “Holy Well,” out of which issued a slender stream, +that joined the rivulet formed by the cascade. On the shrubs which +grew out of the crag-cliffs around it, might be seen innumerable rags +bleached by the weather out of their original color, small wooden +crosses, locks of human hair, buttons, and other substitutes for +property; poverty allowing the people to offer it only by fictitious +emblems. Lower down in the glen, on the river's bank, was a smooth +green, admirably adapted for the dance, which, notwithstanding the +religious rites, is the heart and soul of a Patron. + +On that morning a vast influx of persons, male and female, old and +young, married and single, crowded eagerly towards the well. Among them +might be noticed the blind, the lame, the paralytic, and such as were +afflicted with various other diseases; nor were those good men and their +wives who had no offspring to be omitted. The mendicant, the pilgrim, +the boccagh, together with every other description of impostors, +remarkable for attending such places, were the first on the ground, all +busy in their respective vocations. The highways, the fields, and the +boreens, or bridle-roads, were filled with living streams of people +pressing forward to this great scene of fun and religion. The devotees +could in general be distinguished from the country folks by their +Pharisaical and penitential visages, as well as by their not wearing +shoes; for the Stations to such places were formerly made with bare +feet: most persons now, however, content themselves with stripping off +their shoes and stockings on coming within the precincts of the holy +ground. Human beings are not the only description of animals that +perform pilgrimages to holy wells and blessed lakes. Cows, horses, and +sheep are made to go through their duties, either by way of prevention, +or cure, of the diseases incident to them. This is not to be wondered +at, when it is known that in their religion every domestic animal has +its patron saint, to whom its owner may at any time pray on its behalf. +When the crowd was collected, nothing in the shape of an assembly +could surpass it in the originality of its appearance. In the glen were +constructed a number of tents, where whiskey and refreshments might be +had in abundance. Every tent had a fiddler or a piper; many two of them. +From the top of the pole that ran up from the roof of each tent, was +suspended the symbol by which the owner of it was known by his friends +and acquaintances. Here swung a salt herring or a turf; there a +shillelah; in a third place a shoe, in a fourth place a whisp of hay, in +a fifth an old hat, and so on with the rest. + +The tents stood at a short distance from the scene of devotion at the +well, but not so far as to prevent the spectator from both seeing and +hearing what went on in each. Around the well, on bare knees, moved a +body of people thickly wedged together, some praying, some screaming, +some excoriating their neighbors' shins, and others dragging them out of +their way by the hair of the head. Exclamations of pain from the sick +or lame, thumping oaths in Irish, recriminations in broken English, and +prayers in bog Latin, all rose at once to the ears of the patron +saint, who, we are inclined to think--could he have heard or seen his +worshippers--would have disclaimed them altogether. + +“For the sake of the Holy Virgin, keep your sharp elbows out o' my +ribs.” + +“My blessin' an you, young man, an' don't be lanin' an me, i' you +plase!” + +“_Damnho sherry orth a rogarah ruah!_* what do you mane? Is it my back +you're brakin'?” + + * Eternal perdition on you, you red rogue. + +“Hell pershue you, you ould sinner, can't you keep the spike of your +crutch out o' my stomach! If you love me tell me so; but, by the livin' +farmer, I'll take no such hints as that!” + +“I'm a pilgrim, an' don't brake my leg upon the rock, an' my blessin' an +you!” + +“Oh, murdher sheery! my poor child'll be smothered!” + +“My heart's curse an you! is it the ould cripple you're trampin' over?” + +“Here, Barny, blood alive, give this purty young girl a lift, your sowl, +or she'll soon be undhermost!” + + “'Och, 'twas on a Christmas mornin' + That Jeroosillim was born in + The Holy Land'----' + +“Oh, my neck's broke!--the curse----Oh! I'm kilt fairly, so I am! The +curse o' Cromwell an you, an' hould away-- + + 'The Holy Land adornin' + All by the Baltic Say. + The angels on a Station, + Wor takin' raycrayation, + All in deep meditation, + All by the'---- + +contints o' the book if you don't hould away, I say agin, an' let me go +on wid my _rann_ it'll be worse force for you!-- + + 'Wor takin' raycraytion, + All by the Baltic Say!” + +“Help the ould woman there.” + +“Queen o' Patriots pray for us!--St. Abraham----go to the divil, you +bosthoon; is it crushin' my sore leg you are?--St. Abraham pray for us! +St. Isinglass, pray for us! St. Jonathan,----musha, I wisht you wor +in America, honest man, instid o' twistin' my arm like a gad f-- St. +Jonathan, pray for us; Holy Nineveh, look down upon us wid compression +an' resolution this day. Blessed Jerooslim, throw down compuncture an' +meditation upon us Chrystyeens assembled here afore you to offer up our +sins! Oh, grant us, blessed Catasthrophy, the holy virtues of Timptation +an' Solitude, through the improvement an' accommodation of St. +Kolumbdyl! To him I offer up this button, a bit o' the waistband o' my +own breeches, an' a taste of my wife's petticoat, in remimbrance of us +having made this holy Station; an' may they rise up in glory to prove it +for us at the last day! Amin!” + +Such was the character of the prayers and ejaculations which issued from +the lips of the motley group that scrambled, and crushed, and screamed, +on their knees around the well. In the midst of this ignorance and +absurdity, there were visible, however, many instances of piety, +goodness of heart, and simplicity of character. From such you could hear +neither oath nor exclamation. They complied with the usages of the place +modestly and attentively: though not insensible, at the same time, to +the strong disgust which the general conduct of those who were both +superstitious and wicked was calculated to excite. A little from the +well, just where its waters mingled with those of the cascade, men and +women might be seen washing the blood off their knees, and dipping such +parts of their body as Were afflicted with local complaints into the +stream. This part' of the ceremony was anything but agreeable to the +eye. Most of those who went round the well drank its waters; and several +of them filled flasks and bottles with it, which they brought home for +the benefit of such members of the family as could not attend in person. + +Whilst all this went forward at the well, scenes of a different kind +were enacted lower down among the tents. No sooner had the penitents +got the difficult rites of the Station over, than they were off to the +whiskey; and decidedly, after the grinding of their bare knees upon +the hard rock--after the pushing, crushing, and exhaustion of bodily +strength which they had been forced to undergo--we say, that the +comforts and refreshments to be had in the tents were very seasonable. +Here the dancing, shouting, singing, courting, drinking, and fighting, +formed one wild uproar of noise, that was perfectly astounding. The +leading boys and the prettiest girls of the parish were all present, +partaking in the rustic revelry. Tipsy men were staggering in every +direction; fiddles were playing, pipes were squeaking, men were rushing +in detached bodies to some fight, women were doctoring the heads of such +as had been beaten, and factions were collecting their friends for a +fresh battle. Here you might see a grove of shillelahs up, and hear +the crash of the onset; and in another place, the heads of the dancing +parties bobbing up and down in brisk motion among the crowd that +surrounded them. + +The pilgrim, having now gone through his Station, stood hemmed in by a +circle of those who wanted to purchase his beads or his scapulars. The +ballad-singer had his own mob, from among whom his voice might be heard +rising in its purest tones to the praise of-- + + “Brave O'Connell, the Liberathur, + An' great Salvathur of Ireland's Isle!” + +As evening approached, the whiskey brought out the senseless prejudices +of parties and factions in a manner quite consonant to the habits of the +people. Those who, in deciding their private quarrels, had in the +early part of the day beat and abused each other, now united as the +subordinate branches of a greater party, for the purpose of opposing in +one general body some other hostile faction. These fights are usually +commenced by a challenge from one party to another, in which a person +from the opposite side is simply, and often very good-humoredly, invited +to assert, that “black is the white of his enemy's eye;” or to touch the +old coat which he is pleased to trail after him between the two opposing +powers. This characteristic challenge is soon accepted; the knocking +down and yelling are heard; stones fly, and every available weapon +is pressed into the service on both sides. In this manner the battle +proceeds, until, probably, a life or two is lost. Bones, too, are +savagely broken, and blood copiously spilled, by men who scarcely know +the remote cause of the enmity between the parties. + +Such is a hasty sketch of the Pattern, as it is called in Ireland, at +which Larry and Sheelah duly performed their station. We, for our parts, +should be sorry to see the innocent pastimes of a people abolished; but, +surely, customs which perpetuate scenes of profligacy and crime should +not be suffered to stain the pure and holy character of religion. + +It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers that Larry O'Toole and +Sheelah complied with every rite of the Station. To kiss the “Lucky +Stone,” however, was their principal duty. Larry gave it a particularly +honest smack, and Sheelah impressed it with all the ardor of a devotee. +Having refreshed themselves in the tent, they returned home, and, in +somewhat less than a year from that period, found themselves the happy +parents of an heir to the half-acre, no less a personage than young +Phelim, who was called after St. Phelim, the patron of the “Lucky +Stone.” + +The reader perceives that Phelim was born under particularly auspicious +influence. His face was the herald of affection everywhere. + +From the moment of his birth, Larry and Sheelah were seldom known to +have a dispute. Their whole future life was, with few exceptions, one +unchanging honeymoon. Had Phelim been deficient in comeliness, it would +have mattered not a _crona baun_. Phelim, on the contrary, promised to +be a beauty; both, his parents thought it, felt it, asserted it; and who +had a better right to be acquainted, as Larry said, “wid the outs an' +ins, the ups an' downs of his face, the darlin' swaddy!” + +For the first ten years of his life Phelim could not be said to owe +the tailor much; nor could the covering which he wore be, without more +antiquarian loire than we can give to it, exactly classed under any +particular term by which the various parts of human dress are known. He +himself, like some of our great poets, was externally well acquainted +with the elements. The sun and he were particularly intimate; wind and +rain were his brothers, and frost also distantly related to him. With +mud he was hand and glove, and not a bog in the parish, or a quagmire +in the neighborhood, but sprung up under Phelim's tread, and threw him +forward with the brisk vibration of an old acquaintance. Touching his +dress, however, in the early part of his life, if he was clothed with +nothing else, he was clothed with mystery. Some assert that a cast-off +pair of his father's nether garments might be seen upon him each Sunday, +the wrong side foremost, in accommodation with some economy of his +mother's, who thought it safest, in consequence of his habits, to join +them in this inverted way to a cape which he wore on his shoulders. We +ourselves have seen one, who saw another, who saw Phelim in a pair of +stockings which covered him from his knee-pans to his haunches, where, +in the absence of waistbands, they made a pause--a breach existing from +that to the small of his back. The person who saw all this affirmed, at +the same time, that there was a dearth of cloth about the skirts of +the integument which stood him instead of a coat. He bore no bad +resemblance, he said, to-a moulting fowl, with scanty feathers, running +before a gale in the farm yard. + +Phelim's want of dress in his merely boyish years being, in a great +measure, the national costume of some hundred thousand young Hibernians +in his rank of life, deserves a still more, particular notice. His +infancy we pass over; but from the period at which he did not enter +into small clothes, he might be seen every Sunday morning, or on some +important festival, issuing from his father's mansion, with a piece of +old cloth tied about him from the middle to the knees, leaving a pair +of legs visible, that were mottled over with characters which would, +if found on an Egyptian pillar, put an antiquary to the necessity of +constructing a new alphabet to decipher them. This, or the inverted +breeches, with his father's flannel waistcoat, or an old coat that swept +the ground at least two feet behind him, constituted his state dress. On +week days he threw off this finery, and contented himself, if the season +were summer, with appearing in a dun-colored shirt, which resembled +a noun-substantive, for it could stand alone. The absence of soap and +water is sometimes used as a substitute for milling linen among the +lower Irish; and so effectually had Phelim's single change been milled +in this manner, that, when disenshirting at night, he usually laid +it standing at his bedside where it reminded one of frosted linen in +everything but whiteness. + +This, with but little variation, was Phelim's dress until his tenth +year. Long before that, however, he evinced those powers of attraction +which constituted so remarkable a feature in his character. He won all +hearts; the chickens and ducks were devotedly attached to him; the cow, +which the family always intended to buy, was in the habit of licking +Phelim in his dreams; the two goats which they actually did buy, treated +him like I one of themselves. Among the first and last he spent a great +deal of his early life; for as the floor of his father's house was but +a continuation of the dunghill, or the dunghill a continuation of the +floor, we know not rightly which, he had a larger scope, and a more +unsavory pool than usual, for amusement. Their dunghill, indeed, was the +finest of it size and kind to be seen; quite a tasteful thing, and so +convenient, that he could lay himself down at the hearth, and roll +out to its foot, after which he ascended it on his legs, with all the +elasticity of a young poet triumphantly climbing Parnassus. + +One of the greatest wants which Phelim experienced in his young days, +was the want of a capacious pocket. We insinuate nothing; because with +respect to his agility in climbing fruit-trees, it was only a species of +exercise to which he was addicted--the eating and carrying away of the +fruit being merely incidental, or, probably, the result of abstraction, +which, as every one knows, proves what is termed “the Absence of +Genius.” In these ambitious exploits, however, there is no denying that +he bitterly regretted the want of a pocket; and in connection with this +we have only to add, that most of his solitary walks were taken about +orchards and gardens, the contents of which he has been often seen to +contemplate with deep interest. This, to be sure, might proceed from +a provident regard to health, for it is a well-known fact that he +has frequently returned home in the evenings, distended like a +Boa-Constrictor after a gorge; yet no person was ever able to come at +the cause of his inflation. There were, to be sure, suspicions abroad, +and it was mostly found that depredations in some neighboring orchard +or garden had been committed a little before the periods in which it was +supposed the distention took place. Wo mention these things after the +example of those “d----d good-natured” biographers who write great men's +lives of late, only for the purpose of showing that there could be no +truth in such suspicions. Phelim, we assure an enlightened public, was +voraciously fond of fruit; he was frequently inflated, too, after the +manner of those who indulge therein to excess; fruit was always +missed immediately after the periods of his distention, so that it was +impossible he could have been concerned in the depredations then +made upon the neighboring orchards. In addition to this, we would beg +modestly to add, that the pomonian temperament is incompatible with the +other qualities for which he was famous. His parents were too ignorant +of those little eccentricities which, had they known them, would have +opened up a correct view of the splendid materials for village greatness +which he possessed, and which, probably, were nipped in their bud +for the want of a pocket to his breeches, or rather by the want of +a breeches to his pocket; for such was the wayward energy of his +disposition, that he ultimately succeeded in getting the latter, though +it certainly often failed him to procure the breeches. In fact, it was +a misfortune to him that he was the Son of his father and mother at all. +Had he been a second Melchizedec, and got into breeches in time, +the virtues which circumstances suppressed in his heart might have +flourished like cauliflowers, though the world would have lost all the +advantages arising from the splendor of his talents at going naked. + +Another fact, in justice to his character, must not be omitted. His +penchant for fruit was generally known; but few persons, at the period +we are describing, were at all aware that a love of whiskey lurked as a +predominant trait in his character, to be brought out at a future era in +his life. + +Before Phelim reached his tenth year, he and his parents had commenced +hostilities. Many were their efforts to subdue some peculiarities of his +temper which then began to appear. Phelim, however, being an only son, +possessed high vantage ground. Along with other small matters which +he was in the habit of picking up, might be reckoned a readiness +at swearing. Several other things also made their appearance in +his parents' cottage, for whose presence there, except through his +instrumentality, they found it rather difficult to account. Spades, +shovels, rakes, tubs, frying-pans, and many other-articles of domestic +use, were transferred, as if by magic, to Larry's cabin. + +As Larry and his wife were both honest, these things were, of course, +restored to their owners, the moment they could be ascertained. Still, +although this honest couple's integrity was known, there were many +significant looks turned upon Phelim, and many spirited prophecies +uttered with especial reference to him, all of which hinted at the +probability of his dying something in the shape of a perpendicular +death. This habit, then, of adding to their furniture, was one cause of +the hostility between him and his parents; we say one, for there were at +least, a good round dozen besides. His touch, for instance, was fatal to +crockery; he stripped his father's Sunday clothes of their buttons, +with great secrecy and skill; he was a dead shot at the panes of his +neighbors' windows; a perfect necromancer at sucking eggs through +pin-holes; took great delight in calling home the neighboring farmers' +workingmen to dinner an hour before it was ready; and was in fact a +perfect master in many other ingenious manifestations of character, ere +he reached his twelfth year. + +Now, it was about this period that the small-pox made its appearance in +the village. Indescribable was the dismay of Phelim's parents, lest +he among others might become a victim to it. Vaccination, had not then +surmounted the prejudices with which every discovery beneficial to +mankind is at first met; and the people were left principally to the +imposture of quacks, or the cunning of certain persons called “fairy +men” or “sonsie women.” Nothing remained now but that this formidable +disease should be met by all the power and resources of superstition. +The first thing the mother did was to get a gospel consecrated by the +priest, for the purpose of guarding Phelim against evil. What is termed +a Gospel, and worn as a kind of charm about the person, is simply a slip +of paper, on which are written by the priest the few first verses of the +Gospel of St. John. This, however, being worn for no specific purpose, +was incapable of satisfying the honest woman. Superstition had its own +peculiar remedy for the small-pox, and Sheelah was resolved to apply it. +Accordingly she borrowed a neighbor's ass, drove it home with Phelim, +however, on its back, took the interesting youth by the nape of the +neck, and, in the name of the Trinity, shoved him three times under it, +and three times over it. She then put a bit of bread into its mouth, +until the ass had mumbled it a little, after which she gave the savory +morsel to Phelim, as a _bonne bouche_. This was one preventive against +the small-pox; but another was to be tried. + +She next clipped off the extremities of Phelim's elf locks, tied them in +linen that was never bleached, and hung them beside the Gospel about +his neck. This was her second cure; but there was still a third to be +applied. She got the largest onion possible, which, having cut into nine +parts, she hung from the roof tree of the cabin, having first put the +separated parts together. It is supposed that this has the power of +drawing infection of any kind to itself. It is permitted to remain +untouched, until the disease has passed from the neighborhood, when it +is buried as far down in the earth as a single man can dig. This was +a third cure; but there was still a fourth. She borrowed ten asses' +halters from her neighbors, who, on hearing that they were for Phelim's +use, felt particular pleasure in obliging her. Having procured these, +she pointed them one by one at Phelim's neck, until the number nine +was completed. The tenth, she put on him, and with the end of it in +her hand, led him like an ass, nine mornings, before sunrise, to a +south-running stream, which he was obliged to cross. On doing this, two +conditions were to be fulfilled on the part of Phelim; he was bound, in +the first place, to keep his mouth filled, during the ceremony, with a +certain fluid which must be nameless: in the next, to be silent from the +moment he left home until his return. + +Sheelah having satisfied herself that everything calculated to save her +darling from the small-pox was done, felt considerably relieved, and +hoped that whoever might be infected, Phelim would escape. On the +morning when the last journey to the river had been completed, she +despatched him home with the halters. Phelim, however, wended his way to +a little hazel copse, below the house, where he deliberately twined +the halters together, and erected a swing-swang, with which he amused +himself till hunger brought him to his dinner. + +“Phelim, you idle thief, what kep you away till now?” + +“Oh; mudher, mudher, gi' me a piece o' arran? (* bread.) + +“Why, here's the praties done for your dinner. What kep you?” + +“Oh, be gorra, it's well you ever seen me at all, so it is!” + +“Why,” said his father, “what happened you?” + +“Oh, bedad, a terrible thing all out. As I was crassin' Dunroe Hill, I +thramped on hungry grass. First, I didn't know what kem over me, I got +so wake; an' every step I wint, 'twas waker an' waker I was growin', +till at long last, down I dhrops, an' couldn't move hand or fut. I dunna +how long I lay there, so I don't; but anyhow, who should be _sthreelin_' +acrass the hill, but an old _baccagh_. + +“'My _bouchaleen dhas_,' says he--'my beautiful boy,' says he--'you're +in a bad state I find. You've thramped upon Dunroe _hungry grass_, an' +only for somethin' it's a _prabeen_ you'd be, afore ever you'd see home. +Can you spake at all?' says he. + +“'Oh, murdher,' says I,' I b'lieve not.' + +“'Well here,' says the baccagh, 'open your purty gub, an' take in a +thrifle of this male, an' you'll soon be stout enough.' Well, to be +sure, it bates the world! I had hardly tasted the male, whin I found +myself as well as ever; bekase you know, mudher, that's the cure for +it. 'Now,' says the baccagh, 'this is the spot the fairies planted their +hungry grass, an' so you'll know it agin when you see it. What's your +name?' says he. + +“'Phelim O'Toole,' says I. + +“'Well,' says he, 'go home an' tell your father an' mother to offer up +a prayer to St. Phelim, your namesake, in regard that only for him you'd +be a corp before any relief would a come near you; or, at any rate, wid +the fairies.'” + +The father and mother, although with a thousand proofs before them that +Phelim, so long as he could at all contrive a lie, would never speak +truth, yet were so blind to his well-known propensity, that they +always believed the lie to be truth, until they discovered it to be a +falsehood. When he related a story, for instance, which carried not +only improbability, but impossibility on the face of it, they never +questioned his veracity. The neighbors, to be sure, were vexed and +nettled at the obstinacy of their credulity; especially on reflecting +that they were as sceptical in giving credence to the narrative of any +other person, as all rational people ought to be. The manner of training +up Phelim, and Phelim's method of governing them, had become a by-word +in the village. “Take a sthraw to him, like Sheelah O'Toole,” was often +ironically said to mothers remarkable for mischievous indulgence to +their children. + +The following day proved that no charm could protect Phelim from the +small-pox. Every symptom of that disease became quite evident; and the +grief of his doting parents amounted to distraction. Neither of them +could be declared perfectly sane; they knew not how to proceed--what +regimen to adopt for him, nor what remedies to use. A week elapsed, but +each succeeding day found him in a more dangerous state. At length, by +the advice of some of the neighbors, an old crone, called “Sonsy Mary,” + was called in to administer relief through the medium of certain +powers which were thought to be derived from something holy and also +supernatural. She brought a mysterious bottle, of which he was to take +every third spoonful, three times a day; it was to be administered by +the hand of a young girl of virgin innocence, who was also to breathe +three times down his throat, holding his nostrils closed with her +fingers. The father and mother were to repeat a certain number of +prayers; to promise against swearing, and to kiss the hearth-stone nine +times--the one turned north, and the other south. All these ceremonies +were performed with care, but Phelim's malady appeared to set them +at defiance; and the old crone would have lost her character in +consequence, were it not that Larry, on the day of the cure, after +having promised not to swear, let fly an oath at a hen, whose cackling +disturbed Phelim. This saved her character, and threw Larry and Sheelah +into fresh despair. + +They had nothing now for it but the “fairy man,” to whom, despite the +awful mystery of his character, they resolved to apply rather than see +their only son taken from them for ever. Larry proceeded without delay +to the wise man's residence, after putting a small phial of holy water +in his pocket to protect himself from fairy influence. The house in +which this person lived was admirably in accordance with his mysterious +character. One gable of it was formed by the mound of a fairy Rath, +against the cabin, which stood endwise; within a mile there was no other +building; the country around it was a sheep-walk, green, and beautifully +interspersed with two or three solitary glens, in one of which might be +seen a cave that was said to communicate under ground with the rath. A +ridge of high-Peaked mountains ran above it, whose evening shadow, in +consequence of their form, fell down on each side of the rath, without +obscuring its precincts. It lay south; and, such was the power of +superstition, that during summer, the district in which it stood was +thought to be covered with a light decidedly supernatural. In spring, it +was the first to be in verdure, and in autumn the last. Nay, in winter +itself, the rath and the adjoining valleys never ceased to be green, +these circumstances were not attributed to the nature of the soil, to +its southern situation, nor to the fact of its being pasture land; +but simply to the power of the fairies, who were supposed to keep its +verdure fresh for their own revels. + +When Larry entered the house, which had an air of comfort and snugness +beyond the common, a tall thin pike of a man, about sixty years of age, +stood before him. He wore a brown great-coat that fell far short of his +knees; his small-clothes were closely fitted to thighs not thicker than +hand telescopes; on his legs were drawn gray woollen stockings, rolled +up about six inches over his small-clothes; his head was covered by a +bay bob-wig, on which was a little round, hat, with the edge of the leaf +turned up in every direction. His face was short and sallow; his chin +peaked; his nose small and turned up. If we add to this, a pair of +skeleton-like hands and arms projecting about eight inches beyond the +sleeves of his coat; two fiery ferret-eyes; and a long small holly wand, +higher than himself, we have the outline of this singular figure. + +“God save you, nabor,” said Larry. + +“Save you, save you, neighbor,” he replied, without pronouncing the name +of the deity. + +“This is a thryin' time,” said Larry, “to them that has childhre.” + +The fairy-man fastened his red glittering eyes upon him, with a sinister +glance that occasioned Larry to feel rather uncomfortable. + +“So you venthured to come to the fairy-man?” + +“It is about our son, an' he all we ha--” + +“Whisht!” said the man, waving his hand with a commanding air. “Whisht; +I wish you wor out o' this, for it's a bad time to be here. Listen! +Listen! Do you hear nothing?” + +Larry changed color. “I do,” he replied--“The Lord protect me: Is that +them?” + +“What did you hear?” said the man. + +“Why,” returned the other, “I heard the bushes of the rath all movin', +jist as if a blast o' wind came among them!” + +“Whisht,” said the fairy-man, “they're here; you mustn't open your lips +while you're in the house. I know what you want, an' will see your son. +Do you hear anything more? If you do, lay your forefinger along your +nose; but don't spake.” + +Larry heard with astonishment, the music of a pair of bagpipes. The tune +played was one which, according to a popular legend, was first played +by Satan; it is called: “Go to the Devil and shake yourself.” To our own +knowledge, the peasantry in certain parts of Ireland refuse to sing it +for the above reason. The mystery of the music was heightened too by +the fact of its being played, as Larry thought, behind the gable of the +cabin, which stood against the side of the rath, out of which, indeed, +it seemed to proceed. + +Larry laid his finger along his nose, as he had been desired; and this +appearing to satisfy the fairy-man, he waved his hand to the door, thus +intimating that his visitor should depart; which he did immediately, but +not without observing that this wild-looking being closed and bolted the +door after him. + +It is unnecessary to say that he was rather anxious to get off the +premises of the good people; he therefore lost little time until he +arrived at his own cabin; but judge of his wonder when, on entering it, +he found the long-legged spectre awaiting his return. + +“_Banaght dhea orrin!_” he exclaimed, starting back; “the blessing of +God be upon us! Is it here before me you are?” + +“Hould your tongue, man,” said the other, with a smile of mysterious +triumph. “Is it that you wondher at? Ha, ha! That's little of it!” + +“But how did you know my name? or who I was? or where I lived at all? +Heaven protect us! it's beyant belief, clane out.” + +“Hould your tongue,” replied the man; “don't be axin' me any thing o' +the kind. Clear out, both of ye, till I begin my pisthrogues wid the +sick child. Clear out, I say.” + +With some degree of apprehension, Larry and Sheelah left the house as +they had been ordered, and the Fairy-man having pulled out a flask of +poteen, administered a dose of it to Phelim; and never yet did patient +receive his medicine with such a relish. He licked his lips, and fixed +his eye upon it with a longing look. + +“Be Gorra,” said he, “that's fine stuff entirely. Will you lave me the +bottle?” + +“No,” said the Fairy-man, “but I'll call an' give you a little of it +wanst a day.” + +“Ay do,” replied Phelim; “the divil a fear o' me, if I get enough of it. +I hope I'll see you often.” + +The Fairy-man kept his word; so that what with his bottle, a hardy +constitution, and light bed-clothes, Phelim got the upper hand of his +malady. In a month he was again on his legs; but, alas! his complexion +though not changed to deformity, was wofully out of joint. His principal +blemish, in addition to the usual marks left by his complaint, consisted +in a drooping of his left eyelid, which gave to his whole face a cast +highly ludicrous. + +When Phelim felt thoroughly recovered, he claimed a pair of “leather +crackers,” * a hare-skin cap, and a coat, with a pertinacity which kept +the worthy couple in a state of inquietude, until they complied with +his importunity. Henceforth he began to have everything his own way. His +parents, sufficiently thankful that he was spared to them, resolved to +thwart him no more. + + * Breeches made of sheep's skin, so called from the + noise they make in walking or running. + +“It's well we have him at all,” said his mother; “sure if we hadn't him, +we'd be breakin' our hearts, and sayin' if it 'ud plase God to send him +back to us, that we'd be happy even wid givin' him his own way.” + +“They say it breaks their strinth, too,” replied his father, “to be +crubbin' them in too much, an' snappin' at thim for every hand's turn, +an' I'm sure it does too.” + +“Doesn't he become the pock-marks well, the crathur?” said the mdther. + +“Become!” said the father; “but doesn't the droop in his eye set him off +all to pieces!” + +“Ay,” observed the mother, “an' how the crathur went round among all the +neighbors to show them the 'leather crackers!' To see his little pride +out o' the hare-skin cap, too, wid the hare's ears stickin' out of his +temples. That an' the droopin: eye undher them makes him look so cunnin' +an' ginteel, that one can't help havin' their heart fixed upon him.” + +“He'd look betther still if that ould coat wasn't sweepin' the ground +behind him; an' what 'ud you think to put a pair o' _martyeens_ on his +legs to hide the mazles! He might go anywhere thin.” + +“Throth he might; but Larry, what in the world wide could be in the +Fairy-man's bottle that Phelim took sich a likin' for it. He tould me +this mornin' that he'd suffer to have the pock agin, set in case he was +cured wid the same bottle.” + +“Well, the Heaven be praised, any how, that we have a son for the +half-acre, Sheelah.' + +“Amin! An' let us take good care of him, now that he's spared to us.” + +Phelim's appetite, after his recovery, was anything but a joke to +his father. He was now seldom at home, except during meal times; for +wherever fun or novelty was to be found, Phelim was present. He became +a regular attendant upon all the sportsmen. To such he made himself very +useful by his correct knowledge of the best covers for game, and the +best pools for fish. He was acquainted with every rood of land in the, +parish; knew with astonishing accuracy where coveys were to be sprung, +and hares started. No hunt was without him; such was his wind and speed +of foot, that to follow a chase and keep up with the horsemen was to him +only a matter of sport. When daylight passed, night presented him with +amusements suitable to itself. No wake, for instance, could escape him; +a dance without young Phelim O'Toole would have been a thing worthy +to be remembered. He was zealously devoted to cock-fighting; on +Shrove-Tuesday he shouted loudest among the crowd that attended the +sport of throwing at cooks tied to a stake; foot-ball and hurling never +occurred without him. Bull-baiting--for it was common in his +youth--was luxury to him; and, ere he reached fourteen, every one knew +Phelim O'Toole as an adept at card-playing. Wherever a sheep, a leg of +mutton, a dozen of bread, or a bottle of whiskey was put up in a shebeen +house, to be played for by the country gamblers at the five and ten, or +spoil'd five, Phelim always took a hand and was generally successful. On +these occasions he was frequently charged with an over-refined +dexterity; but Phelim usually swore, in vindication of his own +innocence, until he got black in the face, as the phrase among such +characters goes. + +The reader is to consider him now about fifteen--a stout, overgrown, +unwashed cub. His parents' anxiety that he should grow strong, prevented +them from training him to any kind of employment. He was eternally going +about in quest of diversion; and wherever a knot of idlers was to be +found, there was Phelim. He had, up to this period, never worn a shoe, +nor a single article of dress that had been made for himself, with the +exception of one or two pair of sheepskin small-clothes. In this way he +passed his time, bare-legged, without shoes, clothed in an old coat much +too large for him, his neck open, and his sooty locks covered with the +hare-skin cap, the ears as usual sticking out above his brows. Much of +his time was spent in setting the idle boys of the village to fight; and +in carrying lying challenges from one to another. He himself was seldom +without a broken head or a black eye; for in Ireland, he who is known +to be fond of quarrelling, as the people say, usually “gets enough +an' lavins of it.” Larry and Sheelah, thinking it now high time that +something should be done with Phelim, thought it necessary to give +him some share of education. Phelim opposed this bitterly as an +unjustifiable encroachment upon his personal liberty; but, by bribing +him with the first and only suit of clothes he had yet got, they at +length succeeded in prevailing on him to go. + +The school to which he was sent happened to be kept in what is called +an inside Kiln. This kind of kiln is usually--but less so now than +formerly--annexed to respectable farmers' outhouses, to which, in +agricultural districts, it forms a very necessary appendage. It also +serves at the same time as a barn, the kiln-pot being sunk in the shape +of an inverted cone at one end, but divided from the barn floor by +a wall about three feet high. From this wall beams run across the +kiln-pot, over which, in a transverse direction, are laid a number of +rafters like the joists of a loft, but not fastened. These ribs are +covered with straw, over which again is spread a winnow-cloth to keep +the grain from being lost. The fire is sunk on a level with the bottom +of the kiln-pot, that is, about eight or ten feet below the floor of the +barn. The descent to it is by stairs formed at the side wall. We have +been thus minute in describing it, because, as the reader will presently +perceive, the feats of Phelim render it necessary. + +On the first day of his entering the school he presented himself with +a black eye; and as his character was well known to both master and +scholars, the former felt no hesitation in giving him a wholesome +lecture upon the subject of his future conduct. For at least a year +before this time, he had gained the nick-name of “Blessed Phelim,” and +“Bouncing,” epithets bestowed on him by an ironical allusion to his +patron saint, and his own habits. + +“So, Blessed Phelim,” said the master, “you are comin' to school!!! +Well, well! I only say that miracles will never cease. Arrah, Phelim, +will you tell us candidly--ah--I beg your pardon; I mean, will you tell +us the best lie you can coin upon the cause of your coming to imbibe +moral and literary knowledge? Silence, boys, till we hear Blessed +Phelim's lie.” + +“You must hear it, masther,” said Phelim. “I'm comin' to larn to read +an' write.” + +“Bravo! By the bones of Prosodius, I expected a lie, but not such a +thumper as that. And you're comin' wid a black eye to prove it! A black +eye, Phelim, is the blackguard's coat of arms; and to do you justice, +you are seldom widout your crest.” + +For a few days Phelim attended the school, but learned not a letter. The +master usually sent him to be taught by the youngest lads, with a hope +of being able to excite a proper spirit of pride and emulation in a mind +that required some extraordinary impulse. One day he called him up to +ascertain what progress he had actually made; the unsuspecting teacher +sat at the time upon the wall which separated the barn-floor from the +kiln-pot, with his legs dangling at some distance from the ground. It +was summer, any rafters used in drying the grain had been removed. On +finding that Blessed Phelim, notwithstanding all the lessons he had +received, was still in a state of the purest ignorance, he lost his +temper, and brought him over between his knees, that he might give +him an occasional cuff for his idleness. The lesson went on, and the +master's thumps were thickening about Phelim's ears, much to the worthy +youth's displeasure. + +“Phelim,” said the master, “I'll invert you a scarecrow for dunces. I'll +lay you against the wall, with your head down and your heels up like a +forked carrot.” + +“But how will you manage that?” said Phelim. “What 'ud I be doin' in the +mane time?” + +“I'll find a way to manage it,” said the master. + +“To put my head down an' my heels up, is it?” inquired Phelim. + +“You've said it, my worthy,” returned his teacher. + +“If you don't know the way,” replied the pupil, “I'll show you;” getting +his shoulder under the master's leg, and pitching him heels over his +head into the kiln-pot. He instantly seized his cap, and ran out of the +school, highly delighted at his feat; leaving the scholars to render the +master whatever assistance was necessary. The poor man was dangerously +hurt, for in addition to a broken arm, he received half a dozen severe +contusions on the head, and in different parts of the body. + +This closed Phelim's education; for no persuasion could ever induce him +to enter a school afterwards; nor could any temptation prevail on the +neighboring teachers to admit him as a pupil. + +Phelim now shot up rapidly to the stature of a young man; and a +graceful slip was he. From the period of fifteen until nineteen, he was +industriously employed in idleness. About sixteen he began to look +after the girls, and to carry a cudgel. The father in vain attempted +to inoculate him with a love of labor; but Phelim would not receive the +infection. His life was a pleasanter one. Sometimes, indeed, when he +wanted money to treat the girls at fairs and markets, he would prevail +on himself to labor a week or fortnight with some neighboring farmer; +but the moment he had earned as much as he deemed sufficient, the spade +was thrown aside. Phelim knew all the fiddlers and pipers in the barony; +was master of the ceremonies at every wake and dance that occurred +within several miles of him. He was a crack dancer, and never attended a +dance without performing a horn-pipe on a door or a table; no man could +shuffle, or treble, or cut, or spring, or caper with him. Indeed it was +said that he could dance “Moll Roe” upon the end of a five-gallon keg, +and snuff a mould candle with his heels, yet never lose the time. The +father and mother were exceedingly proud of Phelim, The former, when he +found him grown up, and associating with young men, began to feel a kind +of ambition in being permitted to join Phelim and his companions, and +to look upon the society of his own son as a privilege. With the girls +Phelim was a beauty without paint. They thought every wake truly a scene +of sorrow, if he did not happen to be present. Every dance was doleful +without him. Phelim wore his hat on one side, with a knowing but +careless air; he carried his cudgel with a good-humored, dashing spirit, +precisely in accordance with the character of a man who did not care a +traneen whether he drank with you as a friend or fought with you as a +foe. Never were such songs heard as Phelim could sing, nor such a +voice as that with which he sang them. His attitudes and action were +inimitable. The droop in his eye was a standing wink at the girls; +and when he sang his funny songs, with what practised ease he gave the +darlings a roguish chuck under the chin! Then his jokes! “Why, faix,” + as the fair ones often said of him, “before Phelim speaks at all, one +laughs at what he says.” This was fact. His very appearance at a wake, +dance, or drinking match, was hailed by a peal of mirth. This heightened +his humor exceedingly; for say what you will, laughter is to wit what +air is to fire--the one dies without the other. + +Let no one talk of beauty being on the surface. This is a popular error, +and no one but a superficial fellow would defend it Among ten thousand +you could not get a more unfavorable surface than Phelim's. His face +resembled the rough side of a cullender, or, as he was often told in +raillery, “you might grate potatoes on it.” The lid of his left eye, +as the reader knows, was like the lid of a salt-box, always closed; and +when he risked a wink with the right, it certainly gave him the look of +a man shutting out the world, and retiring into himself for the purpose +of self-examination. No, no; beauty is in the mind; in the soul; +otherwise Phelim never could have been such a prodigy of comeliness +among the girls. This was the distinction the fair sex drew in his +favor. “Phelim,” they would say, “is not purty, but he's very comely. +Bad end to the one of him but would stale a pig off a tether, wid his +winnin' ways.” And so he would, too, without much hesitation, for it was +not the first time he had stolen his father's. + +From nineteen until the close of his minority, Phelim became a +distinguished man in fairs and markets. He was, in fact, the hero of +the parish; but, unfortunately, he seldom knew on the morning of the +fair-day the name of the party or faction on whose side he was to fight. +This was merely a matter of priority; for whoever happened to give him +the first treat uniformly secured him. The reason of this pliability +on his part was, that Phelim being every person's friend, by his good +nature, was nobody's foe, except for the day. He fought for fun and for +whiskey. When he happened to drub some companion or acquaintance on +the opposite side, he was ever ready to express his regret at the +circumstance, and abused, them heartily for not having treated him +first. + +Phelim was also a great Ribbonman; and from the time he became initiated +into the system, his eyes were wonderfully opened to the oppressions of +the country. Sessions, decrees, and warrants he looked upon as I gross +abuses; assizes, too, by which so many of his friends were put to +some inconvenience, he considered as the result of Protestant +Ascendancy--cancers that ought to be cut out of the constitution. +Bailiffs, drivers, tithe-proctors, tax-gatherers, policemen, and +parsons, he thought were vermin that ought to be compelled to emigrate +to a much warmer country than Ireland. + +There was no such hand in the county as Phelim at an alibi. Just give +him the outline--a few leading particulars of the fact--and he would +work wonders. One would think, indeed, that he had been born for that +especial purpose; for, as he was never known to utter a syllable of +truth but once, when he had a design in not being believed, so there was +no risk of a lawyer getting truth out of him. No man was ever afflicted +with such convenient maladies as Phelim; even his sprains, tooth-aches, +and colics seemed to have entered into the Whiteboy system. But, indeed, +the very diseases in Ireland are seditious. Many a time has a tooth-ache +come in to aid Paddy in obstructing the course of justice; and a colic +been guilty of misprision of treason. Irish deaths, too, are very +disloyal, and frequently at variance with the laws: nor are our births +much better; for although more legitimate than those of our English +neighbors, yet they are in general more illegal. Phelim, in proving his +alibis, proved all these positions. On one occasion, “he slep at +the prisoner's house, and couldn't close his eye with a thief of a +tooth-ache that parsecuted him the whole night;” so, that in consequence +of having the tooth-ache, it was impossible that the prisoner could +leave the house without his knowledge. + +Again, the prisoner at the bar could not possibly have shot the +deceased, “bekase Mickey slept that very night at Phelim's, an' Phelim, +bein' ill o' the colic, never slep at all durin' the whole night; an', +by the vartue of his oath, the poor boy couldn't go out o' the house +unknownst to him. If he had, Phelim would a seen him, sure.” + +Again, “Paddy Cummisky's wife tuck ill of a young one, an' Phelim was +sent for to bring the midwife; but afore he kem to Paddy's, or hard o' +the thing at all, the prisoner, airly in the night, comin' to sit awhile +wid Paddy, went for the midwife instead o' Phelim, an' thin they sot up +an' had a sup in regard of the 'casion; an' the prisoner never left +them at all that night until the next mornin'. An' by the same token, +he remimbered Paddy Cummisky barrin' the door, an' shuttin' the windies, +bekase it's not lucky to have them open, for fraid that the fairies 'ud +throw their _pishthrogues_ upon the young one, an' it not christened.” + +Phelim was certainly an accomplished youth. As an alibist, however, his +career was, like that of all alibists, a short one. The fact was, that +his face soon became familiar to the court and the lawyers, so that his +name and appearance were ultimately rather hazardous to the cause of his +friends. + +Phelim, on other occasions, when summoned as evidence against his +well-wishers or brother Ribbonmen, usually forgot his English, and gave +his testimony by an interpreter. Nothing could equal his ignorance and +want of common capacity during these trials. His face was as free from +every visible trace of meaning as if he had been born an idiot. No block +was ever more impenetrable than he. + +“What is the noble gintleman sayin'?” he would ask in Irish; and on +having that explained, he would inquire, “what is that?” then demand a +fresh explanation of the last one, and so on successively, until he was +given up in despair. + +Sometimes, in cases of a capital nature, Phelim, with the consent of his +friends, would come forward and make disclosures, in order to have them +put upon their trial and acquitted; lest a real approver, or some one +earnestly disposed to prosecute, might appear against them. Now the +alibi and its usual accompaniments are all of old standing in Ireland; +but the master-stroke to which we have alluded is a modern invention. +Phelim would bear evidence against them; and whilst the government--for +it was mostly in government prosecutions he adventured this--believed +they had ample grounds for conviction in his disclosures, it little +suspected that the whole matter was a plan to defeat itself. In +accordance with his design, he gave such evidence upon the table as +rendered conviction hopeless. His great object was to damn his own +character as a witness, and to make such blunders, premeditated slips, +and admissions, as just left him within an inch of a prosecution for +perjury. Having succeeded in acquitting his friends, he was content +to withdraw amid a volley of pretended execrations, leaving the +Attorney-General, with all his legal knowledge, outwitted and foiled. + +All Phelim's accomplishments, however, were nothing when compared to his +gallantry. With personal disadvantages which would condemn any other man +to old bachelorship, he was nevertheless the whiteheaded boy among the +girls. He himself was conscious of this, and made his attacks upon their +hearts indiscriminately. If he met an unmarried female only for five +minutes, be she old or ugly, young or handsome, he devoted at least four +minutes and three-quarters to the tender passion; made love to her with +an earnestness that would deceive a saint; backed all his protestations +with a superfluity of round oaths; and drew such a picture of her beauty +as might suit the Houries of Mahomet's paradise. + +Phelim and his father were great associates. No two agreed better. They +went to fairs and markets together; got drunk together; and returned +home with their arms about each other's neck in the most loving and +affectionate manner. Larry, as if Phelim were too modest to speak for +himself, seldom met a young girl without laying siege to her for the +son. He descanted upon his good qualities, glossed over his defects, and +drew deeply upon invention in his behalf. Sheelah, on the other hand, +was an eloquent advocate for him. She had her eye upon half a dozen of +the village girls, to every one of whom she found something to say in +Phelim's favor. + +But it is time the action of our story should commence. When Phelim had +reached his twenty-fifth year, the father thought it was high time for +him to marry. The good man had, of course, his own motives for this. +In the first place, Phelim, with all his gallantry and cleverness, had +never contributed a shilling, either toward his own support or that of +the family. In the second place, he was never likely to do so. In the +third place, the father found him a bad companion; for, in good truth, +he had corrupted the good man's morals so evidently, that his character +was now little better than that of his son. In the fourth place, he +never thought of Phelim, that he did not see a gallows in the distance; +and matrimony, he thought, might save him from hanging, as one poison +neutralizes another. In the fifth place, the half-acre Was but a shabby +patch to meet the exigencies of the family, since Phelim grew up. +“Bouncing Phelim,” as he was called for more reasons than one, had the +gift of a good digestion, along with his other accomplishments; and with +such energy was it exercised, that the “half-acre” was frequently in +hazard of leaving the family altogether. The father, therefore, felt +quite willing, if Phelim married, to leave him the inheritance, and seek +a new settlement for himself. Or, if Phelim preferred leaving him, he +agreed to give him one-half of it, together with an equal division of +all his earthly goods; to wit--two goats, of which Phelim was to get +one; six hens and a cock, of which Phelim was to get three hens, and the +chance of a toss-up for the cock; four stools, of which Phelim was to +get two; two pots--a large one and a small one--the former to go with +Phelim; three horn spoons, of which Phelim was to get one, and the +chance of a toss-up for a third. Phelim was to bring his own bed, +provided he did not prefer getting a bottle of fresh straw as a +connubial luxury. The blanket was a tender subject; for having been +fourteen years in employment, it entangled the father and Phelim, +touching the prudence of the latter claiming it all. The son was +at length compelled to give it up, at least in the character of an +appendage to his marriage property. He feared that the wife, should he +not be able to replace it by a new one, or should she herself not be +able to bring him one, as part of her dowry, would find the honeymoon +rather lively. Phelim's bedstead admitted of no dispute, the floor of +the cabin having served him in that capacity ever since he began to +sleep in a separate bed. His pillow was his small clothes, and his quilt +his own coat, under which he slept snugly enough. + +The father having proposed, and the son acceded to these arrangements, +the next thing to be done was to pitch upon a proper girl as his wife. +This being a more important matter, was thus discussed by the father and +son, one evening, at their own fireside, in the presence of Sheelah. + +“Now, Phelim,” said the father, “look about you, an' tell us what girl +in the neighborhood you'd like to be married to.” + +“Why,” replied Phelim, “I'll lave that to you; jist point out the girl +you'd like for your daughter-in-law, an' be she rich, poor, ould, or +ugly, I'll delude her. That's the chat.” + +“Ah, Phelim, if you could put your comedher an Gracey Dalton, you'd be a +made boy. She has the full of a rabbit-skin o' guineas.” + +“A made boy! Faith, they say I'm that as it is, you know. But would you +wish me to put my comedher on Gracey Dalton? Spake out.” + +“To be sure I would.” + +“Ay,” observed the mother, “or what 'ud you think of Miss Pattherson? +That 'ud be the girl. She has a fine farm, an' five hundre pounds. She's +a Protestant, but Phelim could make a Christian of her.” + +“To be sure I could,” said Phelim, “have her thumpin' her breast, +and countin' her Padareens in no time. Would you wish me to have her, +mudher?” + +“Throth an' I would, avick.” + +“That 'ud never do,” observed the father. “Sure you don't think she'd +ever think of the likes o' Phelim?” + +“Don't make a goose of yourself, ould man,” observed Phelim. “Do you +think if I set about it, that I'd not manufacture her senses as asy as +I'd peel a piatee?” + +“Well, well,” replied the father, “in the name o' Goodness make up to +her. Faith it ud' be somethin' to have a jauntin' car in the family!” + +“Ay, but what the sorra will I do for a suit o' clo'es?” observed +Phelim. “I could never go near her in these breeches. My elbows, too, +are out o' this ould coat, bad luck to it! An' as for a waistcoat, why, +I dunna but it's a sin to call what I'm wearin' a waistcoat at all. Thin +agin--why, blood alive, sure I can't go to her barefooted, an' I dunna +but it 'ud be dacenter to do that same, than to step out in sich excuses +for brogues as these. An' in regard o' the stockins', why, I've pulled +them down, strivin' to look dacent, till one 'ud think the balls o' my +legs is at my heels.” + +“The sorra word's in that but thruth, any how,” observed the father; +“but what's to be done? For we have no way of gettin' them.” + +“Faith, I don't know that,” said Phelim. “What if we'd borry? I could +get the loan of a pair of breeches from Dudley Dwire, an' a coat from +Sam Appleton. We might thry Billy Brady for a waistcoat, an' a pair of +stockings. Barny Buckram-back, the pinsioner, 'ud lend me his pumps; an' +we want nothing now but a hat.” + +“Nothin' under a Caroline 'ud do, goin' there,” observed the father. + +“I think Father O'Hara 'ud oblige me wid the loan o' one for a day or +two;” said Phelim; “he has two or three o' them, all as good as ever.” + +“But, Phelim,” said the father, “before we go to all this trouble, are +you sure you could put your comedher on Miss Pattherson?” + +“None o' your nonsense,” said Phelim, “don't you know I could? I hate +a man to be puttin' questions to me, when he knows them himself. It's a +fashion you have got, an' you ought to dhrop it.” + +“Well thin,” said the father, “let us set about it to-morrow. If we can +borry the clo'es, thry your luck.” + +Phelim and the father, the next morning, set out each in a different +direction, to see how far they could succeed on the borrowing system. +The father was to make a descent on Dudley Dwire for the breeches, and +appeal to the generosity of Sam Appleton for the coat. Phelim himself +was to lay his case before the priest, and to assail Buckram-back, the +pensioner, on his way home, for the brogues. + +When Phelim arrived at the priest's house, he found none of the family +up but the housekeeper. After bidding her good morrow, and being desired +to sit down, he entered into conversation with the good woman, who felt +anxious to know the scandal of the whole parish. + +“Aren't you a son of Larry Toole's, young man?” + +“I am, indeed, Mrs. Doran. I'm Phelim O'Toole, my mother says.” + +“I hope you're comin' to spake to the priest about your duty.” + +“Why, then, be gorra, I'm glad you axed me, so I am--for only you seen +the pinance in my face, you'd never suppose sich a thing. I want to make +my confishion to him, wid the help o' Goodness.” + +“Is there any news goin', Phelim?” + +“Divil a much, barrin' what you hard yourself, I suppose, about Frank +Fogarty, that went mad yesterday, for risin' the meal on the poor, an' +ate the ears off himself afore anybody could see him.” + +“_Vick na hoiah_, Phelim; do you tell me so?” + +“Why man o' Moses, is it possible you did not hear it, ma'am?” + +“Oh, worra, man alive, not a syllable! Ate the ears off of himself! +Phelim, acushla, see what it is to be hard an the poor!” + +“Oh, he was ever an' always the biggest nagar livin', ma'am. Ay, an' +when he was tied up, till a blessed priest 'ud be brought to maliwgue +the divil out of him, he got a scythe an' cut his own two hands off.” + +“No thin, Phelim!” + +“Faitha, ma'am, sure enough. I suppose, ma'am, you hard about Biddy +Duignan?” + +“Who is she, Phelim?” + +“Why the misfortunate crathurs a daughter of her father's, ould Mick +Duignan, of Tavenimore.” + +“An' what about her, Phehm! What happened her?” + +“Faix, ma'am, a bit of a mistake she met wid; but, anyhow, ould Harry +Connolly's to stand in the chapel nine Sundays, an' to make three +Stations to Lough Dergh for it. Bedad, they say it's as purty a crathur +as you'd see in a day's thravellin'.” + +“Harry Connolly! Why, I know Harry, but I never heard of Biddy Duiguan, +or her father at all. Harry Connolly! Is it a man that's bent over his +staff for the last twenty years! Hut, tut, Phelim, don't say sich a +thing.” + +“Why, ma'am, sure he takes wid it himself; he doesn't deny it at all, +the ould sinner.” + +“Oh, that I mayn't sin, Phelim, if one knows who to thrust in this +world, so they don't. Why the desateful ould--hut, Phelim, I can't give +into it.” + +“Faix, ma'am, no wondher; but sure when he confesses it himself! Bedad, +Mrs. Doran, I never seen you look so well. Upon my sowl, you'd take the +shine out o' the youngest o' thim!” + +“Is it me, Phelim? Why, you're beside yourself.” + +“Beside myself, am I? Faith, an' if I am, what I said's thruth, anyhow. +I'd give more nor I'll name, to have so red a pair of cheeks as you +have. Sowl, they're thumpers.” + +“Ha, ha, ha! Oh, that I mayn't sin, but that's a good joke! An ould +woman near sixty!” + +“Now, Mrs. Doran, that's nonsense, an' nothing else. Near sixty! Oh, by +my purty, that's runnin' away wid the story entirely--No, nor thirty. +Faith, I know them that's not more nor five or six-an'-twenty, that 'ud +be glad to borry the loan of your face for a while. Divil a word o' lie +in that.” + +“No, no, Phelim, aroon, I seen the day; but that's past. I remimber when +the people did say I was worth lookin' at. Won't you sit near the fire? +You're in the dhraft there.” + +“Thank you kindly, ma'am; faith, you have the name, far an' near, for +bein' the civilest woman alive this day. But, upon my sowl, if you wor +ten times as civil, an' say that you're not aquil to any young girl in +the parish, I'd dispute it wid you; an' say it was nothin' else than a +bounce.” + +“Arrah, Phelim, darlin, how can you palaver me that way? I hope your +dacent father's well, Phelim, an' your honest mother.” + +“Divil a fear o' them. Now, I'd hould nine to one that the purtiest o' +them hasn't a sweeter mout' than you have. By dad, you have a pair o' +lips, God bless them that--well, well--” + +Phelim here ogled her with looks particularly wistful. + +“Phelim, you're losin' the little sense you had.” + +“Faix, an' it's you that's taken them out o' me, then. A purty woman +always makes a fool o' me. Divil a word o' lie in it. Faix, Mrs. Doran, +ma'am, you have a chin o' your own! Well, well! Oh, be Gorra, I wish I +hadn't come out this mornin' any how!” + +“Arrah, why, Phelim? In throth, it's you that's the quare Phelim!” + +“Why, ma'am--Oh bedad it's a folly to talk. I can't go widout tastin' +them. Sich a pair o' timptations as your lips, barrin' your eyes, I +didn't see this many a day.” + +“Tastin' what, you mad crathur?” + +“Why, I'll show you what I'd like to be afther tastin'. Oh! bedad, I'll +have no refusin'; a purty woman always makes a foo----” + +“Keep away, Phelim; keep off; bad end to you; what do you mane? Don't +you see Fool Art lyin' in the corner there undher the sacks? I don't +think he's asleep.” + +“Fool Art! why, the misfortunate idiot, what about him? Sure he hasn't +sinse to know the right hand from the left. Bedad, ma'am the truth is, +that a purty woman always makes a----” + +“Throth an' you won't,” said she struggling. + +“Throth an' I will, thin, taste the same lips, or we'll see whose +strongest!” + +A good-humored struggle took place between the housekeeper and Phelim, +who found her, in point of personal strength, very near a match for him. +She laughed heartily, but Phelim attempted to salute her with a face +of mock gravity as nearly resembling that of a serious man as he could +assume. In the meantime, chairs were overturned, and wooden dishes +trundled about; a crash was heard here, and another there. Phelim drove +her to the hob, and from the hob they both bounced into the fire, the +embers and ashes of which were kicked up into a cloud about them. + +“Phelim, spare your strinth,” said the funny housekeeper, “it won't do. +Be asy now, or I'll get angry. The priest, too, will hear the noise, and +so will Fool Art.” + +“To the divil wid Fool Art an' the priest, too,” said Phelim, “who cares +abuckey about the priest when a purty woman like you is consarn-- + +“What's this?” said the priest, stepping down from the parlor--“What's +the matter? Oh, ho, upon my word, Mrs. Doran! Very good, indeed! Under +my own roof, too! An' pray, ma'am, who is the gallant? Turn round young +man. Yes, I see! Why, better and better! Bouncing Phelim O'Toole, that +never spoke truth! I think, Mr. O'Toole, that when you come a courting, +you ought to consider it worth your while to appear somewhat more smooth +in your habiliments. I simply venture to give that as my opinion.” + +“Why sure enough,” replied Phelim, without a moment's hesitation; “your +Reverence has found us out.” + +“Found you out! Why, is that the tone you speak in?” + +“Faith, sir, thruth's best. I wanted her to tell it to you long ago, but +she wouldn't. Howsomever, it's still time enough.--Hem! The thruth, sir, +is, that Mrs. Doran an' I is goin' to get the words said as soon as we +can; so, sir, wid the help o' Goodness, I came to see if your Reverence +'ud call us next Sunday wid a blessin'.” + +Mrs. Doran had, for at least a dozen round years before this, been in +a state-of hopelessness upon the subject of matrimony; nothing in the +shape of a proposal having in the course of that period come in her way. +Now we have Addison's authority for affirming, that an old woman who +permits the thoughts of love to get into her head, becomes a very odd +kind of animal. Mrs. Doran, to do her justice, had not thought of it for +nearly three lustres, for this reason, that she had so far overcome her +vanity as to deem it possible that a proposal could be ever made to her. +It is difficult, however, to know what a day may bring forth. Here +was an offer, dropping like a ripe plum into her mouth. She turned +the matter over in her mind with a quickness equal to that of Phelim +himself. One leading thought struck her forcibly: if she refused to +close with this offer, she would never get another. + +“Is it come to this, Mrs. Doran?” inquired the priest. + +“Oh, bedad, sir, she knows it is,” replied Phelim, giving her a wink +with the safe eye. + +Now, Mrs. Doran began to have her suspicions. The wink she considered +as decidedly ominous. Phelim, she concluded with all the sagacity of a +woman thinking upon that subject, had winked at her to assent only for +the purpose of getting themselves out of the scrape for the present. She +feared that Phelim would be apt to break off the match, and take some +opportunity, before Sunday should arrive, of preventing the priest from +calling them. Her decision, however, was soon made. She resolved, if +possible to pin down Phelim to his own proposal. + +“Is this true, Mrs. Doran?” inquired the priest, a second time. + +Mrs. Doran could not, with any regard to the delicacy of her sex, give +an assent without proper emotion. She accordingly applied her apron to +her eyes, and shed a few natural tears in reply to the affecting query +of the pastor. + +Phelim, in the meantime, began to feel mystified. Whether Mrs. Doran's +tears were a proof that she was disposed to take the matter seriously, +or whether they were tears of shame and vexation for having been caught +in the character of a romping old hoyden, he could not then exactly +decide. He had, however, awful misgivings upon the subject. + +“Then,” said the priest, “it is to be understood that I'm to call you +both on Sunday.” + +“There's no use in keepin' it back from you,” replied Mrs. Doran. “I +know it's foolish of me; but we have all our failins, and to be fond +of Phelim there, is mine. Your Reverence is to call us next Sunday, as +Phelim tould you. I am sure I can't tell you how he deluded me at all, +the desaver o' the world!” + +Phelim's face during this acknowledgment was, like Goldsmith's Haunch +of Venison, “a subject for painters to study.” His eyes projected like a +hare's until nothing could be seen but the balls. Even the drooping lid +raised itself up, as if it were never to droop again. + +“Well,” said the priest, “I shall certainly not use a single argument to +prevent you. Your choice, I must say, does you credit, particularly when +it is remembered that you have come at least to years of discretion. +Indeed, many persons might affirm that you have gone beyond them; but I +say nothing. In the meantime your wishes must be complied with. I will +certainly call Phelim O'Toole and Bridget Doran on Sunday next; and one +thing I know, that we shall have a very merry congregation.” + +Phelim's eyes turned upon the priest and the old woman alternately, +with an air of bewilderment which, had the priest been a man of much +observation, might have attracted his attention. + +“Oh murdher alive, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, “how am I to do for clo'es? +Faith, I'd like to appear dacent in the thing, anyhow.” + +“True,” said the priest. “Have you made no provision for smoothing the +externals of your admirer? Is he to appear in this trim?” + +“Bedad, sir,” said Phelim, “we never thought o' that. All the world +knows, your Reverence, that I might carry my purse in my eye, an' never +feel a mote in it. But the thruth is, sir, she was so lively on the +subject--in a kind of a pleasant, coaxin' hurry of her own--an' indeed +I was so myself, too. Augh, Mrs. Doran! Be gorra, sir, she put her +comedher an me entirely, so she did. Well, be my sowl, I'll be the +flower of a husband to her anyhow. I hope your Reverence 'll come to the +christ'nin'? But about the clo'es;--bad luck saize the tack I have +to put to my back, but what you see an me, if we wor to be married +to-morrow.” + +“Well, Phelim, aroon,” said Mrs. Doran, “his Reverence here has my +little pences o' money in his hands, an' the best way is for you to get +the price of a suit from him. You must get clo'es, an' good ones, too, +Phelim, sooner nor any stop should be put to our marriage.” + +“Augh, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, ogling her from the safe eye, with a +tender suavity of manner that did honor to his heart; “be gorra, ma'am, +you've played the puck entirely wid me. Faith, I'm gettin' fonder an' +fonder of her every minute, your Reverence.” + +He set his eye, as he uttered this, so sweetly and significantly upon +the old house-keeper, that the priest thought it a transgression of +decorum in his presence. + +“I think,” said he, “you had better keep your melting looks to yourself, +Phelim. Restrain your gallantry, if you please, at least until I +withdraw.” + +“Why, blood alive! sir, when people's fond of one another, it's hard to +keep the love down. Augh, Mrs. Doran! Faith, you've rendhored my heart +like a lump o' tallow.” + +“Follow me to the parlor,” said the priest, “and let me know, Bridget, +what sum I am to give to this melting gallant of yours.” + +“I may as well get what'll do the weddin' at wanst,” observed Phelim. +“It'll save throuble, in the first place; an' sackinly, it'll save time; +for, plase Goodness, I'll have everything ready for houldin' the weddin' +the Monday afther the last call. By the hole o' my coat, the minute I +get the clo'es we'll be spliced, an' thin for the honeymoon!” + +“How much money shall I give him?” said the priest. + +“Indeed, sir, I think you ought to know that; I'm ignorant o' what 'ud +make a dacent weddin'. We don't intend to get married undher a hedge; +we've frinds an both sides, an' of course, we must have them about us, +plase Goodness.” + +“Be gorra, sir, it's no wondher I'm fond of her, the darlin'? Bad win to +you, Mrs. Doran, how did you come over me at all?” + +“Bridget,” said the priest, “I have asked you a simple question, +to which I expect a plain answer. What money am I to give this +tallow-hearted swain of yours?” + +“Why, your Reverence, whatsomever you think may be enough for full, an' +plinty, an' dacency, at the weddin'.” + +“Not forgetting the thatch for me, in the mane time,” said Phelim. +“Nothin' less will sarve us, plase your Reverence. Maybe, sir, you'd +think 'of comin' to the weddin' yourself?” + +“There are in my hands,” observed the priest, “one hundred and +twenty-two guineas of your money, Bridget. Here, Phelim, are ten for +your wedding suit and wedding expenses. Go to your wedding! No! +don't suppose for a moment that I countenance this transaction in the +slightest degree. I comply with your wishes, because I heartily +despise you both; but certainly this foolish old woman most. Give me an +acknowledgment for this, Phelim.” + +“God bless you, sir!” said Phelim, as if he had paid them a compliment. +“In regard o' the acknowledgment, sir, I acknowledge it wid all my +heart; but bad luck to the scrape at all I can write.” + +“Well, no matter. You admit, Bridget, that I give this money to this +blessed youth by your authority and consent.” + +“Surely, your Reverence; I'll never go back of it.” + +“Now, Phelim,” said the priest, “you have the money; pray get married as +soon as possible.” + +“I'll give you my oath,” said Phelim; “an' be the blessed iron tongs in +the grate there, I'll not lose a day in gettin' myself spliced. Isn't +she the tendher-hearted sowl, your Reverence? Augh, Mrs. Doran!” + +“Leave my place,” said the priest. “I cannot forget the old proverb, +that one fool makes many, but an old fool is worse than any. So it is +with this old woman.” + +“Ould woman! Oh, thin, I'm sure I don't desarve this from your +Reverence!” exclaimed the housekeeper, wiping her eyes: “if I'm a little +seasoned now, you know I wasn't always so. If ever there was a faithful +sarvant, I was that, an' managed your house and place as honestly as +I'll manage my own, plase Goodness.” + +As they left the parlor, Phelim became the consoler. + +“Whisht, you darlin'!” he exclaimed. “Sure you'll have Bouncin' Phelim +to comfort you. But now that he has shut the door, what--hem--I'd +take it as a piece o' civility if you'd open my eyes a little; I +mane--hem--was it--is this doin' him, or how? Are you--hem--do you +undherstand me, Mrs. Doran?” + +“What is it you want to know, Phelim? I think everything is very plain.” + +“Oh, the divil a plainer, I suppose. But in the mane time, might one +axe, out o' mere curiosity, if you're in airnest?” + +“In airnest! Arrah, what did I give you my money for, Phelim? Well, now +that everything is settled, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to +me.” + +“A bad what?” + +“I say, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to me. I'm afeard, +Phelim, that I'll be too foolish about you--that I'll be too fond of +you.” + +Phelim looked at her in solemn silence, and then replied--“Let us trust +in God that you may be enabled to overcome the weakness. Pray to Him +to avoid all folly, an' above everything, to give you a dacent stock of +discration, for it's a mighty fine thing for a woman of your yea--hem--a +mighty fine thing it is, indeed, for a sasoned woman, as you say you +are.” + +“When will the weddin' take place, Phelim?” + +“The what?” said Phelim, opening his brisk eye with a fresh stare of +dismay. + +“Why, the weddin', acushla. When will it take place? I think the Monday +afther the last call 'ud be the best time. We wouldn't lose a day thin. +Throth, I long to hear my last call over, Phelim, jewel.” + +Phelim gave her another look. + +“The last call! Thin, by the vestment, you don't long half as much for +your last call as I do.” + +“Arrah, Phoilim, did you take the--the--what you wor wantin' awhile +agone? Throth, myself disremimbers.” + +“Ay, around dozen o' them. How can you forget it?” + +The idiot in the corner here gave a loud snore, but composed himself to +sleep, as if insensible to all that passed. + +“Throth, an' I do forget it. Now, Phelim, you'll not go till you take a +cup o' tay wid myself. Throth, I do forget it, Phelim darlin', jewel.” + +Phelim's face now assumed a very queer expression. He twisted his +features into all possible directions; brought his mouth first round to +one ear and then to the other; put his hand, as if in great pain, on the +pit of his stomach; lifted one knee up till it almost touched his +chin, then let it down, and instantly brought up the other in a similar +manner. + +“Phelim, darlin', what ails you?” inquired the tender old nymph. +“Wurrah, man alive, aren't you well?” + +“Oh, be the vestment,” said Phelim, “what's this at all? Murdher, +sheery, what'll I do! Oh, I'm very bad! At death's door, so I am! Be +gorra, Mrs. Doran, I must be off.” + +“Wurrah, Phelim dear, won't you stop till we settle everything?” + +“Oh, purshuin' to the ha'p'orth I can settle till I recover o' this +murdherin' colic! All's asthray wid me in the inside. I'll see you--I'll +see you--_Hanim an dioul!_ what's this?--I must be off like a shot--oh, +murdher sheery?--but--but--I'll see you to-morrow. In the mane time, +I'm--I'm--for ever oblaged to you for--for--lendin' me the--loan of--oh, +by the vestments, I'm a gone man!--for lendin' me the loan of the ten +guineas--Oh, I'm gone!” + +Phelim disappeared on uttering these words, and his strides on passing +out of the house were certainly more rapid and vigorous than those of +a man laboring under pain. In fact, he never looked behind him until +one-half the distance between the priest's house and his father's cabin +had been fairly traversed. + +Some misgivings occurred to the old housekeeper, but her vanity, having +been revived by Phelim's blarney, would not permit her to listen +to them. She had, besides, other motive to fortify her faith in his +attachment. First, there was her money, a much larger sum than ever +Phelim could expect with any other woman, young or old; again, they were +to be called on the following Sunday, and she knew that when a marriage +affair proceeds so far, obstruction or disappointment is not to be +apprehended. + +When Phelim reached home, he found the father returned after having +borrowed a full suit of clothes for him. Sam Appleton on hearing from +Larry that Bouncing Phelim was about to get a “Great Match,” * generously +lent him coat, waistcoat, hat, and small-clothes. + + * When a country girl is said to have a large fortune, + the peasantry, when speaking of her in reference to + matrimony, say she's a “Great Match.” + +When Phelim presented himself at home, he scarcely replied to the +queries put to him by his father and mother concerning his interview +with the priest. He sat down, rubbed his hands, scratched his head, rose +up, and walked to and fro, in a mood of mind so evidently between mirth +and chagrin, that his worthy parents knew not whether to be merry or +miserable. + +“Phelim,” said the mother, “did you take anything while you wor away?” + +“Did I take anything! is it? Arrah, be asy, ould woman! Did I take +anything! Faith you may say that!” + +“Let us know, anyhow, what's the matther wid you?' asked the father. + +“Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed the son, “what is this for, at all at all? +It's too killin' I am, so it is.” + +“You're not lookin' at Sam Appleton's clo'es,” said the father, “that he +lent you the loan of, hat an' all?” + +“Do you want to put an affront upon me, ould man? To the divil wid +himself an' his clo'es! When I wants clo'es I'll buy them wid my own +money!' + +“Larry,” observed the mother, “there's yourself all over--as proud as +a payoock when the sup's in your head, an' 'ud spake as big widout the +sign o' money in your pocket, as if you had the rint of an estate.” + +“What do you say about the sign o' money?” exclaimed Phelim, with a +swagger. “Maybe you'll call that the sign o' money!” he added, producing +the ten guineas in gold. The father and mother looked at it for a +considerable time, then at each other, and shook their heads. + +“Phelim!” said the father, solemnly. “Phelim!” said the mother, awfully; +and both shook their heads again. + +“You wor never over-scrupulous,” the father proceeded, “an' you know +you have many little things to answer for, in the way of pickin' up what +didn't belong to yourself. I think, too, you're not the same boy you wor +afore you tuck to swearin' the alibies. + +“Faith, an' I doubt I'll haye to get some one to swear an alibi for +myself soon,” Phelim replied. + +“Why, blessed hour!” said Larry, “didn't I often tell you never to join +the boys in anything that might turn out a hangin' matther?” + +“If this is not a hangin' matther,” said Phelim, “it's something nearly +as bad: it's a marryin' matther. Sure I deluded another since you seen +me last. Divil a word o' lie in it. I was clane fell in love wid this +mornin' about seven o'clock.” + +“But how did you get the money, Phelim?” + +“Why, from the youthful sprig that fell in love wid me. Sure we're to be +'called' in the Chapel on Sunday next.” + +“Why thin now, Phelim! An' who is the young crathur? for in throth she +must be young to go to give the money beforehand!” + +“Murdher!” exclaimed Phelim, “what's this for! Was ever any one done +as I am? Who is she! Why she's--oh, murdher, oh!--she's no other +than--hem--divil a one else than Father O'Hara's housekeeper, ould Biddy +Doran!” + +The mirth of the old couple was excessive. The father laughed till he +fell off his stool, and the mother till the tears ran down her cheeks. + +“Death alive; ould man! but you're very merry,” said Phelim. “If you wor +my age, an' in such an' amplush, you'd laugh on the wrong side o' your +mouth. Maybe you'll tarn your tune when you hear that she has a hundhre +and twenty guineas.” + +“An' you'll be rich, too,” said the father. “The sprig an' you will be +rich!--ha, ha, ha!” + +“An' the family they'll have!” said the mother, in convulsions. + +“Why, in regard o' that,” said Phelim, rather nettled, “if all fails us, +sure we can do as my father and you did: kiss the Lucky Stone, an' make +a Station.” + +“Phelim, aroon,” said the mother, seriously, “put it out o' your head. +Sure you wouldn't go to bring me a daughter-in-law oulder nor myself?” + +“I'd as soon go over,” (* be transported) said Phelim; “or swing itself, +before I'd marry sich a piece o' desate. Hard feelin' to her! how she +did me to my face!” + +Phelim then entered into a long-visaged detail of the scene at +Father O'Hara's, dwelling bitterly on the alacrity with which the old +housekeeper ensnared him in his own mesh. + +“However,” he concluded, “she'd be a sharp one if she'd do me +altogether. We're not married yet; an' I've a consate of my own, that +she's done for the ten guineas, any how!” + +A family council was immediately held upon Phelim's matrimonial +prospects. On coming close to the speculation of Miss Patterson, it +was somehow voted, notwithstanding Phelim's powers of attraction, to be +rather a discouraging one. Gracey Dalton was also given up. The matter +was now serious, the time short, and Phelim's bounces touching his own +fascinations with the sex in general, were considerably abated. It was +therefore resolved that he ought to avail himself of Sam Appleton's +clothes, until his own could be made. Sam, he said, would not press him +for them immediately, inasmuch as he was under obligations to Phelim's +silence upon some midnight excursions that he had made. + +“Not,” added Phelim, “but I'm as much, an' maybe more in his power, than +he is in mine.” + +When breakfast was over, Phelim and the father, after having determined +to “drink a bottle” that night in the family of an humble young woman, +named Donovan, who, they all agreed, would make an excellent wife for +him, rested upon their oars until evening. In the meantime, Phelim +sauntered about the village, as he was in the habit of doing, whilst the +father kept the day as a holiday. We have never told our readers that +Phelim was in love, because in fact we know not whether he was or not. +Be this as it may, we simply inform them, that in a little shed in +the lower end of the village, lived a person with whom Phelim was very +intimate, called Foodie Flattery. He was, indeed, a man after Phelim's +own heart, and Phelim was a boy after his. He maintained himself by +riding country races; by handing, breeding, and feeding cocks; by +fishing, poaching, and serving processes; and finally, by his knowledge +as a cow-doctor and farrier--into the two last of which he had given +Phelim some insight. We say the two last, for in most of the other +accomplishments Phelim was fully his equal. Phelim frequently envied him +his life. It was an idle, amusing, vagabond kind of existence, just +such a one as he felt a relish for. This man had a daughter, rather +well-looking; and it so happened, that he and Phelim had frequently +spent whole nights out together, no one knew on what employment. Into +Flattery's house did Phelim saunter with something like an inclination +to lay the events of the day before him, and to ask his advice upon his +future prospects. On entering the cabin he was much surprised to find +the daughter in a very melancholy mood; a circumstance which puzzled +him not a little, as he knew that they lived very harmoniously together. +Sally had been very useful to her father; and, if fame did not belie +her, was sometimes worthy Foodie's assistant in his nocturnal exploits. +She was certainly reputed to be “light-handed;” an imputation which +caused the young men of her acquaintance to avoid, in their casual +conversations with her, any allusion to matrimony. + +“Sally, achora,” said Phelim, when he saw her in distress, “what's the +fun? Where's your father?” + +“Oh, Phelim,” she replied, bursting into tears, “long runs the fox, but +he's cotch at last. My father's in gaol.” + +Phelim's jaw dropped. “In gaol! _Chorp an diouol_, no!” + +“It's thruth, Phelim. Curse upon this Whiteboy business, I wish it never +had come into the counthry at all.” + +“Sally, I must see him; you know I must. But tell me how it happened? +Was it at home he was taken?” + +“No; he was taken this mornin' in the market. I was wid him sellin' some +chickens. What'll you and Sam Appleton do, Phelim?” + +“Uz! Why, what danger is there to either Sim or me, you darlin'?” + +“I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided +for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor +man, that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind +him wid' nobody to take care o' me.--He says, too, if anything 'ud make +him stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said +to me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?” + +A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face, +which was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of +aspect, became remarkably blank. + +“Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess +what brought me here to-day?” + +“Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe.” + +“No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now +tell me this--Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young +fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?” + +“Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction. +Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like +me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by.” + +“Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in +case--supposin'--that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you +mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?” + +“Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them--ah, the dickens go +wid you, Phelim--this is more o' your thricks--but if it was thruth you +wor spakin', Phelim?” + +“It is thruth,” said Phelim; “be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now, +say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go +an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But +see, Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm +marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in +it. Now, yes or no?” + +“Well--throth--to be sure--the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare +ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?” + +“Be the stool I'm sittin' on!” + +“Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know +it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on +you, Phelim?” + +“Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next. +Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us. +An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra, +surely.” + +“Behave, Phelim--oh--oh--Phelim, now--there you've tuck it--och, the +curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my hair down! There now, +you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, Phelim. I hope you +won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get married.” + +“Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid +o' lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the +great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all.” + +“Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But, +Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it +but ourselves--that is, none o' the neighbors.” + +“I'll sing dumb,” said Phelim. “Well, _binaght lath, a rogarah!_* Tell +him the thruth--to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled together +whin he comes out, plase Goodness.” + + * My blessing be with you, you rogue! + +Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art +projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with +mud, divided from the other part of the cabin. + +“Is he gone?” said Art. + +“You may come out, Art,” said she, “he's gone.” + +“Ha!” said Art, triumphantly, “I often tould him, when he vexed me an' +pelted me wid snow-balls, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An' +it's not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see +wid his eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!” + +“But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?” + + “Hi the colic, the colic! + An' ho the colic for Phelim!” + +“Then you think he won't, Art?” + + “Hi the colic, the colic! + An' ho the colic for Phelim!” + +“Now, Art, don't say a word about my father not bein' in gaol. He's to +be back from my grandfather's in a short time, an' if we manage well, +you'll see what you'll get, Art--a brave new shirt, Art.” + +“Art has the lane for Phelim, but it's not the long one wid no turn in +it. Wherroo for Art!” + +Phelim, on his return home, felt queer; here was a second matrimonial +predicament, considerably worse than the first, into which he was hooked +decidedly against his will. The worst feature in this case was the +danger to be apprehended from Foodie Flattery's disclosures, should +he take it into his head to 'peach upon his brother Whiteboys. Indeed, +Phelim began to consider it a calamity that he ever entered into their +system at all; for, on running over his exploits along with them, he +felt that he was liable to be taken up any morning of the week, and +lodged in one of his majesty's boarding-houses. The only security he had +was the honesty of his confederates; and experience took the liberty of +pointing out to him many cases in which those who considered themselves +quite secure, upon the same grounds, either dangled or crossed the +water. He remembered, too, some prophecies that had been uttered +concerning him with reference both to hanging and matrimony. +Touching the former it was often said, that “he'd die where the bird +flies”--between heaven and earth; on matrimony, that there seldom was a +swaggerer among the girls but came to the ground at last. + +Now Phelim had a memory of his own, and in turning over his situation, +and the prophecies that had been so confidently pronounced concerning +him, he felt, as we said, rather queer. He found his father and mother +in excellent spirits when he got home. The good man had got a gallon of +whiskey on credit; for it had been agreed on not to break the ten golden +guineas until they should have ascertained how the matchmaking would +terminate that night at Donovan's. + +“Phelim,” said the father, “strip yourself, an' put on Sam's clo'es: you +must send him down yours for a day or two; he says it's the least he may +have the wearin' o' them, so long as you have his.” + +“Right enough,” said Phelim; “Wid all my heart; I'm ready to make a fair +swap wid him any day, for that matther.” + +“I sent word to the Donovans that we're to go to coort there to night,” + said Larry; “so that they'll be prepared for us; an' as it would be +shabby not to have a friend, I asked Sam Appleton himself. He's to folly +us.” + +“I see,” said Phelim, “I see. Well, the best boy in Europe Sam is, for +such a spree. Now, Fadher, you must lie like the ould diouol tonight. +Back everything I say, an' there's no fear of us. But about what she's +to get, you must hould out for that. I'm to despise it, you know. I'll +abuse you for spakin' about fortune, but don't budge an inch.” + +“It's not the first time I've done that for you, Phelim; but in regard +o' these ten guineas, why you must put them in your pocket for fraid +they be wantin' to get off wid layin' down guinea for guinea. You see, +they don't think we have a rap; an' if they propose it we'll be up to +them.” + +“Larry,” observed Sheelah, “don't make a match except they give that pig +they have. Hould out for that by all means.” + +“Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed Phelim, “am I goin' to take the counthry out +o' the face? By the vestments, I'm a purty boy! Do you know the fresh +news I have for yez?” + +“Not ten guineas more, Phelim?” replied the father. + +“Maybe you soodhered another ould woman,” said the mother. + +“Be asy,” replied Phelim. “No, but the five crasses, I deluded a young +one since! I went out!” + +The old couple were once more disposed to be mirthful; but Phelim +confirmed his assertion with such a multiplicity of oaths, that they +believed him. Nothing, however, could wring the secret of her name +out of him. He had reasons for concealing it which he did not wish to +divulge. In fact, he could never endure ridicule, and the name of Sally +Flattery, as the person whom he had “deluded,” would constitute, on his +part, a triumph quite as sorry as that which he had achieved in +Father O'Hara's. In Ireland no man ever thinks of marrying a female +thief--which Sally was strongly suspected to be--except some worthy +fellow, who happens to be gifted with the same propensity. + +When the proper hour arrived, honest Phelim, after having already made +arrangements to be called on the following Sunday, as the intended +husband of two females, now proceeded with great coolness to make, +if possible, a similar engagement with a third. There is something, +however, to be said for Phelim. His conquest over the housekeeper was +considerably out of the common course of love affairs. He had drawn +upon his invention, only to bring himself and the old woman out of the +ridiculous predicament in which the priest found them. He had, moreover, +intended to prevail on her to lend him the hat, in case the priest +himself had refused him. He was consequently not prepared for the +vigorous manner in which Mrs. Doran fastened upon the subject of +matrimony. On suspecting that she was inclined to be serious, he +pleaded his want of proper apparel; but here again the liberality of +the housekeeper silenced him, whilst, at the same time, it opened an +excellent prospect of procuring that which he most required--a decent +suit of clothes. This induced him to act a part that he did not feel. +He saw the old woman was resolved to outwit him, and he resolved to +overreach the old woman. + +His marriage with Sally Flattery was to be merely a matter of chance. If +he married her at all, he knew it must be in self-defence. He felt that +her father had him in his power, and that he was anything but a man to +be depended on. He also thought that his being called with her, on the +Sunday following, would neutralize his call with the housekeeper; just +as positive and negative quantities in algebra cancel each other. But he +was quite ignorant that the story of Flattery's imprisonment was merely +a plan of the daughter's to induce him to marry her. + +With respect to Peggy Donovan, he intended, should he succeed in +extricating himself from the meshes which the other two had thrown +around him, that she should be the elected one to whom he was anxious to +unite himself. As to the confusion produced by being called to three at +once, he knew that, however laughable in itself, it would be precisely +something like what the parish would expect from him. Bouncing Phelim +was no common man, and to be called to three on the same Sunday, would +be a corroboration of his influence with the sex. It certainly chagrined +him not a little that one of them was an old woman, and the other of +indifferent morals; but still it exhibited the claim of three women +upon one man, and that satisfied him. His mode of proceeding with Peggy +Donovan was regular, and according to the usages of the country. The +notice had been given that he and his father would go a courting, and of +course they brought the whiskey with them, that being the custom among +persons in their circumstances in life. These humble courtships very +much resemble the driving of a bargain between two chapmen; for, indeed, +the closeness of the demands on the one side, and the reluctance of +concession on the other, are almost incredible. Many a time has a match +been broken up by a refusal on the one part, to give a slip of a pig, +or a pair of blankets, or a year-old calf. These are small matters +in themselves, but they are of importance to those who, perhaps, have +nothing else on earth with which to begin the world. The house to +which Phelim and his father directed themselves was, like their own, +of the-humblest description. The floor of it was about sixteen feet by +twelve; its furniture rude and scanty. To the right of the fire was a +bed, the four posts of which ran up to the low roof; it was curtained +with straw mats, with the exception of an opening about a foot and a +half wide on the side next the fire, through which those who slept in it +passed. A little below the foot of the bed were ranged a few shelves of +deal, supported by pins of wood driven into the wall. These constituted +the dresser. In the lower end of the house stood a potato-bin, made up +of stakes driven into the floor, and wrought with strong wicker-work. +Tied to another stake beside this bin stood a cow, whose hinder part +projected so close to the door, that those who entered the cabin were +compelled to push her over out of their way. This, indeed, was effected +without much difficulty, for the animal became so habituated to the +necessity of moving aside, that it was only necessary to lay the hand +upon her. Above the door in the inside, almost touching the roof, was +the hen-roost, made also of wicker-work; and opposite the bed, on the +other side of the fire, stood a meal-chest. + +Its lid on a level with the little pane of glass which served as a +window. An old straw chair, a few stools, a couple of pots, some wooden +vessels and crockery, completed the furniture of the house. The pig to +which Sheolah alluded was not kept within the cabin, that filthy custom +being now less common than formerly. + +This catalogue of cottage furniture may appear to our English readers +very miserable. We beg them to believe, however, that if every cabin +in Ireland were equally comfortable, the country would be comparatively +happy. Still it is to be remembered, that the _dramatis personae_ of our +story are of the humblest class. + +When seven o'clock drew nigh, the inmates of this little cabin placed +themselves at a clear fire; the father at one side, the mother at the +other, and the daughter directly between them, knitting, for this is +usually the occupation of a female on such a night. Everything in the +house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth; +the parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday +apparel. She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor +otherwise. Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an +anxious look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to +a female, heightened her complexion to a blush that became her. The +creature had certainly made the most of her little finery. Her face +shone like that of a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel; +her hair, carefully curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been +smoothed with soap until it became lustrous by repeated polishing, and +her best red ribbon was tied tightly about it in a smart knot, that +stood out on the side of her head with something of a coquettish air. +Old Donovan and his wife maintained a conversation upon some indifferent +subject, but the daughter evidently paid little attention to what they +said. It being near the hour appointed for Phelim's arrival, she sat +with an appearance of watchful trepidation, occasionally listening, and +starting at every sound that she thought bore any resemblance to a man's +voice or footstep. + +At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse +of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;-- + + “A sailor coorted a farmer's daughter + That lived contagious to the Isle of Man, + A long time coortin', an' still discoorsin' + Of things consarnin' the ocean wide; + At linth he saize, 'My own dearest darlint, + Will you consint for to be my bride?'” + +“An' so she did consint, the darlin', but what the puck would she do +else? God save the family! Paddy Donovan, how is your health? Molly, +avourneen, I'm glad to hear that you're thrivin'. An' Peggy--eh? Ah, be +gorra, fadher, here's somethin' to look at! Give us the hand of you, you +bloomer! Och, och! faith you're the daisey!” + +“Phelim,” said the father, “will you behave yourself? Haven't you the +night before you for your capers? Paddy Donovan, I'm glad to see you! +Molly, give us your right hand, for, in troth, I have a regard for you! +Peggy, dear, how are you? But I'm sure, I needn't be axin when I look at +you! In troth, Phelim, she is somethin' to throw your eye at.” + +“Larry Toole, you're welcome,” replied Donovan and his wife, “an' so +is your son. Take stools both of you, an' draw near the hearth. Here, +Phelim,” said the latter, “draw in an' sit beside myself.” + +“Thank you kindly, Molly,” replied Phelim; “but I'll do no sich thing.. +Arrah, do you think, now, that I'd begin to gosther wid an ould woman, +while I have the likes o' Peggy, the darlin', beside me? I'm up to a +thrick worth nine of it. No, no; this chest 'll do. Sure you know, I +must help the 'duck of diamonds' here to count her stitches.” + +“Paddy,” said Larry, in a friendly whisper, “put this whiskey past for +a while, barrin' this bottle that we must taste for good luck. Sam +Appleton's to come up afther us an', I suppose, some o' your own +cleavens 'll be here afther a while.” + +“Thrue for you,” said Donovan. “Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin is to come +over presently. But, Larry, this is nonsense. One bottle o' whiskey was +lashins; my Goodness, what'll we be doin' wid a whole gallon?” + +“Dacency or nothin', Paddy; if it was my last I'd show sperit, an' why +not? Who'd be for the shabby thing?” + +“Well, well, Larry, I can't say but you're right afther all! Maybe I'd +do the same thing myself, for all I'm spakin' aginst it.” + +The old people then passed round an introductory glass, after which they +chatted away for an hour or so, somewhat like the members of a committee +who talk upon indifferent topics until their brethren are all assembled. + +Phelim, in the meantime, grappled with the daughter, whose knitting he +spoiled by hooking the thread with his finger, jogging her elbow until +he ran the needles past each other, and finally unravelling her clew; +all which she bore with great good-humor. Sometimes, indeed, she +ventured to give him a thwack upon the shoulder, with a laughing frown +upon her countenance, in order to correct him for teasing her. + +When Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin arrived, the spirits of the party got +up. The whiskey was formally produced, but as yet the subject of the +courtship, though perfectly understood, was not introduced. Phelim and +the father were anxious to await the presence of Sam Appleton, who was +considered, by the way, a first-rate hand at match-making. + +Phelim, as is the wont, on finding the din of the conversation raised +to the proper pitch, stole one of the bottles and prevailed on Peggy to +adjourn with him to the potato-bin. Here they ensconced themselves very +snugly; but not, as might be supposed, contrary to the knowledge and +consent of the seniors, who winked at each other on seeing Phelim +gallantly tow her down with the bottle under his arm. It was only +the common usage on such occasions, and not considered any violation +whatsoever of decorum. When Phelim's prior engagements are considered, +it must be admitted that there was something singularly ludicrous in +the humorous look he gave over his shoulder at the company, as he went +toward the bin, having the bottom of the whiskey-bottle projecting +behind his elbow, winking at them in return, by way of a hint to mind +their own business and allow him to plead for himself. The bin, however, +turned out to be rather an uneasy seat, for as the potatoes lay in +a slanting heap against the wall, Phelim and his sweetheart were +perpetually sliding down from the top to the bottom. Phelim could be +industrious when it suited his pleasure. In a few minutes those who sat +about the fire imagined, from the noise at the bin, that the house was +about to come about their ears. + +“Phelim, you thief,” said the father, “what's all that noise for?” + +“_Chrosh orrin!_” (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, “is that +tundher?” + +“Devil carry these piatees,” exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with +both hands and all his might, “if there's any sittin' at all upon them! +I'm levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to +give us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse +o' Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his +sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as +here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down, +you jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the +crathur in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in +the world?” + +Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the +poorer Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into +the following sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and +entangled conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm +lovingly about her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her +cheek. + +“Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world--bad cess to me but I'm as glad as +two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an +them. Eh, avourneen?” + +“Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!” + +“Faith, you may say that--(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' tell +us all about your bachelors.” + +“The sarra one ever I had, Phelim.” + +“Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake +a word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy +Moran pullin' a coard?” + +“No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim. +Nothin' ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father +an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was +along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed, +in civility an' friendship.” + +“An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a +sweetheart at all?” + +“The nerra one.” + +“Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your +own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh,--, by the tarn, that won't +pass.” + +“Well, an' supposin' I had--behave Phelim--supposin' I had, where's the +harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' have yet, I +suppose.” + +“Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you, +till, one get's married. I had enough of them, in my day, but you're the +flower o' them all, that I'd like to spend my life wid”--(a squeeze.) + +“The sorra one word the men say a body can trust. I warrant you tould +that story to every one o' them as well as to me. Stop Phelim--it's well +known that what you say to the colleens is no gospel. You know what they +christened you 'Bouncin' Phelim!” + +“Betune you an' me, Peggy, I'll tell you a sacret; I was the boy for +deludin them. It's very well known the matches I might a got; but you +see, you little shaver, it was waitin' for yourself I was.” + +“For me! A purty story indeed I'm sure it was! Oh, afther that! Why, +Phelim, how can you----Well, well, did any one ever hear the likes?” + +“Be the vestments, it's thruth. I had you in my eye these three years, +but was waitin' till I'd get together as much money as ud' set us up in +the world dacently. Give me that egg-shell agin. Talkin's dhruthy +work. _Shudorth, a rogarah!_ (* This to you you rogue) an' a pleasant +honeymoon to us!” + +“Wait till we're married first, Phelim; thin it'll be time enough to +dhrink that.” + +“Come, acushla, it's your turn now; taste the shell, an' you'll see how +lovin' it'll make us. Mother's milk's a thrifle to it.” + +“Well, if I take this, Phelim, I'll not touch another dhrop to-night. +In the mane time here's whatever's best for us! Whoo! Oh, my! but that's +strong! I dunna how the people can dhrink so much of it!” + +“Faith, nor me; except bekase they have a regard for it, an' that it's +worth havin' a regard for, jist like yourself an' me. Upon my faix, +Peggy, it bates all, the love an likin' I have for you, an' ever +had these three years past. I tould you about the eyes, mavourneen, +an'--an'--about the lips--” + +“Phelim--behave--I say--now stop wid you--well--well--but you're the +tazin' Phelim!--Throth the girls may be glad when you're married,” + exclaimed Peggy, adjusting her polished hair. + +“Bad cess to the bit, if ever I got so sweet a one in my life--the +soft end of a honeycomb's a fool to it. One thing, Peggy, I can tell +you--that I'll love you in great style. Whin we're marrid it's I that'll +soodher you up. I won't let the wind blow on you. You must give up +workin', too. All I'll ax you to do will be to nurse the childhre; an' +that same will keep you busy enough, plase Goodness.” + +“Upon my faix, Phelim, you're the very sarra, so you are. Will you be +asy now? I'll engage when you're married, it'll soon be another story +wid you. Maybe you'd care little about us thin!” + +“Be the vestments, I'm spakin' pure gospel, so I am. Sure you don't know +that to be good husbands runs in our family. Every one of them was as +sweet as thracle to their wives. Why, there's that ould cock, my fadher, +an' if you'd see how he butthers up the ould woman to this day, it 'ud +make your heart warm to any man o' the family.” + +“Ould an' young was ever an' always the same to you, Phelim. Sure the +ouldest woman in the parish, if she happened to be single, couldn't +miss of your blarney. It's reported you're goin' to be marrid to an ould +woman.' + +“He---hem--ahem! Bad luck to this cowld I have! it's stickin' in my +throath entirely, so it is!--hem!--to a what?” + +“Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!” + +Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he +carried the housekeeper's money. + +“Would you oblage one wid her name?” + +“You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim.” + +Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks. + +“To the sarra wid her, an' all sasoned women. God be praised that the +night's line, anyhow! Hand me the shell, an' we'll take a _gauliogue_ +aich, an' afther that we'll begin an' talk over how lovin' an' fond o' +one another we'll be.” + +“You're takin' too much o' the whiskey, Phelim. Oh, for Goodness' +sake!--oh--b--b--n--now be asy. Faix, I'll go to the fire, an' lave you +altogether, so I will, if you don't give over slustherin' me, that way, +an' stoppin' my breath.” + +“Here's all happiness to our two selves, _acushla machree!_ Now thry +another _gauliogue_, an' you'll see how deludin' it'll make you.” + +“Not a sup, Phelim.” + +“Arrah, nonsense! Be the vestment, it's as harmless as new milk from the +cow. It'll only do you good, alanna. Come now, Peggy, don't be ondacent, +an' it our first night's coortin'! Blood alive! don't make little o' my +father's son on sich a night, an' us at business like this, anyhow!” + +“Phelim, by the crass, I won't take it; so that ends it. Do you want +to make little o' me? It's not much you'd think o' me in your mind, if +I'd dhrink it.” + +“The shell's not half full.” + +“I wouldn't brake my oath for all the whiskey in the kingdom; so don't +ax me. It's neither right nor proper of you to force it an me.” + +“Well, all I say is, that it's makin' little of one Phelim O'Toole, that +hasn't a thought in his body but what's over head an' ears in love wid +you. I must only dhrink it for you myself, thin. Here's all kinds o' +good fortune to us! Now, Peggy,--sit closer to me acushla!--Now, Peggy, +are you fond o' me at all? Tell thruth, now.” + +“Fond o' you! Sure you know all the girls is fond of you. Aren't you the +boy for deludin' them?--ha, ha, ha?” + +“Come, come, you shaver; that won't do. Be sarious. If you knew how my +heart's warmin' to you this minute, you'd fall in love wid my shadow. +Come, now, out wid it. Are you fond of a sartin boy not far from you, +called Bouncin' Phelim?” + +“To be sure I am. Are you satisfied now? Phelim! I say,”-- + +“Faith, it won't pass, avourneen. That's not the voice for it. Don't +you hear me, how tendher I spake wid my mouth brathin' into your ear, +_acushla machree?_ Now turn about, like a purty entisin' girl, as you +are, an' put your sweet bill to my ear the same way, an' whisper what +you know into it? That's a darlin'! Will you, achora?” + +“An' maybe all this time you're promised to another?” + +“Be the vestments, I'm not promised to one. Now! Saize the one!” + +“You'll say that, anyhow!” + +“Do you see my hands acrass? Be thim five crasses, I'm not promised to +a girl livin', so I'm not, nor wouldn't, bekase I had you in my eye. Now +will you tell me what I'm wantin' you? The grace o' Heaven light down +an you, an' be a good, coaxin darlin' for wanst. Be this an' be that, +if ever you heerd or seen sich doin's an' times as we'll have when we're +marrid. Now the weeny whisper, a colleen dhas.” + +“It's time enough yet to let you know my mind, Phelim. If you behave +yourself an' be-----Why thin is it at the bottle agin you are? Now don't +dhrink so much, Phelim, or it'll get into your head. I was sayin' that +if you behave yourself, an' be a good boy, I may tell you somethin' +soon.” + +“Somethin' soon! Live horse, an' you'll get grass! Peggy, if that's the +way wid you, the love's all on my side, I see clearly. Are you willin' +to marry me, anyhow?” + +“I'm willin' to do whatsomever my father an' mother wishes.” + +“I'm for havin' the weddin' off-hand; an' of coorse, if we agree +to-night, I think our best plan is to have ourselves called on Sunday. +An' I'll tell you what, avourneen--be the holy vestments, if I was to be +'called' to fifty on the same Sunday, you're the darlin' I'd marry.” + +“Phelim, it's time for us to go up to the fire; we're long enough here. +I thought you had only three words to say to me.” + +“Why, if you're tired o' me, Peggy, I don't want you to stop. I wouldn't +force myself on the best girl that ever stepped.” + +“Sure you have tould me all you want to say, an' there's no use in us +stayin' here. You know, Phelim, there's not a girl in the Parish 'ud +believe a word that 'ud come but o' your lips. Sure there's none o' them +but you coorted one time or other. If you could get betther, Phelim, I +dunna whether you'd be here to-night at all or not.” + +“Answer me this, Peggy. What do you! think your father 'ud be willin' to +give you? Not that I care a _cron abaun_ about it, for I'd marry you wid +an inch of candle.” + +“You know my father's but a poor man, Phelim, an' can give little or +nothing. Them that won't marry me as I am, needn't come here to look for +a fortune.” + +“I know that, Peggy, an' be the same token, I want no fortune at all wid +you but yourself, darlin'. In the mane time, to show you that I could +get a fortune--_Dhera Lorha Heena_, I could have a wife wid a hundre an' +twenty guineas!” + +Peggy received this intelligence much in the same manner as Larry and +Sheelah had received it. Her mirth was absolutely boisterous for at +least ten minutes. Indeed, so loud had it been, that Larry and her +father could not help asking:-- + +“Arrah, what's the fun, Peggy, achora?” + +“Oh, nothin',” she replied, “but one o' Phelim's bounces.” + +“Now,” said Phelim, “you won't believe me? Be all the books--” + +Peggy's mirth prevented his oaths from being heard. In vain he declared, +protested, and swore. On this occasion, he was compelled to experience +the fate peculiar to all liars. Even truth, from his lips, was looked +upon as falsehood. + +Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an +acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject +of the large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to +produce an impression, but the pathetic. + +“Well,” said he, “you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o' +this I'll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won't. +Saize the toe I'll move, now, till I'm sick wid cryin'! Oh, murdher +alive, this night! Isn't it a poor case entirely, that the girl I'd +suffer myself to be turned inside out for, won't say that she cares +about a hair o' my head! Oh, thin, but I'm the misfortunate blackguard +all out! Och, oh! Peggy, achora, you'll break my heart! Hand me that +shell, acushla--for I'm in the height of affliction!” + +Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him. Her mirth was even +more intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less +affected with secret laughter than Peggy. + +“It is makin' fun o' me you are, you thief, eh?--Is it laughin' at my +grief you are?” exclaimed Phelim. “Be the tarn' o' wor, I'll punish you +for that.” + +Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking +a salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire, +and in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered. + +Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the +courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con. + +“Now, Paddy Donovan, that we're altogether, let me tell you one thing: +there's not a betther natur'd boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow +in the parish, than my Phelim. He'll make your daughther as good, a +husband as ever broke bread!” + +“I'm not sayin' against that, Larry. He is a good-nathur'd boy: but I +tell you, Larry Toole, that my daughter's his fill of a wife any day. +An' I'll put this to the back o' that--she's a hard-workin' girl, that +ates no idle bread.” + +“Very right,” said Sam Appleton. “Phelim's a hairo, an' she's a beauty. +Dang me, but they wor made for one another. Phelim, _abouchal_, why +don't you--oh, I see you are. Why, I was goin' to bid you make up to +her.” + +“Give no gosther, Sam,” replied Phelim, “but sind round the bottle, an' +don't forget to let it come this way. I hardly tasted a dhrop to-night.” + +“Oh, Phelim!” exclaimed Peggy. + +“Whisht!” said Phelim, “there's no use in lettin' the ould fellows be +committin' sin. Why, they're hearty (* Tipsy) as it is, the sinners.” + +“Come, nabors,” said Burn, “I'm the boy that's for close work. How does +the match stand? You're both my friends, an' may this be poison to me, +but I'll spake like an honest man, for the one as well as for the other. + +“Well, then,” said Donovan, “how is Phelim to support my daughther, +Larry? Sure that's a fair questin', any way.” + +“Wiry, Paddy,” replied Larry, “when Phelim gets her, he'll have a patch +of his own, as well as another. There's that 'half-acre,' and a betther +piece o' land isn't in Europe!” + +“Well, but what plenishin' are they to have, Larry? A bare half acre's +but a poor look up.” + +“I'd as soon you'd not make little of it, in the mane time,” replied +Larry, rather warmly. “As good a couple as ever they wor lived on that +half acre; along wid what they earned by hard work otherwise.” + +“I'm not disparagin' it, Larry; I'd be long sorry; but about the +furniture? What are they to begin the world wid?” + +“Hut,” said Devlin, “go to the sarra wid yez!--What 'ud they want, no +more nor other young people like them, to begin the world wid? Are you +goin' to make English or Scotch of them, that never marries till they're +able to buy a farm an' stock it, the nagurs. By the staff in my hand, an +Irish man 'ud lash a dozen o' them, wid all then prudence! Hasn't Phelim +an' Peggy health and hands, what most new-married couples in Ireland +begins the world wid? Sure they're not worse nor a thousand others?” + +“Success, Antony,” said Phelim. “Here's your health for that!” + +“God be thanked they have health and hands,” said Donovan. “Still, +Antony, I'd like that they'd have somethin' more.” + +“Well, then, Paddy, spake up for yourself,” observed Larry. “What will +you put to the fore for the colleen? Don't take both flesh an' bone!” + +“I'll not spake up, till I know all that Phelim's to expect,” said +Donovan. “I don't think he has a right to be axin' anything wid sich a +girl as my Peggy.” + +“Hut, tut, Paddy! She's a good colleen enough; but do you think she's +above any one that carries the name of O'Toole upon him? Still, it's but +raisonable for you to wish the girl well settled. My Phelim will have +one half o' my worldly goods, at all evints.” + +“Name them, Larry, if you plase.” + +“Why, he'll have one o' the goats--the gray one, for she's the best o' +the two, in throth. He'll have two stools; three hens, an' a toss-up +for the cock. The biggest o' the two pots; two good crocks; three good +wooden trenchers, an'--hem--he'll have his own--I say, Paddy, are +you listenin' to me?--Phelim, do you hear what I'm givin' you, _a +veehonee?--his own bed!_ An' there's all I can or will do for him. Now +do you spake up for Peggy.” + +“I'm to have my own bedstead too,” said Phelim, “an' bad cess to the +stouter one in Europe. It's as good this minute as it was eighteen years +agone.” + +“Paddy Donovan, spake up,” said Larry. + +“Spake up!” said Paddy, contemptuously. “Is it for three crowns' worth +I'd spake up? The bedstead, Phelim! _Bedhu husth_, (* hold your tongue) +man!” + +“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're dhry here.” + +“Thrue enough, Phelim,” said the father. “Paddy, here's towarst you +an' yours--nabors--all your healths--young couple! Paddy, give us your +hand, man alive! Sure, whether we agree or not, this won't put between +us.” + +“Throth, it won't, Larry--an' I'm thankful to you. Your health, Larry, +an' all your healths! Phelim an' Peggy, success to yez, whether or not! +An' now, in regard o' your civility, I will spake up. My proposal is +this:--I'll put down guinea for guinea wid you.” + +Now we must observe, by the way, that this was said under the firm +conviction that neither Phelim nor the father had a guinea in their +possession. + +“I'll do that same, Paddy,” said Larry; “but I'll lave it to the present +company, if you're not bound to put down the first guinea. Nabors, amn't +I right?” + +“You are right, Larry,” said Burn; “it's but fair that Paddy should put +down the first.” + +“Molly, achora,” said Donovan to the wife, who, by the way, was engaged +in preparing the little feast usual on such occasions--“Molly, achora, +give me that ould glove you have in your pocket.” + +She immediately handed him an old shammy glove, tied up into a hard +knot, which he felt some difficulty in unloosing. + +“Come, Larry,” said he, laying down a guinea-note, “cover that like a +man.” + +“Phelim carries my purse,” observed the father; but he had scarcely +spoken when the laughter of the company rang loudly through the +house--The triumph of Donovan appeared to be complete, for he thought +the father's alusion to Phelim tantamount to an evasion. + +“Phelim! Phelim carries it! Faix, an' I, doubt he finds it a light +burdyeen.” + +Phelim approached in all his glory. + +“What am I to do?” he inquired, with a swagger. + +“You're to cover that guinea-note wid a guinea, if you can,” said +Donovan. + +“Whether 'ud you prefar goold or notes,” said Phelim, looking pompously +about him; “that's the talk.” + +This was received with another merry peal of laughter. + +“Oh, goold--goold by all manes!” replied Donovan. + +“Here goes the goold, my worthy,” said Phelim, laying down his guinea +with a firm slap upon the table. + +Old Donovan seized it, examined it, then sent it round, to satisfy +himself that it was a _bona fide_ guinea. + +On finding that it was good, he became blank a little; his laugh lost +its strength, much of his jollity was instantly neutralized, and his +face got at least two inches longer. Larry now had the laugh against +him, and the company heartily joined in it. + +“Come, Paddy,” said Larry, “go an!--ha, ha, ha!” + +Paddy fished for half a minute through the glove; and, after what was +apparently a hard chase, brought up another guinea, which he laid down. + +“Come, Phelim!” said he, and his eye brightened again with a hope that +Phelim would fail. + +“Good agin!” said Phelim, thundering down another, which was instantly +subjected to a similar scrutiny. + +“You'll find it good,” said Larry. “I wish we had a sackful o' them. Go +an, Paddy. Go an, man, who's afeard?” + +“Sowl, I'm done,” said Donovan, throwing down the purse with a hearty +laugh--“give me your hand, Larry. Be the goold afore us, I thought to do +you. Sure these two guineas is for my rint, an' we mustn't let them come +atween us at all.” + +“Now,” said Larry, “to let you see that my son's not widout something to +begin the world wid--Phelim, shill out the rest o' the yallow boys.” + +“Faix, you ought to dhrink the ould woman's health for this,” said +Phelim. “Poor ould crathur, many a long day she was savin' up these for +me. It's my mother I'm speakin' about.” + +“An' we will, too,” said the father; “here's Sheelah's health, +neighbors! The best poor man's wife that ever threwn a gown over her +shouldhers.” + +This was drank with all the honors, and the negotiation proceeded. + +“Now,” said Appleton, “what's to be done? Paddy, say what you'll do for +the girl.” + +“Money's all talk,” said Donovan; “I'll give the girl the two-year ould +heifer--an' that's worth double what his father has promised Phelim; +I'll give her a stone o' flax, a dacent suit o' clo'es, my blessin'--an' +there's her fortune.” + +“Has she neither bed nor beddin'?” inquired Larry. + +“Why, don't you say that Phelim's to have his own bed?” observed +Donovan. “Sure one bed 'ill be plinty for them.” + +“I don't care a damn about fortune,” said Phelim, for the first time +taking a part in the bargain--“so long as I get the darlin' herself. But +I think there 'ud be no harm in havin' a spare pair o' blankets--an', +for that matther, a bedstead, too--in case a friend came to see a body.” + +“I don't much mind givin' you a brother to the bedstead you have, +Phelim,” replied Donovan, winking at the company, for he was perfectly +aware of the nature of Phelim's bedstead. + +“I'll tell you what you must do,” said Larry, “otherwise I'll not stand +it. Give the colleen a chaff bed, blankets an' all other parts complate, +along wid that slip of a pig. If you don't do this, Paddy Donovan, why +we'll finish the whiskey an' part friends--but it's no match.” + +“I'll never do it, Larry. The bed an' beddin' I'll give; but the pig +I'll by no manner o' manes part wid.” + +“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're gettin' dhry agin--sayin' +nothin' is dhroothy work. Ould man, will you not bother us about +fortune!” + +“Come, Paddy Donnovan,” wid Devlin, “dang it, let out a little, +considher he has ten guineas; and I give it as my downright maxim an +opinion, that he's fairly entitled to the pig.” + +“You're welcome to give your opinion, Antony, an' I'm welcome not to +care a rotten sthraw about it. My daughter's wife enough for him, widout +a gown to her back, if he had his ten guineas doubled.” + +“An' my son,” said Larry, “is husband enough for a betther girl nor ever +called you father--not makin' little, at the same time, of either you or +her.” + +“Paddy,” said Burn, “there's no use in spakin' that way. I agree wid +Antony, that you ought to throw in the 'slip.'” + +“Is it what I have to pay my next gale o' rint wid? No, no! If he won't +marry her widout it, she'll get as good that will.” + +“Saize the 'slip,” said Phelim, “the darlin' herself here is all the +slip I want.” + +“But I'm not so,” said Larry, “the 'slip' must go in, or it's a brake +off. Phelim can get girls that has money enough to buy us all out o' +root. Did you hear that, Paddy Donovan?” + +“I hear it,” said Paddy, “but I'll b'lieve as much of it as I like.” + +Phelim apprehended that as his father got warm with the liquor, he +might, in vindicating the truth of his own assertion, divulge the affair +of the old housekeeper. + +“Ould man,” said he “have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any +regard for Phelim.” + +“I'd not be brow-bate into anything,” observed Donovan. + +“Sowl, you would not,” said Phelim; “for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to +marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all, +barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip.” + +“Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency,” said +Donovan; “but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past +the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather.” + +“Whish!” said Appleton, “that's the go! Success ould heart! Give us your +hand, Paddy,--here's your good health, an' may you never button an empty +pocket!” + +“Is all settled?” inquired Molly. + +“All, but about the weddin' an' the calls,” replied her husband. “How +are we to do about that, Larry?” + +“Why, in the name o' Goodness, to save time,” he replied, “let them be +called on Sunday next, the two Sundays afther, an thin marrid, wid a +blessin'.” + +“I agree wid that entirely,” observed Molly; “an' now Phelim, clear +away, you an' Peggy, off o' that chist, till we have our bit o' supper +in comfort.” + +“Phelim,” said Larry, “when the suppers done, you must slip over to +Roche's for a couple o' bottles more o' whiskey. We'll make a night of +it.” + +“There's two bottles in the house,” said Donovan; “an', be the +saikerment, the first man that talks of bringin' in more, till these is +dhrunk, is ondacent.” + +This was decisive. In the meantime, the chest was turned into a table, +the supper laid, and the attack commenced. All was pleasure, fun, +and friendship. The reader may be assured that Phelim, during the +negotiation, had not misspent the time with Peggy, Their conversation, +however, was in a tone too low to be heard by those who were themselves +talking loudly. + +One thing, however, Phelim understood from his friend Sam Appleton, +which was, that some clue had been discovered to an outrage in which he +(Appleton) had been concerned. Above all other subjects, that was one on +which Phelim was but a poor comforter. He himself found circumspection +necessary; and he told Appleton, that if ever danger approached him, he +had resolved either to enlist, or go to America, if he could command the +money. + +“You ought to do that immediately,” added Phelim. + +“Where's the money?” replied the other. “I don't know,” said Phelim; +“but if I was bent on goin', the want of money wouldn't stop me as long +as it could be found in the counthry. We had to do as bad for others, +an' it can't be a greater sin to do that much for ourselves.” + +“I'll think of it,” said Appleton. “Any rate, it's in for a penny, in +for a pound, wid me.” + +When supper was over, they resumed their drinking, sang songs, and told +anecdotes with great glee and hilarity. Phelim and Peggy danced jigs and +reels, whilst Appleton sang for them, and the bottle also did its duty. + +On separating about two o'clock, there was not a sober man among them +but Appleton. He declined drinking, and was backed in his abstemiousness +by Phelim, who knew that sobriety on the part of Sam would leave himself +more liquor. Phelim, therefore, drank for them both, and that to such +excess, that Larry, by Appleton's advice, left him at his father's in +consequence of his inability to proceed homewards. It was not, however, +without serious trouble that Appleton could get Phelim and the father +separated; and when he did, Larry's grief was bitter in the extreme. By +much entreaty, joined to some vigorous shoves towards the door, he was +prevailed upon to depart without him; but the old man compensated for +the son's absence, by indulging in the most vociferous sorrow as he +went along, about “Ma Phelim.” When he reached home, his grief burst out +afresh; he slapped the palms of his hands together, and indulged in a +continuous howl, that one on hearing it would imagine to be the very +echo of misery, When he had fatigued himself, he fell asleep on the bed, +without having undressed, where he lay until near nine o'clock the next +morning. Having got up and breakfasted, he related to his wife, with an +aching head, the result of the last night's proceedings. Everything +he assured her was settled: Phelim and Peggy were to be called the +following Sunday, as Phelim, he supposed, had already informed her. + +“Where's Phelim?” said the wife; “an' why didn't he come home wid you +last night?” + +“Where is Phelim? Why, Sheelah, woman sure he did come home wid me last +night.” + +“_Ghrush orrin_, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I thought +you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often at +night, myself didn't think it sthrange.” + +Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who +had altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding +night, after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to +Donovan's to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when Phelim +made his appearance, dressed in his own tender apparel only. His face +was three inches longer than usual, and the droop in his eye remarkably +conspicuous. + +“No fear of him,” said the father, “here's himself. Arrah, Phelim, what +became of you last night? Where wor you?” + +Phelim sat down very deliberately and calmly, looked dismally at his +mother, and then looked more dismally at his father. + +“I suppose you're sick too, Phelim,” said the father. “My head's goin' +round like a top.” + +“Ate your breakfast,” said his mother; it's the best thing for you.” + +“Where wor you last night, Phelim?” inquired the father. + +“What are you sayin', ould man?” + +“Who wor you wid last night?” + +“Do, Phelim,” said the mother, “tell us, aroon. I hope it wasn't out you +wor. Tell us, avourneen?” + +“Ould woman, what are you talking about?” + +Phelim whistled “_ulican dim oh_,” or, “the song of sorrow.” At length +he bounced to his feet, and exclaimed in a loud, rapid voice:--“_Ma +chuirp an diouol!_ ould couple, but I'm robbed of my ten guineas by Sam +Appleton!” + +“Robbed by Sam Appleton! Heavens above!” exclaimed the father. + +“Robbed by Sam Appleton! _Gra machree_, Phelim! no, you aren't!” + exclaimed the mother. + +“_Gra machree_ yourself! but I say I am,” replied Phelim; “robbed clane +of every penny of it!” + +Phelim then sat down to breakfast--for he was one of those happy mortals +whose appetite is rather sharpened by affliction--and immediately +related to his father and mother the necessity which Appleton's +connection had imposed on him of leaving the country; adding, that while +he was in a state of intoxication, he had been stripped of Appleton's +clothes; that his own were left beside him; that when he awoke the next +morning, he found his borrowed suit gone; that on searching for his own, +he found, to his misery, that the ten guineas had disappeared along with +Appleton, who, he understood from his father, had “left the neighborhood +for a while, till the throuble he was in 'ud pass over.” + +“But I know where he's gone,” said Phelim, “an' may the divil's luck go +wid him, an' God's curse on the day I ever had anything to do wid +that hell-fire Ribbon business! 'Twas he first brought me into it, the +villain; an' now I'd give the town land we're in to be fairly out of +it.” + +“_Hanim an diouol!_” said the father, “is the ten guineas gone? The +curse of hell upon him, for a black desaver! Where's the villain, +Phelim?” + +“He's gone to America,” replied the son* “The divil tare the tongue +out o' myself,' too! I should be puttin' him up to go there, an' to get +money, if it was to be had. The villain bit me fairly.” + +“Well, but how are we to manage?” inquired Larry. “What's to be done?” + +“Why,” said the other, “to bear it an say nothin'. Even if he was in his +father's house, the double-faced villain has me so much in his power, +that I couldn't say a word about it. My curse on the Ribbon business, I +say, from my heart out!” + +That day was a very miserable one to Phelim and the father. The loss of +the ten guineas, and the feverish sickness produced from their debauch, +rendered their situation not enviable. Some other small matters, too, +in which Phelim was especially concerned, independent of the awkward +situation in which he felt himself respecting the three calls on the +following day, which was Sunday, added greater weight to his anxiety. He +knew not how to manage, especially upon the subject of his habiliments, +which certainly were in a very dilapidated state. An Irishman, however, +never despairs. If he has not apparel of his own sufficiently decent to +wear on his wedding-day, he borrows from a friend. Phelim and his father +remembered that there were several neighbors in the village, who would +oblige him with a suit for the wedding; and as to the other necessary +expenses, they did what their countrymen are famous for--they trusted to +chance. + +“We'll work ourselves out of it some way,” said Larry. “Sure, if all +fails us, we can sell the goats for the weddin' expenses. It's one +comfort that Paddy Donovan must find the dinner; an' all we have to get +is the whiskey, the marriage money, an' some other thrifies.” + +“They say,” observed Phelim, “that people have more luck whin they're +married than whin they're single. I'll have a bout at the marriage, so +I will; for worse luck I can't have, if I had half a dozen wives, than I +always met wid.” + + * This is another absurd opinion peculiar to the + Irish, and certainly one of the most pernicious that + prevail among them. Indeed, I believe there is no + country in which so many absurd maxims exist. + +“I'll go down,” observed Larry, “to Paddy Donovan's, an' send him to the +priest's to dive in your names to be called to-morrow. Faith, it's well +that you won't have to appear, or I dunna how you'd get over it.” + +“No,” said Phelim, “that bill won't pass. You must go to the priest +yourself, an' see the curate: if you go near Father O'Hara, it 'ud knock +a plan on the head that I've invinted. I'm in the notion that I'll make +the ould woman bleed agin. I'll squeeze as much out of her as I'll +bring me to America, for I'm not overly safe here; or, if all fails, +I'll marry her, an' run away wid the money. It 'ud bring us all across.” + +Larry's interview with the curate was but a short one. He waited on +Donovan, however, before he went, who expressed himself satisfied with +the arrangement, and looked forward to the marriage as certain. As for +Phelim, the idea of being called to three females at the same time, was +one that tickled his vanity very much. Vanity, where the fair sex was +concerned, had been always his predominant failing. He was not finally +determined on marriage with any of them; but he knew that should he +even escape the three, the _eclat_, resulting from so celebrated a +transaction would recommend him to the sex for the remainder of his +life. Impressed with this view of the matter, he sauntered about as +usual; saw Foodie Flattery's daughter, and understood that her uncle had +gone to the priest, to have his niece and worthy Phelim called the next +day. But besides this hypothesis, Phelim had another, which, after all, +was the real one. He hoped that the three applications would prevent the +priest from calling him at all. + +The priest, who possessed much sarcastic humor, on finding the name of +Phelim come in as a candidate for marriage honors with three different +women, felt considerably puzzled to know what he could be at. That +Phelim might hoax one or two of them was very probable, but that he +should have the effrontery to make him the instrument of such an affair, +he thought a little too bad. + +“Now,” said he to his curate, as they talked the matter over that night. +“it is quite evident that this scapegrace reckons upon our refusal to +call him with any of those females to-morrow. It is also certain that +not one of the three to whom he has pledged himself is aware that he is +under similar obligations to the other two.” + +“How do you intend to act, sir?” inquired the curate. + +“Why,” said Mr. O'Hara, “certainly to call him to each: it will give +the business a turn for which he is not prepared. He will stand exposed, +moreover, before the congregation, and that will be some punishment to +him.” + +“I don't know as to the punishment,” replied the curate. “If ever a +human being was free from shame, Phelim is. The fellow will consider it +a joke.” + +“Very possible,” observed his superior, “but I am anxious to punish this +old woman. It may prevent her from uniting herself with a fellow who +certainly would, on becoming master of her money, immediately abandon +her--perhaps proceed to America.” + +“It will also put the females of the parish on their guard against him,” + said the innocent curate, who knew not that it would raise him highly in +their estimation. + +“We will have a scene, at all events,” said Mr. O'Hara; “for I'm +resolved to expose him. No blame can be attached to those whom he has +duped, excepting only the old woman, whose case will certainly excite +a great deal of mirth. That matters not, however; she has earned the +ridicule, and let her bear it.” It was not until Sunday morning that the +three calls occurred to Phelim in a new light. + +He forgot that the friends of the offended parties might visit upon his +proper carcase the contumely he offered to them. This, however, did not +give him much anxiety, for Phelim was never more in his element than +when entering upon a row. + +The Sunday in question was fine, and the congregation unusually large; +one would think that all the inhabitants of the parish of Teernarogarah +had been assembled. Most of them certainly were. + +The priest, after having gone through the usual ceremonies of the +Sabbath worship, excepting those with which he concludes the mass, +turned round to the congregation, and thus addressed them:-- + +“I would not,” said he, “upon any other occasion of this kind, think it +necessary to address you at all; but this is one perfectly unique, and +in some degree patriarchal, because, my friends, we are informed that +it was allowed in the times of Abraham and his successors, to keep +more than one wife. This custom is about being revived by a modern, +who wants, in rather a barefaced manner, to palm himself upon us as a +patriarch. And who do you think, my friends, this Irish Patriarch is? +Why, no other than bouncing Phelim O'Toole!” + +This was received precisely as the priest anticipated: loud were the +snouts of laughter from all parts of the congregation. + +“Divil a fear o' Phelim!” they exclaimed. “He wouldn't be himself, or +he'd kick up a dust some way.” + +“Blessed Phelim! Just like him! Faith, he couldn't be marrid in the +common coorse!” + +“Arrah, whisht till we hear the name o' the happy crathur that's to be +blisthered with Phelim! The darlin's in luck, whoever she is, an' has +gained a blessed prize in the 'Bouncer.'” + +“This bouncing patriarch,” continued the priest, “has made his selection +with great judgment and discrimination. In the first place, he has +pitched upon a hoary damsel of long standing in the world;--one blessed +with age and experience. She is qualified to keep Phelim's house well, +as soon as it shall be built; but whether she will be able to keep +Phelim himself, is another consideration. It is not unlikely that +Phelim, in imitation of his great prototypes, may prefer living in a +tent. But whether she keeps Phelim or the house, one thing is certain, +that Phelim will keep her money. Phelim selected this aged woman, we +presume, for her judgment; for surely she who has given such convincing +proof of discretion, must make a useful partner to one who, like Phelim, +has that virtue yet to learn. I have no doubt, however, but in a short +time he will be as discreet as his teacher.” + +“Blood alive! Isn't that fine language?” + +“You may say that! Begad, it's himself can discoorse! What's the +Protestants to that?” + +“The next upon the list is one who, though a poor man's daughter, will +certainly bring property to Phelim. There is also an aptness in this +selection, which does credit to the 'Patriarch.' Phelim is a great +dancer, an accomplishment with which we do not read that the patriarchs +themselves were possessed: although we certainly do read that a light +heel was of little service to Jacob. Well, Phelim carries a light heel, +and the second female of his choice on this list carries a 'light hand;' +(* Intimating theft) it is, therefore, but natural to suppose that, if +ever they are driven to extremities, they will make light of many things +which other people would consider as of weighty moment. Whether Phelim +and she may long remain stationary in this country, is a problem +more likely to be solved at the county assizes than here. It is not +improbable that his Majesty may recommend the 'Patriarch' and one of +his wives to try the benefit of a voyage to New South Wales, he himself +graciously vouch-saving to bear their expenses.” + +“Divil a lie in that, anyhow! If ever any one crossed the wather, Phelim +will. Can't his Reverence be funny whin he plases?” + +“Many a time it was prophecized for him: an' his Reverence knows best.” + +“Begad, Phelim's gettin' over the coals. But sure it's all the way the +father an' mother reared him.” + +“Tunder-an'-trff, is he goin' to be called to a pair o' them?” + +“Faix, so it seems.” + +“Oh, the divil's clip! Is he mad? But let us hear it out.” + +“The third damsel is by no means so, well adapted for Phelim as either +of the other two. What she could have seen in him is another problem +much more difficult than the one I have mentioned. I would advise her +to reconsider the subject, and let Phelim have the full benefit of the +attention she may bestow upon it. If she finds the 'Patriarch' possessed +of any one virtue, except necessity, I will admit that it is pretty +certain that she will soon discover the longitude, and that has puzzled +the most learned men of the world. If she marries this 'Patriarch', I +think the angels who may visit him will come in the shape of policemen; +and that Phelim, so long as he can find a cudgel, will give them +anything but a patriarchal reception, is another thing of which we may +rest pretty certain. + +“I. now publish the bans of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of +Teernarogarah, and Bridget Doran of Dernascobe. If any person knows of +any impediment why these two should not be joined in wedlock, they are +bound to declare it. + +“This Bridget Doran, my friends, is no other than my old housekeeper; +but when, where, or how, Phelim could have won upon her juvenile +affections is one of those mysteries which is never to be explained. +I dare say, the match was brought about by despair on her side, and +necessity on his. She despaired of getting a husband, and he had a +necessity for the money. In point of age I admit she would make a very +fit wife for any 'Patriarch.'” + +Language could not describe the effect which this disclosure produced +upon the congregation. The fancy of every one present was tickled at +the idea of a union between Phelim and the old woman. It was followed by +roars of laughter which lasted several minutes. + +“Oh, thin, the curse o' the crows upon him, was he only able to butther +up the ould woman! Oh, _Ghe dldven!_ that flogs. Why, it's a wondher he +didn't stale the ould slip, an' make a run-away match of it--ha, ha, ha! +Musha, bad scran to her, but she had young notions of her own! A purty +bird she picked up in Phelim!--ha, ha, ha!” + +“I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of +Teernarogarah and Sally Flattery of the same place. If any of you knows +of any impediment why they should not be joined in wedlock you are bound +to declare it.” + +The mirth rose again, loud and general. Poodle Flattery, whose character +was so well known, appeared so proper a father-in-law for Phelim, that +his selection in this instance delighted them highly. + +“Betther an' betther, Phelim! More power to you! You're fixed at last. +Poodle Flattery's daughter--a known thief! Well, what harm? Phelim +himself has pitch on his fingers--or had, anyhow, when he was growin' +up--for many a thing stuck to them. Oh, bedad, now we know what his +Reverence was at when he talked about the 'Sizes, bad luck to them! +Betune her an' the ould woman, Phelim 'ud be in Paradise! Foodie +Flattery's daughter! Begad, she'll 'bring him property' sure enough, as +his Reverence says.” + +“I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole--whom we +must in future call the 'Patriarch'--of Teernarogarah, and Peggy Donovan +of the same place. If any of you knows any impediment in the way of +their marriage, you are bound to declare it.” + +“Bravo! Phelim acushla. 'Tis you that's the blessed youth. +Tundher-an'-whiskey, did ever any body hear of sich desate? To do three +o' them. Be sure the Bouncer has some schame in this. Well, one would +suppose Paddy Donovan an' his daughter had more sinse nor to think of +sich a runagate as Bouncin' Phelim.” + +“No, but the Pathriark! Sure his Reverence sez that we musn't call him +anything agin but the Pathriark! Oh, be gorra, that's the name!--ha, ha, +ha!” + +When the mirth of the congregation had subsided, and their comments +ended, the priest concluded in the following words:-- + +“Now, my friends, here is such a piece of profligacy as I have never, +in the whole course of my pastoral duties, witnessed. It is the act of +Phelim O'Toole, be it known, who did not scruple to engage himself for +marriage to three females--that is, to two girls and an old woman--and +who, in addition, had the effrontery to send me his name and theirs, to +be given out all on the same Sunday; thus making me an instrument in his +hands to hoax those who trusted in his word. That he can marry but +one of them is quite clear; but that he would not scruple to marry the +three, and three more to complete the half-dozen, is a fact which no one +who knows him will doubt. For my part, I know not how this business may +terminate. Of a truth he has contrived to leave the claims of the three +females in a state of excellent confusion. Whether it raise or lessen +him in their opinion I cannot pretend to determine. I am sorry for +Donovan's daughter, for I know not what greater calamity could befall +any honest family than a matrimonial union with Phelim O'Toole. I trust +that this day's proceedings will operate as a caution to the females +of the parish against such an unscrupulous reprobate. It is for this +purpose only that I publish the names given in to me. His character was +pretty well known before; it is now established; and having established +it, I dismiss the subject altogether.” + +Phelim's fame was now nearly at its height. Never before had such a case +been known; yet the people somehow were not so much astonished as might +be supposed. On the contrary, had Phelim's courtship gone off like that +of another man, they would have felt more surprised. We need scarcely +say, that the “giving out” or “calling” of Phelim and the three damsels +was spread over the whole parish before the close of that Sunday. Every +one had it--man, woman, and child. It was told, repeated, and improved +as it went along. Now circumstances were added, fresh points made out, +and other _dramatis personae_ brought in--all with great felicity, and +quite suitable to Phelim's character. + +Strongly contrasted with the amusement of the parishioners in general, +was the indignation felt by the three damsels and their friends. The old +housekeeper was perfectly furious; so much so, indeed, that the priest +gave some dark hints at the necessity of sending for a strait waistcoat. +Her fellow-servants took the liberty of breaking some strong jests upon +her, in return for which she took the liberty of breaking two strong +churnstaves upon them. Being a remarkably stout woman for her years, +she put forth her strength to such purpose that few of them went to bed +without sore bones. The priest was seriously annoyed at it, for he found +that his house was a scene of battle during the remainder of the day. + +Sally Flattery's uncle, in the absence of her father, indignantly +espoused the cause of his niece. He and Donovan each went among their +friends to excite in them a proper resentment, and to form a faction for +the purpose of chastising Phelim. Their chagrin was bitter on finding +that their most wrathful representations of the insult sustained by +their families, were received with no other spirit than one of the most +extravagant mirth. In vain did they rage and fume, and swear; they could +get no one to take a serious view of it. Phelim O'Toole was the author +of all, and from him it was precisely what they had expected. + +Phelim himself, and the father, on hearing of the occurrence after mass, +were as merry as any other two in the parish. At first the father was +disposed to lose his temper; but on Phelim telling him he would bear no +“gosther” on the subject, he thought proper to take it in good humor. +About this time they had not more than a week's provision in the house, +and only three shillings of capital. The joke of the three calls was too +good a one to pass off as an ordinary affair; they had three shillings, +and although it was their last, neither of them could permit the +matter to escape as a dry joke. They accordingly repaired to the little +public-house of the village, where they laughed at the world, got drunk, +hugged each other, despised all mankind, and staggered home, Fagged and +merry, poor and hearty, their arms about each other's necks, perfect +models of filial duty and paternal affection. + +The reader is aware that the history of Phelim's abrupt engagement +with the housekeeper, was conveyed by Fool Art to Sally Flattery. Her +thievish character rendered marriage as hopeless to her as length of +days did to Bridget Doran. No one knew the plan she had laid for Phelim, +but this fool, and, in order to secure his silence, she had promised him +a shirt on the Monday after the first call. Now Art, as was evident +by his endless habit of shrugging, felt the necessity of a shirt very +strongly. + +About ton o'clock on Monday he presented himself to Sally, and claimed +his recompense. + +“Art,” said Sally, “the shirt I intended for you is upon Squire Nugent's +hedge beside their garden. You know the family's goin' up to Dublin on +Thursday, Art, an' they're gettin' their washin' done in time to be off. +Go down, but don't let any one see you; take the third shirt on the row, +an' bring it up to me till I smooth it for you.” + +Art sallied down to the hedge on which the linen had been put out to +dry, and having reconnoitered the premises, shrugged himself, and cast a +longing eye on the third shirt. With that knavish penetration, however, +peculiar to such persons, he began to reflect that Sally might have +some other object in view besides his accommodation. He determined, +therefore, to proceed upon new principles--sufficiently safe, he +thought, to protect him from the consequences of theft. “Good-morrow, +Bush,” said Art, addressing that on which the third shirt was spread. +“Isn't it a burnin' shame an' a sin for you,” he continued, “to have +sich a line white shirt an you, an' me widout a stitch to my back. Will +you swap?” + +Having waited until the bush had due time to reply. + +“Sorra fairer,” he observed; “silence gives consint.” + +In less than two minutes he stripped, put on one of the Squire's best +shirts, and spread out his own dusky fragment in its place. + +“It's a good thing,” said Art, “to have a clear conscience; a fair +exchange is no robbery.” + +Now, it so happened that the Squire himself, who was a humorist, and +also a justice of the peace, saw Art putting his morality in practice at +the hedge. He immediately walked out with an intention of playing off +a trick upon the fool for his dishonesty; and he felt the greater +inclination to do this in consequence of an opinion long current, that +Art, though he had outwitted several, had never been outwitted himself. + +Art had been always a welcome guest in the Squire's kitchen, and never +passed the “Big House,” as an Irish country gentleman's residence is +termed, without calling. On this occasion, however, he was too cunning +to go near it--a fact which the Squire observed. By taking a short cut +across one of his own fields, he got before Art, and turning the angle +of a hedge, met him trotting along at his usual pace. + +“Well, Art, where now?” + +“To the crass roads, your honor.” + +“Art, is not this a fine place of mine? Look at these groves, and the +lawn, and the river there, and the mountains behind all. Is it not equal +to Sir William E-----'s?” + +Sir William was Art's favorite patron. + +“Sir William, your honor, has all this at his place.” + +“But I think my views are finer.” + +“They're fine enough,” replied Art; “but where's the lake afore the +door?” + +The Squire said no more about his prospects. + +“Art,” he continued, “would you carry a letter from me to M-----?” + +“I'll be wantin' somethin' to dhrink on the way,” said Art. + +“You shall get something to eat and drink before you go,” said the +Squire, “and half-a-crown for your trouble.” + +“Augh,” exclaimed Art, “be dodda, sir, you're nosed like Sir William, +and chinned like Captain Taylor.” This was always Art's compliment when +pleased. + +The Squire brought him up to the house, ordered him refreshment, and +while Art partook of it, wrote a _letter of mittimus_ to the county +jailor, authorizing him to detain the bearer in prison until he should +hear further from him. + +Art, having received the half-crown and the letter, appeared delighted; +but, on hearing the name of the person to whom it was addressed, he +smelt a trick. He promised faithfully, however, to deliver it, and +betrayed no symptoms whatever of suspicion. After getting some distance +from the big house, he set his wits to work, and ran over in his mind +the names of those who had been most in the habit of annoying him. At +the head of this list stood Phelim O'Toole, and on Phelim's head did +he resolve to transfer the revenge which the Squire, he had no doubt, +intended to take on himself. + +With considerable speed he made way to Larry O'Toole's, where such a +scene presented itself as made him for a moment forget the immediate +purport of his visit. + +Opposite Phelim, dressed out in her best finery, stood the housekeeper, +zealously insisting' on either money or marriage. On one side of him +stood old Donovan and his daughter, whom he had forced to come, in the +character of a witness, to support his charges against the gay deceiver. +On the other were ranged Sally Flattery, in tears, and her uncle in +wrath, each ready to pounce upon Phelim. + +Phelim stood the very emblem of patience and good-humor. When one of +them attacked him, he winked at the other two when either of the other +two came on, he Winked still at those who took breath. Sometimes he trod +on his father's toe, lest the old fellow might lose the joke, and not +unfrequently proposed their going to a public-house, and composing their +differences over a bottle, if any of them would pay the expenses. + +“What do you mane to do?” said the housekeeper; “but it's asy known +I'm an unprojected woman, or I wouldn't be thrated as I am. If I had +relations livin' or near me, we'd pay you on the bones for bringin' me +to shame and scandal, as you have done.” + +“Upon my sanies, Mrs. Doran, I feel for your situation, so I do,” said +Phelim. You've outlived all your friends, an' if it was in my power to +bring any o' them back to you I'd do it.” + +“Oh, you desaver, is that the feelin' you have for me, when I thought +you'd be a guard an' a projection to me? You know I have the money, you +sconce, an' how comfortable it 'ud keep us, if you'd only see what's +good for you. You blarnied an' palavered me, you villain, till you +gained my infections an' thin you tuck the cholic as an excuse to lave +me in a state of dissolution an' disparagement. You promised to marry +me, an' you had no notion of it.” + +“You're not the only one he has disgraced, Mrs. Doran,” said Donovan. +“A purty way he came down, himself an' his father, undher pretence of +coortin' my daughter. He should lay down his ten guineas, too, to show +us what he had to begin the world wid, the villain!--an' him had no +notion of it aither.” + +“An' he should send this girl to make me go to the priest to have him +and her called, the reprobate,” said Nick Flattery; “an' him had no +notion of it aither.” + +“Sure he sent us all there,” exclaimed Donovan. + +“He did,” said the old woman. + +“Not a doubt of it,” observed Flattery. + +“Ten guineas!” said the housekeeper. “An' so you brought my ten guineas +in your pocket to coort another girl! Aren't you a right profligate?” + +“Yes,” said Donovan, “aren't you a right profligate?” + +“Answer the dacent people,” said Mattery, “aren't you a right +profligate?” + +“Take the world asy, all of ye,” replied Phelim. “Mrs. Doran, there was +three of you called, sure enough; but, be the vestments, I intinded--do +you hear me, Mrs. Doran? Now have rason--I say, do you hear me? Be the +vestmints, I intinded to marry only one of you; an' that I'll do still, +except I'm vexed--(a wink at the old woman). Yet you're all flyin' at +me, as if I had three heads or three tails upon me.” + +“Maybe the poor boy's not so much to blame,” said Mrs. Doran. “There's +hussies in this world,” and here she threw an angry eye upon the other +two, “that 'ud give a man no pace till he'd promise to marry them.” + +“Why did he promise to them that didn't want him thin?” exclaimed +Donovan. “I'm not angry that he didn't marry my daughther--for I +wouldn't give her to him now--but I am at the slight he put an her.” + +“Paddy Donovan, did you hear what I said jist now?” replied Phelim, “I +wish to Jamini some people 'ud have sinse! Be them five crasses, I knew +thim I intinded to marry, as well as I do where I'm standin'. That's +plain talk, Paddy. I'm sure the world's not passed yet, I hope”--(a wink +at Paddy Donovan.) + +“An' wasn't he a big rascal to make little of my brother's daughter as +he did?” said Flattery; “but he'll rub his heels together for the same +act.” + +“Nick Flathery, do you think I could marry three wives? Be that +horseshoe over the door, Sally Flathery, you didn't thrate me dacent. +She did not, Nick, an' you ought to know that it was wrong of her to +come here to-day.” + +“Well, but what do you intind to do Phelim, avourn--you profligate?” + said the half-angry, half-pacified housekeeper, who, being the veteran, +always led on the charge. “Why, I intind to marry one of you,” said +Phelim. “I say, Mrs. Doran, do you see thim ten fingers acrass--be thim +five crasses I'll do what I said, if nothing happens to put it aside.” + +“Then be an honest man,” said Flattery, “an' tell us which o' them you +will marry.” + +“Nick, don't you know I always regarded your family. If I didn't that +I may never do an ill turn! Now! But some people can't see anything. +Arrah, fandher-an'-whiskey, man, would you expect me to tell out before +all that's here, who I'll marry--to be hurtin' the feelin's of the rest. +Faith, I'll never do a shabby thing.” + +“What rekimpinse will you make my daughter for bringin' down her name +afore the whole parish, along wid them she oughtn't to be named in the +one day wid?” said Donovan. + +“An' who is that, Paddy Donovan?” said the housekeeper, with a face of +flame. + +“None of your broad hints, Paddy,” said Nick. “If it's a collusion to +Sally Flattery you mane, take care I don't make you ate your words.” + +“Paddy,” exclaimed Phelim, “you oughtn't to be hurtin' their +feelin's!”--(a friendly wink to Paddy.) + +“If you mane me,” said the housekeeper, “by the crook on the fire, I'd +lave you a mark.” + +“I mane you for one, thin, since you provoke me,” replied Donovan. + +“For one, is it?” said Nick; “an' who's the other, i' you plase?” + +“Your brother's daughter,” he replied. “Do you think I'd even (* +compare) my daughter to a thief?” + +“Be gorra,” observed Phelim, “that's too provokin', an' what I wouldn't +bear. Will ye keep the pace, I say, till I spake a word to Mrs Doran? +Mrs. Doran, can I have a word or two wid you outside the house?” + +“To be sure you can,” she replied; “I'd give you fair play, if the +diouol was in you.” + +Phelim, accordingly, brought her out, and thus accosted her,-- + +“Now, Mrs. Doran, you think I thrated you ondacent; but do you see that +book?” said he, producing a book of ballads, on which he had sworn many +a similar oath before? “Be the contints o' that book, as sure as you're +beside me, it's you I intind to marry. These other two--the curse o' +the crows upon them! I wish we could get them from about the place--is +bothyrin' for love o' me, an' I surely did promise to get myself called +to them. They wanted it to be a promise of marriage; but, says I, 'sure +if we're called together it's the same, for whin it comes to that, all's +right,'--an' so I tould both o' them, unknownst to one another. Arra, +be me sowl, you'd make two like them, so you would; an' if you hadn't +a penny, I'd marry you afore aither o' them to-morrow. Now, there's the +whole sacret, an' don't be onaisy about it. Tell Father O'Hara how it +is, whin you go home, an' that he must call the three o' you to me agin +on next Sunday, and the Sunday afther, plase Goodness; jist that I may +keep my promise to them. You know I couldn't have luck or grace if I +marrid you wid the sin of two broken promises on me.” + +“My goodness, Phelim, but you tuck a, burdyeen off o' me! Faix, you'll +see how happy we'll be.” + +“To be sure we will! But I'm tould you're sometimes crass, Mrs. Doran. +Now, you must promise to be kind an' lovin' to the childre, or be the +vestment, I'll break off the match yet.” + +“Och, an' why wouldn't I, Phelim, acushla? Sure that's but rason.” + +“Well, take this book an' swear it. Be gorra, your word won't do, +for it's a thing my mind's made up on. It's I that'll be fond o' the +childre.” + +“An' how am I to swear it, Phelim? for I never tuck an oath myself yet.” + +“Take the book in your hand, shut one eye, and say the words afther me. +Be the contints o' this book,” + +“Be the contints o' this book,” + +“I'll be kind an' motherly, an' boistherous,” + +“I'll be kind, an' motherly, an boistherous,” + +“To my own childhre,” + +“To my own childhre,” + +“An' never bate or abuse thim,” + +“An' never bate or abuse thim,” + +“Barrin' whin they desarve it;” + +“Barrin' whin they desarve it;” + +“An' this I swear,” + +“An' this I swear,” + +“In the presence of St. Phelim,” + +“In the presence of St. Phelim,” “Amin!” + +“Amin!” + +“Now, Mrs. Doran, acushla, if you could jist know how asy my conscience +is about the childhre, poor crathurs, you'd be in mighty fine spirits. +There won't be sich a lovin' husband, begad, in Europe. It's I that'll +coax you, an' butther you up like a new pair o' brogues; but, begad, +you must be sweeter than liquorice or sugar-candy to me. Won't you, +darlin'?” + +“Be the crass, Phelim, darlin', jewel, I'll be as kind a wife as ever +breathed. Arrah, Phelim, won't you come down to-morrow evenin'? There'll +be no one at home but myself, an'--ha, ha, ha!--Oh, you coaxin' rogue! +But, Phelim, you musn't be--Oh, you're a rogue! I see you laughin'! Will +you come darlin?” + +“Surely. But, death alive! I was near for-gettin'; sure, bad luck to the +penny o' the ten guineas but I paid away.” + +“Paid away! Is it my ten guineas?” + +“Your ten guineas, darlin'; an' right well I managed it. Didn't I secure +Pat Hanratty's farm by it? Sam Appleton's uncle had it as good as taken; +so, begad, I came down wid the ten guineas, by way of airles, an' now we +have it. I knew you'd be plased to hear it, an' that you'd be proud to +give me ten more for clo'es an' the weddin' expenses. Isn't that good +news, avourneen? Eh, you duck o' diamonds? Faith, let Phelim alone! An' +another thing--I must call you Bridget for the future! It's sweeter an' +more lovin'.” + +“Phelim, I wish you had consulted wid me afore you done it: but it +can't be helped. Come down to-morrow evenin', an' we'll see what's to be +done.” + +“The grace o'heaven upon you, but you are the winnin'est woman alive +this day! Now take my advice, an' go home without comin' in. I'm wantin' +to get this other pair off o' my hands, as well as I can, an' our best +way is to do it all widout noise. Isn't it, darlin'?” + +“It is, Phelim, jewel; an' I'll go.” + +“Faith, Bridget, you've dealt in thracle afore now, you're so sweet. +Now, acushla, farewell: an' take care of yourself till tomorrow +evenin'!” + +Phelim, on re-entering his father's cabin, found Larry and Peggy Donovan +placed between her father and Flattery, each struggling to keep them +asunder. Phelim at first had been anxious to set them by the ears, +but his interview with the old woman changed his plan of operations +altogether. With some difficulty he succeeded in repressing their +tendency to single combat, which, having effected, he brought out +Flattery and his niece, both of whom he thus addressed:-- + +“Be the vestment, Sally, only that my regard an' love for you is +uncommon, I'd break off the affair altogether, so I would.” + +“An' why would you do so, Phelim O'Toole?” inquired the uncle. + +“Bekase,” replied Phelim, “you came here an' made a show of me, when I +wished to have no _bruliagh_, at all at all. In regard of Peggy Donovan, +I never spoke a word to the girl about marriage since I was christened. +Saize the syllable! My father brought me down there to gosther awhile, +the other night, an' Paddy sent away for whiskey. An' the curse o' +Cromwell on myself! I should get tossicated. So while I was half-saes +over, the two ould rip set to makin' the match--planned to have us +called--an' me knowin' nothin' about it, good, bad, or indifferent. +That's the thruth, be the sky above us.” + +“An' what have you to say about the housekeeper, Phelim?” + +“Why I don't know yet, who done me there. I was about takin' a farm, an' +my father borried ten guineas from her. Somebody heard it--I suspect Sam +Appleton--an' gave in our names to the priest, to be called, makin' a +good joke of it. All sorts o' luck to them, barrin' good luck, that did +it; but they put me in a purty state! But never heed! I'll find them out +yet. Now go home, both o' you, an' I'll slip down in half an hour, with +a bottle o' whiskey in my pocket. We'll talk over what's to be done. +Sure Sally here, knows that it's my own intherest to marry her and no +one else.” + +“If my father thought you would, Phelim, he'd not stag, even if he was +to cras the wather!” + +“Go home, Sally darlin' till I get this mad Donovan an' his daughter +away. Be all that's beautiful I'll be apt to give him a taste o' +my shillely, if he doesn't behave himself! Half an hour I'll be +clownin--wid the bottle; an' don't you go, Nick, till you see me.” + +“Phelim,” said the uncle, “you know how the case is. You must aither +marry the girl, or take a long voyage, abouchal. We'll have no bouncin' +or palaver.” + +“Bedad, Mick, I've great patience wid you,” said Phelim, smiling: “go +off, I say, both of you.” + +They proceeded homewards, and Phelim returned to appease the anger of +Donovan, as he had that of the others. Fresh fiction was again drawn +forth, every word of which the worthy father corroborated. They promised +to go down that night and drink another bottle together; a promise which +they knew by the state of their finances, it was impossible to fulfil. +The prospect of a “booze,” however, tranquillized Donovan, who in his +heart relished a glass of liquor as well as either Phelim or the father. +Shaking of hands and professions of friendship were again beginning to +multiply with great rapidity, when Peggy thought proper to make a few +observations on the merits of her admirer. + +“In regard to me,” she observed, “you may save yourself the throuble o' +comin'. I wouldn't marry Phelim, afther what the priest said yistherday, +if he had the riches o' the townland we're spakin' in. I never cared for +him, nor liked him; an' it was only to plase my father an' mother, that +I consinted to be called to him at all. I'll never join myself to the +likes of him. If I do, may I be a corpse the next minute!” + +Having thus expressed herself, she left her father, Phelim, and Larry, +to digest her sentiments, and immediately went home. + +Donovan, who was outrageous at this contempt of his authority, got his +hat with the intention of compelling her to return and retract, in +their presence, what she had said; but the daughter, being the more +light-footed of the two, reached home before he could overtake her, +where, backed by her mother, she maintained her resolution, and +succeeded, ere long, in bringing the father over to her opinion. + +During this whole scene in Larry's, Fool Art sat in that wild +abstraction which characterizes the unhappy class to which he belonged. +He muttered to himself, laughed--or rather chuckled--shrugged his +shoulders, and appeared to be as unconscious of what had taken place as +an automaton. When the coast was clear he rose up and plucking Phelim's +skirt, beckoned him towards the door. + +“Phelim,” said he, when they had got out, “would you like to airn a +crown?” + +“Tell me how, Art?” said Phelim. + +“A letther from, the Square to the jailer of M------ jail. If you bring +back an answer, you'll get a crown, your dinner, an' a quart o' strong +beer.” + +“But why don't you bring it yourself, Art?” + +“Why I'm afeard. Sure they'd keep ma in jail, I'm tould, if they'd catch +me in it. Aha! Bo dodda, I won't go near them: sure they'd hang me for +shootin' Bonypart.--Aha!” + +“Must the answer be brought back today, Art?” + +“Oh! It wouldn't do to-morrow, at all. Be dodda, no! Five shillins, +your dinner, an' a quart of sthrong beer!--Aha! But you must give me +a shillin' or two, to buy a sword; for the Square's goin' to make me a +captain: thin I'll be grand! an' I'll make you a sargin'.” + +This seemed a windfall to Phelim. The unpleasant dilemma in which Sally +Flattery had placed him, by the fabricated account of her father's +imprisonment, made him extremely anxious to see Foodie himself, and to +ascertain the precise outrage for which he had been secured. Here +then was an opportunity of an interview with him, and of earning +five shillings, a good dinner, and a quart of strong beer, as already +specified. + +“Art,” said he, “give me the letther, an' I'm the boy that'll soon do +the job. Long life to you, Art! Be the contints o' the book, Art, I'll +never pelt you or vex you agin, my worthy; an' I'll always call you +captain!” Phelim immediately commenced his journey to M------, which was +only five miles distant, and in a very short time reached the jail, saw +the jailer, and presented his letter. + +The latter, on perusing it, surveyed him with the scrutiny of a man +whose eye was practised in scanning offenders. + +Phelim, whilst the jailer examined him, surveyed the strong and massy +bolts with which every door and hatchway was secured. Their appearance +produced rather an uncomfortable sensation in him; so much so, that +when the jailer asked him his name, he thought it more prudent, in +consequence of a touch of conscience he had, to personate Art for the +present, inasmuch as he felt it impossible to assume any name more safe +than that of an idiot. + +“My name is Art Maguire,” said he in reply to the jailer. “I'm messenger +to Square S----, the one he had was discharged on Friday last. I expect +soon to be made groom, too.” + +“Come this way,” said the jailer, “and you shall have an answer.” + +He brought Phelim into the prison-yard, where he remained for about +twenty minutes, laboring under impressions which he felt becoming +gradually more unpleasant. His anxiety was not lessened on perceiving +twenty or thirty culprits, under the management of the turnkeys, enter +the yard, where they were drawn up in a line, like a file of soldiers. + +“What's your name?” said one of the turnkeys. + +“Art Maguire,” replied Phelim. + +“Stand here,” said the other, shoving him among the prisoners. “Keep +your head up, you villain, an' don't be ashamed to look your friends in +the face. It won't be hard to identify you, at any rate, you scoundrel. +A glimpse of that phiz, even by starlight, would do you, you dog. Jack, +tell Mr. S. to bring in the gintlemen--they're all ready.” + +Phelim's dismay on finding himself under drill with such a villainous +crew was indescribable. He attempted to parley with the turnkey, but was +near feeling the weight of his heavy keys for daring to approach a man +placed in authority. + +While thus chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, three gentlemen, +accompanied by the jailer, entered the yard, and walked backward and +forward in front of the prisoners, whose faces and persons they examined +with great care. For a considerable time they could not recognize any +of them; but just as they were about to give up the scrutiny, one of the +gentlemen approached Phelim, and looking narrowly into his countenance, +exclaimed, + +“Here, jailer, this man I identify. I can-not be mistaken in his face; +the rough visage and drooping eye of that fellow put all doubt as to his +identity out of question. What's his' name?” + +“He gives his name, sir, as Arthur Maguire.” + +“Arthur what, sir?” said another of the turnkeys, looking earnestly +at Phelim. “Why, sir, this is the fellow that swore the alibis for the +Kellys--ay, an' for the Delaneys, an' for the O'Briens. His name is +Phelim O'Toole; an' a purty boy he is, by all report.” + +Phelim, though his heart sank within him, attempted to banter them out +of their bad opinion of him; but there was something peculiarly dismal +and melancholy in his mirth. + +“Why, gintlemen--ha, ha!--be gorra, I'd take it as a convanience--I +mane, as a favor--if you'd believe me that there's a small taste of +mistake here. I was sent by Square S. wid a letter to Mr. S-----t, an' +he gave me fifty ordhers to bring him back an answer this day. As for +Phelim O'Toole, if you mane the rascal that swears the alibis, faith, I +can't deny but I'm as like him, the villain, as one egg is to another. +Bad luck to his 'dhroop,' any how; little I thought that it would ever +bring me into throuble--ha, ha, ha! Mr. S------t, what answer have you +for the Square, sir? Bedad, I'm afeard I'll be late.” + +“That letter, Master Maguire, or Toole, or whatever your name is, +authorizes me to detain you as a prisoner, until I hear further from Mr. +S.” + +“I identify him distinctly,” said the gentleman, once more. “I neither +doubt nor waver on the subject; so you will do right to detain him. I +shall lodge information against him immediately.” + +“Sir,” said Phelim to the jailer, “the Square couldn't mane me at all, +in regard that it was another person he gave the letter to, for to bring +to you, the other person gave it to me. I can make my oath of that. Be +gorra, you're playin' your thrieks upon sthrangers now, I suppose.” + +“Why, you lying rascal,” said the jailer, “have you not a few minutes +ago asserted to the contrary? Did you not tell me that your name was +Arthur, or Art Maguire? That you are Mr. S.'s messenger, and expect to +be made his groom. And now you deny all this.” + +“He's Phelim O'Toole,” said the turnkey, “I'll swear to him; but if you +wait for a minute, I'll soon prove it.” + +He immediately retired to the cell of a convict, whom he knew to be from +the townland of Teernarogarah: and ordering its inmate to look through +the bars of his window, which commanded the yard, he asked him if there +was any one among them whom he knew. + +The fellow in a few minutes replied, “Whethen, divil a one, barrin' +bouncin' Phelim O'Toole.” + +The turnkey brought him down to the yard, where he immediately +recognized Phelim as an old friend, shook hands with him, and addressed +him by his name. + +“Bad luck to you,” said Phelim in Irish, “is this a place to welcome +your friends to!” + +“There is some mystery here,” said the jailer. “I suppose the fact is, +that this fellow returned a wrong name to Mr. S., and that that accounts +for the name of Arthur Maguire being in the letter.” + +All Phelim's attempts to extricate himself were useless. He gave them +the proper version of the letter affair with Fool Art, but without +making the slightest impression. The jailer desired him to be locked up. + +“Divil fire you all, you villains!” exclaimed Phelim, “is it goin' to put +me in crib ye are for no rason in life? Doesn't the whole parish +know that I was never off o' my bed for the last three months, wid a +complaint I had, until widin two or three days agone!” + +“There are two excellent motives for putting you in crib,” said the +jailer; “but if you can prove that you have been confined to your bed so +long as you say, why it will be all the better for yourself. Go with the +turnkey.” + +“No, tarenation to the fut I'll go,” said Phelim, “till I'm carried.” + +“Doesn't the gintleman identify you, you villain,” replied one of the +turnkeys; “an' isn't the Square's letther in your favor?” + +“Villain, is id!” exclaimed Phelim. “An' from a hangman's cousin, too, +we're to bear this!--eh? Take that, anyhow, an' maybe you'll get more +when you don't expect it. Whoo! Success, Phelim! There's blood in you +still, abouchal!” + +He accompanied the words by a spring of triumph from the ground, and +surveyed the already senseless turnkey with exultation. In a moment, +however, he was secured, for the purpose of being put into strong irons. + +“To the devil's warmin' pan wid ye all,” he continued, “you may do your +worst. I defy you. Ha! by the heavens above me, you'll suffer for +this, my fine gintleman. What can ye do but hang or thransport me, you +villains? I tell ye, if a man's sowl had a crust of sin on it a foot +thick, the best way to get it off 'ud be jist to shoot a dozen like you. +Sin! Oh, the divil saize the sin at all in it. But wait! Did ye ever +hear of a man they call Dan O'Connell? Be my sowl, he'll make yez rub +your heels together, for keepin' an innocent boy in jail, that there's +no law or no warrant out for. This is the way we're thrated by thim +that's ridin' rough shod over us. But have a taste o' patience, ye +scoundrels! It won't last, I can tell yez. Our day will soon come, an' +thin I'd recommend yez to thravel for your health. Hell saize the day's +pace or happiness ever will be seen in the country, till laws, an' +judges, an' Jries, an' jails, an' jailers, an' turnkeys, an' hangmen is +all swep out of it. Saize the day. An' along wid them goes the parsons, +procthors, tithes an' taxes, all to the devil together. That day's not +very far off, d----d villains! An' now I tell ye, that if a hair o' my +head's touched--ay, if I was hanged to-morrow--I'd lave them behind me +that 'ud put a bullet, wid the help an' blessin' O Grod, through any one +that'll injure me! So lay that to your conscience, an' do your best. Be +the crass, O'Connell I'll make you look nine ways at wanst for this! +He's the boy can put the pin in your noses! He's the boy can make yez +thrimble, one an' all o' yez--like a dog in a wet sack! An', wid the +blessin' o' God, he'll help us to put our feet on your necks afore +long!” + +“That's a prudent speech,” observed the jailer; “it will serve you very +much.” + +Phelim consigned him to a very warm settlement in reply. + +“Bring the ruffian off” added the jailer; “put him in solitary +confinement.” + +“Put me wid Foodie Flattery,” said Phelim; “you've got him here, +an' I'll go nowhere else. Faith, you'll suffer for givin' me false +imprisonment. Doesn't O'Connell's name make you shake? Put me wid Foodie +Flattery, I say.” + +“Foodie Flattery! There is no such man here. Have you got such a person +here?” inquired the jailer of the turnkey. + +“Not at present,” said the turnkey; “but I know Foodie well. We've had +him here twice. Come away, Phelim; follow me; you're goin' to be put +where you'll have an opportunity of sayin' your prayers.” + +He then ushered Phelim to a cell, where the reader may easily imagine +what he felt. His patriotism rose to a high pitch; he deplored the +wrongs of his country bitterly, and was clearly convinced that until +jails, judges, and assizes, together with a long train of similar +grievances, were utterly abolished, Ireland could never be right, nor +persecuted “boys,” like himself, at full liberty to burn or murder the +enemies of their country with impunity. Notwithstanding these heroic +sentiments, an indifferent round oath more than once escaped him against +Ribbonism in whole and in part. He cursed the system, and the day, and +the hour on which he was inveigled into it. He cursed those who had +initiated him; nor did his father and mother escape for their neglect +of his habits, his morals, and his education. This occurred when he had +time for reflection. Whilst thus dispensing his execrations, the jailer +and the three gentlemen, having been struck with his allusion to Foodie +Flattery, and remembering that Foodie was of indifferent morals, came to +the unanimous opinion that it would be a good plan to secure him; and by +informing him that Phelim was in prison upon a capital charge, endeavor +to work upon his fears, by representing his companion as disposed +to turn approver. The state of the country, and Foodie's character, +justified his apprehension on suspicion. He was accordingly taken, +and when certified of Phelim's situation, acted precisely as had been +expected. With very little hesitation, he made a full disclosure of the +names of several persons concerned in burnings, waylayings, and robbery +of arms. The two first names on the list were those of Phelim and +Appleton, with several besides, some of whom bore an excellent, and +others an execrable, character in the country. + +The next day Fool Art went to Larry's, where he understood that Phelim +was on the missing list. This justified his suspicions of the Squire; +but by no means lessened his bitterness against him, for the prank +he had intended to play upon him. With great simplicity, he presented +himself at the Big House, and met its owner on the lawn, accompanied by +two other gentlemen. The magistrate was somewhat surprised at seeing Art +at large, when he imagined him to be under the jailer's lock and key. + +“Well, Art,” said he, concealing his amazement, “did you deliver my +letter?” + +“It went safe, your honor,” replied Art. “Did you yourself give it into +his hands, as I ordered you?” + +“Whoo! Be dodda, would your honor think Art 'ud tell a lie? Sure he read +it. Aha!” + +“An' what did he say, Art?” + +“Whoo! Why, that he didn't know which of us had the least sense. You for +sendin' a fool on a message, or me for deliverin' it.” + +“Was that all that happened?” + +“No, sir. He said,” added the fool, with bitter sarcasm, alluding to +a duel, in which the Squire's character had not come off with flying +colors--“he said, sir, that whin you have another challenge to fight, +you may get sick agin for threepence to the poticarry.” + +This having been the manner in which the Squire was said to have evaded +the duel, it is unnecessary to say that Art's readiness to refresh his +memory on the subject prevented him from being received at the Big House +in future. + +Reader, remember that we only intended to give you a sketch of Phelim +O'Toole's courtship. We will, however, go so far beyond our original +plan, as to apprise you of his fate. + +When it became known in the parish that he was in jail, under a charge +of felony, Sally Mattery abandoned all hopes of securing him as a +husband. The housekeeper felt suitable distress, and hoped, should the +poor boy be acquitted, that he might hould up his head wid any o' them. +Phelim, through the agency of his father, succeeded in getting ten +guineas from her, to pay the lawyers for defending him; not one penny of +which he applied to the purpose for which he obtained it. The expenses +of his defence were drawn from the Ribbon fund, and the Irish reader +cannot forget the eloquent and pathetic, appeal made by his counsel to +the jury, on his behalf, and the strength with which the fact of his +being the whole support of a helpless father and mother was stated. +The appeal, however, was ineffectual; worthy Phelim was convicted, and +sentenced to transportation for life. When his old acquaintances heard +the nature of his destiny, they remembered the two prophecies that +had been so often uttered concerning him. One of them was certainly +fulfilled to the letter--we mean that in which it was stated, “that the +greatest swaggerer among the girls generally comes to the wall at last.” + The other, though not literally accomplished, was touched at least upon +the spirit; transportation for life ranks next to hanging. We,cannot +avoid mentioning a fact connected with Phelim which came to light while +he remained in prison. By incessant trouble he was prevailed upon, or +rather compelled, to attend the prison school, and on examining him, +touching his religion? knowledge, it appeared that he was ignorant of +the plainest truths of Christianity; that he knew not how or by whom the +Christian religion had been promulgated; nor, indeed, any other moral +truth connected with Revelation. + +Immediately after his transportation, Larry took to drink, and his +mother to begging, for she had no other means of living. In this mode +of life, the husband was soon compelled to join her. They are both +mendicants, and Sheelah now appears sensible of the error in their +manner of bringing Phelim up. + +“Ah! Larry,” she is sometimes heard to say, “I doubt that we wor wrong +for flyin' in the face o' God, becase He didn't give us childhre. An' +when it plased Him to grant us a son, we oughtn't to 've spoiled him by +over-indulgence, an' by lettin' him have his own head in everythin' +as we did. If we had sint him to school, an' larned him to work, an' +corrected him when he desarved it, instead of laughin' at his lies, an' +misbehavior, and his oaths, as if they wor sport--ay, an abusin' the +nabors when they'd complain of him, or tell us what he was--ay!--if we +had, it's a credit an' a comfort he'd be to us now, an' not a shame an' +a disgrace, an' an affliction. We made our own bed, Larry, an' now we +must lie down an it. An' God help us! We made his bed too, poor boy, an' +a hard one it is. God forgive us! but, anyhow, my heart a breakin', for +bad as he was, sure we havn't him to look upon!” + +“Thrue,” replied Larry. “Still he was game an' cute to the last. Biddy +Doran's ten guineas will sarve him beyant, poor fellow. But sure the +boys' kep their word to him, anyhow, in regard of shootin' Foodie +Flattery. Myself was never betther plased in my life, than to hear that +he got the slugs into his heart, the villain!” + +***** + +We have attempted to draw Phelim O'Toole as closely as possible to the +character of that class, whose ignorance, want of education and absence +of all moral principle, constitute them the shame and reproach of +the country. By such men the peace of Ireland is destroyed, illegal +combinations formed, blood shed, and nightly outrages committed. There +is nothing more certain than this plain truth, that if proper religious +and moral knowledge were impressed upon the early principles of persons +like Phelim, a conscience would be created capable of revolting from +crime. Whatever the grievances of a people may be, whether real or +imaginary, one thing is clear, that neither murder nor illegal violence +of any description, can be the proper mode of removing or redressing +them. We have kept Phelim's Ribbonism in the background, because its +details could excite only aversion, and preferred exhibiting his utter +ignorance of morality upon a less offensive subject, in order that the +reader might be enabled to infer, rather than to witness with his mind's +eye, the deeper crimes of which he was capable. + + + + + + +WILDGOOSE LODGE + + +I had read the anonymous summons, but from its general import I believed +it to be one of those special meetings convened for some purpose +affecting the usual objects and proceedings of the body; at least +the terms in which it was conveyed to me had nothing extraordinary or +mysterious in them, beyond the simple fact, that it was not to be a +general but a select meeting: this mark of confidence flattered me, and +I determined to attend punctually. I was, it is true, desired to keep +the circumstances entirely to myself, but there was nothing startling +in this, for I had often received summonses of a similar nature. +I therefore resolved to attend, according to the letter of my +instructions, “on the next night, at the solemn hour of midnight, +to deliberate and act upon such matters as should then and there be +submitted to my consideration.” The morning after I received this +message, I arose and resumed my usual occupations; but, from whatever +cause it may have proceeded, I felt a sense of approaching evil hang +heavily upon me; the beats of my pulse were languid, and an undefinable +feeling of anxiety pervaded my whole spirit; even my face was pale, and +my eye so heavy, that my father and brothers concluded me to be ill; an +opinion which I thought at the time to be correct, for I felt exactly +that kind of depression which precedes a severe fever. I could not +understand what I experienced, nor can I yet, except by supposing that +there is in human nature some mysterious faculty, by which, in coming +calamities, the dread of some fearful evil is anticipated, and that it +is possible to catch a dark presentiment of the sensations which they +subsequently produce. For my part I can neither analyze nor define it; +but on that day I knew it by painful experience, and so have a thousand +others in similar circumstances. + +It was about the middle of winter. The day was gloomy and tempestuous, +almost beyond any other I remember; dark clouds rolled over the hills +about me, and a close sleet-like rain fell in slanting drifts that +chased each other rapidly towards the earth on the course of the blast. +The outlying cattle sought the closest and calmest corners of the fields +for shelter; the trees and young groves were tossed about, for the wind +was so unusually high that it swept in hollow gusts through them, with +that hoarse murmur which deepens so powerfully on the mind the sense of +dreariness and desolation. + +As the shades of night fell, the storm, if possible, increased. The moon +was half gone, and only a few stars were visible by glimpses, as a rush +of wind left a temporary opening in the sky. I had determined, if the +storm should not abate, to incur any penalty rather than attend the +meeting; but the appointed hour was distant, and I resolved to be +decided by the future state of the night. + +Ten o'clock came, but still there was no change: eleven passed, and on +opening the door to observe if there were any likelihood of its clearing +up, a blast of wind, mingled with rain, nearly blew me off my feet. At +length it was approaching to the hour of midnight; and on examining it a +third time, I found it had calmed a little, and no longer rained. + +I instantly got my oak stick, muffled myself in my great coat, strapped +my hat about my ears, and, as the place of meeting was only a quarter of +a mile distant, I presently set out. + +The appearance of the heavens was lowering and angry, particularly in +that point where the light of the moon fell against the clouds, from a +seeming chasm in them, through which alone she was visible. The edges of +this chasm were faintly bronzed, but the dense body of the masses that +hung piled on each side of her, was black and inpenetrable to sight. In +no other point of the heavens was there any part of the sky visible; +a deep veil of clouds overhung the whole horizon, yet was the light +sufficient to give occasional glimpses of the rapid shifting which took +place in this dark canopy, and of the tempestuous agitation with which +the midnight storm swept to and fro beneath it. + +At length I arrived at a long slated house, situated in a solitary part +of the neighborhood; a little below it ran a small stream, which was +now swollen above its banks, and rushing with mimic roar over the flat +meadows beside it. The appearance of the bare slated building in such +a night was particularly sombre, and to those, like me, who knew the +purpose to which it was usually devoted, it was or ought to have been +peculiarly so. There it stood, silent and gloomy, without any appearance +of human life or enjoyment about or within it. As I approached, the moon +once more had broken out of the clouds, and shone dimly upon the wet, +glittering slates and windows, with a death-like lustre, that gradually +faded away as I left the point of observation, and entered the +folding-door. It was the parish chapel. + +The scene which presented itself here was in keeping not only with the +external appearance of the house, but with the darkness, the storm, and +the hour, which was now a little after midnight. About forty persons +were sitting in dead silence upon the circular steps of the altar. They +did not seem to move; and as I entered and advanced, the echo of my +footsteps rang through the building with a lonely distinctness, which +added to the solemnity and mystery of the circumstances about me. The +windows were secured with shutters on the inside, and on the altar a +candle was lighted, which burned dimly amid the surrounding darkness, +and lengthened the shadow of the altar itself, and those of six or +seven persons who stood on its upper steps, until they mingled in the +obscurity which shrouded the lower end of the chapel. The faces of the +men who sat on the altar steps were not distinctly visible, yet their +prominent and more characteristic features were in sufficient relief, +and I observed, that some of the most malignant and reckless spirits in +the parish were assembled. In the eyes of those who stood at the altar, +and those whom I knew to be invested with authority over the others, I +could perceive gleams of some latent and ferocious purpose, kindled, +as I soon observed, into a fiercer expression of vengeance, by the +additional excitement of ardent spirits, with which they had stimulated +themselves to a point of determination that mocked at the apprehension +of all future responsibility, either in this world or the next. + +The welcome which I received on joining them was far different from +the boisterous good-humor that used to mark our greetings on other +occasions; just a nod of the head from this or that person, on the part +of those who sat, with a _dhud dhemur tha fhu?_ (* How are you?) in a +suppressed voice, even below a common whisper: but from the standing +group, who were evidently the projectors of the enterprise, I received +a convulsive grasp of the hand, accompanied by a fierce and desperate +look, that seemed to search my eye and countenance, to try if I were a +person likely to shrink from whatever they had resolved to execute. +It is surprising to think of the powerful expression which a moment of +intense interest or great danger is capable of giving to the eye, the +features and the slightest actions, especially in those whose station +in society does not require them to constrain nature, by the force of +social courtesies, into habits that conceal their natural emotions. +None of the standing group spoke; but as each of them wrung my hand +in silence, his eye was fixed on mine, with an expression of drunken +confidence and secrecy, and an insolent determination not to be gainsaid +without peril. If looks could be translated with certainty, they seemed +to say, “We are bound upon a project of vengeance, and if you do not +join us, remember we can revenge.” Along with this grasp, they did not +forget to remind me of the common bond by which we were united, for +each man gave me the secret grip of Ribbonism in a manner that made the +joints of my fingers ache for some minutes afterwards. + +There was one present, however--the highest in authority--whose actions +and demeanor were calm and unexcited. He seemed to labor under no +unusual influence whatever, but evinced a serenity so placid and +philosophical, that I attributed the silence of the sitting group, and +the restraint which curbed in the outbreaking passions of those who +stood, entirely to his presence. He was a schoolmaster, who taught his +daily school in that chapel, and acted also on Sunday, in the capacity +of clerk to the priest--an excellent and amiable old man, who knew +little of his illegal connections and atrocious conduct. + +When the ceremonies of brotherly recognition and friendship were past, +the Captain (by which title I shall designate the last-mentioned person) +stooped, and, raising a jar of whiskey on the corner of the altar, held +a wineglass to its neck, which he filled, and with a calm nod handed +it to me to drink. I shrank back, with an instinctive horror, at the +profaneness of such an act, in the house, and on the altar of God, and +peremptorily refused to taste the proffered I draught. He smiled mildly +at what he considered my superstition, and added quietly, and in a low +voice, “You'll be wantin' it I'm thinkin', afther the wettin' you +got.” + +“Wet or dry,” said I-- + +“Stop, man!” he replied, in the same tone; “spake low. But why wouldn't +you take the whiskey? Sure there's as holy people to the fore as you: +didn't they all take it? An' I wish we may never do worse nor dhrink a +harmless glass o' whiskey, to keep the cowld out, any way.” + +“Well,” said I, “I'll jist trust to God and the consequences, for the +cowld, Paddy, ma bouchal; but a blessed dhrop of it won't be crossin' my +lips, avick; so no more ghostlier about it;--dhrink it yourself if you +like. Maybe you want it as much as I do; wherein I've the patthern of +a good big-coat upon me, so thick, your sowl, that if it was rainin' +bullocks, a dhrop wouldn't get undher the nap of it.” + +He gave me a calm, but keen glance as I spoke. + +“Well, Jim,” said he, “it's a good comrade you've got for the weather +that's in it; but, in the manetime, to set you a dacent patthern, I'll +just take this myself,”--saying which, with the jar still upon its +side, and the fore-finger of his left hand in his neck, he swallowed +the spirits--“It's the first I dhrank to-night,” he added, “nor would +I dhrink it now, only to show you that I've heart an' spirit to do the +thing that we're all bound an' sworn to, when the proper time comes;” + after which he laid down the glass, and turned up the jar, with much +coolness, upon the altar. + +During our conversation, those who had been summoned to this mysterious +meeting were pouring in fast; and as each person approached the altar, +he received from one to two or three glasses of whiskey, according as he +chose to limit himself; but, to do them justice, there were not a few +of those present, who, in despite of their own desire, and the Captain's +express invitation, refused to taste it in the house of God's worship. +Such, however, as were scrupulous he afterwards recommended to take it +on the outside of the chapel door, which they did, as, by that means, +the sacrilege of the act was supposed to be evaded. + +About one o'clock they were all assembled except six: at least so the +Captain asserted, on looking at a written paper. + +“Now, boys,” said he in the same low voice, “we are all present except +the thraitors, whose names I am goin' to read to you; not that we are to +count thim thraitors, till we know whether or not it was in their power +to come. Any how, the night's terrible--but, boys, you're to know, that +neither fire nor wather is to prevint you, when duly summoned to attind +a meeting--particularly whin the summons is widout a name, as you have +been told that there is always something of consequence to be done +thin.” + +He then read out the names of those who were absent, in order that the +real cause of their absence might be ascertained, declaring that they +would be dealt with accordingly. | + +After this, with his usual caution, he shut and bolted the door, and +having put the key in his pocket, ascended the steps of the altar, +and for some time traversed the little platform from which the priest +usually addresses the congregation. + +Until this night I had never contemplated the man's countenance with any +particular interest; but as he walked the platform, I had an opportunity +of observing him more closely. He was slight in person, apparently not +thirty; and, on a first view, appeared to have nothing remarkable in his +dress or features. I, however, was not the only person whose eyes were +fixed upon him at that moment; in fact, every one present observed him +with equal interest, for hitherto he had kept the object of the meeting +perfectly secret, and of course we all felt anxious to know it. It was +while he traversed the platform that I scrutinized his features with a +hope, if possible, to glean from them some evidence of what was passing +within him. I could, however, mark but little, and that little was at +first rather from the intelligence which seemed to subsist between him +and those whom I have already mentioned as standing against the altar, +than from any indication of his own. Their gleaming eyes were fixed upon +him with an intensity of savage and demon-like hope, which blazed out in +flashes of malignant triumph, as upon turning, he threw a cool but rapid +glance at them, to intimate the progress he was making in the subject to +which he devoted the undivided energies of his mind. But in the course +of his meditation, I could observe, on one or two occasions, a dark +shade come over his countenance, that contracted his brow into a deep +furrow, and it was then, for the first time, that I saw the satanic +expression of which his face, by a very slight motion of its muscles, +was capable. His hands, during this silence, closed and opened +convulsively; his eyes shot out two or three baleful glances, first to +his confederates, and afterwards vacantly into the deep gloom of the +lower part of the chapel; his teeth ground against each other, like +those of a man whose revenge burns to reach a distant enemy, and +finally, after having wound himself up to a certain determination, his +features relapsed into their original calm and undisturbed expression. + +At this moment a loud laugh, having something supernatural in it, rang +out wildly from the darkness of the chapel; he stopped, and putting his +open hand over his brows, peered down into the gloom, and said calmly in +Irish, “_Bee dhu husth; ha nih anam inh_:--hold your tongue, it is not +yet time.” + +Every eye was now directed to the same spot, but, in consequence of its +distance from the dim light on the altar, none could perceive the person +from whom the laugh proceeded. It was, by this time, near two o'clock in +the morning. + +He now stood for a few moments on the platform, and his chest heaved +with a depth of anxiety equal to the difficulty of the design he wished +to accomplish. + +“Brothers,” said he--“for we are all brothers--sworn upon all that's +blessed an' holy, to obey whatever them that's over us, manin' among +ourselves, wishes us to do--are you now ready, in the name of God, upon +whose althar I stand, to fulfil yer oaths?” + +The words were scarcely uttered, when those who had stood beside the +altar during the night, sprang from their places, and descending its +steps rapidly turned round, and raising their arms, exclaimed, “By all +that's good an' holy we're willin'.” + +In the meantime, those who sat upon the steps of the altar, instantly +rose, and following the example of those who had just spoken, exclaimed +after them, “To be sure--by all that's sacred an' holy we're willin'.” + +“Now, boys,” said the Captain, “ar'n't ye big fools for your pains? an' +one of ye doesn't know what I mane.” + +“You're our Captain,” said one of those who had stood at the altar, “an' +has yer ordhers from higher quarthers; of coorse, whatever ye command +upon us we're bound to obey you in.” + +“Well,” said he, smiling, “I only wanted to thry yez; an' by the oath +ye tuck, there's not a captain in the county has as good a right to be +proud of his min as I have. Well, ye won't rue it, maybe, when the right +time comes; and for that same rason every one of ye must have a glass +from the jar; thim that won't dhrink it in the chapel can dhrink it +widout; an' here goes to open the door for thim.” + +He then distributed another glass to every one who would accept it, and +brought the jar afterwards to the chapel door, to satisfy the scruples +of those who would not drink within. When this was performed, and all +duly excited, he proceeded:-- + +“Now, brothers, you are solemnly sworn to obay me, and I'm sure there's +no thraithur here that 'ud parjure himself for a thrifle; but I'm sworn +to obay them that's above me, manin' still among ourselves; an' to show +that I don't scruple to do it, here goes!” + +He then turned round, and taking the Missal between his hands placed it +upon the altar. Hitherto every word was uttered in a low precautionary +tone; but on grasping the book he again turned round, and looking upon +his confederates with the same satanic expression which marked his +countenance before, he exclaimed, in a voice of deep determination, +first kissing the book! + + +[Illustration: PAGE WG939-- By this sacred an' holy book of God] + + + +“By this sacred an' holy book of God, I will perform the action which we +have met this night to accomplish, be that what it may; an' this I swear +upon God's book, and God's althar!” + +On concluding, he struck the book violently with his open hand, thereby +occasioning a very loud report. + +At this moment the candle which burned before him went suddenly out, and +the chapel was wrapped in pitchy darkness; the sound as if of rushing +wings fell upon our ears, and fifty voices dwelt upon the last words of +his oath with wild and supernatural tones, that seemed to echo and to +mock what he had sworn. There was a pause, and an exclamation of +horror from all present; but the Captain was too cool and steady to be +disconcerted. He immediately groped about until he got the candle, +and proceeding calmly to a remote corner of the chapel, took up a +half-burned peat which lay there, and after some trouble succeeded in +lighting it again. He then explained what had taken place; which indeed +was easily done, as the candle happened to be extinguished by a pigeon +which sat directly above it. The chapel, I should have observed, was at +this time, like many country chapels, unfinished inside, and the pigeons +of a neighboring dove-cot had built nests among the rafters of the +unceiled roof; which circumstance also explained the rushing of the +wings, for the birds had been affrighted by the sudden loudness of +the noise. The mocking voices were nothing but the echoes, rendered +naturally more awful by the scene, the mysterious object of the meeting, +and the solemn hour of the night. + +When the candle was again lighted, and these startling circumstances +accounted for, the persons whose vengeance had been deepening more and +more during the night, rushed to the altar in a body, where each, in +a voice trembling with passionate eagerness, repeated the oath, and as +every word was pronounced, the same echoes heightened the wildness +of the horrible ceremony, by their long and unearthly tones. The +countenances of these human tigers were livid with suppressed rage; +their knit brows, compressed lips, and kindled eyes, fell under the dim +light of the taper, with an expression calculated to sicken any heart +not absolutely diabolical. + +As soon as this dreadful rite was completed, we were again startled by +several loud bursts of laughter, which proceeded from the lower darkness +of the chapel; and the Captain, on hearing them, turned to the +place, and reflecting for a moment, said in Irish, “_Gutsho nish, +avohenee_--come hither now, boys.” + +A rush immediately took place from the corner in which they had secreted +themselves all the night; and seven men appeared, whom we instantly +recognized as brothers and cousins of certain persons who had been +convicted, some time before, for breaking into the house of an honest +poor man in the neighborhood, from whom, after having treated him with +barbarous violence, they took away such fire-arms as he kept for his own +protection. + +It was evidently not the Captain's intention to have produced these +persons until the oath should have been generally taken, but the +exulting mirth with which they enjoyed the success of his scheme +betrayed them, and put him to the necessity of bringing them forward +somewhat before the concerted moment. + +The scene which now took place was beyond all power of description; +peals of wild, fiendlike yells rang through the chapel, as the party +which stood on the altar and that which had crouched in the darkness +met; wringing of hands, leaping in triumph, striking of sticks and +fire-arms against the ground and the altar itself, dancing and cracking +of fingers, marked the triumph of some hellish determination. Even the +Captain for a time was unable to restrain their fury; but, at length, he +mounted the platform before the altar once more, and with a stamp of his +foot, recalled their attention to himself and the matter in hand. + +“Boys,” said he, “enough of this, and too much; an' well for us it is +that the chapel is in a lonely place, or our foolish noise might do us +no good. Let thim that swore so manfully jist now, stand a one side, +till the rest kiss the book one by one.” + +The proceedings, however, had by this time taken too fearful a shape for +even the Captain to compel them to a blindfold oath; the first man he +called flatly refused to answer, until he should hear the nature of the +service that was required. This was echoed by the remainder, who, taking +courage from the firmness of this person, declared generally that, until +they first knew the business they were to execute, none of them would +take the oath. The Captain's lip quivered slightly, and his brow again +became knit with the same hellish expression, which I have remarked +gave him so much the appearance of an, embodied fiend; but this speedily +passed away, and was succeeded by a malignant sneer, in which lurked, +if there ever did in a sneer, “a laughing devil,” calmly, determinedly +atrocious. + +“It wasn't worth yer whiles to refuse the oath,” said he, mildly, “for +the truth is, I had next to nothing for yez to do. Not a hand, maybe, +would have to rise, only jist to look on, an' if any resistance would +be made, to show yourselves; yer numbers would soon make them see +that resistance would be, no use whatever in the present case. At all, +evints, the oath of secrecy must be taken, or woe be to him that will +refuse that; he won't know the day, nor the hour, nor the minute, when +he'll be made a spatch-cock of.” + +He then turned round, and, placing his right hand on the Missal, swore, +“In the presence of God, and before his holy altar, that whatever might +take place that night he would keep secret, from man or mortal, except +the priest, and that neither bribery, nor imprisonment, nor death, would +wring it from his heart.” + +Having done this, he again struck the book violently, as if to confirm +the energy with which he swore, and then calmly descending the steps, +stood with a serene countenance, like a man conscious of having +performed a good action. As this oath did not pledge those who refused +to take the other to the perpetration of any specific crime, it was +readily taken by all present. Preparations were then made to execute +what was intended: the half burned turf was placed in a little pot; +another glass of whiskey was distributed; and the door being locked +by the Captain, who kept the key as parish clerk and schoolmaster, the +crowd departed silently from the chapel. + +The moment those who lay in the darkness, during the night, made their +appearance at the altar, we knew at once the persons we were to visit; +for, as I said before, they were related to the miscreants whom one of +those persons had convicted, in consequences of their midnight attack +upon himself and his family. The Captain's object in keeping them unseen +was, that those present, not being aware of the duty about to be imposed +on them, might have less hesitation about swearing to its fulfilment. +Our conjectures were correct; for on leaving the chapel we directed our +steps to the house in which this devoted man resided. + +The night was still stormy, but without rain: it was rather dark, too, +though not so as to prevent us from seeing the clouds careering swiftly +through the air. The dense curtain which had overhung and obscured the +horizon was now broken, and large sections of the sky were clear, and +thinly studded with stars that looked dim and watery, as did indeed the +whole firmament; for in some places black clouds were still visible, +threatening a continuance of tempestuous weather. The road appeared +washed and gravelly; every dike was full of yellow water; and every +little rivulet and larger stream dashed its hoarse murmur into our ears; +every blast, too, was cold, fierce, and wintry, sometimes driving us +back to a standstill, and again, when a turn in the road would bring +it in our backs, whirling us along for a few steps with involuntary +rapidity. At length the fated dwelling became visible, and a short +consultation was held in a sheltered place, between the Captain and the +two parties who seemed so eager for its destruction. Their fire-arms +were now loaded, and their bayonets and short pikes, the latter shod and +pointed with iron, were also got ready. The live coal which was brought +in the small pot had become extinguished; but to remedy this, two or +three persons from a remote part of the county entered a cabin on the +wayside, and, under pretence of lighting their own and their comrades' +pipes, procured a coal of fire, for so they called a lighted turf. From +the time we left the chapel until this moment a profound silence had +been maintained, a circumstance which, when I considered the number of +persons present, and the mysterious and dreaded object of their journey, +had a most appalling effect upon my spirits. + +At length we arrived within fifty perches of the house, walking in a +compact body, and with as little noise as possible; but it seemed as +if the very elements had conspired to frustrate our design, for on +advancing within the shade of the farm-hedge, two or three persons found +themselves up to the middle in water, and on stooping to ascertain more +accurately the state of the place, we could see nothing but one immense +sheet of it--spread like a lake over the meadows which surrounded the +spot we wished to reach. + +Fatal night! The very recollection of it, when associated with the +fearful tempests of elements, grows, if that were possible, yet more +wild and revolting. Had we been engaged in any innocent or benevolent +enterprise, there was something in our situation just then that had a +touch of interest in it to a mind imbued with a relish for the savage +beauties of nature. There we stood, about a hundred and thirty in +number, our dark forms bent forward, peering into the dusky expanse of +water, with its dim gleams of reflected light, broken by the weltering +of the mimic waves into ten thousand fragments, whilst the few stars +that overhung it in the firmament appeared to shoot through it in broken +lines, and to be multiplied fifty-fold in the gloomy mirror on which we +gazed. + +Over us was a stormy sky, and around us; a darkness through which we +could only distinguish, in outline, the nearest objects, whilst the wild +wind swept strongly and dismally upon us. When it was discovered that +the common pathway to the house was inundated, we were about to abandon +our object and return home. The Captain, however, stooped down low for +a moment, and, almost closing his eyes, looked along the surface of the +waters; and then, rising himself very calmly, said, in his usually quiet +tone, “Ye needn't go back, boys, I've found a way; jist follow me.” + +He immediately took a more circuitous direction, by which we reached a +causeway that had been raised for the purpose of giving a free passage +to and from the house, during such inundations as the present. Along +this we had advanced more than half way, when we discovered a breach +in it, which, as afterwards appeared, had that night been made by the +strength of the flood. This, by means of our sticks and pikes, we found +to be about three feet deep, and eight yards broad. Again we were at +a loss how to proceed, when the fertile brain of the Captain devised a +method of crossing it. + +“Boys,” said he, “of coorse you've all played at leap-frog; very well, +strip and go in, a dozen of you, lean one upon the back of another from +this to the opposite bank, where one must stand facing the outside +man, both their shoulders agin one another, that the outside man may be +supported. Then we can creep over you, an' a dacent bridge you'll be, +any way.” + +This was the work of only a few minutes, and in less than ten we were +all safely over. + +Merciful Heaven! how I sicken at the recollection of what is to follow! +On reaching the dry bank, we proceeded instantly, and in profound +silence, to the house; the Captain divided us into companies, and then +assigned to each division its proper station. The two parties who had +been so vindictive all the night, he kept about himself; for of those +who were present, they only were in his confidence, and knew his +nefarious purpose; their number was about fifteen. Having made these +dispositions, he, at the head of about five of them, approached the +house on the windy side, for the fiend possessed a coolness which +enabled him to seize upon every possible advantage. That he had +combustibles about him was evident, for in less than fifteen minutes +nearly one-half of the house was enveloped in flames. On seeing this, +the others rushed over to the spot where he and his gang were standing, +and remonstrated earnestly, but in vain; the flames now burst forth with +renewed violence, and as they flung their strong light upon the faces +of the foremost group, I think hell itself could hardly present anything +more satanic than their countenances, now worked up into a paroxysm of +infernal triumph at their own revenge. The Captain's look had lost all +its calmness, every feature started out into distinct malignity, the +curve in his brow was deep, and ran up,to the root of the hair, dividing +his face into two segments, that did not seem to have been designed +for each other. His lips were half open, and the corners of his mouth a +little brought back on each side, like those of a man expressing intense +hatred and triumph over an enemy who is in the death-struggle under his +grasp. His eyes blazed from beneath his knit eyebrows with a fire that +seemed to be lighted up in the infernal pit itself. It is unnecessary, +and only painful, to describe the rest of his gang; demons might have +been proud of such horrible visages as they exhibited; for they worked +under all the power of hatred, revenge, and joy; and these passions +blended into one terrible scowl, enough almost to blast any human eye +that would venture to look upon it. + +When the others attempted to intercede for the lives of the inmates, +there were at least fifteen guns and pistols levelled at them. + +“Another word,” said the Captain, “an' you're a corpse where you stand, +or the first man who will dare to spake for them; no, no, it wasn't to +spare them we came here. 'No mercy' is the pass-word for the night, an' +by the sacred oath I swore beyant in the chapel, any one among yez that +will attempt to show it, will find none at my hand. Surround the house, +boys, I tell ye, I hear them stirring. 'No quarter--no mercy,' is the +ordher of the night.” + +Such was his command over these misguided creatures, that in an instant +there was a ring round the house to prevent the escape of the unhappy +inmates, should the raging element give them time to attempt it; for +none present durst withdraw themselves from the scene, not only from an +apprehension of the Captain's present vengeance, or that of his gang, +but because they knew that even had they then escaped, an early and +certain death awaited them from a quarter against which they had +no means of defence. The hour now was about half-past two! o'clock. +Scarcely had the last words escaped from the Captain's lips, when one of +the windows of the house was broken, and a human head, having the hair +in a blaze, was descried, apparently a woman's, if one might judge +by the profusion of burning tresses, and the softness of the tones, +notwithstanding that it called, or rather shrieked aloud for help and +mercy. The only reply to this was the whoop from the Captain and his +gang, of “No mercy--no mercy!” and that instant the former, and one of +the latter, rushed to the spot, and ere the action could be perceived, +the head was transfixed with a bayonet and a pike, both having entered +it together. The word “mercy” was divided in her mouth; a short silence +ensued, the head hung down on the window, but was instantly tossed back +into the flames. + +This action occasioned a cry of horror from all present, except the gang +and their leader, which startled and enraged the latter so much, that he +ran towards one of them, and had his bayonet, now reeking with the blood +of its innocent victim, raised to plunge it in his body, when, dropping +the point, he said in a piercing whisper, that hissed in the ears of +all: “It's no use now, you know; if one's to hang, all will hang; so our +safest way, you persave, is to lave none of them to tell the story. Ye +may go now, if you wish; but it won't save a hair of your heads. You +cowardly set! I knew if I had tould yez the sport, that none of you, +except my own boys, would come, so I jist played a thrick upon you; but +remimber what you are sworn to, and stand to the oath ye tuck.” + +Unhappily, notwithstanding the wetness of the preceding weather, the +materials of the house were extremely combustible; the whole dwelling +was now one body of glowing flame, yet the shouts and shrieks within +rose awfully above its crackling and the voice of the storm, for the +wind once more blew in gusts, and with great violence. The doors and +windows were all torn open, and such of those within as had escaped the +flames rushed towards them, for the purpose of further escape, and +of claiming mercy at the hands of their destroyers; but whenever they +appeared, the unearthly cry of “no mercy” rang upon their ears for a +moment, and for a moment only, for they were flung back at the points of +the weapons which the demons had brought with them to make the work of +vengeance more certain. + +As yet there were many persons in the house, whose cry for life was +strong as despair, and who clung to it with all the awakened powers +of reason and instinct. The ear of man could hear nothing so strongly +calculated to stifle the demon of cruelty and revenge within him, as the +long and wailing shrieks which rose beyond the elements, in tones that +were carried off rapidly upon the blast, until they died away in the +darkness that lay behind the surrounding hills. Had not the house been +in a solitary situation, and the hour the dead of night, any person +sleeping within a moderate distance must have heard them, for such a cry +of sorrow rising into a yell of despair was almost sufficient to have +awakened, the dead. It was lost, however, upon the hearts and ears that +heard it: to them, though in justice be it said, to only comparatively +a few of them, it appeared as delightful as the tones of soft and +entrancing music. + +The claims of the surviving sufferers were now modified; they +supplicated merely to suffer death by the weapons of their enemies; they +were willing to bear that, provided they should be allowed to escape +from the flames; but no--the horrors of the conflagration were +calmly and malignantly gloried in by their merciless assassins, who +deliberately flung them back into all their tortures. In the course of +a few minutes a man appeared upon the side-wall of the house, nearly +naked; his figure, as he stood against the sky in horrible relief, was +so finished a picture of woebegone agony and supplication, that it is +yet as distinct in my memory as if I were again present at the scene. +Every muscle, now in motion by the powerful agitation of his sufferings, +stood out upon his limbs and neck, giving him an appearance of desperate +strength, to which by this time he must have been wrought up; the +perspiration poured from his frame, and the veins and arteries of his +neck were inflated to a surprising thickness. Every moment he looked +down into the flames which were rising to where he stood; and as he +looked, the indescribable horror which flitted over his features might +have worked upon the devil himself to relent. His words were few:-- + +“My child,” said he, “is still safe, she is an infant, a young crathur +that never harmed you, or any one--she is still safe. Your mothers, your +wives, have young innocent childhre like it. Oh, spare her, think for a +moment that it's one of your own; spare it, as you hope to meet a just +God, or if you don't, in mercy shoot me first--put an end to me, before +I see her burned!” + +The Captain approached him coolly and deliberately. “You'll prosecute no +one now, you bloody informer,” said he: “you'll convict no more boys for +takin' an ould gun an' pistol from you, or for givin' you a neighborly +knock or two into the bargain.” + +Just then, from a window opposite him, proceeded the shrieks of a woman, +who appeared at it with the infant, in her arms. She herself was almost +scorched to death; but, with the presence of mind and humanity of her +sex, she was about to put the little babe out of the window. The Captain +noticed this, and, with characteristic atrocity, thrust, with a sharp +bayonet, the little innocent, along with the person who endeavored to +rescue it, into the red flames, where they both perished. This was the +work of an instant. Again he approached the man: “Your child is a coal +now,” said he, with deliberate mockery; “I pitched it in myself, on the +point of this,”--showing the weapon--“an' now is your turn,”--saying +which, he clambered up, by the assistance of his gang, who stood with +a front of pikes and bayonets bristling to receive the wretched man, +should he attempt, in his despair, to throw himself from the wall. +The Captain got up, and placing the point of his bayonet against his +shoulder, flung him into the fiery element that raged behind him. He +uttered one wild and terrific cry, as he fell back, and no more. After +this nothing was heard but the crackling of the fire, and the rushing of +the blast; all that had possessed life within were consumed, amounting +either to eight or eleven persons. + +When this was accomplished, those who took an active part in the murder, +stood for some time about the conflagration; and as it threw its red +light upon their fierce faces and rough persons, soiled as they now were +with smoke and black streaks of ashes, the scene seemed to be changed to +hell, the murderers to spirits of the damned, rejoicing over the arrival +and the torture of some guilty soul. The faces of those who kept aloof +from the slaughter were blanched to the whiteness of death: some of them +fainted, and others were in such agitation that they were compelled to +lean on their comrades. They became actually powerless with horror: +yet to such a scene were they brought by the pernicious influence of +Ribbonism. + +It was only when the last victim went down, that the conflagration shot +up into the air with most unbounded fury. The house was large, deeply +thatched, and well furnished; and the broad red pyramid rose up with +fearful magnificence towards the sky. Abstractedly it had sublimity, but +now it was associated with nothing in my mind but blood and terror. It +was not, however, without a purpose that the Captain and his gang stood +to contemplate its effect. “Boys,” said he, “we had betther be sartin +that all's safe; who knows but there might be some of the sarpents +crouchin' under a hape o' rubbish, to come out an' gibbet us to-morrow +or next day: we had betther wait a while, anyhow, if it was only to see +the blaze.” + +Just then the flames rose majestically to a surprising height. Our eyes +followed their direction; and we perceived, for the first time, that +the dark clouds above, together with the intermediate air, appeared +to reflect back, or rather to have caught the red hue of the fire. The +hills and country about us appeared with an alarming distinctness; but +the most picturesque part of it was the effect of reflection of the +blaze on the floods that spread over the surrounding plains. These, in +fact, appeared to be one broad mass of liquid copper, for the motion of +the breaking-waters caught from the blaze of the high waving column, +as reflected in them, a glaring light, which eddied, and rose, and +fluctuated, as if the flood itself had been a lake of molten fire. + +Fire, however, destroys rapidly. In a short time the flames sank--became +weak and flickering--by and by, they shot out only in fits--the +crackling of the timbers died away--the surrounding darkness +deepened--and, ere long, the faint light was overpowered by the thick +volumes of smoke that rose from the ruins of the house and its murdered +inhabitants. + +“Now, boys,” said the Captain, “all is safe--we may go. Remember, +every man of you, what you've sworn this night, on the book an' altar of +God--not on a heretic Bible. If you perjure yourselves, you may hang +us; but let me tell you, for your comfort, that if you do, there is +them livin' that will take care the lease of your own lives will be but +short.” + +After this we dispersed every man to his own home. + +Reader,--not many months elapsed ere I saw the bodies of this Captain, +whose name was Patrick Devann, and all those who were actively concerned +in the perpetration of this deed of horror, withering in the wind, where +they hung gibbeted, near the scene of their nefarious villany; and +while I inwardly thanked Heaven for my own narrow and almost undeserved +escape, I thought in my heart how seldom, even in this world, justice +fails to overtake the murder, and to enforce the righteous judgment of +God--that “whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” + +***** + +This tale of terror is, unfortunately, too true. The scene of hellish +murder detailed in it lies at Wildgoose Lodge, in the county of Louth, +within about four miles of Carrickmacross, and nine of Dundalk. No such +multitudinous murder has occurred, under similar circumstances, except +the burning of the Sheas, in the county of Tipperary. The name of the +family burned in Wildgoose Lodge was Lynch. One of them had, shortly +before this fatal night, prosecuted and convicted some of the +neighboring Ribbonmen, who visited him with severe marks of their +displeasure, in consequence of his having refused to enrol himself as +a member of their body. The language of the story is partly fictitious; +but the facts are pretty closely such as were developed during the +trial of the murderers. Both parties were Roman Catholics, and either +twenty-five or twenty-eight of those who took an active part in the +burning, were hanged and gibbeted in different parts of the county of +Louth. Devann, the ringleader, hung for some months in chains, within +about a hundred yards of his own house, and about half a mile from +Wildgoose Lodge. His mother could neither go into nor out of her cabin +without seeing his body swinging from the gibbet. Her usual exclamation +on looking at him was--“God be good to the sowl of my poor marthyr!” + The peasantry, too, frequently exclaimed, on seeing him, “Poor Paddy!” A +gloomy fact that speaks volumes! + + + + + + +TUBBER DERG; Or, THE RED WELL. + + +The following story owes nothing to any coloring or invention of +mine; it is unhappily a true one, and to me possesses a peculiar and +melancholy interest, arising from my intimate knowledge of the man whose +fate it holds up as a moral lesson to Irish landlords. I knew him well, +and many a day and hour have I played about his knee, and ran, in my +boyhood, round his path, when, as he said to himself, the world was no +trouble to him. + +On the south side of a sloping tract of light ground, lively, warm, +and productive, stood a white, moderate-sized farm-house, which, in +consequence of its conspicuous situation, was a prominent and, we may +add, a graceful object in the landscape of which it formed a part. The +spot whereon it stood was a swelling natural terrace, the soil of which +was heavier and richer than that of the adjoining lands. On each side +of the house stood a clump of old beeches, the only survivors of that +species then remaining in the country. These beeches extended behind the +house in a land of angle, with opening, enough at their termination to +form a vista, through which its white walls glistened with beautiful +effect in the calm splendor of a summer evening. Above the mound on +which it stood, rose two steep hills, overgrown with furze and fern, +except on their tops, which were clothed with purple heath; they were +also covered with patches of broom, and studded with gray rocks, which +sometimes rose singly or in larger masses, pointed or rounded into +curious and fantastic shapes. Exactly between these hills the sun went +down during the month of June, and nothing could be in finer relief +than the rocky and picturesque outlines of their sides, as crowned with +thorns and clumps of wild ash, they appeared to overhang the valley +whose green foliage was gilded by the sun-beams, which lit up the scene +into radiant beauty. The bottom of this natural chasm, which opened +against the deep crimson of the evening sky, was nearly upon a level +with the house, and completely so with the beeches that surrounded it. +Brightly did the sinking sun fall upon their tops, whilst the neat white +house below, in their quiet shadow, sent up its wreath of smoke +among their branches, itself an emblem of contentment, industry, and +innocence. It was, in fact, a lovely situation; perhaps the brighter +to me, that its remembrance is associated with days of happiness and +freedom from the cares of a world, which, like a distant mountain, +darkens as we approach it, and only exhausts us in struggling to climb +its rugged and barren paths. + +There was to the south-west of this house another little hazel glen, +that ended in a precipice formed, by a single rock some thirty feet, +high, over which tumbled a crystal cascade into a basin worn in its +hard bed below. From this basin the stream murmured away through the +copse-wood, until it joined a larger rivulet that passed, with many a +winding, through a fine extent of meadows adjoining it. Across the foot +of this glen, and past the door of the house we have described, ran a +bridle road, from time immemorial; on which, as the traveller ascended +it towards the house, he appeared to track his way in blood, for a +chalybeate spa arose at its head, oozing out of the earth, and spread +itself in a crimson stream over the path in every spot whereon a +foot-mark could be made. From this circumstance it was called Tubber +Derg, or the Red Well. In the meadow where the glen terminated, was +another spring of delicious crystal; and clearly do I remember the +ever-beaten pathway that led to it through the grass, and up the green +field which rose in a gentle slope to the happy-looking house of Owen +M'Carthy, for so was the man called who resided under its peaceful roof. + +I will not crave your pardon, gentle reader, for dwelling at such length +upon a scene so clear to my heart as this, because I write not now so +much for your gratification as my own. Many an eve of gentle May have +I pulled the Maygowans which grew about that well, and over that smooth +meadow. + +Often have I raised my voice to its shrillest pitch, that I might hear +its echoes rebounding in the bottom of the green and still glen, where +silence, so to speak, was deepened by the continuous murmur of the +cascade above; and when the cuckoo uttered her first note from among the +hawthorns on its side, with what trembling anxiety did I, an urchin of +some eight or nine years, look under my right foot for the white hair, +whose charm was such, that by keeping it about me the first female name +I should hear was destined, I believed in my soul, to be that of my +future wife.* Sweet was the song of the thrush, and mellow the whistle +of the blackbird, as they rose in the stillness of evening over the +“hirken shaws” and green dells of this secluded spot of rural beauty. +Far, too, could the rich voice of Owen M'Carthy be heard along the hills +and meadows, as, with a little chubby urchin at his knee, and another in +his arms, he sat on a bench beside his own door, singing the “Trouglia”. +in his native Irish; whilst Kathleen his wife, with her two maids, each +crooning a low song, sat before the door milking the cows, whose sweet +breath mingled its perfume with the warm breeze of evening. + +Owen M'Carthy was descended from a long-line of honest ancestors, +whose names had never, within the memory of man, been tarnished by +the commission of a mean or disreputable action. They were always a +kind-hearted family, but stern and proud in the common intercourse of +life. They believed; themselves to be, and probably were, a branch of +the MacCarthy More stock; and, although only the possessors of a small +farm, it was singular to observe the effect which this conviction +produced upon their bearing and manners. To it might, perhaps, +be attributed the high and stoical integrity for which they were +remarkable. This severity, however, was no proof that they wanted +feeling, or were insensible to the misery and sorrows of others: in +all the little cares and perplexities that chequered the peaceful +neighborhood in which they lived, they were ever the first to console, +or, if necessary, to support a distressed neighbor with the means which +God had placed in their possession; for, being industrious, they were +seldom poor. Their words were few, but sincere, and generally promised +less than the honest hearts that dictated them intended to perform. +There is in some persons a hereditary feeling of just principle, the +result neither of education nor of a clear moral sense, but rather a +kind of instinctive honesty which descends, like a constitutional +bias, from father to son, pervading every member of the family. It is +difficult to define this, or to assign its due position in the scale +of human virtues. It exists in the midst of the grossest ignorance, and +influences the character in the absence of better principles. Such was +the impress which marked so strongly the family of which I speak. No one +would ever think of imputing a dishonest act to the M'Carthys; nor would +any person acquainted with them, hesitate for a moment to consider their +word as good as the bond of another. I do not mean to say, however, that +their motives of action were not higher than this instinctive honesty; +far from it: but I say, that they possessed it in addition to a strong +feeling of family pride, and a correct knowledge of their moral duties. + + * Such is the superstition; and, as I can tell, + faithfully is it believed. + +I can only take up Owen M'Carthy at that part of the past to which my +memory extends. He was then a tall, fine-looking young man; silent, but +kind. One of the earliest events within my recollection is his wedding; +after that the glimpse of his state and circumstances are imperfect; but +as I grew up, they became more connected, and I am able to remember him +the father of four children; an industrious, inoffensive small farmer, +beloved, respected, and honored. No man could rise, be it ever so early, +who would not find Owen up before him; no man could anticipate him in an +early crop, and if a widow or a sick acquaintance were unable to get in +their harvest, Owen was certain to collect the neighbors to assist them; +to be the first there himself, with quiet benevolence, encouraging +them to a zealous performance of the friendly task in which they were +engaged. + +It was, I believe, soon after his marriage, that the lease of the farm +held by him expired. Until that time he had been able to live with +perfect independence; but even the enormous rise of one pound per acre, +though it deprived him in a great degree of his usual comforts, did not +sink him below the bare necessaries of life. For some years after that +he could still serve a deserving neighbor; and never was the hand of +Owen M'Carthy held back from the wants and distresses of those whom he +knew to be honest. + +I remember once an occasion upon which a widow Murray applied to him for +a loan of five pounds, to prevent her two cows from being auctioned +for a half year's rent, of which she only wanted that sum. Owen sat at +dinner with his family when she entered the house in tears, and, as well +as her agitation of mind permitted, gave him a detailed account of her +embarrassment. + +“The blessin' o' God be upon all here,” said she, on entering. + +“The double o' that to you, Rosha,” replied Owen's wife: “won't you sit +in an' be atin'?--here's a sate beside Nanny; come over, Rosha.” + +Owen only nodded to her, and continued to eat his dinner, as if he felt +no interest in her distress. Rosha sat down at a distance, and with the +corner of a red handkerchief to her eyes, shed tears in that bitterness +of feeling which marks the helplessness of honest industry under the +pressure of calamity. + +“In the name o' goodness, Rosha,” said Mrs. M'Carthy, “what ails you, +asthore? Sure Jimmy--God spare him to you--wouldn't be dead?” + +“Glory be to God! no, avourneen machree. Och, och! but it 'ud be the +black sight, an' the black day, that 'ud see my brave, boy, the staff +of our support, an' the bread of our mouth, taken away from us!--No, no, +Kathleen dear, it's not that bad wid me yet. I hope we'll never live to +see his manly head laid down before us. 'Twas his own manliness, indeed, +brought it an him--backin' the sack when he was bringin' home our last +_meldhre_ * from the mill; for you see he should do it, the crathur, to +show his strinth, an' the sack, when he got it an was too heavy for him, +an' hurted the small of his back; for his bones, you see, are too young, +an' hadn't time to fill up yet. No, avourneen. Glory be to God! he's +gettin' betther wid me!” and the poor creature's eyes glistened with +delight through her tears and the darkness of her affliction. + +Without saying a word, Owen, when she finished the eulogium on her +son, rose, and taking her forcibly by the shoulder, set her down at the +table, on which a large potful of potatoes had been spread out, with +a circle in the middle for a dish of rashers and eggs, into which dish +every right hand of those about it was thrust, with a quickness that +clearly illustrated the principle of competition as a stimulus to +action. + +“Spare your breath,” said Owen, placing her rather roughly upon the +seat, “an' take share of what's goin': when all's cleared off we'll hear +you, but the sorra word till then.” + +“Musha, Owen,” said the poor woman, “you're the same man still; sure +we all know your ways; I'll strive, avourneen, to ate--I'll strive, +asthore--to plase you, an' the Lord bless you an' yours, an' may you +never be as I an' my fatherless childhre are this sorrowful day!” and +she accompanied her words by a flood of tears. + + * Meldhre--whatever quantity of grain is brought to the + mill to be ground on one occasion. + +Owen, without evincing the slightest sympathy, withdrew himself from the +table. Not a muscle of his face was moved; but as the cat came about his +feet at the time, he put his foot under her, and flung her as easily as +possible to the lower end of the kitchen. + +“Arrah, what harm did the crathur do,” asked his wife, “that you'd kick +her for, that way? an' why but you ate out your dinner?” + +“I'm done,” he replied, “but that's no rason that Rosha, an' you, an' +thim boys that has the work afore them, shouldn't finish your male's +mate.” + +Poor Rosha thought that by his withdrawing he had already suspected +the object of her visit, and of course concluded that her chance of +succeeding was very slender. + +The wife, who guessed what she wanted, as well as the nature of her +suspicion, being herself as affectionate and obliging as Owen, reverted +to the subject, in order to give her an opportunity of proceeding. + +“Somethin' bitther an' out o' the common coorse, is a throuble to you, +Rosha,” said she, “or you wouldn't be in the state you're in. The Lord +look down on you this day, you poor crathur--widout the father of your +childhre to stand up for you, an' your only other depindance laid on the +broad of his back, all as one as a cripple; but no matther, Rosha; trust +to Him that can be a husband to you an' a father to your orphans--trust +to Him, an' his blessed mother in heaven, this day, an' never fear but +they'll rise up a frind for you. Musha, Owen, ate your dinner as you +ought to do, wid your capers! How can you take a spade in your hand upon +that morsel?” + +“Finish your own,” said her husband, “an' never heed me; jist let me +alone. Don't you see that if I wanted it, I'd ate it, an' what more +would you have about!” + +“Well, acushla, it's your own loss, sure, of a sartinty. An' Rosha, +whisper, ahagur, what can Owen or I do for you? Throth, it would be a +bad day we'd see you at a _deshort_ * for a friend, for you never wor +nothin' else nor a civil, oblagin' neighbor yourself; an' him that's +gone before--the Lord make his bed in heaven this day--was as good a +warrant as ever broke bread, to sarve a friend, if it was at the hour of +midnight.” + + * That is at a loss; or more properly speaking, taken + short, which it means. + +“Ah! when I had him!” exclaimed the distracted widow, “I never had +occasion to trouble aither friend or neighbor; but he s gone an' now +it's otherwise wid me--glory be to God for all his mercies--a wurrah +dheelish! Why, thin, since I must spake, an' has no other frind to go +to--but somehow I doubt Owen looks dark upon me--sure I'd put my hand to +a stamp, if my word wouldn't do for it, an' sign the blessed crass that +saved us, for the payment of it; or I'd give it to him in oats, for I +hear you want some, Owen--Phatie oates it is, an' a betther shouldhered +or fuller-lookin' grain never went undher a harrow--indeed it's it +that's the beauty, all out, if it's good seed you want.” + +“What is it for, woman alive?” inquired Owen, as he kicked a +three-legged stool out of his way.” + +“What is it for, is it? Och, Owen darlin', sure my two brave cows is +lavin' me. Owen M'Murt, the driver, is over wid me beyant, an' has them +ready to set off wid. I reared them both, the two of them, wid my own +hands; _Cheehoney_, that knows my voice, an' would come to me from the +fardest corner o' the field, an' nothin' will we have--nothin' will my +poor sick boy have--but the black wather, or the dhry salt; besides the +butther of them being lost to us for rent, or a small taste of it, of an +odd time, for poor Jimmy. Owen, next to God, I have no friend to depind +upon but yourself!” + +“Me!” said Owen, as if astonished. “Phoo, that's quare enough! Now do +you think, Rosha,--hut, hut, woman alive! Come, boys, you're all done; +out wid you to your spades, an' finish that _meerin_ (* a marsh ditch, a +boundary) before night. Me!--hut, tut!” + +“I have it all but five pounds, Owen, an' for the sake of him that's in +his grave--an' that, maybe, is able to put up his prayer for you”-- + +“An' what would you want me to do, Rosha? Fitther for you to sit down +an' finish your dinner, when it's before you. I'm goin' to get an ould +glove that's somewhere about this chist, for I must weed out that bit +of oats before night, wid a blessin',” and, as he spoke he passed into +another room, as if he had altogether forgotten her solicitation, and in +a few minutes returned. + +“Owen, avick!--an' the blessin' of the fatherless be upon you, sure, an' +many a one o' them you have, any how, Owen!” + +“Well, Rosha--well?” + +“Och, och, Owen, it's low days wid me to be depindin' upon the +sthranger? little thim that reared me ever thought it 'ud come to this. +You know I'm a dacent father's child, an' I have stooped to you, Owen +M'Carthy--what I'd scorn to do to any other but yourself--poor an' +friendless as I stand here before you. Let them take the cows, thin, +from my childhre; but the father of the fatherless will support thim an' +me. Och, but it's well for the O'Donohoes that their landlord lives at +home among themselves, for may the heavens look down on me, I wouldn't +know where to find mine, if one sight of him 'ud save me an' my childre +from the grave! The Agent even, he lives in Dublin, an' how could I lave +my sick boy, an' small girshas by themselves, to go a hundre miles, an' +maybe not see him afther all. Little hopes I'd have from him, even if I +did; he's paid for gatherin' in his rents; but it's well known he wants +the touch of nathur for the sufferins of the poor, an' of them that's +honest in their intintions.” + +“I'll go over wid you, Rosha, if that will be of any use,” replied Owen, +composedly; “come, I'll go an' spake to Frank M'Murt.'' + +“The sorra blame I blame him, Owen,” replied Rosha, “his bread's +depindin' upon the likes of sich doins, an' he can't get over it; but a +word from you, Owen, will save me, for who ever refused to take the word +of a M'Carthy?” + +When Owen and the widow arrived at the house of the latter, they found +the situation of the bailiff laughable in the extreme. Her eldest son, +who had been confined to his bed by a hurt received in his back, was +up, and had got the unfortunate driver, who was rather old, wedged in +between the dresser and the wall, where his cracked voice--for he was +asthmatic--was raised to the highest pitch, calling for assistance. +Beside him was a large tub half-filled with water, into which the little +ones were emptying small jugs, carried at the top of their speed from +a puddle before the door. In the meantime, Jemmy was tugging at the +bailiff with all his strength--fortunately for that personage, it was +but little--with the most sincere intention of inverting him into the +tub which contained as much muddy water as would have been sufficient to +make him a subject for the deliberation of a coroner and twelve honest +men. Nothing could be more conscientiously attempted than the task +which Jemmy had proposed to execute: every tug brought out his utmost +strength, and when he failed in pulling down the bailiff, he compensated +himself for his want of success by cuffing his ribs, and peeling his +shins by hard kicks; whilst from those open points which the driver's +grapple with his man naturally exposed, were inflicted on him by the +rejoicing urchins numberless punches of tongs, potato-washers, and +sticks whose points were from time to time hastily thrust into the +coals, that they might more effectually either blind or disable him in +some other manner. + +As one of the little ones ran out to fill his jug, he spied his mother +and Owen approaching, on which, with the empty vessel in his hand, he +flew towards them, his little features distorted by glee and ferocity, +wildly mixed up together. + +“Oh mudher, mudher--ha, ha, ha!--don't come in yet; don't come in, Owen, +till Jimmy un' huz, an' the Denisses, gets the bailie drownded. We'll +soon have the _bot_ (* tub) full; but Paddy an' Jack Denis have the +eyes a'most pucked out of him; an' Katty's takin' the rapin' hook from, +behind the _cuppet_, to get it about his neck.” + +Owen and the widow entered with all haste, precisely at the moment when +Frank's head was dipped, for the first time, into the vessel. + +“Is it goin' to murdher him ye are?” said Owen, as he seized Jemmy with +a grasp that transferred him to the opposite end of the house; “hould +back ye pack of young divils, an' let the man up. What did he come to +do but his duty? I tell you, Jimmy, if you wor at yourself, an' in full +strinth, that you'd have the man's blood on you where you stand, and +would suffer as you ought to do for it.” + +“There, let me,” replied the lad, his eyes glowing and his veins +swollen with passion; “I don't care if I did. It would be no sin, an' no +disgrace, to hang for the like of him; dacenter to do that, than stale a +creel of turf, or a wisp of straw, 'tanny rate.” + +In the meantime the bailiff had raised his head out of the water, and +presented a visage which it was impossible to view with gravity. The +widow's anxiety prevented her from seeing it in a ludicrous light; but +Owen's severe face assumed a grave smile, as the man shook himself and +attempted to comprehend the nature of his situation. The young urchins, +who had fallen back at the appearance of Owen and the widow, now burst +into a peal of mirth, in which, however, Jemmy, whose fiercer passions +had been roused, did not join. + +“Frank M'Murt,” said the widow, “I take the mother of heaven to witness, +that it vexes my heart to see you get sich thratement in my place; an' +I wouldn't for the best cow I have that sich a _brieuliagh_ (* squabble) +happened. _Dher charp agusmanim_, (** by my soul and body) Jimmy, but +I'll make you suffer for drawin' down this upon my head, and me had +enough over it afore.” + +“I don't care,” replied Jemmy; “whoever comes to take our property from +us, an' us willin' to work will suffer for it. Do you think I'd see thim +crathurs at their dhry phatie, an' our cows standin' in a pound for no +rason? No; high hangin' to me, but I'll split to the skull the first man +that takes them; an' all I'm sorry for is, that it's not the vagabone +Landlord himself that's near me. That's our thanks for paying many +a good pound, in honesty and dacency, to him an' his; lavin' us to a +schamin' agent, an' not even to that same, but to his undher-strap-pers, +that's robbin' us on both sides between them. May hard fortune attind +him, for a landlord! You may tell him this, Frank,--that his wisest plan +is to keep clear of the counthry. Sure, it's a gambler he is, they say; +an' we must be harrished an' racked to support his villany! But wait a +bit; maybe there's a good time comin', when we'll pay our money to thim +that won't be too proud to hear our complaints wid their own ears, +an' who won't turn us over to a divil's limb of an agent. He had need, +anyhow, to get his coffin sooner nor he thinks. What signifies hangin' +in a good cause?” said he, as the tears of keen indignation burst from +his glowing eyes. “It's a dacent death, an' a happy death, when it's +for the right,” he added--for his mind was evidently fixed upon the +contemplation of those means of redress, which the habits of the +country, and the prejudices of the people, present to them in the first +moments of passion. + +“It's well that Frank's one of ourselves,” replied Owen, coolly, +“otherwise, Jemmy, you said words that would lay you up by the heels. +As for you, Frank, you must look over this. The boy's the son of dacent +poor parents, an' it's a new thing for him to see the cows druv from the +place. The poor fellow's vexed, too, that he has been so long laid up +wid a sore back; an' so you see one thing or another has put him through +other. Jimmy is warm-hearted afther all, an' will be sorry for it when +he cools, an' renumbers that you wor only doin' your duty.” + +“But what am I to do about the cows? Sure, I can't go back widout either +thim or the rint?” said Frank, with a look of fear and trembling at +Jemmy. + +“The cows!” said another of the widow's sons who then came in; “why, you +dirty spalpeen of a rip, you may whistle on the wrong side o' your mouth +for them. I druv them off of the estate; an' now take them, if you dar! +It's conthrairy to law,” said the urchin; “an' if you'd touch them, I'd +make my mudher sarve you wid a _lattitat_ or _fiery-flashes_.” + +This was a triumph to the youngsters, who, began to shake their little +fists at him, and to exclaim in a chorus--“Ha, you dirty rip! wait till +we get you out o' the house, an' if we don't put you from ever drivin'! +Why, but you work like another!--ha, you'll get it!”--and every little +fist was shook in vengeance at him. + +“Whist wid ye,” said Jemmy to the little ones; “let him alone, he got +enough. There's the cows for you; an keen may the curse o' the widow +an' orphans light upon you, and upon them that sent you, from first to +last!--an' that's the best we wish you!” + +“Frank,” said Owen to the bailiff, “is there any one in the town below +that will take the rint, an' give a resate for it? Do you think, man, +that the neighbors of an honest, industrious woman 'ud see the cattle +taken out of her byre for a thrifle? Hut tut! no, man alive--no sich +thing! There's not a man in the parish, wid manes to do it, would see +them taken away to be canted, at only about a fourth part of their +value. Hut, tut,--no!” + +As the sterling fellow spoke, the cheeks of the widow were suffused with +tears, and her son Jemmy's hollow eyes once more kindled, but with a far +different expression from that which but a few minutes before flashed +from them. + +“Owen,” said he, and utterance nearly failed him: “Owen, if I was well +it wouldn't be as it is wid us; but--no, indeed it would not; but--may +God bless you for this! Owen, never fear but you'll be paid; may God +bless you, Owen!” + +As he spoke the hand of his humble benefactor was warmly grasped in his. +A tear fell upon it: for with one of those quick and fervid transitions +of feeling so peculiar to the people, he now felt a strong, generous +emotion of gratitude, mingled, perhaps, with a sense of wounded pride, +on finding the poverty of their little family so openly exposed. + +“Hut, tut, Jimmy, avick,” said Owen, who understood his feelings; “phoo, +man alive! hut--hem!--why, sure it's nothin' at all, at all; anybody +would do it--only a bare five an' twenty shillins [it was five pound]: +any neighbor--Mick Cassidy, Jack Moran, or Pether M'Cullagh, would do +it.--Come, Frank, step out; the money's to the fore. Rosha, put +your cloak about you, and let us go down to the agint, or clerk, or +whatsomever he is--sure, that makes no maxin anyhow;--I suppose he +has power to give a resate. Jemmy, go to bed again, you're pale, poor +bouchal; and, childhre, ye crathurs ye, the cows won't be taken from +ye this bout.--Come, in the name of God, let us go, and see-everything +rightified at once--hut, tut--come.” + +Many similar details of Owen M'Carthy's useful life could be given, in +which he bore an equally benevolent and Christian part. Poor fellow! he +was, ere long, brought low; but, to the credit of our peasantry, much +as is said about their barbarity, he was treated, when helpless, with +gratitude, pity, and kindness. + +Until the peace of 1814, Owen's regular and systematic industry +enabled him to struggle successfully against a weighty rent and sudden +depression in the price of agricultural produce; that is, he was able, +by the unremitting toil of a man remarkable alike for an unbending +spirit and a vigorous frame of body, to pay his rent with tolerable +regularity. It is true, a change began to be visible in his personal +appearance, in his farm, in the dress of his children, and in the +economy of his household. Improvements, which adequate capital would +have enabled, him to effect, were left either altogether unattempted, +or in an imperfect state, resembling neglect, though, in reality, the +result of poverty. His dress at mass, and in fairs and markets, had, +by degrees, lost that air of comfort and warmth which bespeak the +independent farmer. The evidences of embarrassment began to disclose +themselves in many small points--inconsiderable, it is true, but not +the less significant. His house, in the progress of his declining +circumstances,ceased to be annually ornamented by a new coat of +whitewash; it soon assumed a faded and yellowish hue, and sparkled not +in the setting sun as in the days of Owen's prosperity. It had, in fact, +a wasted, unthriving look, like its master. The thatch became black +and rotten upon its roof; the chimneys sloped to opposite points; the +windows were less neat, and ultimately, when broken, were patched with a +couple of leaves from the children's blotted copy-books. His out-houses +also began to fail. The neatness of his little farm-yard, and the +cleanliness which marked so conspicuously the space fronting his +dwelling-house, disappeared in the course of time. Filth began to +accumulate where no filth had been; his garden was not now planted so +early, nor with such taste and neatness as before; his crops were later, +and less abundant; his haggarts neither so full nor so trim as they were +wont to be, nor his ditches and enclosures kept in such good repair. His +cars, ploughs, and other farming implements, instead of being put under +cover, were left exposed to the influence of wind and weather, where +they soon became crazy and useless. + +Such, however, were only the slighter symptoms of his bootless struggle +against the general embarrassment into which the agricultural interests +were, year after year, so unhappily sinking. + +Had the tendency to general distress among the class to which he +belonged become stationary, Owen would have continued by toil and +incessant exertion to maintain his ground; but, unfortunately, there was +no point at which the national depression could then stop. Year after +year produced deeper, more extensive, and more complicated misery; and +when he hoped that every succeeding season would bring an improvement +in the market, he was destined to experience not merely a fresh +disappointment, but an unexpected depreciation in the price of his corn, +butter, and other disposable commodities. + +When a nation is reduced to such a state, no eye but that of God himself +can see the appalling wretchedness to which a year of disease and +scarcity strikes down the poor and working classes. + +Owen, after a long and noble contest for nearly three years, sank, at +length, under the united calamities of disease and scarcity. The father +of the family was laid low upon the bed of sickness, and those of his +little ones who escaped it were almost consumed by famine. This two-fold +shock sealed his ruin; his honest heart was crushed--his hardy frame +shorn of its strength, and he to whom every neighbor fled as to a +friend, now required friendship at a moment when the widespread poverty +of the country rendered its assistance hopeless. + +On rising from his bed of sickness, the prospect before him required his +utmost fortitude to bear. He was now wasted in energy both of mind and +body, reduced to utter poverty, with a large family of children, too +young to assist him, without means of retrieving his circumstances, his +wife and himself gaunt skeletons, his farm neglected, his house wrecked, +and his offices falling to ruin, yet every day bringing the half-year's +term nearer! Oh, ye who riot on the miseries of such men--ye who roll +round the easy circle of fashionable life, think upon this picture! To +vile and heartless landlords, who see not, hear not, know not those to +whose heart-breaking toil ye owe the only merit ye possess--that of +rank in society--come and contemplate this virtuous man, as unfriended, +unassisted, and uncheered by those who are bound by a strong moral duty +to protect and aid him, he looks shuddering into the dark, cheerless +future! Is it to be wondered at that he, and such as he, should, in the +misery of his despair, join the nightly meetings, be lured to associate +himself with the incendiary, or seduced to grasp, in the stupid apathy +of wretchedness, the weapon of the murderer? By neglecting the people; +by draining them, with merciless rapacity, of the means of life; by +goading them on under a cruel system of rack rents, ye become not their +natural benefactors, but curses and scourges, nearly as much in reality +as ye are in their opinion. + +When Owen rose, he was driven by hunger, direct and immediate, to sell +his best cow; and having purchased some oatmeal at an enormous price, +from a well-known devotee in the parish, who hoarded up this commodity +for a “dear summer,” he laid his plans for the future, with as much +judgment as any man could display. One morning after breakfast he +addressed his wife as follows: + +“Kathleen, mavourneen, I want to consult wid you about what we ought to +do; things are low wid us, asthore; and except our heavenly Father puts +it into the heart of them I'm goin' to mention, I don't know what well +do, nor what'll become of these poor crathurs that's naked and hungry +about us. God pity them, they don't know--and maybe that same's some +comfort--the hardships that's before them. Poor crathurs! see how quiet +and sorrowful they sit about their little play, passin' the time for +themselves as well as they can! Alley, acushla machree, come over to +me. Your hair is bright and fair, Alley, and curls so purtily that the +finest lady in the land might envy it; but, acushla, your color's gone, +your little hands are wasted away, too; that sickness was hard and sore +upon you, a _colleen machree_ (* girl of my heart) and he that 'ud spend +his heart's blood for you, darlin', can do nothin' to help you!” + +He looked at the child as he spoke, and a slight motion in the muscles +of his face was barely preceptible, but it passed away; and, after +kissing her, he proceeded: + +“Ay, ye crathurs--you and I, Kathleen, could earn our bread for +ourselves yet, but these can't do it. This last stroke, darlin', has +laid us at the door of both poverty and sickness, but blessed be the +mother of heaven for it, they are all left wid us; and sure that's a +blessin' we've to be thankful for--glory be to God!” + +“Ay, poor things, it's well to have them spared, Owen dear; sure I'd +rather a thousand times beg from door to door, and have my childher to +look at, than be in comfort widout them.” + +“Beg: that 'ud go hard wid me, Kathleen. I'd work--I'd live on next to +nothing all the year round; but to see the crathurs that wor dacently +bred up brought to that, I couldn't bear it, Kathleen--'twould break +the heart widin in me. Poor as they are, they have the blood of kings +in their veins; and besides, to see a M'Carthy beggin' his bread in the +country where his name was once great--The M'Carthy More, that was their +title-no, acushla, I love them as I do the blood in my own veins; but +I'd rather see them in the arms of God in heaven, laid down dacently +with their little sorrowful faces washed, and their little bodies +stretched out purtily before my eyes--I would--in the grave-yard there +beyant, where all belonging to me lie, than have it cast up to them, or +have it said, that ever a M'Carthy was seen beggin' on the highway.” + +“But, Owen, can you strike out no plan for us that 'ud put us in the way +of comin' round agin? These poor ones, if we could hould out for two or +three year, would soon be able to help us.” + +“They would--they would. I'm thinkin' this day or two of a plan: but I'm +doubtful whether it 'ud come to anything.” + +“What is it, acushla? Sure we can't be worse nor we are, any way.” + +“I'm goin' to go to Dublin. I'm tould that the landlord's come home from +France, and that he's there now; and if I didn't see him, sure I could +see the agent. Now, Kathleen, my intintion 'ud be to lay our case before +the head landlord himself, in hopes he might hould back his hand, and +spare us for a while. If I had a line from the agent, or a scrape of a +pen, that I could show at home to some of the nabors, who knows but I +could borry what 'ud set us up agin! I think many of them 'ud be sorry +to see me turned out; eh, Kathleen?” + +The Irish are an imaginative people; indeed, too much so for either +their individual or national happiness. And it is this and superstition, +which also depends much upon imagination, that makes them so easily +influenced by those extravagant dreams that are held out to them by +persons who understand their character. + +When Kathleen heard the plan on which Owen founded his expectations of +assistance, her dark melancholy eye flashed with a portion of its former +fire; a transient vivacity lit up her sickly features, and she turned a +smile of hope and affection upon her children, then upon Owen. + +“Arrah, thin, who knows, indeed!--who knows but he might do something +for us? And maybe we might be as well as ever yet! May the Lord put it +into his heart, this day! I declare, ay!--maybe it was God put it into +your heart, Owen!” + +“I'll set off,” replied her husband, who was a man of decision; “I'll +set off on other morrow mornin'; and as nobody knows anything about it, +so let there not be a word said upon the subject, good or bad. If I have +success, well and good; but if not, why, nobody need be the wiser.” + +The heart-broken wife evinced, for the remainder of the day, a lightness +of spirits which she had not felt for many a month before. Even Owen +was less depressed than usual, and employed himself in making +such arrangements as he knew would occasion his family to feel the +inconvenience of his absence less acutely. But as the hour of his +departure drew nigh, a sorrowful feeling of affection rising into +greater strength and tenderness threw a melancholy gloom around his +hearth. According to their simple view of distance, a journey to Dublin +was a serious undertaking, and to them it was such. Owen was in weak +health, just risen out of illness, and what was more trying than any +other consideration was, that since their marriage they had never been +separated before. + +On the morning of his departure, he was up before daybreak, and so were +his wife and children, for the latter had heard the conversation already +detailed between them, and, with their simple-minded parents, enjoyed +the gleam of hope which it presented; but this soon changed--when he was +preparing to go, an indefinite sense of fear, and a more vivid clinging +of affection marked their feelings. He himself partook of this, and +was silent, depressed, and less ardent than when the speculation first +presented itself to his mind. His resolution, however, was taken, and, +should he fail, no blame at a future time could be attached to himself. +It was the last effort; and to neglect it, he thought, would have been +to neglect his duty. When breakfast was ready, they all sat down in +silence; the hour was yet early, and a rushlight was placed in a wooden +candlestick that stood beside them to afford light. There was something +solemn and touching in the group as they sat in dim relief, every face +marked by the traces of sickness, want, sorrow, and affection. The +father attempted to eat, but could not; Kathleen sat at the meal, but +could taste nothing; the children ate, for hunger at the moment was +predominant over every other sensation. At length it was over, and Owen +rose to depart; he stood for a minute on the floor, and seemed to take a +survey of his cold, cheerless house, and then of his family; he cleared +his throat several times, but did not speak. + +“Kathleen,” said he, at length, “in the name of God I'll go; and may his +blessin' be about you, asthore machree, and guard you and these darlins +till I come back to yez.” + +Kathleen's faithful heart could bear no more; she laid herself on his +bosom--clung to his neck, and, as the parting kiss was given, she wept +aloud, and Owen's tears fell silently down his worn cheeks. The children +crowded about them in loud wailings, and the grief of this virtuous and +afflicted family was of that profound description, which is ever the +companion, in such scenes, of pure and genuine love. + +“Owen!” she exclaimed; “Owen, _a-suilish mahuil agus machree!_ (* light +of my eyes and of my heart) I doubt we wor wrong in thinkin' of this +journey. How can you, mavourneen, walk all the way to Dublin, and you so +worn and weakly with that sickness, and the bad feedin' both before and +since? Och, give it up, achree, and stay wid us, let what will happen. +You're not able for sich a journey, indeed you're not. Stay wid me +and the childher, Owen; sure we'd be so lonesome widout you--will you, +agrah? and the Lord will do for us some other way, maybe.” + +Owen pressed his faithful wife to his heart, and kissed her chaste lips +with a tenderness which the heartless votaries of fashionable life can +never know. + +“Kathleen, asthore,” he replied, in those terms of endearment which flow +so tenderly through the language of the people; “sure whin I remimber +your fair young face--your yellow hair, and the light that was in your +eyes, acushla machree--but that's gone long ago--och, don't ax me to +stop. Isn't your lightsome laugh, whin you wor young, in my ears? and +your step that 'ud not bend the flower of the field--Kathleen, I can't, +indeed I can't, bear to think of what you wor, nor of what you are now, +when in the coorse of age and natur, but a small change ought to be upon +you! Sure I ought to make every struggle to take you and these sorrowful +crathurs out of the state you're in.” + +The children flocked about them, and joined their entreaties to those of +their mother. “Father, don't lave us--we'll be lonesome if you go, and +if my mother 'ud get unwell, who'd be to take care of her? Father, don't +lave your own 'weeny crathurs' (a pet name he had for them)--maybe +the meal 'ud be eat out before you'd come back; or maybe something 'ud +happen you in that strange place.” + +“Indeed, there's truth in what they say, Owen,” said, the wife; “do +be said by your own Kathleen for this time, and don't take sich a long +journey upon you. Afther all, maybe, you wouldn't see him--sure the +nabors will help us, if you could only humble yourself to ax them!” + +“Kathleen,” said Owen, “when this is past you'll be glad I went--indeed +you will; sure it's only the tindher feelin' of your hearts, darlins. +Who knows what the landlord may do when I see himself, and show him +these resates--every penny paid him by our own family. Let me go, +acushla; it does cut me to the heart to lave yez the way yez are in, +even for a while; but it's far worse to see your poor wasted faces, +widout havin' it in my power to do anything for yez.” + +He then kissed them again, one by one; and pressing the affectionate +partner of his sorrows to his breaking heart, he bade God bless them, +and set out in the twilight of a bitter March morning. He had not gone +many yards from the door when little Alley ran after him in tears; he +felt her hand upon the skirts of his coat, which, she plucked with a +smile of affection that neither tears nor sorrow could repress. “Father, +kiss me again,” said she. He stooped down, and kissed her tenderly. The +child then ascended a green ditch, and Owen, as he looked back, saw her +standing upon it; her fair tresses were tossed by the blast about her +face, as with straining eyes she watched him receding from her view. +Kathleen and the other children stood at the door, and also with deep +sorrow watched his form, until the angle of the bridle-road rendered him +no longer visible; after which they returned slowly to the fire and wept +bitterly. + +We believe no men are capable of bearing greater toil or privation than +the Irish. Owen's viaticum was only two or three oaten cakes tied in a +little handkerchief, and a few shillings in silver to pay for his bed. +With this small stock of food and money, an oaken stick in his hand, and +his wife's kerchief tied about his waist, he undertook a journey of one +hundred and ten miles, in quest of a landlord who, so far from being +acquainted with the distresses of his tenantry, scarcely knew even their +names, and not one of them in person. + +Our scene now changes to the metropolis. One evening, about half past +six o'clock, a toil-worn man turned his steps to a splendid! mansion in +Mountjoy Square; his appearance was drooping, fatigued, and feeble. As +he went along, he examined the numbers on the respective doors, until +he reached a certain one--before which he stopped for a moment; he +then stepped out upon the street, and looked through the windows, as if +willing to ascertain whether there was any chance of his object being +attained. Whilst in this situation a carriage rolled rapidly up, and +stopped with a sudden check that nearly threw back the horses on their +haunches. In an instant the thundering knock of the servant intimated +the arrival of some person of rank; the hall door was opened, and Owen, +availing himself of that opportunity, entered the hall. Such a visitor, +however, was too remarkable to escape notice. The hand of the menial +was rudely placed against his breast; and, as the usual impertinent +interrogatories were put to him, the pampered ruffian kept pushing him +back, until the afflicted man stood upon the upper step leading to the +door. + +“For the sake of God, let me spake but two words to him. I'm his tenant; +and I know he's too much of a jintleman to turn away a man that has +lived upon his honor's estate, father and son, for upwards of three +hundred years. My name's Owen ------” + +“You can't see him, my good fellow, at this hour. Go to Mr. M------, +his Agent: we have company to dinner. He never speaks to a tenant on +business; his Agent manages all that. Please, leave the way, here's more +company.” + +As he uttered the last word, he pushed Owen back; who, forgetting that +the stairs were behind him, fell,--received a severe cut, and was so +completely stunned, that he lay senseless and bleeding. Another carriage +drove up, as the fellow now much alarmed, attempted to raise him from +the steps; and, by order of the gentleman who came in it, he was brought +into the hall. The circumstance now made some noise. It was whispered +about, that one of Mr. S------'s tenants, a drunken fellow from the +country, wanted to break in forcibly to see him; but then it was also +asserted, that his skull was broken, and that he lay dead in the hall. +Several of the gentlemen above stairs, on hearing that a man had +been killed, immediately assembled about him, and, by the means of +restoratives, he soon recovered, though the blood streamed copiously +from the wound in the back of his head. + +“Who are you, my good man?” said Mr. S------. + +Owen looked about him rather vacantly; but soon collected himself, +and implied in a mournful and touching tone of voice--“I'm one of +your honor's tenants from Tubber Derg; my name is Owen M'Carthy, your +honor--that is, if you be Mr. S------.” + +“And pray, what brought you to town, M'Carthy?” + +“I wanted to make an humble appale to your honor's feelins, in regard to +my bit of farm. I, and my poor family, your honor, have been broken down +by hard times and the sickness of the sason--God knows how they axe.” + +“If you wish to speak to me about that, my good man, you must know I +refer all these matters to my Agent. Go to him--he knows them best; +and whatever is right and proper to be done for you, he will do it. +Sinclair, give him a crown, and send him to the ------ Dispensary, to +get his head dressed, I say, Carthy, go to my Agent; he knows whether +your claim is just or not, and will attend to it accordingly.” + +“Plase, your honor, I've been wid him, and he says he can do nothin' +whatsomever for me. I went two or three times, and couldn't see him, +he was so busy; and, when I did get a word or two wid him, he tould me +there was more offered for my land than I'm payin'; and that if I did +not pay up, I must be put out, God help me!” + +“But I tell you, Carthy, I never interfere between him and my tenants.” + +“Och, indeed! and it would be well, both for your honor's tenants and +yourself, if you did, sir. Your honor ought to know, sir, more about +us, and how we're thrated. I'm an honest man, sir, and I tell you so for +your good.” + +“And pray, sir,” said the Agent, stepping forward, for he had arrived +a few minutes before, and heard the last observation of M'Carthy--“pray +how are they treated, you that know so well, and are so honest a +man?--As for honesty, you might have referred to me for that, I think,” + he added. + +“Mr. M------,” said Owen, “we're thrated very badly. Sir, you needn't +look at me, for I'm not afeerd to spake the thruth; no bullyin', sir, +will make me say anything in your favor that you don't desarve. You've +broken the half of them by severity; you've turned the tenants aginst +yourself and his honor here; and I tell you now, though you're to the +fore, that, in the coorse of a short time, there'll be bad work upon the +estate, except his honor, here, looks into his own affairs, and hears +the complaints of the people. Look at these resates, your honor; they'll +show you, sir,--” + +“Carthy, I can hear no such language against the gentleman to whom I +entrust the management of my property; of course, I refer the matter +solely to him. I can do nothing in it.” + +“Kathleen, avourneen!” claimed the poor man, as he looked up +despairingly to heaven; “and ye, poor darlins of my heart! is this the +news I'm to have for yez whin I go home?--As you hope for mercy, sir, +don't turn away your ear from my petition, that I'd humbly make to +yourself. Cowld, and hunger, and hardship, are at home before me, yer +honor. If you'd be plased to look at these resates, you'd see that I +always paid my rint; and 'twas sickness and the hard times--” + +“And your own honesty, industry, and good conduct,” said the Agent, +giving a dark and malignant sneer at him. “Carthy, it shall be my +business to see that you do not spread a bad spirit through the tenantry +much longer.--Sir, you have heard the fellow's admission. It is an +implied threat he will give us much serious trouble. There is not such +another incendiary on your property--not one, upon my honor.” + +“Sir,” said a servant, “dinner is on the table.” + +“Sinclair,” said his landlord, “give him another crown, and tell him +to trouble me no more.” Saying; which, he and the Agent went up to +the drawing-room, and, in a moment, Owen saw a large party sweep +down stairs, full of glee and vivacity, by whom both himself and his +distresses were as completely forgotten as if they had never existed. + +He now slowly departed, and knew not whether the house-steward had given +him money or not until he felt it in his hand. A cold, sorrowful weight +lay upon his heart; the din of the town deadened his affliction into +a stupor; but an overwhelming sense of his disappointment, and a +conviction of the Agent's diabolical falsehood, entered like barbed +arrows into his heart. + +On leaving the steps, he looked up to heaven in the distraction of +his agonizing thoughts; the clouds were black and lowering--the wind +stormy--and, as it carried them on its dark wing along the sky, he +wished, if it were the will of God, that his head lay in the quiet +grave-yard where the ashes of his forefathers reposed in peace. But he +again remembered his Kathleen and their children; and the large tears of +anguish, deep and bitter, rolled slowly down his cheeks. + +We will not trace him into an hospital, whither the wound on his head +occasioned him to be sent, but simply state, that, on the second week +after this, a man, with his head bound in a handkerchief, lame, bent, +and evidently laboring under a severe illness or great affliction, +might be seen toiling slowly up the little hill that commanded a view of +Tubber Derg. On reaching the top he sat down to rest for a few minutes, +but his eye was eagerly turned to the house which contained all that was +dear to him on this earth. The sun was setting, and shone, with half his +disk visible, in that dim and cheerless splendor which produces almost +in every temperament a feeling of melancholy. His house which, in +happier days, formed so beautiful and conspicuous an object in the +view, was now, from the darkness of its walls, scarcely discernible. +The position of the sun, too, rendered it more difficult to be seen; and +Owen, for it was he, shaded his eyes with his hand, to survey it more +distinctly. Many a harrowing thought and remembrance passed through his +mind, as his eye traced its dim outline in the fading-light'. He had +done his duty--he had gone to the fountain-head, with a hope that his +simple story of affliction might be heard; but all was fruitless: the +only gleam, of hope that opened upon their misery had now passed into +darkness and despair for ever. He pressed his aching forehead with +distraction as he thought of this; then clasped his hands bitterly, and +groaned aloud. + +At length he rose, and proceeded with great difficulty, for the short +rest had stiffened his weak and fatigued joints. As he approached home +his heart sank; and as he ascended the blood-red stream which covered +the bridle-way that led to his house, what with fatigue and affliction, +his agitation weakened him so much that, he stopped, and leaned on his +staff several times, that he might take breath. + +“It's too dark, maybe, for them to see me, or poor Kathleen would send +the darlins to give me the _she dha veha_ (* the welcome). Kathleen, +avourneen machree! how my heart beats wid longin' to see you, asthore, +and to see the weeny crathurs--glory be to Him that has left them to +me--praise and glory to His name!” + +He was now within a few perches of thy door; but a sudden misgiving shot +across his heart when he saw it shut, and no appearance of smoke from +the chimney, nor of stir or life about the house. He advanced-- + +“Mother of glory, what's this!--But, wait, let me rap agin. Kathleen, +Kathleen!--are you widin, avourneen? Owen--Alley--arn't ye widin, +childhre? Alley, sure I'm come back to you all!” and he rapped more +loudly than before. A dark breeze swept through the bushes as he spoke, +but no voice nor sound proceeded from the house;--all was still as death +within. “Alley!” he called once more to his little favorite; “I'm come +home wid something for you, asthore! I didn't forget you, alanna!--I +brought it from Dublin, all the way. Alley!” but the gloomy murmur of +the blast was the only reply. + +Perhaps the most intense of all that he knew as misery was that which +he then felt; but this state of suspense was soon terminated by the +appearance of a neighbor who was passing. + +“Why, thin, Owen, but yer welcome home agin, my poor fellow; and I'm +sorry that I haven't betther news for you, and so are all of us.” + +He whom he addressed had almost lost the power of speech. + +“Frank,” said he, and he wrung his hand, “What--what? was death among +them? For the sake of heaven, spake!” + +The severe pressure which he received in return ran like a shoot, of +paralysis to his heart. + +“Owen, you must be a man; every one pities yez, and may the Almighty +pity and support yez! She is, indeed, Owen, gone; the weeny fair-haired +child, your favorite Alley, is gone. Yestherday she was berrid; and +dacently the nabors attinded the place, and sent in, as far as they +had it, both mate and dhrink to Kathleen and the other ones. Now, Owen, +you've heard it; trust in God, an' be a man.” + +A deep and convulsive throe shook him to the heart. “Gone!--the +fair-haired one!--Alley!--Alley!--the pride of both our hearts; the +sweet, the quiet, and the sorrowful child, that seldom played wid the +rest, but kept wid mys--! Oh, my darlin', my darlin'! gone from my eyes +for ever!--God of glory; won't you support me this night of sorrow and +misery!” + +With a sudden yet profound sense of humility, he dropped on his knees +at the threshold, and, as the tears rolled down his convulsed cheeks, +exclaimed, in a burst of sublime piety, not at all uncommon among our +peasantry--“I thank you, O my God! I thank you, an' I put myself an' my +weeny ones, my _pastchee boght_ (* my poor children) into your hands. I +thank you, O God, for what has happened! Keep me up and support me--och, +I want it! You loved the weeny one, and you took her; she was the light +of my eyes, and the pulse of my broken heart, but you took her, blessed +Father of heaven! an' we can't be angry wid you for so doin'! Still if +you had spared her--if--if--O, blessed Father, my heart was in the very +one you took--but I thank you, O God! May she rest in pace, now and for +ever, Amin!” + +He then rose up, and slowly wiping the tears from his eyes, departed. + +“Let me hould your arm, Frank, dear,” said he, “I'm weak and tired wid +a long journey. Och, an' can it be that she's gone--the fair-haired +colleen! When I was lavin' home, an' had kissed them all--'twas the +first time we ever parted, Kathleen and I, since our marriage--the +blessed child came over an' held up her mouth, sayin', 'Kiss me agin, +father;' an' this was afther herself an' all of them had kissed me +afore. But, och! oh! blessed Mother! Frank, where's my Kathleen and the +rest?--and why are they out of their own poor place?” + +“Owen, I tould you awhile agone, that you must be a man. I gave you the +worst news first, an' what's to come doesn't signify much. It was too +dear; for if any man could live upon it you could:--you have neither +house nor home, Owen, nor land. An ordher came from the Agint; your last +cow was taken, so was all you had in the world--hem--barrin' a thrifle. +No,--bad manners to it! no,--you're not widout a home anyway. The +family's in my barn, brave and comfortable, compared to what your own +house was, that let in the wather through the roof like a sieve; and, +while the same barn's to the fore, never say you want a home.” + +“God bless you, Frank, for that goodness to them and me; if you're not +rewarded for it here you will in a betther place. Och, I long to see +Kathleen and the childher! But I'm fairly broken down, Frank, and hardly +able to mark the ground; and, indeed, no wondher, if you knew but all: +still, let God's will be done! Poor Kathleen, I must bear up afore her, +or she'll break her heart; for I know how she loved the golden-haired +darlin' that's gone from us. Och, and how did she go, Frank, for I left +her betther?” + +“Why, the poor girsha took a relapse, and wasn't strong enough to bear +up aginst the last attack; but it's one comfort that you know she's +happy.” + +Owen stood for a moment, and, looking solemnly in his neighbor's face, +exclaimed, in a deep and exhausted voice, “Frank!” + +“What are you goin' to say, Owen?” + +“The heart widin me's broke--broke!” + +The large tears rolled down his weather-beaten cheeks, and he proceeded +in silence to the house of his friend. There was, however, a feeling +of sorrow in his words and manner which Frank could not withstand. He +grasped Owen's hand, and, in a low and broken voice, simply said--“Keep +your spirits up--keep them up.” + +When they came to the barn in which his helpless family had taken up +their temporary residence, Owen stood for a moment to collect himself; +but he was nervous, and trembled with repressed emotion. They then +entered; and Kathleen, on seeing her beloved and affectionate husband, +threw herself on his bosom, and for some time felt neither joy nor +sorrow--she had swooned. The poor man embraced her with a tenderness +at once mournful and deep. The children, on seeing their father safely +returned, forgot their recent grief, and clung about him with gladness +and delight. In the meantime Kathleen recovered, and Owen for many +minutes could not check the loud and clamorous grief, now revived by +the presence of her husband, with which the heart-broken and emaciated +mother deplored her departed child; and Owen himself, on once more +looking among the little ones, on seeing her little frock hanging up, +and her stool vacant by the fire--on missing her voice and her blue +laughing eyes--and remembering the affectionate manner in which, as with +a presentiment of death, she held up her little mouth and offered him +the last kiss--he slowly pulled the toys and cakes he had purchased for +her out of his pocket, surveyed them for a moment, and then, putting +his hands on his face, bent his head upon his bosom, and wept with the +vehement outpouring of a father's sorrow. + +The reader perceives that he was a meek man; that his passions were not +dark nor violent; he bore no revenge to those who neglected or injured +him, and in this he differed from too many of his countrymen. No; his +spirit was broken down with sorrow, and had not room for the fiercer and +more destructive passions. His case excited general pity. Whatever his +neighbors could, do to soothe him and alleviate his affliction was done. +His farm was not taken; for fearful threats were held out against those +who might venture to occupy it. In these threats he had nothing to do; +on the contrary, he strongly deprecated them. Their existence, however, +was deemed by the Agent sufficient to justify him in his callous and +malignant severity towards him. + +We did not write this story for effect. Our object was to relate facts +that occurred. In Ireland, there is much blame justly attached to +landlords, for their neglect and severity, in such depressed times, +towards their tenants: there is also much that is not only indefensible +but atrocious on the part of the tenants. But can the landed proprietors +of Ireland plead ignorance or want of education for their neglect and +rapacity, whilst the crimes of the tenants, on the contrary, may in +general be ascribed to both? He who lives--as, perhaps, his forefathers +have done--upon any man's property, and fails from unavoidable calamity, +has as just and clear a light to assistance from the landlord as if the +amount of that aid were a bonded debt. Common policy, common sense, and +common justice, should induce the Irish landlords to lower their rents +according to the market for agricultural produce, otherwise poverty, +famine, crime, and vague political speculations, founded upon idle hopes +of a general transfer of property, will spread over and convulse the +kingdom. Any man who looks into our poverty may see that our landlords +ought to reduce their rents to a standard suitable to the times and to +the ability of the tenant. + +But to return. Owen, for another year, struggled on for his family, +without success; his firm spirit was broken; employment he could not +get, and even had it been regular, he would have found it impracticable +to support his helpless wife and children by his labor. The next year +unhappily was also one of sickness and of want; the country was not only +a wide waste of poverty, but overspread with typhus fever. One Saturday +night he and the family found themselves without food; they had not +tasted a morsel for twenty-four hours. There were murmuring and +tears and, finally, a low conversation among them, as if they held +a conference upon some subject which filled them with both grief and +satisfaction. In this alternation of feeling did they pass the time +until the sharp gnawing of hunger was relieved by sleep. A keen December +wind blew with a bitter blast on the following morning; the rain was +borne along upon it with violence, and the cold was chill and piercing. +Owen, his wife, and their six children, issued at day-break out of the +barn in which, ever since their removal from Tubber Derg, they had lived +until then; their miserable fragments of bed-clothes were tied in a +bundle to keep them dry; their pace was slow, need we say sorrowful; all +were in tears. Owen and Kathleen went first, with a child upon the +back, and another in the hand, of each. Their route lay by their former +dwelling, the door of which was open, for it had not been inhabited. On +passing it they stood a moment; then with a simultaneous impulse both +approached--entered--and took one last look of a spot to which their +hearts clung with enduring attachment. They then returned; and as they +passed, Owen put forth his hand, picked a few small pebbles out of the +wall, and put them in his pocket. + +“Farewell!” said he, “and may the blessing of God rest upon you! We +now lave you for ever! We're goin' at last to beg our bread through the +world wide, where none will know the happy days we passed widin your +walls! We must lave you; but glory be to the Almighty, we are goin' +wid a clear conscience; we took no revenge into our own hands, but left +everything to God above us. We are poor, but there is neither blood, nor +murder, nor dishonesty upon our heads. Don't cry, Kathleen--don't cry, +childher; there is still a good god above who can and may do something +for us yet, glory be to his holy name!” + +He then passed on with his family, which, including himself, made in +all, eight paupers, being an additional burden upon the country, which +might easily have been avoided. His land was about two years waste, +and when it was ultimately taken, the house was a ruin, and the money +allowed by the landlord for building a new one, together with the +loss of two years' rent, would if humanely directed, have enabled Owen +M'Carthy to remain a solvent tenant. + +When an Irish peasant is reduced to pauperism, he seldom commences the +melancholy task of soliciting alms in his native place. The trial is +always a severe one, and he is anxious to hide his shame and misery from +the eyes of those who know him. This is one reason why some system +of poor laws should be introduced into the country. Paupers of this +description become a burden upon strangers, whilst those who are capable +of entering with friendly sympathy into their misfortunes have no +opportunity of assisting them. Indeed this shame of seeking alms from +those who have known the mendicant in better days, is a proof that +the absence of poor laws takes away from the poorer classes one of the +strongest incitements to industry; for instance, if every Pauper in +Ireland were confined to his own parish, and compelled to beg from his +acquaintances, the sense of shame alone would, by stirring them up to +greater industry, reduce the number of mendicants one-half. There is a +strong spirit of family pride in Ireland, which would be sufficient to +make many poor, of both sexes, exert themselves to the uttermost rather +than cast a stain upon their name, or bring a blush to the face of their +relations. But now it is not so: the mendicant sets out to beg, and in +most instances commences his new mode of life in some distant part of +the country, where his name and family are not known. + +Indeed, it is astonishing how any man can, for a moment, hesitate to +form his opinion upon the subject of poor laws. The English and Scotch +gentry know something about the middle and lower classes of their +respective countries, and of course they have a fixed system of +provision for the poor in each. The ignorance of the Irish gentry, upon +almost every subject connected with the real good of the people, is only +in keeping with their ignorance of the people themselves. It is to be +feared, however, that their disinclination to introduce poor laws arises +less from actual ignorance, than from an illiberal selfishness. The +facts of the case are these: In Ireland the whole support of the +inconceivable multitude of paupers, who swarm like locusts over the +surface of the country, rests upon the middle and lower classes, or +rather upon the latter, for there is scarcely such a thing in this +unhappy country as a middle class. In not one out of a thousand +instances do the gentry contribute to the mendicant poor. In the first +place, a vast proportion of our landlords are absentees, who squander +upon their own pleasures or vices, in the theatres, saloons, or +gaming-houses of France, or in the softer profligacies of Italy, that +which ought to return in some shape to stand in the place of duties +so shamefully neglected. These persons contribute nothing to the poor, +except the various evils which their absence entails upon them. + +On the other hand, the resident gentry never in any case assist a +beggar, even in the remote parts of the country, where there are no +Mendicity Institutions. Nor do the beggars ever think of applying to +them. They know that his honor's dogs would be slipped at them; or that +the whip might be laid, perhaps, to the shoulders of a broken-hearted +father, with his brood of helpless children wanting food; perhaps, upon +the emaciated person of a miserable widow, who begs for her orphans, +only because the hands that supported, and would have defended both her +and them, are mouldered into dust. + +Upon the middle and lower classes, therefore, comes directly the heavy +burden of supporting the great mass of pauperism that presses upon +Ireland. It is certain that the Irish landlords know this, and that they +are reluctant to see any law enacted which might make the performance of +their duties to the poor compulsory. This, indeed, is natural in men who +have so inhumanly neglected them. + +But what must the state of a country be where those who are on the way +to pauperism themselves are exclusively burdened with the support of +the vagrant poor? It is like putting additional weight on a man already +sinking under the burden he bears. The landlords suppose, that because +the maintenance of the idle who are able, and of the aged and infirm who +are not able to work, comes upon the renters of land, they themselves +are exempted from their support. This, if true, is as bitter a stigma +upon their humanity as upon their sense of justice: but it is not true. +Though the cost of supporting such an incredible number of the idle +and helpless does, in the first place, fall upon the tenant, yet, by +diminishing his means, and by often compelling him to purchase, towards +the end of the season, a portion of food equal to that which he has +given away in charity, it certainly becomes ultimately a clear deduction +from the landlord's rent. In either case it is a deduction, but in +the latter it is often doubly so; inasmuch as the poor tenants must +frequently pay, at the close of a season, double, perhaps treble, the +price which provision brought at the beginning of it. + +Any person conversant with the Irish people must frequently have heard +such dialogues as the following, during the application of a beggar for +alms:-- + +Mendicant.--“We're axin your charity for God's sake!” + +Poor Tenant.--“Why thin for His sake you would get it, poor crathur, if +we had it; but it's not for you widin the four corners of the house. It +'ud be well for us if we had now all we gave away in charity durin' the +Whole year; we wouldn't have to be buyin' for ourselves at three prices. +Why don't you go up to the Big House? They're rich and can afford it.” + +Mendicant, with a shrug, which sets all his coats and bags in +motion--“Och! och! The Big House, inagh! Musha, do you want me an' the +childhre here, to be torn to pieces wid the dogs? or lashed wid a whip +by one o' the sarvints? No, no, avourneen!” (with a hopeless shake of +the head.) “That 'ud be a blue look-up, like a clear evenin'.” + +Poor Tenant.--“Then, indeed, we haven't it to help you, now, poor man. +We're buyin' ourselves.” + +Mendicant.--“Thin, throth, that's lucky, so it is! I've as purty a grain +o' male here, as you'd wish to thicken wather wid, that I sthruv to get +together, in hopes to be able to buy a quarther o' tobaccy, along wid a +pair o' new bades an' scapular for myself. I'm suspicious that there's +about a stone ov it, altogether. You can have it anunder the market +price, for I'm frettin' at not havin' the scapular an me. Sure the Lord +will sind me an' the childhre a bit an' sup some way else--glory to his +name!--beside a lock of praties in the corner o' the bag here, that'll +do us for this day, any way.” + +The bargain is immediately struck, and the poor tenant is glad to +purchase, even from a beggar, his stone of meal, in consequence of +getting it a few pence under market price. Such scenes as this, which +are of frequent occurrence in the country parts of Ireland, need no +comment. + +This, certainly, is not a state of things which should be permitted to +exist. Every man ought to be compelled to support the poor of his +native parish according to his means. It is an indelible disgrace to the +legislature so long to have neglected the paupers of Ireland. Is it to +bo thought of with common patience that a person rolling in wealth shall +feed upon his turtle, his venison, and his costly luxuries of +every description, for which he will not scruple to pay the highest +price--that this heartless and selfish man, whether he reside at home or +abroad, shall thus unconscionably pamper himself with viands purchased +by the toil of the people, and yet not contribute to assist them, when +poverty, sickness, or age, throws them upon the scanty support of casual +charity? + +Shall this man be permitted to batten in luxury in a foreign land, or at +home; to whip our paupers from his carriage; or hunt them, like beasts +of prey, from his grounds, whilst the lower classes--the gradually +decaying poor--are compelled to groan under the burden of their support, +in addition to their other burdens? Surely it is not a question which +admits of argument. This subject has been darkened and made difficult by +fine-spun and unintelligible theories, when the only knowledge necessary +to understand it may be gained by spending a few weeks in some poor +village in the interior of the country. As for Parliamentary Committees +upon this or any other subject, they are, with reverence be it spoken, +thoroughly contemptible. They will summon and examine witnesses who, for +the most part, know little about the habits or distresses of the poor; +public money will be wasted in defraying their expenses and in printing +reports; resolutions will be passed; something will be said about it +in the House of Commons; and, in a few weeks, after resolving and +re-resolving, it is as little thought of, as if it had never been the +subject of investigation. In the meantime the evil proceeds--becomes +more inveterate--eats into the already declining prosperity of the +country--whilst those who suffer under it have the consolation of +knowing that a Parliamentary Committee sat longer upon it than so many +geese upon their eggs, but hatched nothing. Two circumstances, connected +with pauperism in Ireland, are worthy of notice. The first is this--the +Roman Catholics, who certainly constitute the bulk of the population, +feel themselves called upon, from the peculiar tenets of their religion, +to exercise indiscriminate charity largely to the begging poor. They act +under the impression that eleemosynary good works possess the power of +cancelling sin to an extent almost incredible. Many of their religious +legends are founded upon this view of the case; and the reader will find +an appropriate one in the Priest's sermon, as given in our tale of the +“Poor Scholar.” That legend is one which the author has many a time +heard from the lips of the people, by whom it was implicitly believed. +A man who may have committed a murder overnight, will the next day +endeavor to wipe away his guilt by alms given for the purpose of getting +the benefit of “the poor man's prayer.” The principle of assisting our +distressed fellow-creatures, when rationally exercised, is one of the +best in society; but here it becomes entangled with error, superstition, +and even with crime--acts as a bounty upon imposture, and in some degree +predisposes to guilt, from an erroneous belief that sin may be cancelled +by alms and the prayers of mendicant impostors. The second point, in +connection with pauperism, is the immoral influence that I proceeds +from the relation in which the begging poor in Ireland stand towards the +class by whom they are supported. These, as we have already said, +are the poorest, least educated, and consequently the most ignorant +description of the people. They are also the most numerous. There have +been for centuries, probably since the Reformation itself, certain +opinions floating among the lower classes in Ireland, all tending to +prepare them for some great change in their favor, arising from +the discomfiture of heresy, the overthrow of their enemies, and the +exaltation of themselves and their religion. + +Scarcely had the public mind subsided after the Rebellion of +Ninety-eight, when the success of Buonaparte directed the eyes and the +hopes of the Irish people towards him, as the person designed to be +their deliverer. Many a fine fiction has the author of this work heard +about that great man's escapes, concerning the bullets that conveniently +turned aside from his person, and the sabres that civilly declined to +cut him down. Many prophecies too were related, in which the glory of +this country under his reign was touched off in the happiest colors. +Pastorini also gave such notions an impulse. Eighteen twenty-five was +to be the year of their deliverance: George the Fourth was never to fill +the British throne; and the mill of Lowth was to be turned three times +with human blood. “The miller with the two thumbs was then living,” + said the mendicants, for they were the principal propagators of these +opinions, and the great expounders of their own prophecies; so that of +course there could be no further doubt upon the subject. Several of them +had seen him, a red-haired man with broad shoulders, stout legs, exactly +such as a miller ought to have, and two thumbs on his right hand; all +precisely as the prophecy had stated. Then there was _Beal-derg_, and +several others of the fierce old Milesian chiefs, who along with their +armies lay in an enchanted sleep, all ready to awake and take a part in +the delivery of the country. “Sure such a man,” and they would name one +in the time of the mendicant's grandfather, “was once going to a fair to +sell a horse--well and good; the time was the dawn of morning, a little +before daylight: he met a man who undertook to purchase his horse; they +agreed upon the price, and the seller of him followed the buyer into +a Bath, where he found a range of horses, each with an armed soldier +asleep by his side, ready to spring upon him if awoke. The purchaser +cautioned the owner of the horse as they were about to enter the +subterraneous dwelling, against touching either horse or man; but the +countryman happening to stumble, inadvertently laid his hand, upon a +sleeping soldier, who immediately leaped up, drew his sword, and asked, +'Wuil anam inh?' 'Is the time in it? Is the time arrived?' To which the +horse-dealer of the Bath replied, '_Ha niel. Gho dhee collhow areesht_.' +'No: go to sleep again.' Upon this the soldier immediately sank down in +his former position, and unbroken sleep reigned throughout the cave.” + The influence on the warm imaginations of an ignorant people, of such +fictions concocted by vagrant mendicants, is very pernicious. They fill +their minds with the most palpable absurdities, and, what is worse, with +opinions, which, besides being injurious to those who receive them, in +every instance insure for those who propagate them a cordial and kind +reception. + +These mendicants consequently pander, for their own selfish ends, to the +prejudices of the ignorant, which they nourish and draw out in a +manner that has in no slight degree been subversive of the peace of the +country. Scarcely any political circumstance occurs which they do not +immediately seize upon and twist to their own purposes, or, in other +words, to the opinions of those from whom they derive their support. +When our present police first appeared in their uniforms and black +belts, another prophecy, forsooth, was fulfilled. Immediately before the +downfall of heresy, a body of “Black Militia” was to appear; the police, +then, are the black militia, and the people consider themselves another +step nearer the consummation of their vague speculations. + +In the year Ninety-eight, the Irish mendicants were active agents, +clever spies, and expert messengers on the part of the people; and to +this day they carry falsehood, and the materials of outrage in its worst +shape, into the bosom of peaceable families, who would, otherwise, never +become connected with a system which is calculated to bring ruin and +destruction upon those who permit themselves to join it. + +This evil, and it is no trifling one, would, by the introduction of +poor-laws, be utterly abolished, the people would not only be more +easily improved, but education, when received, would not be corrupted +by the infusion into it of such ingredients as the above. In many other +points of view, the confirmed and hackneyed mendicants of Ireland are a +great evil to the morals of the people. We could easily detail them, but +such not being our object at present, we will now dismiss the subject of +poor-laws, and resume our narrative. + +Far--far different from this description of impostors, were Owen +M'Carthy and his family. Their misfortunes were not the consequences +of negligence or misconduct on their own part. They struggled long but +unavailingly against high rents and low markets; against neglect on the +part of the landlord and his agent; against sickness, famine, and death. +They had no alternative but to beg or starve. Owen was willing to +work, but he could not procure employment: and provided he could, the +miserable sum of sixpence a day, when food was scarce and dear, would +not support him, his wife, and six little ones. He became a pauper, +therefore, only to avoid starvation. + +Heavy and black was his heart, to use the strong expression of the +people, on the bitter morning when he set out to encounter the dismal +task of seeking alms, in order to keep life in himself and his family. +The plan was devised on the preceding night, but to no mortal, except +his wife, was it communicated. The honest pride of a man whose mind was +above committing a mean action, would not permit him to reveal what he +considered the first stain that ever was known to rest upon the name of +M'Carthy; he therefore sallied out under the beating of the storm, +and proceeded, without caring much whither he went, until he got +considerably beyond the bounds of his own parish. + +In the meantime hunger pressed deeply upon him and them. The day had +no appearance of clearing up; the heavy rain and sleet beat into their +thin, worn garments, and the clamor of his children for food began to +grow more and more importunate. They came to the shelter of a hedge +which inclosed on one side a remote and broken road, along which, +in order to avoid the risk of being recognized, they had preferred +travelling. Owen stood here for a few minutes to consult with his wife, +as to where and when they should “make a beginning;” but on looking +round, he found her in tears. + +“Kathleen, asthore,” said he, “I can't bid you not to cry; bear up, +acushla machree; bear up: sure, as I said when we came out this mornin', +there's a good God above us, that can still turn over the good lafe for +us, if we put our hopes in him.” + +“Owen,” said his sinking wife, “it's not altogether bekase we're brought +to this that I'm cryin'; no, indeed.” + +“Thin what ails you, Kathleen darlin'?” + +The wife hesitated, and evaded the question for some time; but at +length, upon his pressing her for an answer, with a fresh gush of +sorrow, she replied, + +“Owen, since you must know--och, may God pity us!--since you must know, +it's wid hunger--wid hunger! I kept, unknownst, a little bit of bread +to give the childhre this mornin', and that was part of it I gave you +yesterday early--I'm near two days fastin'.” + +“Kathleen! Kathleen! Och! sure I know your worth, avillish. You were too +good a wife, an' too good a mother, a'most! God forgive me, Kathleen! I +fretted about beginnin', dear; but as my Heavenly Father's above me, I'm +now happier to beg wid you by my side, nor if I war in the best house +of the province widout you! Hould up, avour-neen, for a while. Come on, +childhre, darlins, an' the first house we meet we'll ax their char--, +their assistance. Come on, darlins, and all of yees. Why my heart's +asier, so it is. Sure we have your mother, childhre, safe wid us, an' +what signifies anything so long as she's left to us?” + +He then raised his wife tenderly, for she had been compelled to sit from +weakness, and they bent their steps to a decent farmhouse that stood a +few perches off the road, about a quarter of a mile before them. + +As they approached the door, the husband hesitated a moment; his face +got paler than usual, and his lip quivered, as he said--“Kathleen--” + +“I know what you're goin' to say, Owen. No, acushla, you won't; I'll ax +it myself.” + +“Do,” said Owen, with difficulty; “I can't do it; but I'll overcome my +pride afore long, I hope. It's thryin' to me, Kathleen, an' you know it +is--for you know how little I ever expected to be brought to this.” + +“Husht, avillish! We'll thry, then, in the name o' God.” + +As she spoke, the children, herself, and her husband entered, to beg, +for the first time in their lives, a morsel of food. Yes! timidly--with +a blush, of shame, red even to crimson, upon the pallid features +of Kathleen--with grief acute and piercing--they entered the house +together. + +For some minutes they stood and spoke not. The unhappy woman, +unaccustomed to the language of supplication, scarcely knew in what +terms to crave assistance. Owen himself stood back, uncovered, his +fine, but much changed features overcast with an expression of +deep affliction. Kathleen cast a single glance, at him, as if for +encouragement. Their eyes met; she saw the upright man--the last remnant +of the M'Carthy--himself once the friend of the poor, of the unhappy, of +the afflicted--standing crushed and broken down by misfortunes which he +had not deserved, waiting with patience for a morsel of charity. Owen, +too, had his remembrances. He recollected the days when he sought and +gained the pure and fond affections of his Kathleen: when beauty, and +youth, and innocence encircled her with their light and their grace, as +she spoke or moved; he saw her a happy wife and mother in her own +home, kind and benevolent to all who required her good word or her good +office, and remembered the sweetness of her light-hearted song; but now +she was homeless. He remembered, too, how she used to plead with himself +for the afflicted. It was but a moment; yet when their eyes met, that +moment was crowded by recollections that flashed across their minds with +a keen, sense of a lot so bitter and wretched as theirs. Kathleen could +not speak, although she tried; her sobs denied her utterance; and Owen +involuntarily sat upon a chair, and covered his face with his hand. + +To an observing eye it is never difficult to detect the cant of +imposture, or to perceive distress when it is real. The good woman of +the house, as is usual in Ireland, was in the act of approaching them, +unsolicited, with a double handful of meal--that is what the Scotch and +northern Irish call a goivpen, or as much as both hands locked together +can contain--when, noticing their distress, she paused a moment, eyed +them more closely, and exclaimed-- + +“What's this? Why there's something wrong wid you, good people! But +first an' foremost take this, in the name an' honor of God.” + +“May the blessin' of the same _Man_* rest upon yees!” replied Kathleen. +“This is a sorrowful thrial to us; for it's our first day to be upon the +world; an' this is the first help of the kind we ever axed for, or ever +got; an' indeed now I find we haven't even a place to carry it in. I've +no--b--b--cloth, or anything to hould it.” + + * God is sometimes thus termed in Ireland. By “Man” + here is meant person or being. He is also called the + “Man above;” although this must have been intended for, + and often is applied to, Christ only. + +“Your first, is it?” said the good woman. “Your first! May the marciful +queen o' heaven look down upon yees, but it's a bitther day yees war +driven out in! Sit down, there, you poor crathur. God pity you, I pray +this day, for you have a heart-broken look! Sit down awhile, near the +fire, you an' the childre! Come over, darlins, an' warm yourselves. Och, +oh! but it's a thousand pities to see sich fine childre--handsome an' +good lookin' even as they are, brought to this! Come over, good man; get +near the fire, for you're wet an' could all of ye. Brian, ludher them +two lazy thieves o' dogs out o' that. _Eiree suas, a wadhee bradagh, +agus go mah a shin!_--be off wid yez, ye lazy divils, that's not worth +your feedin'! Come over, honest man.” Owen and his family were placed +near the fire; the poor man's heart was full, and he sighed heavily. + +“May He that is plased to thry us,” he exclaimed, “reward you for this! +We are,” he continued, “a poor an' a sufferin' family; but it's the +will of God that we should be so; an' sure we can't complain widout +committin' sin. All we ax now, is, that it may be plasin' to him that +brought us low, to enable us to bear up undher our thrials. We would +take it to our choice to beg an' be honest, sooner, nor to be wealthy, +an' wicked! We have our failings, an' our sins, God help us; but still +there's nothin' dark or heavy on our consciences. Glory be to the name +o' God for it!” + +“Throth, I believe you,” replied the farmer's wife; “there's thruth an' +honesty in your face; one may easily see the remains of dacency about +you all. Musha, throw your little things aside, an' stay where ye are +today: you can't bring out the childre under the teem of rain an' sleet +that's in it. Wurrah dheelish, but it's the bitther day all out! Faix, +Paddy will get a dhrookin, so he will, at that weary fair wid the +stirks, poor bouchal--a son of ours that's gone to Bally-boulteen to +sell some cattle, an' he'll not be worth three hapuns afore he comes +back. I hope he'll have sinse to go into some house, when he's done, +an' dhry himself well, anyhow, besides takin' somethin' to keep out the +could. Put by your things, an' don't, think of goin' out sich a day.” + +“We thank you,” replied Owen. “Indeed we're glad to stay undher your +roof; for poor things, they're badly able to thravel sich a day--these +childre.” + +“Musha, ye ate no breakfast, maybe?” Owen and his family were silent. +The children looked wistfully at their parents, anxious that they should +confirm what the good woman surmised; the father looked again at his +famished brood and his sinking wife, and nature overcame him. + +“Food did not crass our lips this day,” replied Owen; “an' I may say +hardly anything yestherday.” + +“Oh, blessed mother! Here, Katty Murray, drop scrubbin' that dresser, +an' put down, the midlin' pot for stirabout. Be livin' _manim an +diouol_, woman alive, handle yourself; you might a had it boilin' by +this. God presarve us!--to be two days widout atin! Be the crass, Katty, +if you're not alive, I'll give you a douse o' the churnstaff that'll +bring the fire to your eyes! Do you hear me?” + +“I do hear you, an' did often feel you, too, for fraid hearin' wouldn't +do. You think there's no places in the world but your own, I b'lieve. +Faix, indeed! it's well come up wid us, to be randied about wid no less +a switch than a churnstaff!” + +“Is it givin' back talk, you are? Bad end to me, if you look crucked but +I'll lave you a mark to remimber me by. What woman 'ud put up wid you +but myself, you shkamin flipe? It wasn't to give me your bad tongue I +hired you, but to do your business; and be the crass above us, if you +turn your tongue on me agin, I'll give you the weight o' the churnstaff. +Is it bekase they're poor people that it plased God to bring to this, +that you turn up your nose at doin' anything to sarve them? There's not +wather enough there, I say--put in more what signifies all the stirabout +that 'ud make? Put plinty in: it's betther always to have too much than +too little. Faix, I tell you, you'll want a male's meat an' a night's +lodgin' afore you die, if you don't mend your manners.” + +“Och, musha, the poor girl is doin' her best,” observed Kathleen; “an' +I'm sure she wouldn't be guilty of usin' pride to the likes of us, or to +any one that the Lord has laid his hand upon.” + +“She had betther not, while I'm to the fore,” said her mistress. “What +is she herself? Sure if it was a sin to be poor, God help the world. No; +it's neither a sin nor a shame.” + +“Thanks be to God, no,” said Owen: “it's neither the one nor the other. +So long as we keep a fair name, an' a clear conscience, we can't ever +say that our case is hard.” + +After some further conversation, a comfortable breakfast was prepared +for them, of which they partook with an appetite sharpened by their long +abstinence from food. Their stay here was particularly fortunate, for as +they were certain of a cordial welcome, and an abundance of that which +they much wanted--wholesome food--the pressure of immediate distress +was removed. They had time to think more accurately upon the little +preparations for misery which were necessary, and, as the day's leisure +was at their disposal, Kathleen's needle and scissors were industriously +plied in mending the tattered clothes of her husband and her children, +in order to meet the inclemency of the weather. + +On the following morning, after another abundant breakfast, and +substantial marks of kindness from their entertainers, they prepared +to resume their new and melancholy mode of life. As they were about to +depart, the farmer's wife addressed them in the following terms--the +farmer himself, by the way, being but the shadow of his worthy partner +in life-- + +Wife--“Now, good people, you're takin' the world on your heads--” + +Farmer--“Ay, good people, you're takin' the world on your heads--” + +Wife--“Hould your tongue, Brian, an' suck your dhudeen. It's me that's +spakin' to them, so none of your palaver, if you plase, till I'm done, +an' then you may prache till Tib's Eve, an' that's neither before +Christmas nor afther it.” + +Farmer--“Sure I'm sayin' nothin', Elveen, barrin' houldin' my tongue, a +shuchar” (* my sugar). + +Wife--“Your takin' the world on yez, an' God knows 'tis a heavy load to +carry, poor crathurs.” + +Farmer--“A heavy load, poor crathurs! God he knows it's that.” + +Wife--“Brian! _Gluntho ma?_--did you hear me? You'll be puttin' in your +gab, an' me spakin'? How-an-iver, as I was sayin', our house was the +first ye came to, an' they say there's a great blessin' to thim that +gives, the first charity to a poor man or woman settin' out to look for +their bit.” + +Farmer--“Throgs, ay! Whin they set out; to look for their bit.” + +Wife--“By the crass, Brian, you'd vex a saint. What have you to say in +it, you _pittiogue_?* Hould your whisht now, an' suck your dhudeen, I +say; sure I allow you a quarther o' tobaccy a week, an' what right have +you to be puttin' in your gosther when other people's spakin'?” + + * Untranslatable--but means a womanly man a poor, + effeminate creature. + +Farmer--“Go an.” + +Wife--“So, you see, the long an' the short of it is that whenever you +happen to be in this side of the counthry, always come to us. You know +the ould sayin'--when the poor man comes he brings a blessin', an' when +he goes he carries away a curse. You have as much, meal as will last yez +a day or two; an' God he sees you're heartily welcome to all ye got?” + +Farmer--“God he sees you're heartily welcome--” + +Wife--“_Chorp an diouol_, Brian, hould your tongue, Or I'll turn you out +o' the kitchen. One can't hear their own ears for you, you poor squakin' +dhrone. By the crass, I'll--eh? Will you whisht, now?” + +Farmer--“Go an. Amn't I dhrawin' my pipe?” + +Wife--“Well dhraw it; but don't dhraw me down upon you, barrin--. Do you +hear me? an' the sthrange people to the fore, too! Well, the Lord be wid +yez, an' bless yez! But afore yez go, jist lave your blessin' wid us; +for it's a good thing to have the blessin' of the poor?” + +“The Lord bless you, an yours!” said Owen, fervently. “May you and them +never--oh, may you never--never suffer what we've suffered; nor know +what it is to want a male's mate, or a night's lodgin'!” + +“Amin!” exclaimed Kathleen; “may the world flow upon you! for your good, +kind heart desarves it.” + +Farmer--“An' whisper; I wish you'd offer up a prayer for the rulin' o' +the tongue. The Lord might hear you, but there's no great hopes that +ever he'll hear me; though I've prayed for it almost ever since I was +married, night an' day, winther and summer; but no use, she's as bad as +ever.” + +This was said in a kind of friendly insinuating undertone to Owen; who, +on hearing it, simply nodded his head, but made no other reply. + +They then recommenced their journey, after having once more blessed, +and been invited by their charitable entertainers, who made them promise +never to pass their house without stopping a night with them. + +It is not our intention to trace Owen M'Carthy and his wife through +all the variety which a wandering pauper's life affords. He never could +reconcile himself to the habits of a mendicant. His honest pride and +integrity of heart raised him above it: neither did he sink into the +whine and cant of imposture, nor the slang of knavery. No; there was +a touch of manly sorrow about him, which neither time, nor familiarity +with his degraded mode of life, could take away from him. His usual +observation to his wife, and he never made it without a pang of intense +bitterness, was--“Kathleen, dar-lin', it's thrue we have enough to ate +an' to dhrink; but we have no home--no home!” to a man like him it was a +thought of surpassing bitterness, indeed. + +“Ah! Kathleen,” he would observe, “if we had but the poorest shed that +could be built, provided it was our own, wouldn't we be happy? The bread +we ate, avourneen, doesn't do us good. We don't work for it; it's the +bread of shame and idleness: and yet it's Owen M'Carthy that ates it! +But, avourneen, that's past; an' we'll never see our own home, or +our own hearth agin. That's what's cuttin' into my heart, Kathleen. +Never!--never!” + +Many a trial, too, of another kind, was his patience called upon to +sustain; particularly from the wealthy and the more elevated in +life, when his inexperiences as a mendicant led him to solicit their +assistance. + +“Begone, sirrah, off my grounds!” one would say. “Why don't you work, +you sturdy impostor,” another would exclaim, “rather than stroll about +so lazily, training your brats to the gallows?” + +“You should be taken up, fellow, as a vagrant,” a third would observe; +“and if I ever catch you coming up my avenue again, depend upon it, I +will slip my dogs at you and your idle spawn.” + +Owen, on these occasions, turned away in silence; he did not curse them; +but the pangs of his honest heart went before Him who will, sooner or +later, visit upon the heads of such men their cruel spurning and neglect +of the poor. + +“Kathleen,” he observed to his wife, one day, about a, year or more +after they had begun to beg; “Kathleen, I have been turnin' it in my +mind, that some of these childhre might sthrive to earn their bit an' +sup, an' their little coverin' of clo'es, poor things. We might put them +to herd cows in the summer, an' the girshas to somethin' else in the +farmers' house. What do you think, asthore?” + +“For God's sake do, Owen; sure my heart's crushed to see them--my own +childhre, that I could lay down my life for--beggin' from door to door. +Och, do something for them that way, Owen, an' you'll relieve the heart +that loves them. It's a sore sight to a mother's eye, Owen, to see her +childhre beggin' their morsel.” + +“It is darlin'--it is; we'll hire out the three eldest--Brian, an' Owen, +an' Pether, to herd cows; an' we may get Peggy into some farmer's +house to do loose jobs an' run of messages. Then we'd have only little +Kathleen an' poor Ned along wid us. I'll try any way, an' if I can get +them places, who knows what may happen? I have a plan in my head that +I'll tell you, thin.” + +“Arrah, what is it, Owen, jewel. Sure if I know it, maybe when I'm +sorrowful, that thinkin' of it, an' lookin' forrid to it will make me +happier. An' I'm sure, acushla, you would like that.” + +“But maybe, Kathleen, if it wouldn't come to pass, that the +disappointment 'ud be heavy on you?” + +“How could it, Owen? Sure we can't be worse nor we are, whatever +happens?” + +“Thrue enough, indeed, I forgot that; an' yet we might, Kathleen. Sure +we'd be worse, if we or the childhre had bad health.” + +“God forgive me thin, for what I said! We might be worse. Well, but what +is the plan, Owen?” + +“Why, when we got the childhre places, I'll sthrive to take a little +house, an' work as a cottar. Then, Kathleen, we'd have a home of our +own. I'd work from light to light; I'd work before hours an' afther +hours; ay, nine days in the week, or we'd be comfortable in our own +little home. We might be poor, Kathleen, I know that, an' hard pressed +too; but then, as I said, we'd have our own home, an' our own hearth; +our morsel, if it 'ud be homely, would be sweet, for it would be the +fruits of our own labor.” + +“Now, Owen, do you think you could manage to get that?” + +“Wait, acushla, till we get the childhre settled. Then I'll thry the +other plan, for it's good to thry anything that could take us out of +this disgraceful life.” + +This humble speculation was a source of great comfort to them. Many +a time have they forgotten their sorrows in contemplating the simple +picture of their happy little cottage. Kathleen, in particular, drew +with all the vivid coloring of a tender mother, and an affectionate +wife, the various sources of comfort and contentment to be found even +in a cabin, whose inmates are blessed with a love of independence, +industry, and mutual affection. + +Owen, in pursuance of his intention, did not neglect, when the proper +season arrived, to place out his eldest children among the farmers. +The reader need not be told that there was that about him which gained +respect. He had, therefore, little trouble in obtaining his wishes on +this point, and to his great satisfaction, he saw three of them hired +out to earn their own support. + +It was now a matter of some difficulty for him to take a cabin and get +employment. They had not a single article of furniture, and neither bed +nor bedding, with the exception of blankets almost worn past use. He was +resolved, however, to give up, at all risks, the life of a mendicant. +For this purpose, he and the wife agreed to adopt a plan quite usual in +Ireland, under circumstances somewhat different from his: this was, +that Kathleen should continue to beg for their support, until the +first half-year of their children's service should expire; and in the +meantime, that he, if possible, should secure employment for himself. +By this means, his earnings and that of his children might remain +untouched, so that in half a year he calculated upon being able to +furnish a cabin, and proceed, as a cotter, to work for, and support his +young children and his wife, who determined, on her part, not to be idle +any more than her husband. As the plan was a likely one, and as Owen +was bent on earning his bread, rather than be a burthen to others, it +is unnecessary to say that it succeeded. In less than a year he found +himself once more in a home, and the force of what he felt on sitting, +for the first time since his pauperism, at his own hearth, may easily be +conceived by the reader. For some years after this, Owen got on slowly +enough; his wages as a daily laborer being so miserable, that it +required him to exert every nerve to keep the house over their head. +What, however, will not carefulness and a virtuous determination, joined +to indefatigable industry, do? + +After some time, backed as he was by his wife, and even by his youngest +children, he, found himself beginning to improve. In the mornings and +evenings he cultivated his garden and his rood of potato-ground. He also +collected with a wheelbarrow, which he borrowed, from an acquaintance, +compost from the neighboring road; scoured an old drain before his door; +dug rich earth, and tossed, it into the pool of rotten water beside the +house, and in fact adopted several other modes of collecting manure. By +this means he had, each spring, a large portion of rich stuff on which +to plant his potatoes. His landlord permitted him to spread this for +planting upon his land; and Owen, ere long, instead of a rood, was able +to plant half an acre, and ultimately, an acre of potatoes. The produce +of this, being more than sufficient for the consumption of his family, +he sold the surplus, and with the money gained by the sale was enabled +to sow half an acre of oats, of which, when made into meal, he disposed +of the greater share. + +Industry is capital; for even when unaided by capital it creates it; +whereas, idleness with capital produces only poverty and ruin. Owen, +after selling his meal and as much potatoes as he could spare, found +himself able to purchase a cow. Here was the means of making more +manure; he had his cow, and he had also straw enough for her provender +during the winter. The cow by affording milk to his family, enabled them +to live more cheaply; her butter they sold, and this, in addition to his +surplus meal and potatoes every year, soon made him feel that he had a +few guineas to spare. He now bethought him of another mode of helping +himself forward in the world: after buying the best “slip” of a pig he +could find, a sty was built for her, and ere long he saw a fine litter +of young pigs within a snug shed. These he reared until they were about +two months old, when he sold them, and found that he had considerably +gained by the transaction. This, department, however, was under the +management of Kathleen, whose life was one of incessant activity and +employment. Owen's children, during the period of his struggles and +improvements, were, by his advice, multiplying their little capital as +fast as himself. The two boys, who had now shot up into the stature of +young men, were at work as laboring servants in the neighborhood. The +daughters were also engaged as servants with the adjoining farmers. The +boys bought each a pair of two-year old heifers, and the daughter one. +These they sent to graze up in the mountains at a trifling charge, for +the first year or two: when they became springers, they put them to rich +infield grass for a few months, until they got a marketable appearance, +after which their father brought them to the neighboring fairs, where +they usually sold to great advantage, in consequence of the small outlay +required in rearing them. + +In fact, the principle of industry ran through the family. There was +none of them idle; none of them a burthen or a check upon the profits +made by the laborer. On the contrary, “they laid their shoulders +together,” as the phrase is, and proved to the world, that when the +proper disposition is followed up by suitable energy and perseverance, +it must generally reward him who possesses it. + +It is certainly true that Owen's situation in life now was essentially +different from that which it had been during the latter years of his +struggles an a farmer. It was much more favorable, and far better +calculated to develop successful exertion. If there be a class of men +deserving public sympathy, it is that of the small farmers of Ireland. +Their circumstances are fraught with all that is calculated to depress +and ruin them; rents far above their ability, increasing poverty, and +bad markets. The land which, during the last war, might have enabled the +renter to pay three pounds per acre, and yet still maintain himself with +tolerable comfort, could not now pay more than one pound, or, at the +most, one pound ten; and yet, such is the infatuation of landlords, +that, in most instances, the terms of leases taken out then are +rigorously exacted. Neither can the remission of yearly arrears be said +to strike at the root of the evils under which they suffer. The fact +of the disproportionate rent hanging over them is a disheartening +circumstance, that paralyzes their exertion, and sinks their spirits. If +a landlord remit the rent for one term, he deals more harshly with the +tenant at the next; whatever surplus, if any, his former indulgence +leaves in the tenant's hands, instead of being expended upon his +property as capital, and being permitted to lay the foundation of +hope and prosperity, is drawn from him, at next term, and the poor, +struggling tenant is thrown back into as much distress, embarrassment, +and despondency as ever. There are, I believe, few tenants in Ireland +of the class I allude to, who are not from one gale to three in arrear. +Now, how can it be expected that such men will labor with spirit and +earnestness to raise crops which they may never reap? crops which the +landlord may seize upon to secure as much of his rent as he can. + +I have known a case in which the arrears were not only remitted, but the +rent lowered to a reasonable standard, such as, considering the markets, +could be paid. And what was the consequence? The tenant who was looked +upon as a negligent man, from whom scarcely any rent could be got, took +courage, worked his farm with a spirit and success which he had not +evinced before; and ere long was in a capacity to pay his gales to the +very day; so that the judicious and humane landlord was finally a gainer +by his own excellent economy. This was an experiment, and it succeeded +beyond expectation. + +Owen M'Carthy did not work with more zeal and ability as an humble +cotter than he did when a farmer; but the tide was against him as a +landholder, and instead of having advanced, he actually lost ground +until he became a pauper. No doubt the peculiarly unfavorable run of two +hard seasons, darkened by sickness and famine, were formidable obstacles +to him; but he must eventually have failed, even had they not occurred. +They accelerated his downfall, but did not cause it. + +The Irish people, though poor, are exceedingly anxious to be +independent. Their highest ambition is to hold a farm. So strong is this +principle in them, that they will, without a single penny of capital, or +any visible means to rely on, without consideration or forethought, come +forward and offer a rent which, if they reflected only for a moment, +they must feel to be unreasonably high. This, indeed, is a great evil +in Ireland. But what, in the meantime, must we think of those imprudent +landlords, and their more imprudent agents, who let their land to +such persons, without proper inquiry into their means, knowledge of +agriculture, and general character as moral and industrious men? A farm +of land is to be let; it is advertised through the parish; application +is to be made before such a day, to so and so. The day arrives, the +agent or the land-steward looks over the proposals, and after singling +out the highest, bidder, declares him tenant, as a matter of course. +Now, perhaps, this said tenant does not possess a shilling in the +world, nor a shilling's worth. Most likely he is a new-married man, +with nothing but his wife's bed and bedding, his wedding-suit, and his +blackthorn cudgel, which we may suppose him to keep in reserve for the +bailiff. However, he commences his farm; and then follow the shiftings, +the scramblings, and the fruitless struggles to succeed, where success +is impossible. His farm is not half tilled; his crops are miserable; the +gale-day has already passed; yet, he can pay nothing until he takes it +out of the land. Perhaps he runs away--makes a moonlight flitting--and, +by the aid of his friends, succeeds in bringing the crop with him. The +landlord, or agent, declares he is a knave; forgetting that the man +had no other alternative, and that they were the greater knaves and +fools too, for encouraging him to undertake a task that was beyond his +strength. + +In calamity we are anxious to derive support from the sympathy of our +friends; in our success, we are eager to communicate to them the power +of participating in our happiness. When Owen once more found himself +independent and safe, he longed to realize two plans on which he had +for some time before been seriously thinking. The first was to visit his +former neighbors, that they might at length know that Owen McCarthy's +station in the world was such as became his character. The second was, +if possible, to take a farm in his native parish, that he might close +his days among the companions of his youth, and the friends of his +maturer years. He had, also, another motive; there lay the burying-place +of the M'Carthys, in which slept the mouldering dust of his own +“golden-haired” Alley. With them--in his daughter's grave--he intended +to sleep his long sleep. Affection for the dead is the memory of the +heart. In no other graveyard could he reconcile it to himself to be +buried; to it had all his forefathers been gathered; and though +calamity had separated him from the scenes where they had passed through +existence, yet he was resolved that death should not deprive him of its +last melancholy consolation;--that of reposing with all that remained of +the “departed,” who had loved him, and whom he had loved. He believed, +that to neglect this, would be to abandon a sacred duty, and felt sorrow +at the thought of being like an absent guest from the assembly of his +own dead; for there is a principle of undying hope in the heart, that +carries, with bold and beautiful imagery, the realities of life into the +silent recesses of death itself. + +Having formed the resolution of visiting his old friends at Tubber Derg, +he communicated it to Kathleen and his family; Ids wife received the +intelligence with undisguised delight. + +“Owen,” she replied, “indeed I'm glad you mintioned it. Many a time the +thoughts of our place, an' the people about it, comes over me. I know, +Owen, it'll go to your heart to see it; but still, avourneen, you'd +like, too, to see the ould faces an' the warm hearts of them that pitied +us, an' helped us, as well as they could, whin we war broken down.” + +“I would, Kathleen; but I'm not going merely to see thim an' the place. +I intind, if I can, to take a bit of land somewhere near Tubber Derg. +I'm unasy in my mind, for 'fraid I'd not sleep in the grave-yard where +all belongin' to me lie.” + +A chord of the mother's heart was touched; and in a moment the memory of +their beloved child brought the tears to her eyes. + +“Owen, avourneen, I have one requist to ax of you, an' I'm sure you +won't refuse it to me; if I die afore you, let me be buried wid Alley. +Who has a right to sleep so near her as her own mother?” + +“The child's in my heart still,” said Owen, suppressing his emotion; +“thinkin' of the unfortunate mornin' I wint to Dublin, brings her +back to me. I see her standin', wid her fair pale face--pale--oh, my +God!--wid hunger an' sickness--her little thin clo'es, an' her goolden +hair, tossed about by the dark blast--the tears in her eyes, an' the +smile, that she once had, on her face--houldin' up her mouth, an' sayin' +'Kiss me agin, father;' as if she knew, somehow, that I'd never see +her, nor her me, any more. An' whin I looked back, as I was turnin' the +corner, there she stood, strainin' her eyes after her father, that she +was then takin' the last sight of until the judgment-day.” + +His voice here became broken, and he sat in silence for a few minutes. + +“It's sthrange,” he added, with more firmness, “how she's so often in my +mind!” + +“But, Owen, dear,” replied Kathleen, “sure it was the will of God that +she should lave us. She's now a bright angel in heaven, an' I dunna if +it's right--indeed, I doubt it's sinful for us to think so much about +her. Who knows but her innocent spirit is makin' inthercession for us +all, before the blessed Mother o' God! Who knows but it was her that got +us the good fortune that flowed in upon us, an' that made our strugglin' +an' our laborin' turn out so lucky.” + +The idea of being lucky or unlucky is, in Ireland, an enemy to industry. +It is certainly better that the people should believe success in life +to be, as it is, the result of virtuous exertion, than of contingent +circumstances, over which they themselves have no control. Still there +was something beautiful in the superstition of Kathleen's affections; +something that touched the heart and its! dearest associations. + +“It's very true, Kathleen,” replied her husband; “but God is ever ready +to help them that keeps an honest heart, an' do everything in their +power to live creditably. They may fail for a time, or he may thry them +for awhile, but sooner or later good, intintions and honest labor will +be rewarded. Look at ourselves--blessed be his name!” + +“But whin do you mane to go to Tubber Derg, Owen!” + +“In the beginnin' of the next week. An', Kathleen, ahagur, if you +remimber the bitther mornin' we came upon the world--but we'll not +be spakin' of that now. I don't like to think of it. Some other time, +maybe, when we're settled among our ould friends, I'll mintion it.” + +“Well, the Lord bliss your endayvors, anyhow! Och, Owen, do thry an' +get us a snug farm somewhere near them. But you didn't answer me about +Alley, Owen?” + +“Why, you must have your wish, Kathleen, although I intended to keep +that place for myself. Still we can sleep one on aich side of her; an' +that may be aisily done, for our buryin'-ground is large: so set your +mind at rest on that head. I hope God won't call us till we see our +childhre settled dacently in the world. But sure, at all evints, let his +blessed will be done!” + +“Amin! amin! It's not right of any one to keep their hearts fixed too +much upon the world; nor even, they say, upon one's own childhre.” + +“People may love their childhre as much as they plase, Kathleen, if they +don't let their _grah_ for them spoil the crathurs, by givin' them their +own will, till they become headstrong an' overbearin'. Now, let my linen +be as white as a bone before Monday, plase goodness; I hope, by that +time, that Jack Dogherty will have my new clo'es made; for I intind to +go as dacent as ever they seen me in my best days.” + +“An' so you will, too, avillish. Throth, Owen, it's you that'll be the +proud man, steppin' in to them in all your grandeur! Ha, ha, ha! The +spirit o' the M'Carthys is in you still, Owen.” + +“Ha, ha, ha! It is, darlin'; it is, indeed; an' I'd be sarry it wasn't. +I long to see poor Widow Murray. I dunna is her son, Jemmy, married. +Who knows, afther all we suffered, but I might be able to help +her yet?--that is, if she stands in need of it. But, I suppose, her +childhre's grown up now, an' able to assist her. Now, Kathleen, mind +Monday next; an' have everything ready. I'll stay away a week or so, at +the most, an' afther that I'll have news for you about all o' them.” + +When Monday morning arrived, Owen found himself ready to set out for +Tubber Derg. The tailor had not disappointed him; and Kathleen, to do +her justice, took care that the proofs of her good housewifery should +be apparent in the whiteness of his linen. After breakfast, he dressed +himself in all his finery; and it would be difficult to say whether +the harmless vanity that peeped out occasionally from his simplicity +of character, or the open and undisguised triumph of his faithful wife, +whose eye rested on him with pride and affection, was most calculated to +produce a smile. + +“Now, Kathleen,” said he, when preparing for his immediate departure, +“I'm, thinkin' of what they'll say, when they see, me so smooth an' +warm-lookin'. I'll engage they'll be axin' one another, 'Musha, how, did +Owen M'Carthy get an, at all, to be so well to do in the world, as he +appears to be, afther failin' on his ould farm?'” + +“Well, but Owen, you know how to manage them.” + +“Throth, I do that. But there is one thing they'll never get out o' me, +any way.” + +“You won't tell that to any o' them, Owen?” + +“Kathleen, if I thought they only suspected it, I'd never show my face +in Tubber Derg agin. I think I could bear to be--an' yet it 'ud be a +hard struggle with me too--but I think I could bear to be buried among +black strangers, rather than it should be said, over my grave, among +my own, 'there's where Owen M'Carthy lies--who was the only man, of his +name, that ever begged his morsel on the king's highway. There he lies, +the descendant of the great M'Carthy Mores, an' yet he was a beggar.' +I know, Kathleen achora, it's neither a sin nor a shame to ax one's bit +from our fellow-creatures, whin, fairly brought to it, widout any fault +of our own; but still I feel something in me, that can't bear to think +of it widout shame an' heaviness of heart.” + +“Well, it's one comfort, that nobody knows it but ourselves. The poor +childhre, for their own sakes, won't ever breathe it; so that it's +likely the sacret 'll be berrid wid us.” + +“I hope so, acushla. Does this coat sit asy atween the shouldhers? I +feel it catch me a little.” + +“The sorra nicer. There; it was only your waistcoat that was turned down +in the collar. Here--hould your arm. There now--it wanted to be pulled +down a little at the cuffs. Owen, it's a beauty; an' I think I have good +right to be proud of it, for it's every thread my own spinnin'.” + +“How do I look in it, Kathleen? Tell me thruth, now.” + +“Throth, you're twenty years younger; the never a day less.” + +“I think I needn't be ashamed to go afore my ould friends in it, any +way. Now bring me my staff, from undher the bed above; an', in the name +o' God, I'll set out.” + +“Which o' them, Owen? Is it the oak or the blackthorn?” + +“The oak, acushla. Oh, no; not the blackthorn. It's it that I brought +to Dublin wid me, the unlucky thief, an' that I had while we wor a +shaughran. Divil a one o' me but 'ud blush in the face, if I brought +it even in my hand afore them. The oak, ahagur; the oak. You'll get it +atween the foot o' the bed an' the wall.” + +When Kathleen placed the staff in his hand, he took off his hat and +blessed himself, then put it on, looked at his wife, and said--“Now +darlin', in the name o' God, I'll go. Husht, avillish machree, don't be +cryin'; sure I'll be back to you in a week.” + +“Och! I can't help it, Owen. Sure this is the second time you wor ever +away from me more nor a day; an' I'm thinkin' of what happened both +to you an' me, the first time you wint. Owen, acushla, I feel that if +anything happened you, I'd break my heart.” + +“Arrah, what 'ud happen me, darlin', wid God to protect me? Now, God +be wid you, Kathleen dheelish, till I come back to you wid good news, +I hope. I'm not goin' in sickness an' misery, as I wint afore, to see a +man that wouldn't hear my appale to him; an' I'm lavin' you comfortable, +agrah, an' wantin' for nothin'. Sure it's only about five-an'-twenty +miles from this--a mere step. The good God bless an' take care of you, +my darlin' wife, till I come home to you!” + +He kissed the tears that streamed from her eyes; and, hemming several +times, pressed her hand, his face rather averted, then grasped his +staff, and commenced his journey. + +Scenes like this were important events to our humble couple. Life, when +untainted by the crimes and artificial manners which destroy its purity, +is a beautiful thing to contemplate among the virtuous poor; and, where +the current of affection runs deep and smooth, the slightest incident +will agitate it. So it was with Owen M'Carthy and his wife. Simplicity, +truth, and affection, constituted their character. In them there was no +complication of incongruous elements. The order of their virtues was not +broken, nor the purity of their affections violated, by the anomalous +blending together of opposing principles, such as are to be found in +those who are involuntarily contaminated by the corruption of human +society. + +Owen had not gone far, when Kathleen called to him: “Owen, +ahagur--stand, darlin'; but don't come back a step, for fraid o' bad +luck.” * + + * When an Irish peasant sets out on a journey, or to + transact business in fair or market, he will not, if + possible, turn back. It is considered unlucky: as it is + also to be crossed by a hare, or met by a red-haired + woman. + +“Did I forget anything, Kathleen?” he inquired. “Let me see; no; sure +I have my beads an' my tobaccy box, an' my two clane shirts an' +handkerchers in the bundle. What is it, acushla?” + +“I needn't be axin' you, for I know you wouldn't forget it; but for +'fraid you might--Owen, whin you're at Tubber Derg, go to little Alley's +grave, an' look at it; an' bring me back word how it appears. You might +get it cleaned up, if there's weeds or anything growin' upon it; an' +Owen, would you bring me a bit o' the clay, tied up in your pocket. Whin +you're there, spake to her; tell her it was the lovin' mother that bid +you, an' say anything that you think might keep her asy, an' give her +pleasure. Tell her we're not now as we wor whin she was wid us; that we +don't feel hunger, nor cowld, nor want; an' that nothin' is a throuble +to us, barrin' that we miss her--ay, even yet--_a suillish machree_ (* +light of my heart), that she was--that we miss her fair face an' goolden +hair from among us. Tell her this; an' tell her it was the lovin' mother +that said it, an' that sint the message to her.” + +“I'll do it all, Kathleen; I'll do it all--all, An' now go in, darlin', +an' don't be frettin'. Maybe we'll soon be near her, plase God, where we +can see the place she sleeps in, often.” + +They then separated again; and Owen, considerably affected by the +maternal tenderness of his wife, proceeded on his journey. He had not, +actually, even at the period of his leaving home, been able to determine +on what particular friend he should first call. That his welcome would +be hospitable, nay, enthusiastically so, he was certain. In the meantime +he vigorously pursued his journey; and partook neither of refreshment +nor rest, until he arrived, a little after dusk, at a turn of the +well-known road, which, had it been daylight, would have opened to him a +view of Tubber Derg. He looked towards the beeches, however, under which +it stood; but to gain a sight of it was impossible. His road now lying +a little to the right, he turned to the house of his sterling friend, +Frank Farrell, who had given him and his family shelter and support, +when he was driven, without remorse, from his own holding. In a +short time he reached Frank's residence, and felt a glow of sincere +satisfaction at finding the same air of comfort and warmth about it +as formerly. Through the kitchen window he saw the strong light of the +blazing fire and heard, ere he presented himself, the loud hearty laugh +of his friend's wife, precisely as light and animated as it had been +fifteen years before. + +Owen lifted the latch and entered, with that fluttering of the pulse +which every man feels on meeting with a friend, after an interval of +many years. + +“Musha, good people, can ye tell me is Frank Farrell at home?” + +“Why, thin, he's not jist widin now, but he'll be here in no time +entirely,” replied one of his daughters. “Won't you sit down, honest +man, an' we'll sind for him.” + +“I'm thankful to you,” said Owen. “I'll sit, sure enough, till he comes +in.” + +“Why thin!--eh! it must--it can be no other!” exclaimed Farrell's wife, +bringing! over a candle and looking Owen earnestly in the face; “sure +I'd know that voice all the world over! Why, thin, marciful +Father--Owen M'Carthy,--Owen M'Carthy, is it your four quarthers that's +livin' an' well? Queen o' heaven, Owen M'Carthy darlin', you're +welcome!” the word was here interrupted by a hearty kiss from the kind +housewife;--welcome a thousand an' a thousand times! _Vick ne hoiah!_ +Owen dear, an' are you livin' at all? An' Kathleen, Owen, an' the +childhre, an' all of yez--an' how are they?” + +“Throth, we're livin' an' well, Bridget; never was betther, thanks be to +God an' you, in our lives.” + +Owen was now surrounded by such of Farrell's children as were old enough +to remember him; every one of whom he shook hands with, and kissed. + +“Why, thin, the Lord save my sowl, Bridget,” said he, “are these the +little bouchaleens an' colleens that were runnin' about my feet whin +I was here afore? Well, to be sure! How they do shoot up! An' is this +Atty?” + +“No: but this is Atty, Owen; faix, Brian outgrew him; an' here's Mary, +an' this is Bridget Oge.” + +“Well!--well! But where did these two; young shoots come from? this boy +an' the colleen here? They worn't to the fore, in my time, Bridget.” + +“This is Owen, called afther yourself,--an' this is Kathleen. I needn't +tell you who she was called afther.” + +“_Gutsho, alanna? thurm pogue?_--come here, child, and kiss me,” said +Owen to his little namesake; “an' sure I can't forget the little woman +here; _gutsho, a colleen_, and kiss: me too.” + +Owen took her on his knee, and kissed her twice. + +“Och, but poor Kathleen,” said he, “will be the proud woman of this, +when she hears it; in throth she will be that.” + +“Arrah! what's comin' over me!” said Mrs. Farrell. “Brian, run up to +Micky Lowrie's for your father, An' see, Brian, don't say who's wantin' +him, till we give him a start. Mary, come here, acushla,” she added to +her eldest daughter in a whisper--“take these two bottles an' fly up +to Peggy Finigan's for the full o' them o' whiskey. Now be back before +you're there, or if you don't, that I mightn't, but you'll see what +you'll get. Fly, aroon, an' don't let the grass grow undher your feet. +An' Owen, darlin'--but first sit over to the fire:--here get over to +this side, it's the snuggest;--arrah, Owen--an' sure I dunna what to ax +you first. You're all well? all to the fore?” + +“All well, Bridget, an' thanks be to heaven, all to the fore.” + +“Glory be to God! Throth it warms my heart to hear it. An' the childre's +all up finely, boys an' girls?” + +“Throth, they are, Bridget, as good-lookin' a family o' childre as +you'd wish to see. An' what is betther, they're as good as they're +good-lookin'.” + +“Throth, they couldn't but be that, if they tuck at all afther their +father an' mother. Bridget, aroon, rub the pan betther--an' lay the +knife down, I'll cut the bacon myself, but go an' get a dozen o' the +freshest eggs;--an' Kathleen, Owen, how does poor Kathleen look? Does +she stand it as well as yourself?” + +“As young as ever you seen her. God help her!--a thousand degrees +betther nor whin you seen her last.” + +“An' well to do, Owen?--now tell the truth? Och, musha, I forget who I'm +spakin' to, or I wouldn't disremimber the ould sayin' that's abroad this +many a year:--'who ever knew a M'Carthy of Tubber Derg to tell a lie, +break his word, or refuse to help a friend in distress.' But, Owen, +you're well to do in' the world?” + +“We're as well, Bridget, or may be betther, nor you ever knew us, +except, indeed, afore the ould lase was run out wid us.” + +“God be praised again? Musha, turn round a little, Owen, for 'fraid +Frank 'ud get too clear a sight of your face at first. Arrah, do you +think he'll know you? Och, to be sure he will; I needn't ax. Your voice +would tell upon you, any day.” + +“Know me! Indeed Frank 'ud know my shadow. He'll know me wid half a +look.” + +And Owen was right, for quickly did the eye of his old friend recognize +him, despite of the little plot that was laid to try his penetration. +To describe their interview would be to repeat the scene we have already +attempted to depict between Owen and Mrs. Farrell. No sooner were the +rites of hospitality performed, than the tide of conversation began to +flow with greater freedom. Owen ascertained one important fact, which we +will here mention, because it produces, in a great degree, the want +of anything like an independent class of yeomanry in the country. On +inquiring after his old acquaintances, he discovered that a great many +of them, owing to high rents, had emigrated to America. They belonged +to that class of independent farmers, who, after the expiration of +their old leases, finding the little capital they had saved beginning +to diminish, in consequence of rents which they could not pay, deemed it +more prudent, while anything remained in their hands, to seek a country +where capital and industry might be made available. Thus did the +landlords, by their mismanagement and neglect, absolutely drive off +their estates, the only men, who, if properly encouraged, were capable +of becoming the strength and pride of the country. It is this system, +joined to the curse of middlemen and sub-letting, which has left the +country without any third grade of decent, substantial yoemen, who might +stand as a bond of peace between the highest and the lowest classes. It +is this which has split the kingdom into two divisions, constituting +the extreme ends of society--the wealthy and the wretched, If this third +class existed, Ireland would neither be so political nor discontented as +she is; but, on the contrary, more remarkable for peace and industry. At +present, the lower classes, being too poor, are easily excited by those +who promise them a better order of things than that which exists. These +theorists step into the exercise of that legitimate influence which the +landed proprietors have lost by their neglect. There is no middle class +in the country, who can turn round to them and say, “Our circumstances +are easy, we want nothing; carry your promises to the poor, for that +which you hold forth to their hopes, we enjoy in reality.” The poor +soldier, who, because he was wretched, volunteered to go on the +forlorn hope, made a fortune; but when asked if he would go on a second +enterprise of a similar kind, shrewdly replied, “General, I am now an +independent man; send some poor devil on your forlorn hope who wants to +make a fortune.” + +Owen now heard anecdotes and narratives of all occurrences, whether +interesting or strange, that had taken place during his abscence. Among +others, was the death of his former landlord, and the removal of the +agent who had driven him to beggary. Tubber Derg, he found, was then the +property of a humane and considerate man, who employed a judicious and +benevolent gentleman to manage it. + +“One thing, I can tell you,” said Frank; “it was but a short time in the +new agent's hands, when the dacent farmers stopped goin' to America.” + +“But Frank,” said Owen, and he sighed on putting the question, “who is +in Tubber Derg, now?” + +“Why, thin, a son of ould Rousin' Redhead's of Tullyvernon--young Con +Roe, or the Ace o' Hearts--for he was called both by the youngsters--if +you remimber him. His head's as red an' double as big, even, as his +father's was, an' you know that no hat would fit ould Con, until he sent +his measure to Jemmy Lamb, the hatter. Dick Nugent put it out on +him, that Jemmy always made Rousin' Red-head's hat, either upon the +half-bushel pot or a five-gallon keg of whiskey. 'Talkin' of the keg,' +says Dick, 'for the matther o' that,' says he, 'divil a much differ the +hat will persave; for the one'--meanin' ould Con's head, who was a hard +dhrinker--' the one,' says Con, 'is as much a keg as the other--ha! ha! +ha!' Dick met Rousin' Redhead another day: 'Arrah, Con,' says he, 'why +do you get your hats made upon a pot, man alive? Sure that's the rason +that you're so fond o' poteen.' A quare mad crathur was Dick, an' would +go forty miles for a fight. Poor fellow, he got his skull broke in a +scrimmage betwixt the Redmonds and the O'Hanlons; an' his last words +were, 'Bad luck to you, Redmond--O'Hanlon, I never thought you, above +all men dead and gone, would be the death o' me.' Poor fellow! he was +for pacifyin' them, for a wondher, but instead o' that he got pacified +himself.” + +“An' how is young Con doin', Frank?” + +“Hut, divil a much time he has to do aither well or ill, yit. There was +four tenants on Tubber Derg since you left it, an' he's the fifth. It's +hard to say how he'll do; but I believe he's the best o' thim, for so +far. That may be owin' to the landlord. The rent's let down to him; an' +I think he'll be able to take bread, an' good bread too, out of it.” + +“God send, poor man!” + +“Now, Owen, would you like to go back to it?” + +“I can't say that. I love the place, but I suffered too much in it. No; +but I'll tell you, Frank, if there was e'er a snug farm near it that I +could get rasonable, I'd take it.” + +Frank slapped his knee exultingly. “Ma chuirp!--do you say so, Owen?” + +“Indeed, I do.” + +“Thin upon my song, thats the luckiest thing I ever knew. There's, this +blessed minute, a farm o' sixteen acres, that the Lacys is lavin'--goin' +to America--an' it's to be set. They'll go the week afther next, an' +the house needn't be cowld, for you can come to it the very day afther +they Live it.” + +“Well,” said Owen, “I'm glad of that. Will you come wid me to-morrow, +an' we'll see about it?” + +“To be sure I will; an' what's betther, too; the Agint is a son of ould +Misther Rogerson's, a man that knows you, an' the history o' them you +came from, well. An', another thing, Owen! I tell you, whin it's abroad +that you want to take the farm, there's not a man in the parish will bid +agin you. You may know that yourself.” + +“I think, indeed, they would rather sarve me than otherwise,” replied +Owen; “an', in the name o' God, we'll see what can be done. Misther +Rogerson, himself, 'ud spake to his son for me; so that I'll be sure of +his intherest. Arrah, Frank, how is an ould friend o' mine, that I have +a great regard for--poor Widow Murray?” + +“Widow Murray. Poor woman, she's happy.” + +“You don't mane she's dead?” + +“She's dead, Owen, and happy, I trust, in the Saviour. She died last +spring was a two years.” + +“God be good to her sowl! An' are the childhre in her place still? It's +she that was the dacent woman.” + +“Throth, they are; an' sorrow a betther doin' family in the parish than +they are. It's they that'll be glad to see you, Owen. Many a time I seen +their poor mother, heavens be her bed, lettin' down the tears, whin +she used to be spakin' of you, or mintion how often you sarved her; +espeshially, about some way or other that you privinted her cows from +bein' canted for the rint. She's dead now, an' God he knows, an honest +hard-workin' woman she ever was.” + +“Dear me, Frank, isn't it a wondher to think how the people dhrop off! +There's Widow Murray, one o' my ouldest frinds, an' Pether M'Mahon, an' +Barny Lorinan--not to forget pleasant Rousin' Red-head--all taken away! +Well!--Well! Sure it's the will o' God! We can't be here always.” + +After much conversation; enlivened by the bottle, though but sparingly +used on the part of Owen, the hour of rest arrived, when the family +separated for the night. + +The gray dawn of a calm, beautiful summer's morning found Owen up and +abroad, long before the family of honest Frank had risen. When dressing +himself, with an intention of taking an early walk, he was asked by his +friend why he stirred so soon, or if he--his host--should accompany him. +“No,” replied Owen; “lie still; jist let me look over the counthry while +it's asleep. When I'm musin' this a-way I don't like anybody to be along +wid me. I have a place to go an' see, too--an' a message--a tendher +message, from poor Kathleen, to deliver, that I wouldn't wish a second +person to hear. Sleep, Frank. I'll jist crush the head o' my pipe agin' +one o' the half-burned turf that the fire was raked wid, an' walk out +for an hour or two. Afther our breakfast we'll go-an' look about this +new farm.” + +He sallied out as he spoke, and closed the door after him in that +quiet, thoughtful way for which he was ever remarkable. The season was +midsummer, and the morning wanted at least an hour of sunrise. Owen +ascended a little knoll, above Frank's house, on which he stood +and surveyed the surrounding country with a pleasing but melancholy +interest. As his eye rested on Tubber Derg, he felt the difference +strongly between the imperishable glories of nature's works, and those +which are executed by man. His house he would not have known, except +by its site. It was not, in fact, the same house, but another which had +been built in its stead. This disappointed and vexed him. An object on +which his affections had been placed was removed. A rude stone house +stood before him, rough and unplastered; against each end of which was +built a stable-and a cow-house, sloping down from the gables to low +doors at booh sides; adjoining these rose two mounds of filth, large +enough to be easily distinguished from the knoll on which he stood. He +sighed as he contrasted it with the neat and beautiful farm-house, which +shone there in his happy days, white as a lily, beneath the covering +of the lofty beeches. There was no air of comfort, neatness, or +independence, about it; on the contrary, everything betrayed the +evidence of struggle and difficulty, joined, probably, to want both of +skill and of capital. He was disappointed, and turned his gaze upon the +general aspect of the country, and the houses in which either his old +acquaintances or their children lived. The features of the landscape +were, certainly, the same; but even here was a change for the worse. The +warmth of coloring which wealth and independence give to the appearance +of a cultivated country, was gone. Decay and coldness seemed to brood +upon everything, he saw. The houses, the farm-yards, the ditches, and +enclosures, were all marked by the blasting proofs of national decline. +Some exceptions there were to this disheartening prospect, but they were +only sufficient to render the torn and ragged evidences of poverty, +and its attendant--carelessness--more conspicuous. He left the knoll, +knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and putting it into his waistcoat +pocket, ascended a larger hill, which led to the grave-yard, where his +child lay buried. On his way to this hill, which stood about half a mile +distant, he passed a few houses of an humble description, with whose +inhabitants he had been well acquainted. Some of these stood nearly as +he remembered them; but others were roofless, with their dark mud +gables either fallen in or partially broken down. He surveyed their +smoke-colored walls with sorrow; and looked, with a sense of the +transient character of all man's works upon the chickweed, docks, and +nettles, which had shot up so rankly on the spot where many a chequered +scene of joy and sorrow had flitted over the circumscribed circle of +humble life, ere the annihilating wing of ruin swept away them and their +habitations. + +When he had ascended the hill, his eye took a wider range. The more +distant and picturesque part of the country lay before him. “Ay!” said +he in a soliloquy, “Lord bless us, how sthrange is this world!--an' +what poor crathurs are men! There's the dark mountains, the hills, the +rivers, an' the green glens, all the same; an' nothin' else a'most but's +changed! The very song of that blackbird, in the thorn-bushes an' hazels +below me, is like the voice of an ould friend to my ears. Och, indeed, +hardly that, for even the voice of man changes; but that song is the +same as I heard it for the best part o' my life. That mornin' star, +too, is the same bright crathur up there that it ever was! God help +us! Hardly any thing changes but man, an' he seems to think that he +can never change; if one is to judge by his thoughtlessness, folly, an' +wickedness!” + +A smaller hill, around the base of which went the same imperfect road +that crossed the glen of Tubber Derg, prevented him from seeing the +grave-yard to which he was about to extend his walk. To this road he +directed his steps. On reaching it he looked, still with a strong memory +of former times, to the glen in which his children, himself, and his +ancestors had all, during their day, played in the happy thoughtlessness +of childhood and youth. But the dark and ragged house jarred upon his +feelings. He turned from it with pain, and his eye rested upon the +still green valley with evident relief. He thought of his “buried +flower”--“his-golden-haired darlin',” as he used to call her--and +almost fancied that he saw her once more wandering waywardly through its +tangled mazes, gathering berries, or strolling along the green meadow, +with a garland of gowans about her neck. Imagination, indeed, cannot +heighten the image of the dead whom we love; but even if it could, there +was no standard of ideal beauty in her father's mind beyond that of +her own. She had been beautiful; but her beauty was pensive: a fair yet +melancholy child; for the charm that ever encompassed her was one of +sorrow and tenderness. Had she been volatile and mirthful, as children +usually are, he would not have carried so far into his future life the +love of her which he cherished. Another reason why he still loved her +strongly, was a consciousness that her death had been occasioned by +distress and misery; for, as he said, when looking upon the scenes of +her brief but melancholy existence--“Avour-neen machree, I remimber to +see you pickin' the berries; but asthore--asthore--it wasn't for play +you did it. It was to keep away the cuttin' of hunger from your heart! +Of all our childhre every one said that you wor the M'Carthy--never +sayin' much, but the heart in you ever full of goodness and affection. +God help me, I'm glad--an', now, that I'm comin' near it--loth to see +her grave.” + +He had now reached the verge of the graveyard. Its fine old ruin stood +there as usual, but not altogether without the symptoms of change. Some +persons had, for the purposes of building, thrown down one of its +most picturesque walls. Still its ruins clothed with ivy, its mullions +moss-covered, its gothic arches and tracery, gray with age, were the +same in appearance as he had ever seen them. + +On entering this silent palace of Death, he reverently uncovered his +head, blessed himself, and, with feelings deeply agitated, sought the +grave of his beloved child. He approached it; but a sudden transition +from sorrow to indignation took place in his mind, even before he +reached the spot on which she lay. “Sacred Mother!” he exclaimed, “who +has dared to bury in our ground? Who has--what villain has attimpted to +come in upon the M'Carthys--upon the M'Carthy Mores, of Tubber Derg? Who +could--had I no friend to prev--eh? Sacred Mother, what's this? Father +of heaven forgive me! Forgive me, sweet Saviour, for this bad feelin' +I got into! Who--who--could raise a head-stone over the darlin' o' my +heart, widout one of us knowin' it! Who--who could do it? But let me see +if I can make it out. Oh, who could do this blessed thing, for the poor +an' the sorrowful?” He began, and with difficulty read as follows:-- + +“Here lies the body of Alice M'Carthy, the beloved daughter of Owen and +Kathleen M'Carthy, aged nine years. She was descended from the M'Carthy +Mores. + +“Requiescat in pace. + +“This head-stone was raised over her by widow Murray, and her son, James +Murray, out of grateful respect for Owen and Kathleen M'Carthy, who +never suffered the widow and orphan, or a distressed neighbor, to crave +assistance from them in vain, until it pleased God to visit them with +affliction.” + +“Thanks to you, my Saviour!” said Owen, dropping on his knees over the +grave,--“thanks an' praise be to your holy name, that in the middle of +my poverty--of all my poverty--I was not forgotten! nor my darlin' child +let to lie widout honor in the grave of her family! Make me worthy, +blessed Heaven, of what is written down upon me here! An' if the +departed spirit of her that honored the dust of my buried daughter is +unhappy, oh, let her be relieved, an' let this act be remimbered to her! +Bless her son, too, gracious Father, an' all belonging to her on this +earth! an', if it be your holy will, let them never know distress, or +poverty, or wickedness?” + +He then offered up a Pater Noster for the repose of his child's soul, +and another for the kind-hearted and grateful widow Murray, after which +he stood to examine the grave with greater accuracy. + +There was, in fact, no grave visible. The little mound, under which lay +what was once such a touching image of innocence, beauty, and feeling, +had sunk down to the level of the earth about it. He regretted this, +inasmuch as it took away, he thought, part of her individuality. Still +he knew it was the spot wherein she had been buried, and with much of +that vivid feeling, and strong figurative language, inseparable from the +habits of thought and language of the old Irish families, he delivered +the mother's message to the inanimate dust of her once beautiful and +heart-loved child. He spoke in a broken voice, for even the mention of +her name aloud, over the clay that contained her, struck with a fresh +burst of sorrow upon his heart. + +“Alley,” he exclaimed in Irish, “Alley, _nhien machree_, your father +that loved you more nor he loved any other human crathur, brings a +message to you from the mother of your heart, avourneen! She bid me call +to see the spot where you're lyin', my buried flower, an' to tell you +that we're not now, thanks be to God, as we wor whin you lived wid us. +We are well to do now, _acushla oge machree_, an' not in hunger, an' +sickness, an' misery, as we wor whin you suffered them all! You will +love to hear this, pulse of our hearts, an' to know that, through all we +suffered--an' bittherly we did suffer since you departed--we never let +you out of our memory. No, _asthore villish_, we thought of you, an' +cried afther our poor dead flower, many an' many's the time. An' she bid +me tell you, darlin' of my heart, that we feel: nothin' now so much as +that you are not wid us to share our comfort an' our happiness. Oh, what +wouldn't the mother give to have you back wid her; but it can't be--an' +what wouldn't I give to have you before my eyes agin, in health an' +in life--but it can't be. The lovin' mother sent this message to you, +Alley. Take it from her; she bid me tell you that we are well an' happy; +our name is pure, and, like yourself, widout spot or stain. Won't you +pray for us before God, an' get him an' his blessed Mother to look on +us wid favor an' compassion? Farewell, Alley asthore! May you slelp in +peace, an' rest on the breast of your great Father in Heaven, until we +all meet in happiness together. It's your father that's spakin' to you, +our lost flower; an' the hand that often smoothed your goolden head is +now upon your grave.” + +He wiped his eyes as he concluded, and after lifting a little of the +clay from her grave, he tied it carefully up, and put it into his +pocket. + +Having left the grave-yard, he retraced his steps towards Frank +Farrell's house. The sun had now risen, and as Owen ascended the larger +of the two hills which we have mentioned, he stood again to view the +scene that stretched beneath him. About an hour before all was still, +the whole country lay motionless, as if the land had been a land of the +dead. The mountains, in the distance, were covered with the thin mists +of morning; the milder and richer parts of the landscape had appeared in +that dim gray distinctness which gives to distant objects such a clear +outline. With the exception of the blackbird's song, every thing seemed +as if stricken into silence; there was not a breeze stirring; both +animate and inanimate nature reposed as if in a trance; the very trees +appeared asleep, and their leaves motionless, as if they had been of +marble. But now the scene was changed. The sun had flung his splendor +upon the mountain-tops, from which the mists were tumbling in broken +fragments to the valleys between them. A thousand birds poured their +songs upon the ear; the breeze was up, and the columns of smoke from the +farm-houses and cottages played, as if in frolic, in the air. A white +haze was beginning to rise from the meadows; early teams were afoot; +and laborers going abroad to their employment. The lakes in the +distance shone like mirrors; and the clear springs on the mountain-sides +glittered in the sun, like gems on which the eye could scarcely rest. +Life, and light, and motion, appear to be inseparable. The dew of +morning lay upon nature like a brilliant veil, realizing the beautiful +image of Horace, as applied to woman: + + Vultus nimium lubricus aspici. + +By-and-by the songs of the early workmen were heard; nature had awoke, +and Owen, whose heart was strongly, though unconsciously, alive to the +influence of natural religion, participated in the general elevation +of the hour, and sought with freshened spirits the house of his +entertainer. + +As he entered this hospitable roof, the early industry of his friend's +wife presented him with a well-swept hearth and a pleasant fire, before +which had been placed the identical chair that they had appropriated +to his own use. Frank was enjoying “a blast o' the pipe,” after having +risen; to which luxury the return of Owen gave additional zest and +placidity. In fact, Owen's presence communicated a holiday spirit to the +family; a spirit, too, which declined not for a moment during the period +of his visit. + +“Frank,” said Owen, “to tell you the thruth, I'm not half plased wid you +this mornin'. I think you didn't thrate me as I ought to expect to be +thrated.” + +“Musha, Owen M'Carthy, how is that?” + +“Why, you said nothin' about widow Murray raisin' a head-stone over our +child. You kept me in the dark there, Frank, an' sich a start I never +got as I did this mornin', in the grave-yard beyant.” + +“Upon my sowl, Owen, it wasn't my fau't, nor any of our fau'ts; for, +to tell you the thruth, we had so much to think and discoorse of last +night, that it never sthruck me, good or bad. Indeed it was Bridget that +put it first in my head, afther you wint out, an' thin it was too late. +Ay, poor woman, the dacent strain was ever in her, the heaven's be her +bed.” + +“Frank, if any one of her family was to abuse me till the dogs wouldn't +lick my blood, I'd only give them back good for evil afther that. +Oh, Frank, that goes to my heart! To put a head-stone over my weeny +goolden-haired darlin', for the sake of the little thrifles I sarved +thim in! Well! may none belongin' to her ever know poverty or hardship! +but if they do, an' that I have it----How-an'-iver, no matther. God +bless thim! God bless thim! Wait till Kathleen hears it!” + +“An' the best of it was, Owen, that she never expected to see one of +your faces. But, Owen, you think too much about that child. Let us talk +about something else. You've seen Tubber Derg wanst more?” + +“I did; an' I love it still, in spite of the state it's in.” + +“Ah! it's different from what it was in your happy days. I was spakin' +to Bridget about the farm, an' she advises us to go, widout losin' a +minute, an' take it if we can.” + +“It's near this place I'll die, Frank. I'd not rest in my grave if I +wasn't berrid among my own; so we'll take the farm if possible.” + +“Well, then, Bridget, hurry the breakfast, avourneen; an' in the name o' +goodness, we'll set out, an' clinch the business this very day.” + +Owen, as we said, was prompt in following up his determinations. After +breakfast they saw the agent and his father, for both lived together. +Old Rogerson had been intimately acquainted with the M'Carthys, and, as +Frank had anticipated, used his influence with the agent in procuring +for the son of his old friend and acquaintance the farm which he sought. + +“Jack,” said the old gentleman, “you don't probably know the history +and character of the Tubber Derg M'Carthys so well as I do. No man ever +required the written bond of a M'Carthy; and it was said of them, and +is said still, that the widow and orphan, the poor man or the stranger, +never sought their assistance in vain. I, myself, will go security, if +necessary, for Owen M'Carthy.” + +“Sir,” replied Owen, “I'm thankful to you; I'm grateful to you. But +I wouldn't take the farm, or bid for it at all, unless I could bring +forrid enough to stock it as I wish, an' to lay in all that's wantin' to +work it well. It 'ud be useless for me to take it--to struggle a year +or two--impoverish the land--an' thin run away out of it. No, no; I have +what'll put me upon it wid dacency an' comfort.” + +“Then, since my father has taken such an interest in you, M'Carthy, +you must have the farm. We shall get leases prepared, and the business +completed in a few days; for I go to Dublin on this day week. Father, +I now remember the character of this family; and I remember, too, the +sympathy which was felt for one of them, who was harshly ejected +about seventeen or eighteen years ago, out of the lands on which his +forefathers had lived, I understand, for centuries.” + +“I am that man, sir,” returned Owen. “It's too long a story to tell now; +but it was only out o' part of the lands, sir, that I was put. What +I held was but a poor patch compared to what the family held in my +grandfather's time. A great part of it went out of our hands at his +death.” + +“It was very kind of you, Misther Rogerson, to offer to go security for +him,” said Frank; “but if security was wantin, sir, Id not be willin' to +let anybody but myself back him. I'd go all I'm worth in the world--an' +by my sowl, double as much--for the same man.” + +“I know that, Frank, an' I thank you; but I could put security in Mr. +Rogerson's hands, here, if it was wanted. Good-mornin' an' thank you +both, gintleman. To tell yez the thruth,” he added, with a smile, “I +long to be among my ould friends--manin' the people, an' the hills, an' +the green fields of Tubber Derg--agin; an' thanks be to goodness, sure I +will soon.” + +In fact, wherever Owen went, within the bounds of his native parish, +his name, to use a significant phrase of the people, was before him. +His arrival at Frank Farrel's was now generally known by all his +acquaintances, and the numbers who came to see him were almost beyond +belief. During the two or three successive days, he went among his +old “cronies;” and no sooner was his arrival at any particular house +intimated, than the neighbors all flocked to him. Scythes were left +idle, spades were stuck in the earth, and work neglected for the time +being; all crowded about him with a warm and friendly interest, not +proceeding from idle curiosity, but from affection and respect for the +man. + +The interview between him and widow Murray's children was affecting. +Owen felt deeply the delicate and touching manner in which they had +evinced their gratitude for the services he had rendered them; and young +Murray remembered with a strong gush of feeling, the distresses under +which they lay when Owen had assisted them. Their circumstances, owing +to the strenuous exertions of the widow's eldest son, soon afterwards +improved; and, in accordance with the sentiments of hearts naturally +grateful, they had taken that method of testifying what they felt. +Indeed, so well had Owen's unparalleled affection for his favorite child +been known, that it was the general opinion about Tubber Derg that her +death had broken his heart. + +“Poor Owen, he's dead,” they used to say; “the death of his weeny one, +while he was away in Dublin, gave him the finishin' blow. It broke his +heart.” + +Before the week was expired, Owen had the satisfaction of depositing the +lease of his new farm, held at a moderate rent, in the hands of Frank +Farrel; who, tying it up along with his own, secured it in the +“black chest.” Nothing remained now but to return home forthwith, and +communicate the intelligence to Kathleen. Frank had promised, as soon as +the Lacy's should vacate the house, to come with a long train of cars, +and a number of his neighbors, in order to transfer Owen's family and +furniture to his new dwelling. Everything therefore, had been arranged; +and Owen had nothing to do but hold himself in readiness for the welcome +arrival of Frank and his friends. + +Owen, however, had no sense of enjoyment when not participated in by his +beloved Kathleen. If he felt sorrow, it was less as a personal feeling +than as a calamity to her. + +If he experienced happiness, it was doubly sweet to him as reflected +from his' Kathleen. All this was mutual between them. Kathleen loved +Owen precisely as he loved Kathleen. Nor let our readers suppose that +such characters are not in humble life. It is in humble life, where +the Springs of feeling are not corrupted by dissimulation and evil +knowledge, that the purest, and tenderest, and strongest virtues are to +be found. + +As Owen approached his home, he could not avoid contrasting the +circumstances of his return now with those under which, almost +broken-hearted after his journey to Dublin, he presented himself to his +sorrowing and bereaved wife about eighteen years before. He raised +his hat, and thanked God for the success which had, since that period, +attended him, and, immediately after his silent thanksgiving, entered +the house. + +His welcome, our readers may be assured, was tender and affectionate. +The whole family gathered about him, and, on his informing them that +they were once more about to reside on a farm adjoining to their beloved +Tubber Derg, Kathleen's countenance brightened, and the tear of delight +gushed to her eyes. + +“God be praised, Owen,” she exclaimed; “we will have the ould place +afore our eyes, an' what is betther, we will be near where Alley is +lyin'. But that's true, Owen,” she added, “did you give the light of our +hearts the mother's message?” + +Owen paused, and his features were slightly overshadowed, but only by +the solemnity of the feeling. + +“Kathleen,” said he, “I gave her your message; but, avourneen, have +sthrange news for you about Alley.” + +“What, Owen? What is it, acushla? Tell me quick?” + +“The blessed child was not neglected--no, but she was honored in our +absence. A head-stone was put over her, an' stands there purtily this +minute.” + +“Mother of Glory, Owen!” + +“It's thruth. Widow Murray an' her son Jemmy put it up, wid words upon +it that brought the tears to my eyes. Widow Murray is dead, but her +childher's doin' well. May God bless an' prosper them, an' make her +happy!” + +The delighted mother's heart was not proof against the widow's +gratitude, expressed, as it had been, in a manner so affecting. She +rocked herself to and fro in silence, whilst the tears fell in showers +down her cheeks. The grief, however, which this affectionate couple felt +for their child, was not always such as the reader has perceived it to +be. It was rather a revival of emotions that had long slumbered, but +never died; and the associations arising from the journey to Tubber +Derg, had thrown them back, by the force of memory, almost to the period +of her death. At times, indeed, their imagination had conjured her up +strongly, but the present was an epoch in the history of their sorrow. + +There is little more to be said. Sorrow was soon succeeded by +cheerfulness and the glow of expected pleasure, which is ever the +more delightful, as the pleasure is pure. In about a week their old +neighbors, with their carts and cars, arrived; and before the day was +closed on which Owen removed to his new residence, he found himself once +more sitting at his own hearth, among the friends of his youth, and the +companions of his maturer years. Ere the twelvemonth elapsed, he had his +house perfectly white, and as nearly resembling that of Tubber Derg in +its better days as possible. About two years ago we saw him one evening +in the month of June, as he sat on a bench beside the door, singing with +a happy heart his favorite song of “_Colleen dhas crootha na mo_.” It +was about an hour before sunset. The house stood on a gentle eminence, +beneath which a sweep of green meadow stretched away to the skirts of +Tubber Derg. Around him was a country naturally fertile, and, in spite +of the national depression, still beautiful to contemplate. Kathleen +and two servant maids were milking, and the whole family were assembled +about the door. + +“Well, childher,” said the father, “didn't I tell yez the bitther +mornin' we left Tubber Derg, not to cry or be disheartened--that there +was a 'good God above who might do somethin' for us yet?' I never did +give up may trust in Him, an' I never will. You see, afther all our +little troubles, He has wanst more brought us together, an' made us +happy. Praise an' glory to His name!” + +I looked at him as he spoke. He had raised his eyes to heaven, and a +gleam of elevated devotion, perhaps worthy of being-called sublime, +irradiated his features. The sun, too, in setting, fell upon his broad +temples and iron-gray locks, with a light solemn and religious. +The effect to me, who knew his noble character, and all that he had +suffered, was as if the eye of God then rested upon the decline of a +virtuous man's life with approbation;--as if he had lifted up the +glory of his countenance upon him. Would that many of his thoughtless +countrymen had been present! They might have blushed for their crimes, +and been content to sit and learn wisdom at the feet of Owen M'Carthy. + + + + + + +NEAL MALONE. + + +There never was a greater souled or doughtier tailor than little Neal +Malone. Though but four feet; four in height, he paced the earth with +the courage and confidence of a giant; nay, one would have imagined that +he walked as if he feared the world itself was about to give way under +him. Lot none dare to say in future that a tailor is but the ninth +part of a man. That reproach has been gloriously taken away from the +character of the cross-legged corporation by Neal Malone. He has wiped +it off like a stain from the collar of a second-hand coat; he has +pressed this wrinkle out of the lying front of antiquity; he has drawn +together this rent in the respectability of his profession. No. By him +who was breeches-maker to the gods--that is, except, like Highlanders, +they eschewed inexpressibles--by him who cut Jupiter's frieze jocks for +winter, and eke by the bottom of his thimble, we swear, that Neal Malone +was more than the ninth part of a man! + +Setting aside the Patagonians, we maintain that two-thirds of mortal +humanity were comprised in Neal; and, perhaps, we might venture to +assert, that two-thirds of Neal's humanity were equal to six-thirds of +another man's. It is right well known that Alexander the Great was a +little man, and we doubt whether, had Alexander the Great been bred to +the tailoring business, he would have exhibited so much of the hero +as Neal Malone. Neal was descended from a fighting family, who had +signalized themselves in as many battles as ever any single hero +of antiquity fought. His father, his grandfather, and his great +grandfather, were all fighting men, and his ancestors in general, up, +probably, to Con of the Hundred Battles himself. No wonder, therefore, +that Neal's blood should cry out against the cowardice of his calling; +no wonder that he should be an epitome of all that was valorous and +heroic in a peaceable man, for we neglected to inform the reader that +Neal, though “bearing no base mind,” never fought any man in his own +person. That, however, deducted nothing from his courage. If he did not +fight, it was simply because he found cowardice universal. No man would +engage him; his spirit blazed in vain; his thirst for battle was doomed +to remain unquenched, except by whiskey, and this only increased it. In +short, he could find no foe. He has often been known to challenge the +first cudgel-players and pugilists of the parish; to provoke men of +fourteen stone weight; and to bid mortal defiance to faction heroes of +all grades--but in vain. There was that in him which told them that an +encounter with Neal would strip them of their laurels. Neal saw all this +with a lofty indignation; he deplored the degeneracy of the times, and +thought it hard that the descendant of such a fighting family should be +doomed to pass through life peaceably, while so many excellent rows and +riots took place around him. It was a calamity to see every man's head +broken but his own; a dismal thing to observe his neighbors go about +with their bones in bandages, yet his untouched; and his friends beat +black and blue, whilst his own cuticle remained undiscolored. + +“Blur-an'-agers!” exclaimed Neal one day, when half-tipsy in the fair, +“am I never to get a bit of fightin'? Is there no cowardly spalpeen to +stand afore Neal Malone? Be this an' be that, I'm blue-mowlded for want +of a batin'! I'm disgracin' my relations by the life I'm ladin'! Will +none o' ye fight me aither for love, money, or whiskey--frind or inimy, +an' bad luck to ye? I don't care a traneen which, only out o' pure +frindship, let us have a morsel o' the rale kick-up, 'tany rate. Frind +or inimy, I say agin, if you regard me; sure that makes no differ, only +let us have the fight.” + +This excellent heroism was all wasted; Neal could not find a single +adversary. Except he divided himself like Hotspur, and went to buffets, +one hand against the other, there was no chance of a fight; no person +to be found sufficiently magnanimous to encounter the tailor. On the +contrary, every one of his friends--or, in other words, every man in the +parish--was ready to support him. He was clapped on the back, until his +bones were nearly dislocated in his body; and his hand shaken, until his +arm lost its cunning at the needle for half a week afterwards. This, to +be sure, was a bitter business--a state of being past endurance. Every +man was his friend--no man was his enemy. A desperate position for any +person to find himself in, but doubly calamitous to a martial tailor. + +Many a dolorous complaint did Neal make upon the misfortune of having +none to wish him ill; and what rendered this hardship doubly oppressive, +was the unlucky fact that no exertions of his, however offensive, could +procure him a single foe. In vain did lie insult, abuse, and malign all +his acquaintances. In vain did he father upon them all the rascality +and villany he could think of; he lied against them with a force and +originality that would have made many a modern novelist blush for +want of invention--but all to no purpose. The world for once became +astonishingly Christian; it paid back all his efforts to excite its +resentment with the purest of charity; when Neal struck it on the +one cheek, it meekly turned unto him the other. It could scarcely +be expected that Neal would bear this. To have the whole world in +friendship with a man is beyond doubt rather an affliction. Not to have +the face of a single enemy to look upon, would decidedly be considered +a deprivation of many agreeable sensations by most people, as well as by +Neal Malone. Let who might sustain a loss, or experience a calamity, it +was a matter of indifference to Neal. They were only his friends, and he +troubled neither his head nor his heart about them. + +Heaven help us! There is no man without his trials; and Neal, the +reader perceives, was not exempt from his. What did it avail him that he +carried a cudgel ready for all hostile contingencies? or knit his brows +and shook his kipjoeen at the fiercest of his fighting friends? The +moment he appeared, they softened into downright cordiality. His +presence was the signal of peace; for, notwithstanding his unconquerable +propensity to warfare, he went abroad as the genius of unanimity, though +carrying in his bosom the redoubtable disposition the a warrior; just as +the sun, though the source of light himself, is said to be dark enough +at bottom. + +It could not be expected that Neal, with whatever fortitude he might +bear his other afflictions, could bear such tranquillity like a hero. To +say that he bore it as one, would be to basely surrender his character; +for what hero ever bore a state, of tranquillity with courage? It +affected his cutting out! It produced what Burton calls “a windie +melancholie,” which was nothing else than an accumulation of courage +that had no means of escaping, if courage can without indignity be ever +said to escape. He sat uneasy on his lap-board. Instead of cutting out +soberly, he nourished his scissors as if he were heading a faction; he +wasted much chalk by scoring his cloth in wrong places, and even caught +his hot goose without a holder. These symptoms alarmed, his friends, who +persuaded him to go to a doctor. Neal went, to satisfy them; but he knew +that no prescription could drive the courage out of him--that he was too +far gone in heroism to be made a coward of by apothecary stuff. Nothing +in the pharmacopoeia could physic him into a pacific state. His disease +was simply the want of an enemy, and an unaccountable superabundance of +friendship on the part of his acquaintances. How could a doctor remedy +this by a prescription? Impossible. The doctor, indeed, recommended +bloodletting; but to lose blood in a peaceable manner was not only +cowardly, but a bad cure for courage. Neal declined it: he would lose +no blood for any man until he could not help it; which was giving the +character of a hero at a single touch. His blood was not to be thrown +away in this manner; the only lancet ever applied to his relations was +the cudgel, and Neal scorned to abandon the principles of his family. + +His friends finding that he reserved his blood for more heroic purposes +than dastardly phlebotomy, knew not what to do with him. His perpetual +exclamation was, as we have already stated, “I'm blue-mowlded for want +of a batin'!” They did everything in their power to cheer him with the +hope of a drubbing; told him he lived in an excellent country for a man +afflicted with his malady; and promised, if it were at all possible, +to create him a private enemy or two, who, they hoped in heaven, might +trounce him to some purpose. + +This sustained him for a while; but as day after day passed, and no +appearance of action presented itself, he could not choose but increase +in courage. His soul, like a sword-blade too long in the scabbard, was +beginning to get fuliginous by inactivity. He looked upon the point of +his own needle, and the bright edge of his scissors, with a bitter pang, +when he thought of the spirit rusting within him: he meditated fresh +insults, studied new plans, and hunted out cunning devices for provoking +his acquaintances to battle, until by degrees he began to confound his +own bram, and to commit more grievous oversights in his business than +ever. Sometimes he sent home to one person a coat, with the legs of a +pair of trousers attached to it for sleeves, and despatched to another +the arms of the aforesaid coat tacked together as a pair of trousers. + +Sometimes the coat was made to button behind instead of before, and he +frequently placed the pockets in the lower part of the skirts, as if he +had been in league with cut-purses. + +This was a melancholy situation, and his friends pitied him accordingly. + +“Don't bo cast down, Neal,” said they, “your friends feel for you, poor +fellow.” + +“Divil carry my frinds,” replied Neal, “sure there's not one o' yez +frindly enough to be my inimy. Tare-an'-ounze! what'll I do? I'm +blue-rhowlded for want of a batin'!” + +Seeing that their consolation was thrown away upon him, they resolved +to leave him to his fate; which they had no sooner done than Neal had +thoughts of taking to the _Skiomachia_ as a last remedy. In this mood he +looked with considerable antipathy at his own shadow for several nights; +and it is not to be questioned, but that some hard battles would have +taken place between them, were it not for the cunning of the shadow, +which declined to fight him in any other position than with its back +to the wall. This occasioned him to pause, for the wall was a fearful +antagonist, inasmuch that it knew not when it was beaten; but there was +still an alternative left. He went to the garden one clear day about +noon, and hoped to have a bout with the shade, free from interruption. +Both approached, apparently eager for the combat, and resolved to +conquer or die, when a villanous cloud happening to intercept the light, +gave the shadow an opportunity of disappearing; and Neal found himself +once more without an opponent. + +“It's aisy known,” said Neal, “you haven't the blood in you, or you'd +come up to the scratch like a man.” + +He now saw that fate was against him, and that any further hostility +towards the shadow was only a tempting of Providence. He lost his +health, spirits, and everything but his courage. His countenance became +pale and peaceful looking; the bluster departed from him; his body +shrunk up like a withered parsnip. Thrice was he compelled to take in +his clothes, and thrice did he ascertain that much of his time would be +necessarily spent in pursuing his retreating person through the solitude +of his almost deserted garment. + +God knows it is difficult to form a correct opinion upon a situation +so paradoxical as Neal's was. To be reduced to skin and bone by the +downright friendship of the world, was, as the sagacious reader will +admit, next to a miracle. We appeal to the conscience of any man who +finds himself without an enemy, whether he be not a greater skeleton +than the tailor; we will give him fifty guineas provided he can show +a calf to his leg. We know he could not; for the tailor had none, and +that was because he had not an enemy. No man in friendship with the +world ever has calves to his legs. To sum up all in a paradox of our +own invention, for which we claim the full credit of originality, we +now assert, that more men have risen in the world by the injury of their +enemies, than have risen by the kindness of their friends. You may take +this, reader, in any sense; apply it to hanging if you like, it is still +immutably and immovably true. + +One day Neal sat cross-legged, as tailors usually sit, in the act of +pressing a pair of breeches; his hands were placed, backs up, upon the +handle of his goose, and his chin rested upon the back of his hands. To +judge from his sorrowful complexion one would suppose that he sat rather +to be sketched as a picture of misery, or of heroism in distress, than +for the industrious purpose of pressing the seams of a garment. There +was a great deal of New Burlington-street pathos in his countenance; +his face, like the times, was rather out of joint; “the sun was just +setting, and his golden beams fell, with a saddened splendor, athwart +the tailor's”----the reader may fill up the picture. + +In this position sat Neal, when Mr. O'Connor, the schoolmaster, whose +inexpressibles he was turning for the third time, entered the workshop. +Mr. O'Connor, himself, was as finished a picture of misery as the +tailor. There was a patient, subdued kind of expression in his face, +which indicated a very full-portion of calamity; his eye seemed charged +with affliction of the first water; on each side of his nose might be +traced two dry channels which, no doubt, were full enough while the +tropical rains of his countenance lasted. Altogether, to conclude from +appearances, it was a dead match in affliction between him and the +tailor; both seemed sad, fleshless, and unthriving. + +“Misther O'Connor,” said the tailor, when the schoolmaster entered, +“won't you be pleased to sit down?” + +Mr. O'Connor sat; and, after wiping his forehead, laid his hat upon the +lap-board, put his half handkerchief in his pocket, and looked upon the +tailor. The tailor, in return, looked upon Mr. O'Connor; but neither of +them spoke for some minutes. Neal, in fact, appeared to be wrapped up +in his own misery, and Mr. O'Connor in his; or, as we often have much +gratuitous sympathy for the distresses of our friends, we question but +the tailor was wrapped up in Mr. O'Connor's misery, and Mr. O'Connor in +the tailor's. + +Mr. O'Connor at length said--“Neal, are my inexpressibles finished?” + +“I am now pressin' your inexpressibles,” replied Neal; “but, be my sowl, +Mr. O'Connor, it's not your inexpressibles I'm thinkin' of. I'm not the +ninth part of what I was. I'd hardly make paddin' for a collar now.” + +“Are you able to carry a staff still, Neal?” + +“I've a light hazel one that's handy,” said the tailor; “but where's +the use of carryin' it, whin I can get no one to fight wid. Sure I'm +disgracing my relations by the life I'm leadin'. I'll go to my grave +widout ever batin' a man, or bein' bate myself; that's the vexation. +Divil the row ever I was able to kick up in my life; so that I'm fairly +blue-mowlded for want of a batin'. But if you have patience----” + +“Patience!” said Mr. O'Connor, with a shake of the head, that was +perfectly disastrous even to look at; “patience, did you say, Neal?” + +“Ay,” said Neal, “an', be my sowl, if you deny that I said patience, +I'll break your head!” + +“Ah, Neal,” returned the other, “I don't deny it--for though I am +teaching philosophy, knowledge, and mathematics, every day in my life, +yet I'm learning patience myself both night and day. No, Neal; I have +forgotten to deny anything. I have not been guilty of a contradiction, +out of my own school, for the last fourteen years. I once expressed +the shadow of a doubt about twelve years ago, but ever since I have +abandoned even doubting. That doubt was the last expiring effort at +maintaining my domestic authority--but I suffered for it.” + +“Well,” said Neal, “if you have patience, I'll tell you what afflicts me +from beginnin' to endin'.” + +“I will have patience,” said Mr. O'Connor, and he accordingly heard a +dismal and indignant tale from the tailor. + +“You have told me that fifty times over,” said Mr. O'Connor, after +hearing the story. “Your spirit is too martial for a pacific life. If +you follow my advice, I will teach you how to ripple the calm current +of your existence to some purpose. Marry a wife. For twenty-five years I +have given instructions in three branches, viz.--philosophy, knowledge, +and mathematics--I am also well versed in matrimony, and I declare that, +upon my misery, and by the contents of all my afflictions, it is my +solemn and melancholy opinion, that, if you marry a wife, you will, +before three months pass over your concatenated state, not have a single +complaint to make touching a superabundance of peace and tranquillity, +or a love of fighting.” + +“Do you mean to say that any woman would make me afeard?” said the +tailor, deliberately rising up and getting his cudgel. “I'll thank you +merely to go over the words agin till I thrash you widin an inch o' your +life. That's all.” + +“Neal,” said the schoolmaster, meekly, “I won't fight; I have been too +often subdued ever to presume on the hope of a single victory. My spirit +is long since evaporated: I am like one, of your own shreds, a mere +selvage. Do you not know how much my habiliments have shrunk in, even +within the last five years? Hear me, Neal; and venerate my words as +if they proceeded from the lips of a prophet. If you wish to taste the +luxury of being subdued--if you are, as you say, blue-moulded for want +of a beating, and sick at heart of a peaceful existence--why, marry a +wife. Neal, send my breeches home with all haste, for they are wanted, +you understand. Farewell!” + +Mr. O'Connor, having thus expressed himself, departed, and Neal stood, +with the cudgel in his hand, looking at the door out of which he passed, +with an expression of fierceness, contempt, and reflection, strongly +blended on the ruins of his once heroic visage. + +Many a man has happiness within his reach if he but knew it. The tailor +had been, hitherto, miserable because he pursued a wrong object. The +schoolmaster, however, suggested a train of thought upon which Neal +now fastened with all the ardor of a chivalrous temperament. Nay, he +wondered that the family spirit should have so completely seized +upon the fighting side of his heart, as to preclude all thoughts of +matrimony; for he could not but remember that his relations were as +ready for marriage as for fighting. To doubt this, would have been to +throw a blot upon his own escutcheon. He, therefore, very prudently +asked himself, to whom, if he did not marry, should he transmit his +courage. He was a single man, and, dying as such, he would be the sole +depository of his own valor, which, like Junius's secret, must perish +with, him. If he could have left it, as a legacy, to such of his friends +as were most remarkable for cowardice, why, the case would be altered; +but this was impossible--and he had now no other means of preserving it +to posterity than by creating a posterity to inherit it. He saw, too, +that the world was likely to become convulsed. Wars, as everybody +knew, were certainly to break out; and would it not be an excellent +opportunity for being father to a colonel, or, perhaps, a general, that +might astonish the world. + +The change visible in Neal, after the schoolmaster's last visit, +absolutely thunder-struck all who knew him. The clothes, which he had +rashly taken in to fit his shrivelled limbs, were once more let out. The +tailor expanded with a new spirit; his joints ceased to be supple, as +in the days of his valor; his eye became less fiery, but more brilliant. +From being martial, he got desperately gallant; but, somehow, he could +not afford to act the hero and lover both at the same time. This, +perhaps, would be too much to expect from a tailor. His policy was +better. He resolved to bring all his available energy to bear upon +the charms of whatever fair nymph he should select for the honor of +matrimony; to waste his spirit in fighting would, therefore, be a +deduction from the single purpose in view. + +The transition from war to love is by no means so remarkable as we might +at first imagine. We quote Jack Falstaff in proof of this, or, if the +reader be disposed to reject our authority, then we quote Ancient Pistol +himself--both of whom we consider as the most finished specimens of +heroism that ever carried a safe skin. Acres would have been a hero had +he won gloves to prevent the courage from oozing out at his palms, or +not felt such an unlucky antipathy to the “snug lying in the Abbey;” and +as for Captain Bobadil, he never had an opportunity of putting his plan, +for vanquishing an army, into practice. We fear, indeed, that neither +his character, nor Ben Jonson's knowledge of human nature, is properly +understood; for it certainly could not be expected that a man, whose +spirit glowed to encounter a whole host, could, without tarnishing his +dignity, if closely pressed, condescend to fight an individual. But +as these remarks on courage may be felt by the reader as an invidious +introduction of a subject disagreeable to him, we beg to hush it for the +present and return to the tailor. + +No sooner had Neal begun to feel an inclination to matrimony, than his +friends knew that his principles had veered, by the change now visible +in his person and deportment. They saw he had ratted from courage, and +joined love. Heretofore his life had been all winter, darkened by storm +and hurricane. The fiercer virtues had played the devil with him; every +word was thunder, every look lightning; but now all that had passed +away;--before, he was the Jortiter in re, at present he was the suaviter +in modo. His existence was perfect spring--beautifully vernal. All the +amiable and softer qualities began to bud about his heart; a genial +warmth was diffused over him; his soul got green within him; every day +was serene; and if a cloud happened to be come visible, there was +a roguish rainbow astride of it, on which sat a beautiful Iris that +laughed down at him, and seemed to say, “why the dickens, Neal, don't +you marry a wife?” + +Neal could not resist the afflatus which descended on him; an ethereal +light dwelled, he thought, upon the face of nature; the color of the +cloth, which he cut out from day to day, was to his enraptured eye like +the color of Cupid's wings--all purple; his visions were worth their +weight in gold; his dreams, a credit to the bed he slept on; and his +feelings, like blind puppies, young and alive to the milk of love and +kindness which they drew from his heart. Most of this delight escaped +the observation of the world, for Neal, like your true lover, became +shy and mysterious. It is difficult to say what he resembled; no dark +lantern ever had more light shut up within itself, than Neal had in his +soul, although his friends were not aware of it. They knew, indeed, that +he had turned his back upon valor; but beyond this their knowledge did +not extend. + +Neal was shrewd enough to know that what he felt must be love;--nothing +else could distend him with happiness, until his soul felt light and +bladder-like, but love. As an oyster opens, when expecting the tide, so +did his soul expand at the contemplation of matrimony. Labor ceased to +be a trouble to him; he sang and sewed from morning to night; his hot +goose no longer burned him, for his heart was as hot as his goose; the +vibrations of his head, at each successive stitch, were no longer sad +and melancholy. There was a buoyant shake of exultation in them which +showed that his soul was placid and happy within him. + +Endless honor be to Neal Malone for the originality with which he +managed the tender sentiment! He did not, like your commonplace lovers, +first discover a pretty girl, and afterwards become enamored of her. No +such thing, he had the passion prepared beforehand--cut out and made up +as it were, ready for any girl whom it might fit. This was falling in +love in the abstract, and let no man condemn it without a trial; for +many a long-winded argument could be urged in its defence. It is always +wrong to commence business without capital, and Neal had a good stock +to begin with. All we beg is, that the reader will not confound it with +Platonism, which never marries; but he is at full liberty to call it +Socratism, which takes unto itself a wife, and suffers accordingly. + +Let no one suppose that Neal forgot the schoolmaster's kindness, or +failed to be duly grateful for it. Mr. O'Connor was the first person +whom he consulted touching his passion. With a cheerful soul--he waited +on that melancholy and gentleman-like man, and in the very luxury of his +heart told him that he was in love. + +“In love, Neal!” said the schoolmaster. “May I inquire with whom?” + +“Wid nobody in particular, yet,” replied Neal; “but of late I'm got +divilish fond o' the girls in general.” + +“And do you call that being in love, Neal?” said Mr. O'Connor. + +“Why, what else would I call it?” returned the tailor. “Amn't I fond of +them?” + +“Then it must be what is termed the Universal Passion, Neal,” observed +Mr. O'Connor, “although it is the first time I have seen such an +illustration of it as you present in your own person.” + +“I wish you would advise me how to act,” said Neal; “I'm as happy as a +prince since I began to get fond o' them, an' to think of marriage.” + +The schoolmaster shook his head again, and looked rather miserable. Neal +rubbed his hands with glee, and looked perfectly happy. The schoolmaster +shook his head again, and looked more miserable than before. Neal's +happiness also increased on the second rubbing. + +Now, to tell the secret at once, Mr. O'Connor would not have appeared so +miserable, were it not for Neal's happiness; nor Neal so happy, were it +not for Mr. O'Connor's misery. It was all the result of contrast; but +this you will not understand unless you be deeply read in modern novels. + +Mr. O'Connor, however, was a man of sense, who knew, upon this +principle, that the longer he continued to shake his head, the more +miserable he must become, and the more also would he increase Neal's +happiness; but he had no intention of increasing Neal's happiness at +his own expense--for, upon the same hypothesis, it would have been for +Neal's interest had he remained shaking his head there, and getting +miserable until the day of judgment. He consequently declined giving the +third shake, for he thought that plain conversation was, after all, +more significant and forcible than the most eloquent nod, however ably +translated. + +“Neal,” said he, “could you, by stretching your imagination, contrive to +rest contented with nursing your passion in solitude, and love the sex +at a distance?” + +“How could I nurse and mind my business?” replied the tailor. I'll never +nurse so long as I'll have the wife; and as for imagination it depends +upon the grain of it, whether I can stretch it or not. I don't know that +I ever made a coat of it in my life.” + +“You don't understand me, Neal,” said the schoolmaster. “In recommending +marriage, I was only driving one evil out of you by introducing another. +Do you think that, if you abandoned all thoughts of a wife, you would +get heroic again?--that is, would you, take once more to the love of +fighting?” + +“There is no doubt but I would,” said the tailor: “If I miss the wife, +I'll kick up such a dust as never was seen in the parish, an' you're +the first man that I'll lick. But now that I'm in love,” he continued, +“sure, I ought to look out for the wife.” + +“Ah! Neal,” said the schoolmaster, “you are tempting destiny: your +temerity be, with all its melancholy consequences, upon your own head.” + +“Come,” said the tailor, “it wasn't to hear you groaning to the tune of +'Dhrimmind-hoo,' or 'The ould woman rockin' her cradle,' that I came; +but to know if you could help me in makin' out the wife. That's the +discoorse.” + +“Look at me, Neal,” said the schoolmaster, solemnly; “I am at this +moment, and have been any time for the last fifteen years, a living +caveto against matrimony. I do not think that earth possesses such a +luxury as a single solitary life. Neal, the monks of old were happy men: +they were all fat and had double chins; and, Neal, I tell you, that all +fat men are in general happy. Care cannot come at them so readily as +at a thin man; before it gets through the strong outworks, of flesh +and blood with which they are surrounded, it becomes treacherous to its +original purpose, joins the cheerful spirits it meets in the system, and +dances about the heart in all the madness of mirth; just like a sincere +ecclesiastic, who comes to lecture a good fellow against drinking, but +who forgets his lecture over his cups, and is laid under the table with +such success, that he either never comes to finish his lecture, or +comes often; to be laid under the table, Look at me Neal, how wasted, +fleshless, and miserable, I stand before you. You know how my garments +have shrunk in, and what a solid man I was before marriage. Neal, +pause, I beseech you: otherwise you stand a strong chance of becoming a +nonentity like myself.” + +“I don't care what I become,” said the tailor; “I can't think that you'd +be so: unsonable as to expect that any of the Malones; should pass +out of the world widout either bein' bate or marrid. Have rason, Mr. +O'Connor, an' if you can help me to the wife, I promise to take in your +coat the next time--for nothin'.” + +“Well, then,” said Mr. O'Connor, “what-would you think of the butcher's +daughter, Biddy Neil? You have always had a thirst for blood, and here +you may have it gratified in an innocent manner, should you ever become +sanguinary again. 'Tis true, Neal, she is twice your size, and possesses +three times your strength; but for that very reason, Neal, marry her if +you can. Large animals are placid; and heaven preserve those bachelors, +whom I wish well, from a small wife: 'tis such who always wield the +sceptre of domestic life, and rule their husbands with a rod of iron.” + +“Say no more, Mr. O'Connor,” replied the tailor, “she's the very girl +I'm in love wid, an' never fear, but I'll overcome her heart if I it can +be done by man. Now, step over the way to my house, an' we'll have a sup +on the head of it. Who's that calling?” + +“Ah! Neal, I know the tones--there's a shrillness in them not to be +mistaken. Farewell! I must depart; you have heard the proverb, 'those +who are bound must obey.' Young Jack, I presume, is squalling, and I +must either nurse him, rock the cradle, or sing comic tunes for him, +though heaven knows with what a disastrous heart I often sing, 'Begone +dull care,' the 'Rakes of Newcastle,' or 'Peas upon a Trencher.' Neal, +I say again, pause before you take this leap in the dark. Pause, Neal, I +entreat you. Farewell!” + +Neal, however, was gifted with the heart of an Irishman, and scorned +caution as the characteristic of a coward; he had, as it appeared, +abandoned all design of fighting, but the courage still adhered to him +even in making love. He consequently conducted the siege of Biddy Neil's +heart with a degree of skill and valor which would not have come amiss +to Marshal Gerald at the siege of Antwerp. Locke or Dugald Stewart, +indeed, had they been cognizant of the tailor's triumph, might have +illustrated the principle on which he succeeded--as to ourselves, we +can only conjecture it. Our own opinion is, that they were both animated +with a congenial spirit. Biddy was the very pink of pugnacity, and +could throw in a body blow, or plant a facer, with singular energy +and science. Her prowess hitherto had, we confess, been displayed only +within the limited range of domestic life; but should she ever find +it necessary to exercise it upon a larger scale, there was no doubt +whatsoever, in the opinion of her mother, brothers, and sisters, every +one of whom she had successively subdued, that she must undoubtedly +distinguish herself. There was certainly one difficulty which the tailor +had not to encounter in the progress of his courtship; the field was +his own; he had not a rival to dispute his claim. Neither was there any +opposition given by her friends; they were, on the contrary, all anxious +for the match; and when the arrangements were concluded, Neal felt his +hand squeezed by them in succession, with an expression more resembling +condolence than joy. Neal, however, had been bred to tailoring, and not +to metaphysics; he could cut out a coat very well, but we do not say +that he could trace a principle--as what tailor, except Jeremy Taylor, +could? + +There was nothing particular in the wedding. Mr. O'Connor was asked by +Neal to be present at it: but he shook his head, and told him that +he had not courage to attend it, or inclination to witness any man's +sorrows but his own. He met the wedding party by accident, and was heard +to exclaim with a sigh, as they flaunted past him in gay exuberance of +spirits--“Ah, poor Neal! he is going like one of her father's cattle to +the shambles! Woe is me for having suggested matrimony to the tailor! He +will not long-be under the necessity of saying that he 'is blue-moulded +for want of a beating.' The butcheress will fell him like a Kerry ox, +and I may have his blood to answer for, and his discomfiture to feel +for, in addition to my own miseries.” + +On the evening of the wedding-day, about the hour of ten o'clock, +Neal--whose spirits were uncommonly exalted, for his heart luxuriated +within him--danced with his bride's maid; after the dance he sat beside +her, and got eloquent in praise of her beauty; and it is said, too, that +he whispered to her, and chucked her chin with considerable gallantry. +The tete-a-tete continued for some time without exciting particular +attention, with one exception; but that exception was worth a whole +chapter of general rules. Mrs. Malone rose up, then sat down again, and +took off a glass of the native; she got up a second time--all the wife +rushed upon her heart--she approached them, and in a fit of the most +exquisite sensibility, knocked the bride's maid down, and gave the +tailor a kick of affecting pathos upon the inexpressibles. The whole +scene was a touching one on both sides. The tailor was sent on all-fours +to the floor; but Mrs. Malone took him quietly up, put him under her arm +as one would a lap dog, and with stately step marched him away to the +connubial, apartment, in which everything remained very quiet for the +rest of the night. + +The next morning Mr. O'Connor presented himself to congratulate the +tailor on his happiness. Neal, as his friend shook hands with him, gave +the schoolmaster's fingers a slight squeeze, such as a man gives who +would gently entreat your sympathy. The schoolmaster looked at him, and +thought he shook his head. Of this, however, he could not be certain; +for, as he shook his own during the moment of observation, he concluded +that it might be a mere mistake of the eye, or perhaps the result of a +mind predisposed to be credulous on the subject of shaking heads. + +We wish it were in our power to draw a veil, or curtain, or blind of +some description, over the remnant of the tailor's narrative that is to +follow; but as it is the duty of every faithful historian to give +the secret causes of appearances which the world in general do not +understand, so we think it but honest to go on, impartially and +faithfully, without shrinking from the responsibility that is frequently +annexed to truth. + +For the first three days after matrimony, Neal felt like a man who had +been translated to a new and more lively state of existence. He had +expected, and flattered himself, that, the moment this event should +take place, he would once more resume his heroism, and experience +the pleasure of a drubbing. This determination he kept a profound +secret--nor was it known until a future period, when he disclosed it to +Mr. O'Connor. He intended, therefore, that marriage should be nothing +more than a mere parenthesis in his life--a kind of asterisk, pointing, +in a note at the bottom, to this single exception in his general +conduct--a _nota bene_ to the spirit of a martial man, intimating that +he had been peaceful only for a while. In truth, he was, during the +influence of love over him, and up to the very day of his marriage, +secretly as blue-moulded as ever for want of a beating. The heroic +penchant lay snugly latent in his heart, unchecked and unmodified. He +flattered himself that he was achieving a capital imposition upon the +world at large--that he was actually hoaxing mankind in general--and +that such an excellent piece of knavish tranquillity had never been +perpetrated before his time. + +On the first week after his marriage, there chanced to be a fair in +the next market-town. Neal, after breakfast, brought forward a bunch of +shillelahs, in order to select the best; the wife inquired the purpose +of the selection, and Neal declared that he was resolved to have a fight +that day, if it were to be had, he said, for love or money. “The thruth +is,” he exclaimed, strutting with fortitude about the house, “the thruth +is, that I've done the whole of yez--I'm as _blue-mowlded_ as ever for +want of a batin'.” + +“Don't go,” said the wife. + +“I will go,” said Neal, with vehemence; “I'll go if the whole parish was +to go to prevint me.” + +In about another half-hour Neal sat down quietly to his business, +instead of going to the fair! + +Much ingenious speculation might be indulged in, upon this abrupt +termination to the tailor's most formidable resolution; but, for our own +part, we will prefer going on with the narrative, leaving the reader +at liberty to solve the mystery as he pleases. In the mean time, we say +this much--let those who cannot make it out, carry it to their tailor; +it is a tailor's mystery, and no one has so good a right to understand +it--except, perhaps, a tailor's wife. + +At the period of his matrimony, Neal had become as plump and as stout +as he ever was known to be in his plumpest and stoutest days. He and the +schoolmaster had been very intimate about this time; but we know not how +it happened that soon afterwards he felt a modest bridelike reluctance +in meeting with that afflicted gentleman. As the eve of his union +approached, he was in the habit, during the schoolmaster's visits to +his workshop, of alluding, in rather a sarcastic tone, considering the +unthriving appearance of his friend, to the increasing lustiness of +his person. Nay, he has often leaped up from his lap-board, and, in the +strong spirit of exultation, thrust out his leg in attestation of his +assertion, slapping it, moreover, with a loud laugh of triumph, that +sounded like a knell to the happiness of his emaciated acquaintance. +The schoolmaster's philosophy, however, unlike his flesh, never departed +from him; his usual observation was, “Neal, we are both receding from +the same point; you increase in flesh, whilst I, heaven help me, am fast +diminishing.” + +The tailor received these remarks with very boisterous mirth, whilst +Mr. O'Connor simply shook his head, and looked sadly upon his limbs, +now shrouded in a superfluity of garments, somewhat resembling a slender +thread of water in a shallow summer stream, nearly wasted away, and +surrounded by an unproportionate extent of channel. + +The fourth month after the marriage arrived. Neal, one day, near its +close, began to dress himself in his best apparel. Even then, when +buttoning his waistcoat, he shook his head after the manner of Mr. +O'Connor, and made observations upon the great extent to which it +over-folded him. + +Well, thought he, with a sigh--this waistcoat certainly did fit me to a +T: but it's wondherful to think how--cloth stretches. + +“Neal,” said the wife, on perceiving him dressed, “where are you bound +for?” + +“Faith, for life,” replied Neal, with a mitigated swagger; “and I'd as +soon, if it had been the will of Provid--” + +He paused. + +“Where are you going?” asked the wife, a second time. + +“Why,” he answered, “only to the dance at Jemmy Connolly's; I'll be back +early.” + +“Don't go,” said the wife. “I'll go,” said Neal, “if the whole +counthry was to prevent me. Thunder an' lightnin,' woman, who am I?” he +exclaimed, in a loud but rather infirm voice; “arn't I Neal Malone, that +never met a man who'd fight him! Neal Malone, that was never beat by +man! Why, tare-an-ounze, woman! Whoo! I'll get enraged some time, an' +play the divil? Who's afeard, I say?” + +“Don't go,” added the wife a third time, giving Neal a significant look +in the face. + +In about another half-hour, Neal sat down quietly to his business, +instead of going to the dance! + +Neal now turned himself, like many a sage in similar circumstances, to +philosophy; that is to say--he began to shake his head upon principle, +after the manner of the schoolmaster. He would, indeed, have preferred +the bottle upon principle; but there was no getting at the bottle, +except through the wife; and it so happened that by the time it reached +him, there was little consolation left in it. Neal bore all in silence; +for silence, his friend had often told him, was a proof of wisdom. + +Soon after this, Neal, one evening, met Mr. O'Connor by chance upon a +plank which crossed a river. This plank was only a foot in breadth, so +that no two individuals could pass each other upon it. We cannot find +words in which to express the dismay of both, on finding that they +absolutely glided past one another without collision. + +Both paused, and surveyed each other solemnly; but the astonishment was +all on the side of Mr. O'Connor. + +“Neal,” said the schoolmaster, “by all the household gods, I conjure you +to speak, that I may be assured you live!” + +The ghost of a blush crossed the churchyard visage of the tailor. + +“Oh!” he exclaimed, “why the devil did you tempt me to marry a wife.” + +“Neal,” said his friend, “answer me in the most solemn manner +possible--throw into your countenance all the gravity you can assume; +speak as if you were under the hands of the hangman, with the rope about +your neck, for the question is, indeed, a trying-one which I am about to +put. Are you still 'blue-moulded for want of beating?'” + +The tailor collected himself to make a reply; he put one leg out--the +very leg which he used to show in triumph to his friend; but, alas, how +dwindled! He opened his waistcoat, and lapped it round him, until he +looked like a weasel on its hind legs. He then raised himself up on his +tip toes, and, in an awful whisper, replied, “No!!! the devil a bit I'm +blue-mowlded for want of a batin.” + +The schoolmaster shook his head in his own miserable manner; but, alas! +he soon perceived that the tailor was as great an adept at shaking the +head as himself. Nay, he saw that there was a calamitous refinement--a +delicacy of shake in the tailor's vibrations, which gave to his own nod +a very commonplace character. + +The next day the tailor took in his clothes; and from time to time +continued to adjust them to the dimensions of his shrinking person. +The schoolmaster and he, whenever they could steal a moment, met and +sympathized together. Mr. O'Connor, however, bore up somewhat better +than Neal. The latter was subdued in heart and in spirit; thoroughly, +completely, and intensely vanquished. His features became sharpened +by misery, for a termagant wife is the whetstone on which all the +calamities of a hen-pecked husband are painted by the devil. He no +longer strutted as he was wont to do; he no longer carried a cudgel +as if he wished to wage a universal battle with mankind. He was now a +married man.--Sneakingiy, and with a cowardly crawl did he creep along +as if every step brought him nearer to the gallows. The schoolmaster's +march of misery was far slower than Neal's: the latter distanced him. +Before three years passed, he had shrunk up so much, that he could not +walk abroad of a windy day without carrying weights in his pockets to +keep him firm on the earth, which he once trod with the step of a giant. +He again sought the schoolmaster, with whom indeed he associated as +much as possible. Here he felt certain of receiving sympathy; nor was +he disappointed. That worthy, but miserable, man and Neal, often retired +beyond the hearing of their respective wives, and supported each other +by every argument in their power. Often have they been heard, in the +dusk of evening, singing behind a remote hedge that melancholy ditty, +“Let us both be unhappy together;” which rose upon the twilight breeze +with a cautious quaver of sorrow truly heart-rending and lugubrious. + +“Neal,” said Mr. O'Connor, on one of those occasions, “here is a book +which I recommend to your perusal; it is called 'The Afflicted Man's +Companion;' try if you cannot glean some consolation out of it.” + +“Faith,” said Neal, “I'm forever oblaged to you, but I don't want it. +I've had 'The Afflicted Man's Companion' too long, and divil an atom of +consolation I can get out of it. I have one o' them I tell you; but, be +me sowl, I'll not undhertake a pair o' them. The very name's enough for +me.” They then separated. + +The tailor's _vis vitae_ must have been powerful, or he would have died. +In two years more his friends could not distinguish him from his own +shadow; a circumstance which was of great inconvenience to him. Several +grasped at the hand of the shadow instead of his; and one man was near, +paying it five and sixpence for making a pair of smallclothes. Neal, it +is true, undeceived him with some trouble; but candidly admitted that he +was not able to carry home the money. It was difficult, indeed, for the +poor tailor to bear what he felt; it is true he bore it as long as +he could; but at length he became suicidal, and often had thoughts of +“making his own quietus with his bare bodkin.” After many deliberations +and afflictions, he ultimately made the attempt; but, alas! he found +that the blood of the Malones refused to flow upon so ignominious an +occasion. So he solved the phenomenon; although the truth was, that his +blood was not “i' the vein” for't; none was to be had. What then was to +be done? He resolved to get rid of life by some process; and the next +that occurred to him was hanging. In a solemn spirit he prepared a +selvage, and suspended himself from the rafter of his workshop; but here +another disappintment awaited him--he would not hang. Such was his want +of gravity, that his own weight proved insufficient to occasion his +death by mere suspension. His third attempt was at drowning, but he +was too light to sink; all the elements,--all his own energies joined +themselves, he thought, in a wicked conspiracy to save his life. Having +thus tried every avenue to destruction, and failed in all, he felt like +a man doomed to live for ever. Henceforward he shrunk and shrivelled by +slow degrees, until in the course of time he became so attenuated, that +the grossness of human vision could no longer reach him. + +This, however, could not last always. Though still alive, he was, to all +intents and purposes, imperceptible. He could now only be heard; he was +reduced to a mere essence--the very echo of human existence, _vox +el praiterea nihil_. It is true the schoolmaster asserted that he +occasionally caught passing glimpses of him; but that was because he +had been himself nearly spiritualized by affliction, and his visual ray +purged in the furnace of domestic tribulation. By and by Neal's voice +lessened, got fainter and more indistinct, until at length nothing but +a doubtful murmur could be heard, which ultimately could scarcely be +distinguished from a ringing in the ears. + +Such was the awful and mysterious fate of the tailor, who, as a hero, +could not of course die; he merely dissolved like an icicle, wasted into +immateriality, and finally melted away beyond the perception of mortal +sense. Mr. O'Connor is still living, and once more in the fulness of +perfect health and strength. His wife, however, we may as well hint, has +been dead more than two years. + + + + + + + +ART MAGUIRE; + +OR, THE BROKEN PLEDGE. + + +PREFACE. + +In proposing to write a series of “Tales for the Irish People,” the +author feels perfectly conscious of the many difficulties by which he +is surrounded, and by which he may be still met in his endeavors to +accomplish that important task. In order, however, to make everything as +clear and intelligible as possible, he deems it necessary, in the first +place, to state what his object is in undertaking it: that object is +simply to improve their physical and social condition--generally; +and through the medium of vivid and striking, but unobjectionable +narratives, to inculcate such principles as may enable Irishmen to think +more clearly, reason more correctly, and act more earnestly upon the +general duties, which, from their position in life, they are called upon +to perform. With regard to those who feel apprehensive that anything +calculated to injure the doctrinal convictions of the Catholic people +may be suffered to creep into these Tales, the author has only to assure +them--that such an object comes within the scope neither of his plan +or inclinations. It is not his intention to make these productions the +vehicles of Theology or Polemics; but studiously to avoid anything and +everything that even approaches the sphere of clerical duty. His +object, so far from that, is the inculcation of general, not peculiar, +principles--principles which neither affect nor offend any creed, but +which are claimed and valued by all. In this way, by making amusement +the handmaiden of instruction, the author believes it possible to let +into the cabin, the farm-house, and even the landlord's drawing-room, +a light by which each and all of them may read many beneficial +lessons--lessons that will, it is hoped, abide with them, settle down +in their hearts, and by giving them a, clearer sense of their respective +duties, aid in improving and regenerating their condition. + +To send to the poor man's fireside, through the medium of Tales that +will teach his heart and purify his affections, those simple lessons +which may enable him to understand his own value--that will generate +self-respect, independence, industry, love of truth, hatred of deceit +and falsehood, habits of cleanliness, order, and punctuality--together +with all those lesser virtues which help to create a proper sense of +personal and domestic comfort--to assist in working out these healthful +purposes is the Author's anxious wish--a task in which any man may feel +proud to engage. + +Self-reliance, manly confidence in the effect of their own virtues, +respect for the virtues that ought to adorn rank, rather than for +rank itself, and a spurning of that vile servility which is only the +hereditary remnant of bygone oppression, will be taught the people +in such a way as to make them feel how far up in society a high moral +condition can and ought to place them. Nor is this all;--the darker +page of Irish life shall be laid open before them--in which they will be +taught, by examples that they can easily understand, the fearful details +of misery, destitution, banishment, and death, which the commission of a +single crime may draw down, not only upon the criminal himself, but upon +those innocent and beloved connections whom he actually punishes by his +guilt. + +It is, indeed, with fear and trembling that the Author undertakes such a +great and important task as this. If he fail, however, he may well say-- + +“_Quem si non tenuifc, tamon magnis excidit ausis_.” + +Still he is willing to hope that, through the aid of truthful fiction, +operating upon the feelings of his countrymen, and on their knowledge of +peasant life, he may furnish them with such a pleasing Encyclopedia of +social duty--now lit up with their mirth, and again made tender with +their sorrow--as will force them to look upon him as a benefactor--to +forget his former errors--and to cherish his name with affection, when +he himself shall be freed forever from those cares and trials of life +which have hitherto been his portion. + +In the following simple narrative of “The Broken Pledge,” it was his +aim, without leading his readers out of the plain paths of every-day +life or into the improbable creations of Romance, to detail the +character of such an individual as almost every man must have often seen +and noticed within the society by which he is surrounded. He trusts that +the moral, as regards both husband and wife, is wholesome and good, +and calculated to warn those who would follow in the footsteps of “Art +Maguire.” + +Dubin, July 4, 1845. + + + +It has been often observed, and as frequently inculcated, through the +medium of both press and pulpit, that there is scarcely any human being +who, how striking soever his virtues, or how numerous his good qualities +may be, does not carry in his moral constitution some particular +weakness or failing, or perhaps vice, to which he is especially subject, +and which may, if not properly watched and restrained, exercise an +injurious and evil influence over his whole life. Neither have the +admonitions of press or pulpit ended in merely laying down this obvious +and undeniable truth, but, on the contrary, very properly proceeded to +add, that one of the most pressing duties of man is to examine his own +heart, in order to ascertain what this particular vice or failing in his +case may be, in order that, when discovered, suitable means be taken to +remove or overcome it. + +The man whose history we are about to detail for the reader's +instruction, was, especially during the latter years of his life, a +touching, but melancholy illustration of this indisputable truth; in +other words, he possessed the weakness or the vice, as the reader may +consider it, and found, when too late, that a yielding resolution, or, +to use a phrase perhaps better understood, a good intention, was but a +feeble and inefficient instrument with which to attempt its subjection. +Having made these few preliminary observations, as being suitable, in +our opinion, to the character of the incidents which follow, we proceed +at once to commence our narrative. + +Arthur, or, as he was more familiarly called by the people, Art Maguire, +was the son of parents who felt and knew that they were descended from +higher and purer blood than could be boasted of by many of the families +in their neighborhood. Art's father was a small farmer, who held about +ten acres of land, and having a family of six children--three sons, and +as many daughters--he determined upon putting one or two of the former +to a trade, so soon as they should be sufficiently grown up for that +purpose. This, under his circumstances was a proper and provident +resolution to make. His farm was too small to be parceled out, as is too +frequently the case, into small miserable patches, upon each of which +a young and inconsiderate couple are contented to sit down, with the +prospect of rearing up and supporting a numerous family with wofully +inadequate means; for although it is generally a matter of certainty +that the families of these young persons will increase, yet it is a +perfectly well-known fact that the little holding will not, and the +consequence is, that families keep subdividing on the one hand, and +increasing on the other, until there is no more room left for them. +Poverty then ensues, and as poverty in such cases begets competition, +and competition crime, so we repeat that Condy Maguire's intention, +as being one calculated to avoid such a painful state of things, was a +proof of his own good sense and forethought. + +Arthur's brother, Frank, was a boy not particularly remarkable for any +peculiar brilliancy of intellect, or any great vivacity of disposition. +When at school he was never in a quarrel, nor engaged in any of those +wild freaks which are sore annoyances to a village schoolmaster, and +daring outrages against his authority. He was consequently a favorite +not only with the master, but with all the sober, well-behaved boys +of the school, and many a time has Teague Rooney, with whom he was +educated, exclaimed, as he addressed him: + +“Go to your sate, Frank abouchal; faith, although there are boys endowed +wid more brilliancy of intellect than has fallen to your lot, yet you +are the very youth who understands what is due to legitimate authority, +at any rate, an' that's no small gift in itself; go to your sate, sorrow +taw will go to your substratum this bout, for not having your lesson; +for well I know it wasn't idleness that prevented you, but the natural +sobriety and slowness of intellect you are gifted wid. If you are slow, +however, you are sure, and I'll pledge my reputaytion aginst that of the +great O'Flaherty himself, that you and your brinoge of a brother will +both live to give a beautiful illustration of the celebrated race +between the hare and the tortoise yet. Go to your sate wid impunity, and +tell your dacent mother I was inquiring for her.” + +Such, indeed, was a tolerably correct view of Frank's character. He was +quiet, inoffensive, laborious, and punctual; though not very social or +communicative, yet he was both well-tempered and warm-hearted, points +which could not, without considerable opportunities of knowing him, be +readily perceived. Having undertaken the accomplishment of an object, he +permitted no circumstance to dishearten or deter him in working out +his purpose; if he said it, he did it; for his word was a sufficient +guarantee that he would; his integrity was consequently respected, +and his resolution, when he expressed it, was seldom disputed by his +companions, who knew that in general it was inflexible. After what we +have said, it is scarcely necessary to add that he was both courageous +and humane. + +These combinations of character frequently occur. Many a man not +remarkable for those qualities of the head that impress themselves most +strikingly upon the world, is nevertheless gifted with those excellent +principles of the heart which, although without much show, and scarcely +any noise, go to work out the most useful purposes of life. Arthur, on +the contrary, was a contrast to his brother, and a strong one, too, on +many points; his intellect was far superior to that of Frank's, but, +on the other hand, he by no means possessed his brother's steadiness or +resolution. We do not say, however, that he was remarkable for the want +of either, far from it; he could form a resolution, and work it out as +well as his brother, provided his course was left unobstructed: nay, +more, he could overcome difficulties many and varied, provided only that +he was left unassailed by, one solitary temptation--that of an easy +and good-humored vanity. He was conscious of his talents, and of his +excellent qualities, and being exceedingly vain, nothing gave him +greater gratification than to hear himself praised for possessing +them--for it is a fact, that every man who is vain of any particular +gift, forgets that he did not bestow that gift upon himself, and that +instead of priding himself upon the possession of it, he should only be +humbly thankful to the Being who endowed him with it. + +Art was social, communicative, and, although possessing what might be +considered internal resources more numerous, and of a far higher order +than did his brother, yet, somehow, it was clear that he had not the +same self-dependence that marked the other. He always wanted, as it. +were, something to lean upon, although in truth he did not at all +require it, had he properly understood himself. The truth is, like +thousands, he did not begin to perceive, or check in time, those early +tendencies that lead a heart naturally indolent, but warm and generous, +to the habit of relying first, in small things, upon external sources +and objects, instead of seeking and finding within itself those +materials for manly independence, with which every heart is supplied, +were its possessor only aware of the fact, and properly instructed how +to use them. + +Art's enjoyments, for instance, were always of a social nature, and +never either solitary or useful in their tendencies; of this character +was every thing he engaged in. He would not make a ship of water +flaggons by himself, nor sail it by himself--he would not spin a top, +nor trundle a hoop without a companion--if sent upon a message, or to +dig a basket of potatoes in the field, he would rather purchase the +society of a companion with all the toys or playthings he possessed than +do either alone. His very lessons he would not get unless his brother +Frank got his along with him. The reader may thus perceive that he +acquired no early habit of self-restraint, no principle of either labor +or enjoyment within, himself, and of course could acquire none at all +of self-reliance. A social disposition in our amusements is not only +proper, but natural, for we believe it is pretty generally known, that +he who altogether prefers such amusements is found to be deficient +in the best and most generous principles of our nature. Every thing, +however, has its limits and its exceptions. Art, if sent to do a day's +work alone, would either abandon it entirely, and bear the brunt of his +father's anger, or he would, as we have said, purchase the companionship +of some neighbor's son or child, for, provided he had any one to whom he +could talk, he cared not, and having thus succeeded, he would finish it +triumphantly. + +In due time, however, his great prevailing weakness, vanity, became well +known to his family, who, already aware of his peculiar aversion to any +kind of employment that was not social, immediately seized upon it, +and instead of taking rational steps to remove it, they nursed it into +stronger life by pandering to it as a convenient means of regulating, +checking, or stimulating the whole habits of his life. His family were +not aware of the moral consequences which they were likely to produce +by conduct such as this, nor of the pains they were ignorantly taking to +lay the foundation of his future misfortune and misery. + +“Art, my good boy, will you take your spade and clane out the remaindher +o' that drain, between the Hannigans and us,” said his father. + +“Well, will Frank come?” + +“Sure you know he can't; isn't he weedin' that bit of _blanther_ in +Crackton's park, an' afther that sure he has to cut scraws on the +Pirl-hill for the new barn.” + +“Well, I'll help him if he helps me; isn't that fair? Let us join.” + +“Hut, get out o' that, avourneen; go yourself; do what you're bid, Art.” + +“Is it by myself? murdher alive, father, don't ax me; I'll give him my +new Cammon if he comes.” + +“Throth you won't; the sorra hand I'd ever wish to see the same Cammon +in but your own; faix, it's you that can handle it in style. Well now, +Art, well becomes myself but I thought I could play a Cammon wid the +face o' clay wanst in my time, but may I never sin if ever I could match +you at it; oh, sorra taste o' your Cammon you must part wid; sure I'd +rather scower the drain myself.” + +“Bedad I won't part wid it then.” + +“I'd rather, I tell you, scower it myself--an' I will, too. Sure if I +renew the ould cough an me I'll thry the _Casharawan_, (* Dandelion) that +did me so much good the last time.” + +“Well, that's purty! Ha, ha, ha! you to go! Oh, ay, indeed--as if I'd +stand by an' let you. Not so bad as that comes to, either--no. Is the +spade an' shovel in the shed?” + +“To be sure they are. Throth, Art, you're worth the whole o' them--the +sorra lie in it. Well, go, avillish.” + +This was this fine boy's weakness played upon by those who, it is true, +were not at all conscious of the injury they were inflicting upon him at +the time. He was certainly the pride of the family, and even while they +humored and increased this his predominant and most dangerous foible, we +are bound to say that they gratified their own affection as much as they +did his vanity. + +His father's family consisted, as we have said, of three sons and three +daughters. The latter were the elder, and in point of age Art, as we +have said, was the youngest of them all. The education that he and his +brothers received was such as the time and the neglected state of the +country afforded them. They could all read and write tolerably well, and +knew something of arithmetic. This was a proof that their education had +not been neglected. And why should it? Were they not the descendants of +the great Maguires of Fermanagh? Why, the very consciousness of their +blood was felt as a proud and unanswerable argument against ignorance. +The best education, therefore, that could be procured by persons in +their humble sphere of life, they received. The eldest brother, whose +name was Brian, did not, as is too frequently the case with the eldest +sons of small farmers, receive so liberal a portion of instruction as +Frank or Art. This resulted from the condition and necessities of his +father, who could not spare him from his farm--and, indeed, it cost the +worthy man many a sore heart. At all events, time advanced, and the two +younger brothers were taken from school with a view of being apprenticed +to some useful trade. The character of each was pretty well in +accordance with their respective dispositions. Frank had no enemies, yet +was he by no means so popular as Art, who had many. The one possessed +nothing to excite envy, and never gave offence; the other, by the very +superiority of his natural powers, exultingly paraded, as they were, at +the expense of dulness or unsuccessful rivalry, created many vindictive +maligners, who let no opportunity pass of giving him behind his back the +harsh word which they durst not give him to his face. In spite of all +this, his acknowledged superiority, his generosity, his candor, and +utter ignorance or hatred of the low chicaneries of youthful cunning, +joined to his open, intrepid, and manly character, conspired to render +him popular in an extraordinary degree. Nay, his very failings added +to this, and when the battle of his character was fought, all the +traditionary errors of moral life were quoted in his favor. + +“Ay, ay, the boy has his faults, and who has not; I'd be glad to know? +If he's lively, it's betther to be that, than a mosey, any day. His +brother Frank is a good boy, but sure divil a squig of spunk or spirits +is in him, an', my dear, you know the ould proverb, that a standin' +pool always stinks, while the runnin' strame is sweet and clear to the +bottom. If he's proud, he has a right to be proud, and why shouldn't he, +seein' that it's well known he could take up more larnin' than half the +school.” + +“Well, but poor Frank's a harmless boy, and never gave offence to +mortual, which, by the same token, is more than can be said of Art the +lad.” + +“Very well, we know all that; and maybe it 'ud be betther for himself +if he had a sharper spice of the dioual in him--but sure the poor boy +hasn't the brain for it. Offence! oh, the dickens may seize the offence +poor Frank will give to man or woman, barrin' he mends his manners, and +gats a little life into him--sure he was a year and a day in the Five +Common Rules, an' three blessed weeks gettin' the Multiplication Table.” + +Such, in general, was the estimate formed of their respective +characters, by those who, of course, had an opportunity of knowing them +best. Whether the latter were right or wrong will appear in the sequel, +but in the meantime we must protest, even in this early stage of our +narrative, against those popular exhibitions of mistaken sympathy, which +in early life--the most dangerous period too--are felt and expressed +for those who, in association with weak points of character, give strong +indications of talent. This mistaken generosity is pernicious to the +individual, inasmuch as it confirms him in the very errors which he +should correct, and in the process of youthful reasoning, which is +most selfish, induces him not only to doubt the whisperings of his +own conscience, but to substitute in their stead the promptings of the +silliest vanity. + +Having thus given a rapid sketch of these two brothers in their +schoolboy life, we now come to that period at which their father thought +proper to apprentice them. The choice of the trade he left to their own +natural judgment, and as Frank was the eldest, he was allowed to choose +first. He immediately selected that of a carpenter, as being clean, +respectable, and within-doors; and, as he added-- + +“Where the wages is good--and then I'm tould that one can work afther +hours, if they wish.” + +“Very well,” said the father, “now let us hear, Art; come, alanna, what +are you on for?” + +“I'll not take any trade,” replied Art. + +“Not take any trade, Art! why, my goodness, sure you knew all along that +you war for a trade. Don't you know when you and Frank grow up, and, of +course, must take the world on your heads, that it isn't this strip of a +farm that you can depend on.” + +“That's what I think of,” said Frank; “one's not to begin the world wid +empty pockets, or, any way, widout some ground to put one's foot on.” + +“The world!” rejoined Art; “why, what the sorra puts thoughts o' the +world into your head, Frank? Isn't it time enough for you or me to think +o' the world these ten years to come?” + +“Ay,” replied Frank, “but when we come to join it isn't the time to +begin to think of it; don't you know what the ould saying says--_ha nha +la na guiha la na scuillaba_--it isn't on the windy day that you are to +look for your scollops.” * + + * The proverb inculcates forethought and provision. + Scollop is an osier sharpened at both ends, by which + the thatch of a house is fastened down to the roof. Of + a windy day the thatch alone would be utterly useless, + if there were no scollops to keep it firm. + +“An' what 'ud prevent you, Art, from goin' to larn a trade?” asked his +father. + +“I'd rather stay with you,” replied the affectionate boy; “I don't like +to leave you nor the family, to be goin' among strangers.” + +The unexpected and touching nature of his motive, so different from what +was expected, went immediately to his father's heart. He looked at his +fine boy, and was silent for a minute, after which he wiped the moisture +from his eyes. Art, on seeing his father affected, became so himself, +and added-- + +“That's my only raison, father, for not goin'; I wouldn't like to lave +you an' them, if I could help it.” + +“Well, acushla,” replied the father, while his eyes beamed on him with +tenderness and affection, “sure we wouldn't ax you to go, if we could +any way avoid it--it's for your own good we do it. Don't refuse to go, +Art; sure for my sake you won't?” + +“I will go, then,” he replied; “I'll go for your sake, but I'll miss you +all.” + +“An' we'll miss you, ahagur. God bless you, Art dear, it's jist like +you. Ay, will we in throth miss you; but, then, think what a brave fine +thing it'll be for you to have a grip of a dacent independent trade, +that'll keep your feet out o' the dirt while you live.” + +“I will go,” repeated Art, “but as for the trade, I'll have none but +Frank's. I'll be a carpenter, for then he and I can be together.” + +In addition to the affectionate motive which Art had mentioned to his +father--and which was a true one--as occasioning his reluctance to learn +a trade, there was another, equally strong and equally tender. In the +immediate neighborhood there lived a family named Murray, between whom +and the Maguires there subsisted a very kindly intimacy. Jemmy Murray +was in fact one of the wealthiest men in that part of the parish, as +wealth then was considered--that is to say, he farmed about forty acres, +which he held at a moderate rent, and as he was both industrious and +frugal, it was only a matter of consequence that he and his were well +to do in the world. It is not likely, however, that even a passing +acquaintance would ever have taken place between them, were it not for +the consideration of the blood which was known to flow in the veins +of the Fermanagh Maguires. Murray was a good deal touched with +purse-pride--the most offensive and contemptible description of pride +in the world--and would never have suffered an intimacy, were it not for +the reason I have alleged. It is true he was not a man of such stainless +integrity as Condy Maguire, because it was pretty well known that in +the course of his life, while accumulating money, he was said to +have stooped to practices that were, to say the least of them, highly +discreditable. For instance, he always held over his meal, until there +came what is unfortunately both too well known and too well felt in +Ireland,--a dear year--a year of hunger, starvation, and famine. For the +same reason he held over his hay, and indeed on passing his haggard you +were certain to perceive three or four immense stacks, bleached by the +sun and rain of two or three seasons into a tawny yellow. Go into his +large kitchen or storehouse, and you saw three or four immense +deal chests filled with meal, which was reserved for a season of +scarcity--for, proud as Farmer Murray was, he did not disdain to fatten +upon human misery. Between these two families there was, as we have +said, an intimacy. It was wealth and worldly goods on the one side; +integrity and old blood on the other. Be this as it may, Farmer Murray +had a daughter, Margaret, the youngest of four, who was much about the +age of Arthur Maguire. Margaret was a girl whom it was almost impossible +to know and not to love. Though then but seventeen, her figure was full, +rich, and beautifully formed. Her abundant hair was black and glossy as +ebony, and her skin, which threw a lustre like ivory itself, had--not +the whiteness of snow--but a whiteness a thousand times more natural--a +whiteness that was fresh, radiant, and spotless. She was arch and full +of spirits, but her humor--for she possessed it in abundance--was so +artless, joyous, and innocent, that the heart was taken with it before +one had time for reflection. Added, however, to this charming vivacity +of temperament were many admirable virtues, and a fund of deep and +fervent feeling, which, even at that early period of her life, had made +her name beloved by every one in the parish, especially the poor and +destitute. The fact is, she was her father's favorite daughter, and he +could deny her nothing. The admirable girl was conscious of this, but +instead of availing herself of his affection for her in a way that +many--nay, we may say, most--would have done, for purposes of dress or +vanity, she became an interceding angel for the poor and destitute; and +closely as Murray loved money, yet it is due to him to say, that, on +these occasions, she was generally successful. Indeed, he was so far +from being insensible to his daughter's noble virtues, that he felt +pride in reflecting that she possessed them, and gave aid ten times +from that feeling for once that he did from a more exalted one. Such +was Margaret Murray, and such, we are happy to say--for we know it--are +thousands of the peasant girls of our country. + +It was not to be wondered at, then, that in addition to the reluctance +which a heart naturally affectionate, like Art's, should feel on leaving +his relations for the first time, he should experience much secret +sorrow at being deprived of the society of this sweet and winning girl. + +Matters now, however, were soon arranged, and the time, nay, the very +day for their departure was appointed. Art, though deeply smitten with +the charms of Margaret Murray, had never yet ventured to breathe to her +a syllable of love, being deterred naturally enough by the distance in +point of wealth which existed between the families. Not that this alone, +perhaps, would have prevented him from declaring his affection for her; +but, young as he was, he had not been left unimpressed by his father's +hereditary sense of the decent pride, strict honesty, and independent +spirit, which should always mark the conduct and feelings of any one +descended from the great Fermanagh Maguires. He might, therefore, +probably have spoken, but that his pride dreaded a repulse, and that he +could not bear to contemplate. This, joined to the natural diffidence of +youth, sufficiently accounts for his silence. + +There lived, at the period of which we write, which is not a thousand +years ago, at a place called “the Corner House,” a celebrated carpenter +named Jack M'Carroll. He was unquestionably a first-rate mechanic, kept +a large establishment, and had ample and extensive business. To him had +Art and Frank been apprenticed, and, indeed, a better selection could +not have been made, for Jack was not only a good workman himself, but an +excellent employer, and an honest man. An arrangement had been entered +into with a neighboring farmer regarding their board and lodging, +so that every thing was settled very much to the satisfaction of all +parties. + +When the day of their departure had at length arrived, Art felt his +affections strongly divided, but without being diminished, between +Margaret Murray and his family; while Frank, who was calm and +thoughtful, addressed himself to the task of getting ready such luggage +as they had been provided with. + +“Frank,” said Art, “don't you think we ought to go and bid farewell to a +few of our nearest neighbors before we lave home?” + +“Where's the use of that?” asked Frank; “not a bit, Art; the best plan +is jist to bid our own people farewell, and slip away without noise or +nonsense.” + +“You may act as you plaise, Frank,” replied the other; “as for me, I'll +call on Jemmy Hanlon and Tom Connolly, at all events; but hould,” said +he, abruptly, “ought I to do that? Isn't it their business to come to +us?” + +“It is,” replied Frank, “and so they would too, but that they think +we won't start till Thursday; for you know we didn't intend to go till +then.” + +“Well,” said Art, “that's a horse of another color: I will call on them. +Wouldn't they think it heartless of us to go off widout seein' them? An' +besides, Frank, why should we steal away like thieves that had the hue +and cry at their heels? No, faith, as sure as we go at all, we'll go +openly, an' like men that have nothing to be afraid of.” + +“Very well,” replied his brother, “have it your own way, so far as +you're consarned, as for me, I look upon it all as mere nonsense.” + +It is seldom that honest and manly affection fails to meet its reward, +be the period soon or late. Had Art been guided by Frank's apparent +indifference--who, however, acted in this matter solely for the sake of +sparing his brother's feelings--he would have missed the opportunity of +being a party to an incident which influenced his future life in all he +ever afterwards enjoyed and suffered. He had gone, as he said, to bid +farewell to his neighbors, and was on his return home in order to take +his departure, when whom should he meet on her way to her father's +house, after having called at his father's “to see the girls,” as she +said, with a slight emphasis upon the word girls, but Margaret Murray. + +As was natural, and as they had often done before under similar +circumstances, each paused on meeting, but somehow on this occasion +there was visible on both sides more restraint than either had ever yet +shown. At length, the preliminary chat having ceased, a silence ensued, +which, after a little time, was broken by Margaret, who, Art could +perceive, blushed deeply as she spoke. + +“So, Art, you and Frank are goin' to lave us.” + +“It's not with my own consint I'm goin', Margaret,” he replied. As he +uttered the words he looked at her; their eyes met, but neither could +stand the glance of the other; they were instantly withdrawn. + +“I'll not forget my friends, at all events,” said Art; “at least, +there's some o' them I won't, nor wouldn't either, if I was to get a +million o' money for doin' so.” + +Margaret's face and neck, on hearing this, were in one glow of crimson, +and she kept her eyes still on the ground, but made no reply. At +length she raised them, and their glances met again; in that glance the +consciousness of his meaning was read by both, the secret was disclosed, +and their love told. + +The place where they stood was in one of those exquisitely wild but +beautiful green country lanes that are mostly enclosed on each side +by thorn hedges, and have their sides bespangled with a profusion +of delicate and fragrant wild flowers, while the pathway, from the +unfrequency of feet, is generally covered with short daisy-gemmed grass, +with the exception of a trodden line in the middle that is made solely +by foot-passengers. Such was the sweet spot in which they stood at the +moment the last glance took place between them. + +At length Margaret spoke, but why was it that her voice was such music +to him now? Musical and sweet it always was, and he had heard it a +thousand times before, but why, we ask, was it now so delicious to his +ear, so ecstatic to his heart? Ah, it was that sweet, entrancing little +charm which trembled up from her young and beating heart, through its +softest intonations; this low tremor it was that confirmed the tale +which the divine glance of that dark, but soft and mellow eye, had just +told him. But to proceed, at length she spoke-- + +“Arthur,” said the innocent girl, unconscious that she was about to do +an act for which many will condemn her, “before you go, and I know I +will not have an opportunity of seein' you again, will you accept of a +keepsake from me?” + + +[Illustration: PAGE AM994-- At length Margaret spoke] + + +“Will I? oh, Margaret, Margaret!”--he gazed at her, but could not +proceed, his heart was too full. + +“Take this,” said she, “and keep it for my sake.” + +Ho took it out of her hand, he seized the hand itself, another glance, +and they sank into each other's arms, each trembling with an excess of +happiness. Margaret wept. This gush of rapture relieved and lightened +their young and innocent hearts, and Margaret having withdrawn +herself from his arms, they could now speak more freely. It is not our +intention, however, to detail their conversation, which may easily be +conjectured by our readers. On looking at the keepsake, Art found that +it was a tress of her rich and raven hair, which, we may add here, he +tied about his heart that day, and on that heart, or rather the dust of +that heart, it lies on this. + +It was fortunate for Art that he followed! his brother's judgment in +selecting the same trade. Frank, we have said, notwithstanding his +coldness of manner, was by no means deficient in feeling or affection; +he possessed, however, the power of suppressing their external +manifestations, a circumstance which not unfrequently occasioned it to +happen that want of feeling was often imputed to him without any just +cause. At all events, he was a guide, a monitor, and a friend to his +brother, whom he most sincerely and affectionately loved; he kindly +pointed out to him his errors, matured his judgment by sound practical +advice: where it was necessary, he gave him the spur, and on other, +occasions held him in. Art was extremely well-tempered, as was Frank +also, so that it was impossible any two brothers could agree better, or +live in more harmony than they did. In truth, he had almost succeeded +in opening Art's eyes to the weak points in his character, especially +to the greatest, and most dangerous of all--his vanity, or insatiable +appetite for praise. They had not been long in M'Carroll's establishment +when the young man's foibles were soon seen through, and of course began +to be played upon; Frank, however, like a guardian angel, was always at +hand to advise or defend him, as the case might be, and as both, in a +physical contest, were able and willing to fight their own battles, we +need not say that in a short time their fellow-workmen ceased to play +off their pranks upon either of them. Everything forthwith passed very +smoothly; Art's love for Margaret Murray was like an apple of gold in +his heart, a secret treasure of which the world knew nothing; they saw +each other at least once a month, when their vows were renewed, and, +surely, we need not say, that their affection on each subsequent +interview only became more tender and enduring. + +The period of Frank's and Art's apprenticeship had now nearly expired, +and it is not too much to say that their conduct reflected the highest +credit upon themselves. Three or four times, we believe, Art had been +seduced, in the absence of his brother, by the influence of bad company, +to indulge in drink, even to intoxication. This, during the greater part +of a whole apprenticeship, considering his temperament, and the almost +daily temptations by which he was beset, must be admitted on the whole +to be a very moderate amount of error in that respect. On the morning +after his last transgression, however, apprehending very naturally a +strong remonstrance from his brother, he addressed him as follows, in +anticipation of what he supposed Frank was about to say:-- + +“Now, Frank, I know you're goin' to scould me, and what is more, I know +I disarve all you could say to me; but there's one thing you don't know, +an' that is what I suffer for lettin' myself be made a fool of last +night. Afther the advices you have so often given me, and afther what +my father so often tould us to think of ourselves, and afther the solemn +promises I made to you--and that I broke, I feel as if I was nothin' +more or less than a disgrace to the name.” + +“Art,” said the other, “I'm glad to hear you speak as you do; for it's +a proof that repentance is in your heart. I suppose I needn't say that +it's your intention not to be caught be these fellows again.” + +“By the sacred--” + +“Whisht,” said Frank, clapping his hand upon his mouth; “there's no use +at all in rash oaths, Art. If your mind is made up honestly and firmly +in the sight of God--and dependin' upon his assistance, that is enough +--and a great deal betther, too, than a rash oath made in a sudden fit +of repentance--ay, before you're properly recovered from your liquor. +Now say no more, only promise me you won't do the like, again.” + +“Frank, listen to me--by all the--” + +“Hould, Art,” replied Frank, stopping him again; “I tell you once more, +this rash swearin' is a bad sign--I'll hear no rash oaths; but listen +you to me; if your mind is made up against drinkin' this way again, jist +look me calmly and steadily in the face, and answer me simply by yes +or no. Now take your time, an' don't be in a hurry--be cool--be +calm--reflect upon what you're about to say; and whether it's your +solemn and serious intention to abide by it. My question 'll be very +short and very simple; your answer, as I said, will be merely yes or no. +Will you ever allow these fellows to make you drunk again? Yes or no, +an' not another word.” + +“No.” + +“That will do,” said Frank; “now give me your hand, and a single word +upon what has passed you will never hear from me.” + +In large manufactories, and in workshops similar to that in which the +two brothers were now serving their apprenticeship, almost every +one knows that the drunken and profligate entertain an unaccountable +antipathy against the moral and the sober. Art's last fit of +intoxication was not only a triumph over himself, but, what was still +more, a triumph over his brother, who had so often prevented him from +falling into their snares and joining in their brutal excesses. It +so happened, however, that about this precise period, Art had, +unfortunately, contracted an intimacy with one of the class I speak of, +an adroit fellow with an oily tongue, vast powers of flattery, and +still greater powers of bearing liquor--for Frank could observe, that +notwithstanding all their potations, he never on any occasion +observed him affected by drink, a circumstance which raised him in his +estimation, because he considered that he was rather an obliging, civil +young fellow, who complied so far as to give these men his society, but +yet had sufficient firmness to resist the temptations to drink beyond +the bounds of moderation. The upshot of all this was, that Frank, not +entertaining any suspicion particularly injurious to Harte, for such +was his name, permitted his brother to associate with him much more +frequently than he would have done, had he even guessed at his real +character. + +One day, about a month after the conversation which we have just +detailed between the two brothers, the following conversation took place +among that class of the mechanics whom we shall term the profligates:-- + +“So he made a solemn promise, Harte, to _Drywig_”--this was a nickname +they had for Frank--“that he'd never smell liquor again.” + +“A most solemnious promise,” said Harte ironically; “a most solemn and +solemnious promise; an' only that I know he's not a Methodist, I could +a'most mistake him for Paddy M'Mahon, the locality preacher, when he +tould me--” + +“Paddy M'Mahon!” exclaimed Skinadre, the first speaker, a little thin +fellow, with white hair and red ferret eyes; “why, who the divil ever +heard of a Methodist Praicher of the name of Paddy M'Mahon?” + +“It's aisy known,” observed a fellow named, or rather nicknamed, Jack +Slanty, in consequence of a deformity in his leg, that gave him the +appearance of leaning or slanting to the one side; “it's aisy known, +Skinadre, that you're not long in this part of the country, or you'd not +ax who Paddy M'Mahon is.” + +“Come, Slanty, never mind Paddy M'Mahon,” said another of them; “he +received the gift of grace in the shape of a purty Methodist wife and +a good fortune; ay, an' a sweet love-faist he had of it; he dropped the +Padereens over Solomon's Bridge, and tuck to the evenin' meetins--that's +enough for you to know; and now, Harte, about Maguire?” + +“Why,” said Harte, “if I'm not allowed to edge in a word, I had betther +cut.” + +“A most solemn promise, you say?” + +“A most solemn and solemnious promise, that was what I said; never again +by night or day, wet or dry, high or low, in or out, up or down, here +or there, to--to--get himself snimicated wid any liquorary fluid +whatsomever, be the same more or less, good, bad, or indifferent, hot or +could, thick or thin, black or white--” + +“Have done, Harte; quit your cursed sniftherin', an' spake like a +Christian; do you think you can manage to circumsniffle him agin?” + +“Ay,” said Harte, “or any man that ever trod on neat's leather--barrin' +one.” + +“And who is that one?” + +“That one, sir--that one--do you ax me who that one is?” + +“Have you no ears? To be sure I do.” + +“Then, Skinadre, I'll tell you--I'll tell you, sarra,”--we ought to add +here, that Harte was a first-rate mimic, and was now doing a drunken +man,--“I'll tell you, sarra--that person was Nelson on the top of the +monument in Sackville street--no--no--I'm wrong; I could make poor ould +Horace drunk any time, an' often did--an' many a turn-tumble he got off +the monument at night, and the divil's own throuble I had in gettin' him +up on it before mornin', bekaise you all know he'd be cashiered, or, any +way, brought to coort martial for leavin' his po-po-post.” + +“Well, if Nelson's not the man, who is?” + +“_Drywig's_ his name,” replied Harte; “you all know one _Drywig_, don't +you?” + +“Quit your cursed stuff, Harte,” said a new speaker, named Garvey; “if +you think you can dose him, say so, and if not, let us have no more talk +about it.” + +“Faith, an' it'll be a nice card to play,” replied Harte, resuming his +natural voice; “but at all events, if you will all drop into Garvey's +lodgins and mine, to-morrow evenin', you may find him there; but don't +blame me if I fail.” + +“No one's goin' to blame you,” said Slanty, “an' the devil's own pity it +is that that blasted _Drywig_ of a brother of his keeps him in leadin' +strings the way he does.” + +“The way I'll do is this: I'll ask him up to look at the pattern of my +new waistcoat, an' wanst I get him in, all I have to do is to lay it on +thick.” + +“I doubt that,” said another, who had joined them; “when he came here +first, and for a long time afther, soapin' him might do; but I tell you +his eye's open--it's no go--he's wide awake now.” + +“Shut your orifice,” said Harte; “lave the thing to me; 'twas I did it +before, although he doesn't think so, an' it's I that will do it again, +although he doesn't think so. Haven't I been for the last mortal month +guardin' him aginst yez, you villains?” + +“To-morrow evenin'?” + +“Ay, to-morrow evenin'; an' if we don't give him a gauliogue that'll +make him dance the circumbendibus widout music--never believe that my +name's any thing else than Tom Thin, that got thick upon spring wather. +Hello! there's the bell, boys, so mind what I tould yez; we'll give him +a farewell benefit, if it was only for the sake of poor _Drywig_. Ah, +poor _Drywig!_ how will he live widout him? Ochone, ochone! ha, ha, ha!” + +Without at all suspecting the trap that had been set for him, Art +attended his business as usual, till towards evening, when Harte took an +opportunity, when he got him for a few minutes by himself, of speaking +to him apparently in a careless and indifferent way. + +“Art, that's a nate patthern in your waistcoat; but any how, I dunna +how it is that you contrive to have every thing about you dacenter an' +jinteeler than another.” This, by the way, was true, both of him and his +brother. + +“Tut, it's but middlin',” said Art; “it's now but a has-been:--when it +was at itself it wasn't so bad.” + +“Begad, it was lovely wanst; now; how do you account, Art, for bein' +supairior to us in all in--in every thing, I may say; ay, begad, in +every thing, and in all things, for that's a point every one allows.” + +“Nonsense, Syl” (his name was Sylvester), “don't be comin' it soft over +me; how am I betther than any other?” + +“Why, you're betther made, in the first place, than e'er a man among +us; in the next place, you're a betther workman;”--both these were +true--“an', in the third place, you're the best lookin' of the whole +pack; an' now deny these if you can:--eh, ha, ha, ha--my lad, I have +you!” + +An involuntary smile might be observed on Art's face at the last +observation, which also was true. + +“Syl,” he replied, “behave yourself; what are you at now? I know you.” + +“Know me!” exclaimed Syl; “why what do you know of me? Nothing that's +bad I hope, any way.” + +“None of your palaver, at all events,” replied Art; “have you got any +tobaccy about you?” + +“Sorra taste,” replied Harte, “nor had since mornin'.” + +“Well, I have then,” said Art, pulling out a piece, and throwing it to +him with the air of a superior; “warm your gums wid that, for altho' I +seldom take a blast myself, I don't forget them that do.” + +“Ah, begorra,” said Harte, in an undertone that was designed to be +heard, “there's something in the ould blood still; thank you, Art, faix +it's yourself that hasn't your heart in a trifle, nor ever had. I bought +a waistcoat on Saturday last from Paddy M'Gartland, but I only tuck it +on the condition of your likin' it.” + +“Me! ha, ha, ha, well, sure enough, Syl, you're the quarest fellow +alive; why, man, isn't it yourself you have to plaise, not me.” + +“No matther for that, I'm not goin' to put my judgment in comparishment +wid yours, at any rate; an' Paddy M'Gartland himself said, 'Syl, my boy, +you know what you're about; if this patthern plaises Art Maguire, it'll +plaise anybody; see what it is,' says he, 'to have the fine high ould +blood in one's veins.' Begad he did; will you come up this evenin' about +seven o'clock, now, like a good fellow, an' pass your opinion for me? +Divil a dacent stitch I have, an' I want either it, or another, made up +before the ball night.” * + + * Country dances, or balls, in which the young men pay + from ten to fifteen pence for whiskey “to trate the + ladies.” We hope they will be abolished. + +“Well, upon my soundhers, Syl, I did not think you were such a fool; of +coorse I'll pass my opinion on it--about seven o'clock, you say.” + +“About seven--thank you, Art; an' now listen;--sure the boys intind to +play off some prank upon you afore you lave us.” + +“On me,” replied the other, reddening; “very well, Syl, let them do +so; I can bear a joke, or give a blow, as well as another; so divil may +care, such as they give, such as they'll get--only this, let there be +no attempt to make me drink whiskey, or else there may be harder hittin' +than some o' them 'ud like, an' I think they ought to know that by this +time.” + +“By jing, they surely ought; well, but can you spell mum?” + +“M-u-m.” + +“Ha, ha, ha, take care of yourself, an' don't forget seven.” + +“Never fear.” + +“Frank,” said Art, “I'm goin' up to Syl Harte's lodgin's to pass my +opinion on the patthern of a waistcoat for him.” + +“Very well,” said Frank, “of coorse.” + +“I'll not stop long.” + +“As long or short as you like, Art, my boy.” + +“I hope, Frank, you don't imagine that there's any danger of drink?” + +“Who, me--why should I, afther what passed? Didn't you give me your +word, and isn't your name Maguire? Not I.” + +Art had seen, and approved of the pattern, and was chatting with Syl, +when a knock came to the room door in which they sat; Syl rose, and +opening the door, immediately closed it after him, and began in a low +voice to remonstrate with some persons outside. At length Art could hear +the subject of debate pretty well-- + +“Sorra foot yez will put inside the room this evenin', above all +evenin's in the year.” + +“Why, sure we know he won't drink. I wish to goodness we knew he had +been here; we wouldn't ax him to drink, bekase we know he wouldn't. + +“No matther for that, sorrow foot yez'll put acrass the thrashel this +evenin'; now, I'll toll you what, Skinadre, I wouldn't this blessed +minute, for all I've earned these six months, that ye came this +evenin';--I have my raisons for it; Art Maguire is a boy that we have no +right to compare ourselves wid--you all know that.” + +“We all know it, and there's nobody denyin' it; we haven't the blood in +our veins that he has, an' blood will show itself anywhere.” + +“Well then, boys, for his sake--an' I know you'd do any day for his sake +what you wouldn't, nor what you oughtn't, for mine--for his sake, I say, +go off wid yez, and bring your liquor somewhere else, or sure wait till +to-morrow evenin'.” + +“Out of respect for Art Maguire we'll go; an' divil another boy in the +province we'd pay that respect to; good-evenin', Syl!” + +“Aisy, boys,” said Art, coming to the door, “don't let me frighten +you--come in--I'd be very sorry to be the means of spoilin' sport, +although I can't drink myself; that wouldn't be generous--come in.” + +“Augh,” said Skinadre, “by the livin' it's in him, an' I always knew it +was--the rale drop.” + +“Boys,” said Harte, “go off wid yez out o' this, I say; divil a foot +you'll come in.” + +“Arra go to--Jimmaiky; who cares about you, Syl, when we have Art's +liberty? Sure we didn't know the thing ourselves half an hour ago.” + +“Come, Syl, man alive,” said Art, “let the poor fellows enjoy their +liquor, an', as I can't join yez, I'll take my hat an' be off.” + +“I knew it, an' bad luck to yez, how yez 'ud drive him away,” said Syl, +quite angry. + +“Faix, if we disturb you, Art, we're off--that 'ud be too bad; yes, Syl, +you were right, it was very thoughtless of us: Art, we ax your pardon, +sorra one of us meant you any offence in life--come, boys.” + +Art's generosity was thus fairly challenged, and he was not to be +outdone-- + +“Aisy, boys,” said he; “sit down; I'll not go, if that'll plaise yez; +sure you'll neither eat me nor dhrink me.” + +“Well, there's jist one word you said, Slanty, that makes me submit to +it,” observed Harte, “an' that is, that it was accident your comin' at +all;” he here looked significantly at Art, as if to remind him of their +previous conversation on that day, and as he did it, his face gradually +assumed a complacent expression, as much as to say, it's now clear that +this cannot be the trap they designed for you, otherwise it wouldn't be +accidental. Art understood him, and returned a look which satisfied the +other that he did so. + +As they warmed in their liquor, or pretended to get warm, many sly +attempts to entrap him were made, every one of which was openly and +indignantly opposed by Harte, who would not suffer them to offer him a +drop. + +It is not our intention to dwell upon these matters: at present it is +sufficient to say, that after a considerable part of the evening had +been spent, Harte rose up, and called upon them all to fill their +glasses-- + +“And,” he added, “as this is a toast that ought always to bring a full +glass to the mouth, and an empty one from it, I must take the liberty of +axin Art himself to fill a bumper.” + +The latter looked at him with a good deal of real surprise, as the +others did with that which was of a very different description. + +“Skinadre,” proceeded Harte, “will you hand over the cowld wather, for +a bumper it must be, if it was vitriol.” He then filled Art's glass with +water, and proceeded--“Stand up, boys, and be proud, as you have a +right to be; here's the health of Frank Maguire, and the ould blood of +Ireland!--hip, hip, hurra!” + +“Aisy, boys,” said Art, whose heart was fired by this unexpected +compliment, paid to a brother whom he loved so well, and who, indeed, +so well, deserved his love; “aisy, boys,” he proceeded, “hand me the +whiskey; if it was to be my last, I'll never drink my brother's health +in cowld wather.” + +“Throth an' you will this time,” said Harte, “undher this roof spirits +won't crass; your lips, an' you know for why.” + +“I know but one thing,” replied Art, “that as you said yourself, if it +was vitriol, I'd dhrink it for the best brother that ever lived; I only +promised him that I wouldn't get dhrunk, an' sure, drinkin' a glass o' +whiskey, or three either, wouldn't make me dhrunk--so hand it here.” + +“Well, Art,” said Harte, “there's one man you can't blame for this, and +that is Syl Harte.” + +“No, Syl, never--but now, boys, I am ready.” + +“Frank Maguire's health! hip, hip, hurra!” + +Thus was a fine, generous-minded, and affectionate young man--who +possessed all the candor and absence of suspicion which characterize +truth--tempted and triumphed over, partly through the very warmth of +his own affections, by a set of low, cunning profligates, who felt only +anxious to drag him down from the moral superiority which they felt +he possessed. That he was vain, and fond of praise, they knew, and our +readers may also perceive that it was that unfortunate vanity which +gave them the first advantage over him, by bringing him, through its +influence, among them. Late that night he was carried home on a door, in +a state of unconscious intoxication. + +It is utterly beyond our power to describe the harrowing state of +his sensations on awakening the next morning. Abasement, repentance, +remorse, all combined as they were within him, fall far short of what +he felt; he was degraded in his own eyes, deprived of self-respect, and +stripped of every claim to the confidence of his brother, as he was +to the well-known character for integrity which had been until then +inseparable from the name. That, however, which pressed upon him with +the most intense bitterness was the appalling reflection that he could +no longer depend upon himself, nor put any trust in his own resolutions. +Of what use was he in the world without a will of his own, and the power +of abiding by its decisions? None; yet what was to be done? He could not +live out of the world, and wherever he went, its temptations would beset +him. Then there was his beloved Margaret Murray! was he to make her the +wife of a common drunkard? or did she suspect, when she pledged herself +to him, that she was giving away her heart and affections to a poor +unmanly sot, who had not sense or firmness to keep himself sober? He +felt in a state between distraction and despair, and putting his hands +over his face, he wept bitterly. To complete the picture, his veins +still throbbed with the dry fever that follows intoxication, his stomach +was in a state of deadly sickness and loathing, and his head felt +exactly as if it would burst or fly asunder. + +Alas! had his natural character been properly understood and judiciously +managed; had he been early taught to understand and to control his +own obvious errors; had the necessity of self-reliance, firmness, and +independence been taught him; had his principles not been enfeebled +by the foolish praise of his family, nor his vanity inflated by their +senseless appeals to it--it is possible, nay, almost certain, that he +would, even at this stage of his life, have been completely free +from the failings which are beginning even now to undermine the whole +strength of his moral constitution. + +Frank's interview with him on this occasion was short but significant-- + +“Art,” said he, “you know I never was a man of many words; and I'm +not goin' to turn over a new lafe now. To scould you is not my +intention--nor to listen to your promises. All I have to say is, that +you have broken your word, and disgraced your name. As for me, I can put +neither confidence nor trust in you any longer; neither will I.” + +A single tear was visible on his cheek as he passed out of the room; +and when he did, Art's violent sobs were quite audible. Indeed, if truth +must be told, Frank's distress was nearly equal to his brother's. +What, however, was to be done? He was too ill to attend his business, +a circumstance which only heightened his distress; for he knew that +difficult as was the task of encountering his master, and those who +would only enjoy his remorse, still even that was less difficult to +be borne than the scourge of his own reflections. At length a thought +occurred, which appeared to give him some relief; that thought he felt +was all that now remained to him, for as it was clear that he could no +longer depend on himself, it was necessary that he should find something +else on which to depend. He accordingly sent an intimation to his master +that he wished to have a few minutes' conversation with him, if he could +spare time; M'Carroll accordingly came, and found him in a state which +excited the worthy man's compassion. + +“Well, Art,” said he, “what is it you wish to speak to me about? I hear +you were drunk last night. Now I thought you had more sense than to let +these fellows put you into such a pickle. I have a fine, well-conducted +set of men in general; but there is among them a hardened, hackneyed +crew, who, because they are good workmen, don't care a curse about +either you or me, or anybody else. They're always sure of employment, if +not here, at least elsewhere, or, indeed, anywhere.” + +“But it wasn't their fault,” replied Art, “it was altogether my own; +they were opposed to my drinkin' at all, especially as they knew that I +promised Frank never to get drunk agin. It was when Syl Harte proposed +Frank's health, that I drank the whiskey in spite o' them.” + +“Syl Harte,” said his master with a smile, “ay, I was thinkin' so; well, +no matter, Art, have strength and resolution not to do the like again.” + +“But that's the curse, sir,” replied the young man, “I have neither the +one nor the other, and it's on that account I sent for you.” + +“How is that, Art?” + +“Why,” said the other, “I am goin' to bind myself--I am goin' to swear +against it, and so to make short work of it, and for fraid any one might +prevent me”--he blessed himself, and proceeded--“I now, in the presence +of God, swear upon this blessed manwil (* Manual) that a drop of +spirituous drink, or liquor of any kind, won't cross my lips for the +next seven years, barrin' it may be necessary as medicine;” he then +kissed the book three times, blessed himself again, and sat down +considerably relieved. + +“Now,” he added, “you may tell them what I've done; that's seven years' +freedom, thank God; for I wouldn't be the slave of whiskey--the greatest +of tyrants--for the wealth of Europe.” + +“No, but the worst of it is, Art,” replied his m ister, who was an +exceedingly shrewd man, “that whiskey makes a man his own tyrant and +his own slave, both at the same time, and that's more than the greatest +tyrant that ever lived did yet. As for yourself, you're not fit to work +any this day, so I think you ought to take a stretch across the country, +and walk off the consequence of your debauch with these fellows last +night.” + +Art now felt confidence and relief; he had obtained the very precise aid +of which he stood in need. The danger was now over, and a prop placed +under his own feeble resolution, on which he could depend with safety; +here there could be no tampering with temptation; the matter was clear, +explicit, and decisive: so far all was right, and, as we have said, his +conscience felt relieved of a weighty burden. + +His brother, on hearing it from his own lips, said little, yet that +little was not to discourage him; he rather approved than otherwise, but +avoided expressing any very decided opinion on it, one way or the other. + +“It's a pity,” said he, “that want of common resolution should drive +a man to take an oath; if you had tried your own strength, a little +farther, Art, who knows but you might a' gained a victory without it, +and that would be more creditable and manly than swearin'; still, the +temptation to drink is great to some people, and this prevents all +possibility of fallin' into it.” + +Art, who, never having dealt in any thing disingenuous himself, was slow +to credit duplicity in others, did not once suspect that the profligates +had played him off this trick, rather to annoy the brother than himself. +It was, after all, nothing but the discreditable triumph of cunning and +debased minds, over the inexperience, or vanity, if you will, of one, +who, whatever his foibles might be, would himself scorn to take an +ungenerous advantage of confidence reposed in him in consequence of his +good opinion and friendly feeling. + +The period of their apprenticeship, however, elapsed, and the day at +length arrived for their departure from the Corner House. Their master, +and, we may add, their friend, solicited them to stop with him still as +journeymen; but, as each had a different object in view, they declined +it. Art proposed to set up for himself, for it was indeed but natural +that one whose affections had been now so long engaged, should wish, +with as little delay as possible, to see himself possessed of a home +to which he might bring his betrothed wife. Frank had not trusted to +chance, or relied merely upon vague projects, like his brother; for, +some time previous to the close of his apprenticeship, he had been +quietly negotiating the formation of a partnership with a carpenter who +wanted a steady man at the helm. The man had capital himself, and +was clever enough in his way, but then he was illiterate, and utterly +without method in conducting his affairs; Frank was therefore the +identical description of person he stood in need of, and, as the +integrity of his family was well known--that integrity which they +felt so anxious to preserve without speck--there was of course little +obstruction in the way of their coming to terms. + +On the morning of the day on which they left his establishment, +M'Carroll came into the workshop while they were about bidding farewell +to their companions, with whom they had lived--abating the three or four +pranks that were played off upon Art--on good and friendly terms, and +seeing that they were about to take their departure, he addressed them +as follows:-- + +“I need not say,” he proceeded, “that I regret you are leaving me; which +I do, for, without meaning any disrespect to those present, I am bound +to acknowledge that two better workmen, or two honester young men, were +never in my employment. Art, indeed is unsurpassed, considering his +time, and that he is only closing his apprenticeship: 'tis true, he has +had good opportunities--opportunities which, I am happy to say, he has +never neglected. I am in the habit, as you both know, of addressing +a few words of advice to my young men at the close of their +apprenticeships, and when they are entering upon the world as you are +now. I will therefore lay down a few simple rules for your guidance, +and, perhaps, by following them, you will find yourselves neither the +worse nor the poorer men. + +“Let the first principle then of your life, both as mechanics, and men, +be truth--truth in all you think, in all you say, and in all you do; if +this should fail to procure you the approbation of the world, it will +not fail to procure you your own, and, what is better, that of God. Let +your next principle be industry--honest, fair, legitimate industry, to +which you ought to annex punctuality--for industry without +punctuality is but half a virtue. Let your third great principle be +sobriety--strict and undeviating sobriety; a mechanic without sobriety, +so far from being a benefit or an ornament to society, as he ought to +be, is a curse and a disgrace to it; within the limits of sobriety all +the rational enjoyments of life are comprised, and without them are +to be found all those which desolate society with crime, indigence, +sickness, and death. In maintaining sobriety in the world, and +especially among persons of your own class, you will certainly have much +to contend with; remember that firmness of character, when acting upon +right feeling and good sense, will enable you to maintain and work out +every virtuous and laudable purpose which you propose to effect. Do not, +therefore, suffer yourselves to be shamed from sobriety, or, indeed, +from any other moral duty, by the force of ridicule; neither, on the +other hand, must you be seduced into it by flattery, or the transient +gratification of social enjoyment. I have, in fact, little further to +add; you are now about to become members of society, and to assume +more distinctly the duties which it imposes on you. Discharge them all +faithfully--do not break your words, but keep your promises, and respect +yourselves, remember that self-respect is a very different thing +from pride, or an empty overweening vanity--self-respect is, in fact, +altogether incompatible with them, as they are with it; like opposite +qualities, they cannot abide in the same individual. Let me impress +it on you, that these are the principles by which you must honorably +succeed in life, if you do succeed; while by neglecting them, you must +assuredly fail. 'Tis true, knavery and dishonesty are often successful, +but it is by the exercise of fraudulent practices, which I am +certain you will never think of carrying into the business of life--I +consequently dismiss this point altogether, as unsuitable to either +of you. I have only to add, now, that I hope most sincerely you will +observe the few simple truths I have laid down to you; and I trust, that +ere many years pass, I may live to see you both respectable, useful, +and independent members of society. Farewell, and may you be all we wish +you!” + +Whether this little code of useful doctrine was equally observed by +both, will appear in the course of our narrative. + +About a month or so before the departure of Frank and Art from the +Corner House, Jemmy Murray and another man were one day in the beginning +of May strolling through one of his pasture-fields. His companion was +a thin, hard-visaged little fellow, with a triangular face, and dry +bristly hair, very much the color of, and nearly as prickly as, a +withered furze bush; both, indeed, were congenial spirits, for it is +only necessary to say, that he of the furze bush was another of those +charital and generous individuals whose great delight consisted, like +his friend Murray, in watching the seasons, and speculating upon the +failure of the crops. He had the reputation of being wealthy, and +in fact was so; indeed, of the two, those who had reason to know, +considered that he held the weightier purse; his name was Cooney +Finigan, and the object of his visit to Murray--their conversation, +however, will sufficiently develop that. Both, we should observe, +appeared to be exceedingly blank and solemn; Cooney's hard face, as he +cast his eye about him, would have made one imagine that he had just +buried the last of his family, and Murray looked as if he had a son +about to be hanged. The whole cause of this was simply that a finer +season, nor one giving ampler promise of abundance, had not come within +the memory of man. + +“Ah!” said Murray, with a sigh, “look, Cooney, at the distressin' growth +of grass that's there--a foot high if it's an inch! If God hasn't sed +it, there will be the largest and heaviest crops that ever was seen in +the country; heigho!” + +“Well, but one can't have good luck always,” replied Cooney; “only it's +the wondherful forwardness of the whate that's distressin' me.” + +“An' do you think that I'm sufferin' nothin' on that account?” asked +his companion; “only you haven't three big stacks of hay waitin' for a +failure, as I have.” + +“That's bekase I have no meadow on my farm,” replied Cooney; “otherwise +I would be in the hay trade as well as yourself.” + +“Well, God help us, Cooney! every one has their misfortunes as well as +you and I; sure enough, it's a bitther business to see how every thing's +thrivin'--hay, oats, and whate! why they'll be for a song: may I never +get a bad shillin', but the poor 'ill be paid for takin' them! that's +the bitther pass things will come to; maurone ok! but it's a black +lookout!” + +“An' this rain, too,” said Cooney, “so soft, and even, and small, and +warm, that it's playin' the very devil. Nothin' could stand it. Why it +ud make a rotten twig grow if it was put into the ground.” + +“Divil a one o' me would like to make the third,” said Murray, “for +'fraid I might have the misfortune to succeed. Death alive! Only think +of my four arks, of meal, an' my three stacks of hay, an' divil a pile +to come out of them for another twelve months!” + +“It's bad, too bad, I allow,” said the other; “still let us not despair, +man alive; who knows but the saison may change for the worse yet. +Whish!” he exclaimed, slapping the side of his thigh, “hould up your +head, Jemmy, I have thought of it; I have thought of it.” + +“You have thought of what, Cooney?” + +“Why, death alive, man, sure there's plenty of time, God be praised for +it, for the--murdher, why didn't we think of it before? ha, ha, ha!” + +“For the what, man? don't keep us longin' for it.” + +“Why for the pratie crops to fail still; sure it's only the beginning +o' May now, and who knows but we might have the happiness to see a right +good general failure of the praties still? Eh? ha, ha, ha!” + +“Upon my sounds, Cooney, you have taken a good deal of weight off of me. +Faith we have the lookout of a bad potato crop yet, sure enough. How is +the wind? Don't you think you feel a little dry bitin' in it, as if it +came from the aist?” + +“Why, then, in regard of the dead calm that's in it, I can't exactly +say--but, let me see--you're right, divil a doubt of it; faith it is, +sure enough; bravo, Jemmy, who knows but all may go wrong wid the crops +yet.” + +“At all events, let us have a glass on the head of it, and we'll drink +to the failure of the potato craps, and God prosper the aist wind, for +it's the best for you an' me, Cooney, that's goin'. Come up to the house +above, and we'll have a glass on the head of it.” + +The fastidious reader may doubt whether any two men, no matter how +griping or rapacious, could prevail upon themselves to express to each +other sentiments so openly inimical to all human sympathy. In holding +this dialogue, however, the men were only thinking aloud, and giving +utterance to the wishes which every inhuman knave of their kind feels. +In compliance, however, with the objections which maybe brought against +the probability of the above dialogue, we will now give the one which +did actually occur, and then appeal to our readers whether the first is +not much more in keeping with the character of the speakers--which ought +always to be a writer's great object--than the second. Now, the reader +already knows that each of these men had three or four large arks of +meal laid past until the arrival of a failure in the crops and a season +of famine, and that Murray had three large stacks of hay in the hope of +a similar failure in the meadow crop. + +“Good-morrow, Jemmy.” + +“Good-morrow kindly, Cooney; isn't this a fine saison, the Lord be +praised!” + +“A glorious saison, blessed be His name! I don't think ever I remimber a +finer promise of the craps.” + +“Throth, nor I, the meadows is a miracle to look at.” + +“Divil a thing else--but the white, an' oats, an' early potatoes, beat +anything ever was seen.” + +“Throth, the poor will have them for a song, Jemmy.” + +“Ay, or for less, Cooney; they'll be paid for takin' them.” + +“It's enough to raise one's heart, Jemmy, just to think of it.” + +“Why then it is that, an', for the same raison, come up to the house +above, and we'll have a sup on the head of it; sure, it's no harm to +drink success to the craps, and may God prevent a failure, any how.” + +“Divil a bit.” + +Now, we simply ask the reader which dialogue is in the more appropriate +keeping with the characters of honest, candid Jemmy and Cooney? + +“And now,” proceeded Cooney, “regard-in' this match between your +youngest daughter Margaret, and my son Toal.” + +“Why, as for myself,” replied Murray, “sorra much of objection I have +aginst it, barrin' his figure; if he was about a foot and a half +higher, and a little betther made--God pardon me, an' blessed be the +maker--there would, at all events, be less difficulty in the business, +especially with Peggy herself.” + +“But couldn't you bring her about?” + +“I did my endayvors, Cooney; you may take my word I did.” + +“Well, an' is she not softenin' at all?” + +“Upon my sounds, Cooney, I cannot say she is. If I could only get her to +spake one sairious word on the subject, I might have some chance; but I +cannot, Cooney; I think both you an' little Toal had betther give it up. +I doubt there's no chance.” + +“Faith an' the more will be her loss. I tell you, Jemmy, that he'd outdo +either you or me as a meal man. What more would you want?” + +“He's cute enough, I know that.” + +“I tell you you don't know the half of it. It's the man that can make +the money for her that you want.” + +“But aginst that, you know, it's Peggy an' not me that's to marry him. +Now, you know that women often--though not always, I grant--wish to +have something in the appearance of their husband that they needn't be +ashamed to look at.” + +“That's the only objection that can bo brought against him. He's the boy +can make the money; I'm a fool to him. I'll tell you what, Jemmy Murray, +may I never go home, but he'd skin a flint. Did you hear anything? Now!” + +Murray, who appeared to be getting somewhat tired of this topic, replied +rather hastily-- + +“Why, Cooney Finnigan, if he could skin the devil himself and ait him +afterwards, she wouldn't have him. She has refused some of the best +looking young men in the parish, widout either rhyme or raison, an' I'm +sure she's not goin' to take your leprechaun of a son, that you might +run a five-gallon keg between his knees. Sure, bad luck to the thing his +legs resemble but a pair of raipin' hooks, wid their backs outwards. Let +us pass this subject, and come in till we drink a glass together.” + +“And so you call my son a leprechaun, and he has legs like raipin' +hooks!” + +“Ha, ha, ha! Come in, man alive; never mind little Toal.” + +“Like raipin' hooks! I'll tell you what, Jemmy, I say now in sincerity, +that there is every prospect of a plentiful sayson; and that there may, +I pray God this day; meadows an' all--O above all, the meadows, for I'm +not in the hay business myself.” + +“So,” said Murray, laughing, “you would cut off your nose to vex your +face.” + +“I would any day, even if should suffer myself by it; and now good-bye, +Jemmy Murray, to the dioual I pitch the whole thing! Rapin' hooks!” + And as he spoke, off went the furious little extortioner, irretrievably +offended. + +The subject of Margaret's marriage, however, was on that precise period +one on which her father and friends had felt and expressed much concern. +Many proposals had been made for her hand during Art's apprenticeship; +but each and all not only without success, but without either hope or +encouragement. Her family were surprised and grieved at this, and the +more so, because they could not divine the cause of it. Upon the subject +of her attachment to Maguire, she not only preserved an inviolable +silence herself, but exacted a solemn promise from her lover that he +should not disclose it to any human being. Her motive, she said, for +keeping their affection and engagement to each other secret, was to +avoid being harassed at home by her friends and family, who, being once +aware of the relation in which she stood towards Art, would naturally +give her little peace. She knew very well that her relations would not +consent to such a union, and, in point of mere prudence and forethought, +her conduct was right, for she certainly avoided much intemperate +remonstrance, as afterwards proved to be the case when she mentioned it. +Her father on this occasion having amused them at home by relating the +tift which had taken place between Cooney Finnigan and himself, which +was received with abundant mirth by them all, especially by Margaret, +seriously introduced the subject of her marriage, and of a recent +proposal which had been made to her. + +“You are the only unmarried girl we have left now,” he said, “and surely +you ought neither to be too proud nor too saucy to refuse such a match +as Mark Hanratty--a young man in as thrivin' a business as there is in +all Ballykeerin; hasn't he a good shop, good business, and a good back +of friends in the country that will stand to him, an' only see how he +has thruv these last couple o' years. What's come over you at all? or do +you ever intend to marry? you have refused every one for so far widout +either rhyme or raison. Why, Peggy, what father's timper could stand +this work?” + +“Ha, ha, ha! like raipin' hooks, father--an' so the little red rogue +couldn't bear that? well, at all events, the comparison's a good +one--sorra better; ha, ha, ha--reapin' hooks!” + +“Is that the answer you have for me?” + +“Answer!” said Margaret, feigning surprise, “what about?” + +“About Mark Hanmity.” + +“Well, but sure if he's fond of me, hell have no objection to wait.” + +“Ay, but if he does wait, will you have him?” + +“I didn't promise that, and, at any rate, I'd not like to be a +shopkeeper's wife.” + +“Why not?” + +“Why, he'd be puttin' me behind the counter, and you know I'd be too +handsome for that; sure, there's Thogue Nugent that got the handsome +wife from Dublin, and of a fair, or market-day, for one that goes in to +buy anything, there goes ten in to look at her. Throth, I think he ought +to put her in the windy at once, just to save trouble, and give the +people room.” + +“Ha, ha, ha! well, you're the dickens of a girl, sure enough; but come, +avourneen, don't be makin' me laugh now, but tell me what answer I'm to +give Mark.” + +“Tell him to go to Dublin, like Thogue; he lives in the upper part of +the town, and Thogue in the lower, and then there will be a beauty in +each end of it.” + +“Suppose I take it into my head to lose my temper, Peggy, maybe I'd make +you spake then?” + +“Well, will you give me a peck o' mail for widow Dolan?” + +“No, divil a dust.” + +“Sure I'll pay you--ha, ha, ha!” + +“Sure you'll pay me! mavrone, but it's often you've said that afore, +and divil a cross o' Your coin ever we seen yet; faith, it's you that's +heavily in my debt, when I think of all ever you promised to pay me.” + +“Very well, then; no meal, no answer.” + +“And will you give me an answer if I give you the meal?” + +“Honor bright, didn't I say it.” + +“Go an' get it yourself then, an' see now, don't do as you always do, +take double what you're allowed.” + +Margiret, in direct violation of this paternal injunction, did most +unquestionably take near twice the stipulated quantity for the widow, +and, in order that there might be no countermand on the part of her +father, as sometimes happened, she sent it off with one of the servants +by a back way, so that he had no opportunity of seeing how far +her charity had carried her beyond the spirit and letter of her +instructions. + +“Well,” said he, when she returned, “now for the answer; and before you +give it, think of the comfort you'll have with him--how fine and nicely +furnished his house is--he has carpets upon the rooms, ay, an' upon my +sounds, on the very stairs itself! faix it's you that will be in state. +Now, acushla, let us hear your answer.” + +“It's very short, father; I won't have him.” + +“Won't have him! and in the name of all that's unbiddable and undutiful, +who will you have, if one may ax that, or do you intend, to have any one +at all, or not?” + +“Let me see,” she said, putting the side of her forefinger to her lips, +“what day is this? Thursday. Well, then, on this day month, father, I'll +tell my mother who I'll have, or, at any rate, who I'd wish to have; +but, in the mean time, nobody need ask me anything further about it till +then, for I won't give any other information on the subject.” + +The father looked very seriously into the fire for a considerable time, +and was silent; he then drew his breath lengthily, tapped the table a +little with his fingers, and exclaimed--“A month! well, the time will +pass, and, as we must wait, why we must, that's all.” + +Matters lay in this state until the third day before the expiration +of the appointed time, when Margaret, having received from Art secret +intelligence of his return, hastened to a spot agreed upon between them, +that they might consult each other upon what ought to be done under +circumstances so critical. + +After the usual preface to such tender discussions, Art listened with +a good deal of anxiety, but without the slightest doubt of her firmness +and attachment, to an account of the promise she had given her father. + +“Well, but, Margaret darlin',” said he, “what will happen if they +refuse?” + +“Surely, you know it is too late for them to refuse now; arn't we as +good as married--didn't we pass the Hand Promise--isn't our troth +plighted?” + +“I know that, but suppose they should still refuse, then what's to be +done? what are you and I to do?” + +“I must lave that to you, Art,” she replied archly. + +“And it couldn't be in better hands, Margaret; if they refuse their +consent, there's nothing for it but a regular runaway, and that will +settle it.” + +“You must think I'm very fond of you,” she added playfully, “and I +suppose you do, too.” + +“Margaret,” said Art, and his face became instantly overshadowed with +seriousness and care, “the day may come when I'll feel how necessary you +will be to guide and support me.” + +She looked quickly into his eyes, and saw that his mind appeared +disturbed and gloomy. + +“My dear Art,” she asked, “what is the meaning of your words, and why is +there such sadness in your face?” + +“There ought not to be sadness in it,” he said, “when I'm sure of +you--you will be my guardian angel may be yet.” + +“Art, have you any particular meanin' in what you say?” + +“I'll tell you all,” said he, “when we are married.” + +Margaret was generous-minded, and, as the reader may yet acknowledge, +heroic; there was all the boldness and bravery of innocence about her, +and she could scarcely help attributing Art's last words to some fact +connected with his feelings, or, perhaps, to circumstances which his +generosity prevented him from disclosing. A thought struck her-- + +“Art,” said she, “the sooner this is settled the better; as it is, if +you'll be guided by me, we won't let the sun set upon it; walk up with +me to my father's house, come in, and in the name of God, we'll leave +nothing unknown to him. He is a hard man, but he has a heart, and he is +better a thousand times than he is reported. I know it.” + +“Come,” said Art, “let us go; he may be richer, but there's the blood, +and the honesty, and good name of the Maguires against his wealth--” + +A gentle pressure on his arm, when he mentioned the word wealth, and he +was silent. + +“My darlin' Margaret,” said he, “oh how unworthy I am of you!” + +“Now,” said she, “lave me to manage this business my own way. Your good +sense will tell you when to spake; but whatever my father says, trate +him with respect--lave the rest to me.” + +On entering, they found Murray and his wife in the little parlor--the +former smoking his pipe, and the latter darning a pair of stockings. + +“Father,” said Margaret, “Art Maguire convoyed me home; but, indeed, I +must say, I was forced to ask him.” + +“Art Maguire. Why, then, upon my sounds, Art, I'm glad to see you. An' +how are you, man alive? an' how is Frank, eh? As grave as a jidge, as +he always was--ha, ha, ha! Take a chair, Art, and be sittin'. Peggy, +gluntha me, remimber, you must have Art at your weddin'. It's now widin +three days of the time I'm to know who he is; and upon my sounds, I'm +like a hen on a hot griddle till I hear it.” + +“You're not within three days, father.” + +“But I say I am, accordin' to your own countin'.” + +“You're not within three hours, father;”--her face 'glowed, and her +whole system became vivified with singular and startling energy as she +spoke;--“no, you are not within three hours, father; not within three +minutes, my dear father; for there stands the man,” she said, pointing +to Art. She gave three or four loud hysterical sobs, and then stood +calm, looking not upon her father, but upon her lover; as much as to +say, Is this love, or is it not? + +Her mother, who was a quiet, inoffensive creature, without any principle +or opinion whatsoever at variance with those of her husband, rose upon +hearing this announcement; but so ambiguous were her motions, that +we question whether the most sagacious prophet of all antiquity could +anticipate from them the slightest possible clue to her opinion. The +husband, in fact, had not yet spoken, and until he had, the poor woman +did not know her own mind. Under any circumstances, it was difficult +exactly to comprehend her meaning. In fact, she could not speak three +words of common English, having probably never made the experiment a +dozen times in her life. Murray was struck for some time mute. + +“And is this the young man,” said he, at length, “that has been the +mains of preventin' you from being so well married often and often +before now?” + +“No, indeed, father,” she replied, “he was not the occasion of that; but +I was. I am betrothed to him, as he is to me, for five years.” + +“And,” said her father, “my consent to that marriage you will never +have; if you marry him, marry him, but you will marry him without my +blessin'.” + +“Jemmy Murray,” said Art, whose pride of family was fast rising, “who am +I, and who are you?” + +Margaret put her hand to his mouth, and said in a low voice-- + +“Art, if you love me, leave it to my management.” + +“Ho, Jemmy,” said the mother, addressing her husband, “only put +your ears to this! _Ho, dher manim_, this is that skamin' piece of +_feasthealagh_ (* nonesense) they call _grah_ (*love). Ho, by my +sowl, it shows what moseys they is to think that--what's this you call +it?--low-lov-loaf, or whatsomever the devil it is, has to do wid makin' +a young couple man and wife. Didn't I hate the ground you stud on when +I was married upon you? but I had the _airighid_. Ho, faix, I had the +shiners.” + +“Divil a word o' lie in that, Madjey, asthore. You had the money, an' +I got it, and wern't we as happy, or ten times happier, than if we had +married for love?” + +“To be sartin we am; an' isn't we more unhappier now, nor if we had got +married for loaf, glory be to godness!” + +“Father,” said Margaret, anxious to put an end to this ludicrous debate, +“this is the only man I will ever marry.” + +“And by Him that made me,” said her father, “you will never have my +consent to that marriage, nor my blessin'.” + +“Art,” said she, “not one word. Here, in the presence of my father and +mother, and in the presence of God himself, I say I will be your wife, +and only yours.” + +“And,” said her father, “see whether a blessin' will attend a marriage +where a child goes against the will of her parents.” + +“I'm of age now to think and act for myself, father; an' you know this +is the first thing I ever disobeyed you in, an' I hope it 'ill be the +last. Am I goin' to marry one that's discreditable to have connected +with our family? So far from that, it is the credit that is comin' to +us. Is a respectable young man, without spot or stain on his name, with +the good-will of all that know him, and a good trade--is such a person, +father, so very high above us? Is one who has the blood of the great +Fermanagh Maguires in his veins not good enough for your daughter, +because you happen to have a few bits of metal that he has not? Father, +you will give us your consent an' your blessin' too; but remember that +whether you do, or whether you don't, I'll not break my vow; I'll marry +him.” + +“Margaret,” said the father, in a calm, collected voice, “put both +consent and blessin' out of the question; you will never have either +from me.” + +“Ho _dher a Ihora heena_,” exclaimed the mother, “I'm the boy for one +that will see the buckle crossed against them, or I'd die every day +this twelve months upon the top and tail o' Knockmany, through wind an' +weather. You darlin' scoundrel,” she proceeded, addressing Art, in what +she intended to be violent abuse--“God condemn your sowl to happiness, +is I or am my husband to be whillebelewin' on your loaf? Eh, answer us +that, if you're not able, like a man, as you is?” + +Margaret, whose humor and sense of the ludicrous were exceedingly +strong, having seldom heard her mother so excited before, gave one arch +look at Art, who, on the contrary, felt perfectly confounded at the +woman's language, and in that look there was a kind of humorous entreaty +that he would depart. She nodded towards the door, and Art, having shook +hands with her, said-- + +“Good-by, Jemmy Murray, I hope you'll change your mind still; your +daughter never could got any one that loves her as I do, or that could +treat her with more tendherness and affection.” + +“Be off, you darlin' vagabone,” said Mrs. Murray, “the heavens be your +bed, you villain, why don't you stay where you is, an' not be malivogin +an undacent family this way.” + +“Art Maguire,” replied Murray, “you heard my intention, and I'll never +change it.” Art then withdrew. + +Our readers may now anticipate the consequences of the preceding +conversation. Murray and his wife having persisted in their refusal to +sanction Margaret's marriage with Maguire, every argument and influence +having been resorted to in vain, Margaret and he made what is termed +a runaway match of it, that is, a rustic elopement, in which the young +couple go usually to the house of some friend, under the protection +of whose wife the female remains until her marriage, when the husband +brings her home. + +And now they commence life. No sooner were they united, than Art, +feeling what was due to her who had made such and so many sacrifices for +him, put his shoulder to the wheel with energy and vigor. Such aid as +his father could give him, he did give; that which stood him most in +stead, however, was the high character and unsullied reputation of his +own family. Margaret's conduct, which was looked upon as a proof of +great spirit and independence, rendered her, if possible, still better +loved by the people than before. But, as we said, there was every +confidence placed in Art, and the strongest hopes of his future success +and prosperity in life expressed by all who knew him; and this was +reasonable. Here was a young man of excellent conduct, a first-rate +workman, steady, industrious, quiet, and, above all things, sober; for +the three or four infractions of sobriety that took place during his +apprenticeship, had they even been generally known, would have been +reputed as nothing; the truth is, that both he and Margaret commenced +life, if not with a heavy purse, at least with each a light heart. He +immediately took a house in Ballykeerin, and, as it happened that a +man of his own trade, named Davis, died about the same time of lockjaw, +occasioned by a chisel wound in the ball of the thumb, as a natural +consequence, Art came in for a considerable portion of his business; +so true is it, that one man's misfortune is another man's making. His +father did all he could for him, and Margaret's sisters also gave them +some assistance, so that, ere the expiration of a year, they found +themselves better off than they had reason to expect, and, what crowned +their happiness--for they were happy--was the appearance of a lovely +boy, whom, after his father, they called. Arthur. Their hearts had not +much now to crave after--happiness was theirs, and health; and, to make +the picture still more complete, prosperity, as the legitimate reward +of Art's industry and close attention to business, was beginning to dawn +upon them. + +One morning, a few months after this time, as she sat with their lovely +babe in her arms, the little rogue playing with the tangles of her raven +hair, Art addressed her in the fulness of as affectionate a heart as +ever beat in a human bosom:-- + +“Well, Mag,” said he, “are you sorry for not marryin' Mark Hanratty?” + +She looked at him, and then at their beautiful babe, which was his +image, and her lip quivered for a moment; she then smiled, and kissing +the infant, left a tear upon its face. + +He started, “My God, Margaret,” said he, “what is this?” + +“If that happy tear,” she replied, “is a proof of it, I am.” + +Art stooped, and kissing her tenderly, said--“May God make me, and keep +me worthy of you, my darling wife!” + +“Still, Art,” she continued, “there is one slight drawback upon my +happiness, and that is, when it comes into my mind that in marryin' you, +I didn't get a parent's blessin'; it sometimes makes my mind sad, and I +can't help feelin' so.” + +“I could wish you had got it myself,” replied her husband, “but you know +it can't be remedied now.” + +“At all events,” she said, “let us live so as that we may desarve it; it +was my first and last offence towards my father and mother.” + +“And it's very few could say as much, Mag, dear; but don't think of it, +sure, may be, he may come about yet.” + +“I can hardly hope that,” she replied, “after the priest failin'.” + +“Well, but,” replied her husband, taking up the child in his arms, “who +knows what this little man may do for us--who knows, some day, but we'll +send a little messenger to his grandfather for a blessin' for his mammy +that he won't have the heart to refuse.” + +This opened a gleam of satisfaction in her mind. She and her husband +having once more kissed the little fellow, exchanged glances of +affection, and he withdrew to his workshop. + +Every week and month henceforth added to their comfort. Art advanced in +life, in respectability, and independence; he was, indeed, a pattern +to all tradesmen who wish to maintain in the world such a character +as enforces esteem and praise; his industry was incessant, he was ever +engaged in something calculated to advance himself; up early and +down late was his constant practice--no man could exceed, him in +punctuality--his word was sacred--whatever he said was done; and so +general were his habits of industry, integrity, and extreme good conduct +appreciated, that he was mentioned as a fresh instance of the high +character sustained by all who had the old blood of the Fermanagh +Maguires in their veins. In this way he proceeded, happy in the +affections of his admirable wife--happy in two lovely children--happy in +his circumstances--in short, every way happy, when, to still add to that +happiness, on the night of the very day that closed the term of his oath +against liquor--that closed the seventh year--his wife presented him +with their third child, and second daughter. + +In Ireland there is generally a very festive spirit prevalent during +christenings, weddings, or other social meetings of a similar nature; +and so strongly is this spirit felt, that it is--or was, I should rather +say--not at all an unusual thing for a man, when taking an oath +against liquor, to except christenings or weddings, and very frequently +funerals, as well as Christmas and Easter. Every one acquainted with +the country knows this, and no one need be surprised at the delight with +which Art Maguire hailed this agreeable coincidence. Art, we have said +before, was naturally social, and, although he did most religiously +observe his oath, yet, since the truth must be told, we are bound +to admit that, on many and many an occasion, he did also most +unquestionably regret the restraint that he had placed upon himself with +regard to liquor. Whenever his friends were met together, whether at +fair, or market, wedding, christening, or during the usual festivals, it +is certain that a glass of punch or whiskey never crossed his nose +that he did not feel a secret hankering after it, and would often have +snuffed in the odor, or licked his lips at it, were it not that he +would have considered the act as a kind of misprision of perjury. Now, +however, that he was free, and about to have a christening in his house, +it was at least only reasonable that he should indulge in a glass, +if only for the sake of drinking the health of “the young lady.” His +brother Frank happened to be in town that evening, and Art prevailed on +him to stop for the night. + +“You must stand for the young colleen, Frank,” said he, “and who do you +think is to join you?” + +“Why, how could I guess?” replied Frank. + +“The sorra other but little Toal Finnigan, that thought to take Margaret +from me, you renumber.” + +“I remimber he wanted to marry her, and I know that he's the most +revengeful and ill-minded little scoundrel on the face of the earth; if +ever there was a devil in a human bein', there's one in that misshapen +but sugary little vagabone. His father was bad enough when he was +alive, and worse than he ought to be, may God forgive him now, but this +spiteful skinflint, that's a curse to the poor of the country, as he is +their hatred, what could tempt you to ax him to stand for any child of +yours?” + +“He may be what he likes, Frank, but all I can say is, that I found +him civil and obligin', an' you know the devil's not so black as he's +painted.” + +“I know no such thing, Art,” replied the other; “for that matter, he may +be a great deal blacker; but still I'd advise you to have nothing to say +to Toal--he's a bad graft, egg and bird; but what civility did he ever +show you?” + +“Why, he--he's a devilish pleasant little fellow, any way, so he is; +throth it's he that spakes well of you, at any rate; if he was ten +times worse than he is, he has a tongue in his head that will gain him +friends.” + +“I see, Art,” said Frank, laughing, “he has been layin' it thick an' +sweet on you. My hand to you, there's not so sweet-tongued a knave in +the province; but mind, I put you on your guard--he's never pure honey +all out, unless where there's bitther hatred and revenge at the bottom +of it--that's well known, so be advised and keep him at a distance; have +nothin' to do or to say to him, and, as to havin' him for a godfather, +why I hardly think the child could thrive that he'd stand for.” + +“It's too late for that now,”, replied Art, “for I axed him betther than +three weeks agone.” + +“An' did he consint?” + +“He did, to be sure.” + +“Well, then, keep your word to him, of coorse; but, as soon as the +christenings over, drop him like a hot potato.” + +“Why, thin, that's hard enough, Frank, so long as I find the crathur +civil.” + +“Ay, but, Art, don't I tell you that it's his civility you should be +afeard of; throth, the same civility ought to get him kicked a dozen +times a day.” + +“Faix and,” said Art, “kicked or not, here he comes; whisht! don't be +oncivil to the little bachelor at any rate.” + +“Oncivil, why should I? the little extortionin' vagabone never injured +or fleeced me; but, before he puts his nose into the house, let me +tell you wanst more, Art, that he never gets sweet upon any one that he +hasn't in hatred for them at the bottom; that's his carracther.” + +“I know it is,” said Art, “but, until I find it to be true, I'll take +the ginerous side, an' I won't believe it; he's a screw, I know, an' a +skinflint, an'--whisht! here he is.” + +“Toal Finnigan, how are you?” said Art; “I was goin' to say how is every +tether length of you, only that I think it would be impossible to get a +tether short enough to measure you.” + +“Ha, ha, ha, that's right good--divil a man livin' makes me laugh so +much as--why then, Frank Maguire too!--throth, Frank, I'm proud to see +you well--an' how are you, man? and--well, in throth I am happy to see +you lookin' so well, and in good health; an' whisper, Frank, it's your +own fau't that I'm not inquirin' for the wife and childre.” + +“An' I can return the compliment, Toal; it's a shame for both of us to +be bachelors at this time o' day.” + +“Ah,” said the little fellow, “I wasn't Frank Maguire, one of the best +lookin' boys in the barony, an' the most respected, an' why not? Well, +divil a thing afther all like the ould blood, an' if I wanted a pure +dhrop of that same, maybe I don't know where to go to look for it--maybe +I don't, I say!” + +“It's Toal's fault that he wasn't married many a year ago,” said Art; +“he refused more wives, Frank, than e'er a boy of his years from this to +Jinglety cooeh--divil a lie in it; sure he'll tell you himself.” + +Now, as Toal is to appear occasionally, and to be alluded to from time +to time in this narrative, we shall give the reader a short sketch or +outline of his physical appearance and moral character. In three words, +then, he had all his father's vices multiplied tenfold, and not one of +his good qualities, such as they were; his hair was of that nondescript +color which partakes at once of the red, the fair, and the auburn; it +was a bad dirty dun, but harmonized with his complexion to a miracle. +That complexion, indeed, was no common one; as we said, it was one +of those which, no matter how frequently it might have been scrubbed, +always presented the undeniable evidences of dirt so thorougly ingrained +into the pores of the skin, that no process could remove it, short +of flaying him alive. His vile, dingy dun bristles stood out in all +directions from his head, which was so shaped as to defy admeasurement; +the little rascal's body was equally ill-made, and as for his limbs, +we have already described them, as reaping-hooks of flesh and blood, +terminated by a pair of lark-heeled feet, as flat as smoothing-irons. +Now, be it known, that notwithstanding these disadvantages, little Toal +looked upon himself as an Adonis upon a small scale, and did certainly +believe that scarcely any female on whom he threw his fascinating eye +could resist being enamored of him. This, of course, having become +generally known, was taken advantage of, and many a merry country girl +amused both herself and others at his expenses while he imagined her to +be perfectly serious. + +“Then how did you escape at all,” said Frank--“you that the girls are so +fond of?” + +“You may well ax,” said Toal; “but at any rate, it's the divil entirely +to have them too fond of you. There's raison in every thing, but wanst +a woman takes a strong fancy to the cut of your face, you're done for, +until you get rid of her. Throth I suffered as much persecution that way +as would make a good batch o' marthyrs. However, what can one do?” + +“It's a hard case, Toal,” said Art; “an' I b'lieve you're as badly off, +if not worse, now than ever.” + +“In that respect,” replied Toal, “I'm ladin' the life of a murdherer. I +can't set my face out but there's a pursuit after me--chased an' hunted +like a bag fox; devil a lie I'm tellin' you.” + +“But do you intend to marry still, Toal?” asked Frank; “bekaise if you +don't, it would be only raisonable for you to make it generally known +that your mind's made up to die a bachelor.” + +“I wouldn't bring the penalty an' expenses of a wife an' family on me, +for the handsomest woman livin',” said Toal. “Oh no; the Lord in mercy +forbid that! Amin, I pray.” + +“But,” said Art, “is it fair play to the girls not to let that be +generally known, Toal?” + +“Hut,” replied the other, “let them pick it out of their larnin', the +thieves. Sure they parsecuted me to sich a degree, that they desarve no +mercy at my hands. So, Art,” he proceeded, “you've got another mouth to +feed! Oh, the Lord pity you! If you go on this way, what 'ill become of +you at last?” + +“Don't you know,” replied Art, “that God always fits the back to the +burden, and that he never sends a mouth but he sends something to fill +it.” + +The little extortioner shrugged his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows, +turned up his eyes--as much as to say, What a pretty notion of life you +have with such opinions as these! + +“Upon my word, Toal,” said Art, “the young lady we've got home to us is +a beauty; at all events, her godfathers need not be ashamed of her.” + +“If she's like her own father or mother,” replied Toal, once more +resuming the sugar-candy style, “she can't be anything else than a +beauty, It's well known that sich a couple never stood undher the roof +of Aughindrummon Chapel, nor walked the street of Ballykeerin.” + +Frank winked at Art, who, instead of returning the wink, as he ought +to have done, shut both his eyes, and then looked at Toal with an +expression of great compassion--as if he wished to say, Poor fellow, I +don't think he can be so bad-hearted as the world gives him credit for. + +“Come, Toal,” he replied, laughing, “none of your bother now. Ay was +there, many a finer couple under the same roof, and on the same street; +so no palaver, my man; But are you prepared to stand for the girsha? You +know it's nearly a month since I axed you?” + +“To be sure I am; but who's the midwife?” + +“Ould Kate Sharpe; as lucky a woman as ever came about one's house.” + +“Throth, then, I'm sorry for that,” said Toal, “for she's a woman I +don't like; an' I now say beforehand, that devil a traneen she'll be the +betther of me, Art.” + +“Settle that,” replied Art, “between you; at all events, be ready on +Sunday next--the christenin's fixed for it.” + +After some farther chat, Toal, who, we should have informed our readers, +had removed from his father's old residence into Ballykeerin, took his +departure, quite proud at the notion of being a godfather at all; for in +truth it was the first occasion on which he ever had an opportunity of +arriving at that honor. + +Art was a strictly conscientious man; so much so, indeed, that he never +defrauded a human being to the value of a farthing; and as for truth, +it was the standard principle of his whole life. Honesty, truth, and +sobriety are, indeed, the three great virtues upon which all that +is honorable, prosperous, and happy is founded. Art's conscientious +scruples were so strong, that although in point of fact the term of his +oath had expired at twelve o'clock in the forenoon, he would not permit +himself to taste a drop of spirits until after twelve at night. + +“It's best,” said he to his brother, “to be on the safe side at all +events: a few hours is neither one way nor the other. We haven't now +more than a quarther to go, and then for a tight drop to wet my whistle, +an' dhrink the little girshas health an' her mother's. Throth I've put +in a good apprenticehip to sobriety, anyhow. Come, Madjey,” he added, +addressing the servant-maid, “put down the kettle till we have a little +jorum of our own; Frank here and myself; and all of yez.” + +“Very little jorum will go far wid me, you know, Art,” replied his +brother; “an' if you take my advice, you'll not go beyond bounds +yourself either.” + +“Throth, Frank, an' I'll not take either yours nor any other body's, +until little Kate's christened. I think that afther a fast of seven +years I'm entitled to a stretch.” + +“Well, well,” said his brother; “I see you're on for it; but as you said +yourself a while ago, it's best to be on the safe side, you know.” + +“Why, dang it, Frank, sure you don't imagine I'm goin' to drink the town +dhry; there's raison in everything.” + +At length the kettle was boiled, and the punch made; Art took his +tumbler in hand, and rose up; he looked at it, then glanced at his +brother, who observed that he got pale and agitated. + +“What ails you?” said he; “is there any thing wrong wid you?” + +“I'm thinkin',” replied Art, “of what I suffered wanst by it; an' +besides, it's so long since I tasted it, that somehow I jist feel for +all the world as if the oath was scarcely off of me yet, or as if I was +doin' what's not right.” + +“That's mere weakness,” said Frank; “but still, if you have any scruple, +don't drink it; I bekaise the truth is, Art, you couldn't have a scruple +that will do you more good than one against liquor.” + +“Well, I'll only take this tumbler an' another to-night; and then we'll +go to bed, plase goodness.” + +His agitation then passed away, and he drank a portion of the liquor. + +“I'm thinkin', Art,” said Frank, “that it wouldn't be aisy to find two +men that has a betther right to be thankful to God for the good fortune +we've both had, than yourself and me. The Lord has been good, to me, for +I'm thrivin' to my heart's content, and savin' money every day.” + +“And glory be to his holy name,” said Art, looking with a strong sense +of religious feeling upward, “so am I; and if we both hould to this, +we'll die rich, plaise goodness. I have saved up very well, too; and +here I sit this night as happy a man as is in Europe. The world's +flowin' on me, an' I want for nothin'; I have good health, a clear +conscience, and everything that a man in my condition of life can stand +in need of, or wish for; glory be to God for it all!” + +“Amen,” said Frank; “glory be to his name for it!” + +“But, Frank,” said Art, “there's one thing that I often wonder at, an' +indeed so does every one a'most.” + +“What is that, Art?” + +“Why, that you don't think o' marryin'. Sure you have good means to +keep a wife, and rear a family now; an' of coorse we all wonder that you +don't.” + +“Indeed, to tell you the truth, Art, I don't know myself what's the +raison of it--the only wife I think of is my business; but any way, if +you was to see the patthern of married life there is undher the roof +wid me, you'd not be much in consate wid marriage yourself, if you war a +bachelor.” + +“Why,” inquired the other, “don't they agree?” + +“Ay do they, so well that they get sometimes into very close an' lovin' +grips togather; if ever there was a scald alive she's one o' them, an' +him that was wanst so careless and aisey-tempered, she has now made him +as bad as herself--has trained him regularly until he has a tongue that +would face a ridgment. Tut, sure divil a week that they don't flake one +another, an' half my time's, taken up reddin' them.” + +“Did you ever happen to get the reddin' blow? eh? ha, ha, ha!” + +“No, not yet; but the truth is, Art, that an ill-tongued wife has driven +many a husband to ruin, an' only that I'm there to pay attention to the +business, he'd be a poor drunken beggarman long ago, an' all owin' to +her vile temper.” + +“Does she dhrink?” + +“No, sorra drop--this wickedness all comes natural to her; she wouldn't +be aisy out of hot wather, and poor Jack's parboiled in it every day in +the year.” + +“Well, it's I that have got the treasure, Frank; from the day that I +first saw her face till the minute we're spakin' in, I never knew her +temper to turn--always the same sweet word, the same flow of spirits, +and the same light laugh; her love an' affection for me an' the childher +there couldn't be language found for. Come, throth we'll drink her +health in another tumbler, and a speedy uprise to her, asthore machree +that she is, an' when I think of how she set every one of her people at +defiance, and took her lot wid myself so nobly, my heart burns wid love +for her, ay, I feel my very heart burnin' widin me.” + +Two tumblers were again mixed, and Margaret's health was drunk. + +“Here's her health,” said Art, “may God grant her long life and +happiness!” + +“Amen!” responded Frank, “an' may He grant that she'll never know a +sorrowful heart!” + +Art laid down his tumbler, and covered his eyes with his hands for a +minute or two. + +“I'm not ashamed, Frank,” said he, “I'm not a bit ashamed of these +tears--she desarves them--where is her aiquil? oh, where is her +aiquil? It's she herself that has the tear for the distresses of her +fellow-creatures, an' the ready hand to relieve them; may the Almighty +shower down his blessins on her!” + +“Them tears do you credit,” replied Frank, “and although I always +thought well of you, Art, and liked you betther than any other in the +family, although I didn't say much about it, still, I tell you, I think +betther of you this minute than I ever did in my life.” + +“There's only one thing in the wide world that's throublin' her,” + said Art, “an' that is, that she hadn't her parents' blessin' when she +married me, nor since--for ould Murray's as stiff-necked as a mule, an' +the more he's driven to do a thing the less he'll do it.” + +“In that case,” observed Frank, “the best plan is to let him alone; +maybe when it's not axed for he'll give it.” + +“I wish he would,” said Art, “for Margaret's sake; it would take away a +good deal of uneasiness from her mind.” + +The conversation afterwards took several turns, and embraced a variety +of topics, till the second tumbler was finished. + +“Now,” said Art, “as there's but the two of us, and in regard of the +occasion that's in it, throth we'll jist take one more a piece.” + +“No,” replied Frank, “I never go beyant two, and you said you wouldn't.” + +“Hut, man, divil a matther for that; sure there's only ourselves two, +as I said, an' Where's the harm? Throth, it's a long time since I felt +myself so comfortable, an' besides, it's not every night we have you wid +us. Come, Frank, one more in honor of the occasion.” + +“Another drop won't cross my lips this night,” returned his brother, +firmly, “so you needn't be mixin' it.” + +“Sorra foot you'll go to bed to-night till you take another; there, now +it's mixed, so you know you must take it now.” + +“Not a drop.” + +“Well, for the sake of poor little Kate, that you're to stand for; come, +Frank, death alive, man!” + +“Would my drinkin' it do Kate any good?” + +“Hut, man alive, sure if one was to lay down the law that way upon every +thing, they might as well be out of the world at wanst; come, Frank.”' + +“No, Art, I said I wouldn't, and I won't break my word.” + +“But, sure, that's only a trifle; take the liquor; the sorra betther +tumbler of punch ever was made: it's Barney Scaddhan's whiskey.” * + + * Scaddhan, a herring, a humorous nickname bestowed + upon him, because he made the foundation of his fortune + by selling herrings. + +“An' if Barney Scaddhan keeps good whiskey, is that any rason why +I should break my word, or would you have me get dhrunk because his +liquor's betther than another man's?” + +“Well, for the sake of poor Margaret, then, an' she so fond o' you; +sure many a time she tould me that sorra brother-in-law ever she had she +likes so well, an' I know it's truth; that I may never handle a plane +but it is; dang it, Frank, don't be so stiff.” + +“I never was stiff, Art, but I always was, and always will be, firm, +when I know I'm in the right; as I said about the child, what good would +my drinkin' that tumbler of punch do Margaret? None in life; it would +do her no good, and it would do myself harm. Sure, we did drink her +health.” + +“An' is that your respect for her?” said Art, in a huff, “if that's it, +why--” + +“There's not a man livin' respects her more highly, or knows her worth +betther than I do,” replied Frank, interrupting him, “but I simply ax +you, Art, what mark of true respect would the fact of my drinkin' that +tumbler of punch be to her? The world's full of these foolish errors, +and bad ould customs, and the sooner they're laid aside, an' proper ones +put in their place, the betther.” + +“Oh, very well, Frank, the sorra one o' me will ask you to take it agin; +I only say, that if I was in your house, as you are in mine, I wouldn't +break squares about a beggarly tumbler of punch.” + +“So much the worse, Art, I would rather you would; there, now, you +have taken your third tumbler, yet you said when we sat down that you'd +confine yourself to two; is that keepin' your word? I know you may call +breakin' it now a trifle, but I tell you, that when a man begins to +break his word in trifles, he'll soon go on to greater things, and maybe +end without much regardin' it in any thing.” + +“You don't mane to say, Frank, or to hint, that ever I'd come to sich a +state as that I wouldn't regard my word.” + +“I do not; but even if I did, by followin' up this coorse you'd put +yourself in the right way of comin' to it.” + +“Throth, I'll not let this other one be lost either,” he added, drawing +over to him the tumbler which he had filled for his brother; “I've an +addition to my family--the child an' mother doin' bravely, an' didn't +taste a dhrop these seven long years; here's your health, at all events, +Frank, an' may the Lord put it into your heart to marry a wife, an' be +as happy as I am. Here, Madgey, come here, I say; take that whiskey an' +sugar, an' mix yourselves a jorum; it's far in the night, but no matther +for that--an' see, before you mix it, go an' bring my own darlin' Art, +till he dhrinks his mother's health.” + +“Why now, Art,” began his brother, “is it possible that you can have the +conscience to taich the poor boy sich a cursed habit so soon? What +are you about this minute but trainin' him up to what may be his own +destruction yet?” + +“Come now, Frank, none of your moralizin',” the truth is, that the punch +was beginning rapidly to affect his head; “none of your moralizin', +throth it's a preacher you ought to be, or a lawyer, to lay down the +law. Here, Madgey, bring him to me; that's my son, that there isn't the +like of in Ballykeerin, any way. Eh, Frank, it's ashamed of him I ought +to be, isn't it? Kiss me, Art, and then kiss your uncle Frank, the best +uncle that ever broke the world's bread is the same Frank--that's a good +boy, Art; come now, drink your darlin' mother's health in this glass of +brave punch; my mother's health, say, long life an' happiness to her! +that's a man, toss it off at wanst, bravo; arra, Frank, didn't he do +that manly? the Lord love him, where 'ud you get sich a fine swaddy as +he is of his age? Oh, Frank, what 'ud become of me if anything happened +that boy? it's a mad-house would hould me soon. May the Lord in heaven +save and guard him from all evil and clanger!” + +Frank saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him at such a +moment, for the truth is, intoxication was setting in fast, and all his +influence over him was gone. + +“Here, Atty, before you go to bed agin, jist a weeshy sup more to drink +your little sisther's health; sure Kate Sharpe brought you home a little +sisther, Atty.” + +“The boy's head will not be able to stand so much,” said Frank; “you +will make him tipsy.” + +“Divil a tipsy; sure it's only a mere draineen.” + +He then made the little fellow drink the baby's health, after which he +was despatched to bed. + +“Throth, it's in for a penny in for a pound wid myself. I know, Frank, +that--that there's something or other wrong wid my head, or at any rate +wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin'. Is everything movin', +Frank?” + +“You think so,” said Frank, “because you're fast getting tipsy--if you +arn't tipsy all out.” + +“Well, then, if I'm tip--tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by +another tumbler. Come, Frank, here's the ould blood of Ireland--the +Maguires of Fermanagh! And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become +you to drink that toast, than to be sittin' there like an oracle, as you +are; for upon my sowl, you're nearly as bad. But, Frank.” + +“Well, Art.” + +“Isn't little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow--that is--is--if +he was well made. 'There never stood,' says he, 'sich a couple in the +chapel of--of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up or +down the street of Ballykeerin--that's the chat,' says he: an' whisper, +Frank, ne--neither did there. Whe--where is Margaret's aiquil, I'd--I'd +like to know? an' as for me, I'll measure myself across the shouldhers +aginst e'er a--a man, woman, or child in--in the parish. Co--come here, +now, Frank, till I me--measure the small o' my leg ag--aginst yours; +or if--if that makes you afeard, I'll measure the--the ball of my leg +aginst the ball of yours. There's a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist +look at it.” + +“I see it; it is a powerful wrist.” + +“But feel it.” + +“Tut, Art, sure I see it.” + +“D--n it, man, jist feel it--feel the breadth of--of that bone. +Augh--that's the--the wrist; so anyhow, here's little Toal Finnigan's +health, an' I don't care what they say, I like little Toal, an' I will +like little Toal; bekaise--aise if--if he was the divil, as--as they say +he is, in disguise--ha, ha, ha! he has a civil tongue in his head.” + +He then commenced and launched out into the most extravagant praises of +himself, his wife, his children; and from these he passed to the ould +blood of Ireland, and the Fermanagh Maguires. + +“Where,” he said, “whe--where is there in the country, or anywhere else, +a family that has sich blood as ours in their veins? Very well; an' +aren't we proud of it, as we have a right to be? Where's the Maguire +that would do a mane or shabby act? tha--that's what I'd like to know. +Isn't the word of a Maguire looked upon as aiquil to--to an--another +man's oath; an' where's the man of them that was--as ever known to break +it? Eh Frank? No; stead--ed--steady's the word wid the Maguires, and +honor bright.” + +Frank was about to remind him that he had in his own person given a +proof that night that a Maguire could break his word, and commit +a disreputable action besides; but as he saw it was useless, he +judiciously declined then making any observation whatsoever upon it. + +After a good deal of entreaty, Frank succeeded in prevailing on him to +go to bed; in which, however, he failed, until Art had inflicted on +him three woful songs, each immensely long, and sung in that peculiarly +fascinating drawl, which is always produced by intoxication. At length, +and when the night was more than half spent, he assisted him to bed--a +task of very considerable difficulty, were it not that it was relieved +by his receiving from the tipsy man several admirable precepts, and an +abundance of excellent advice, touching his conduct in the world; not +forgetting religion, on which he dwelt with a maudlin solemnity of +manner, that was, or would have been to strangers, extremely ludicrous. +Frank, however, could not look upon it with levity. He understood +his brother's character and foibles too well, and feared that +notwithstanding his many admirable qualities, his vanity and want of +firmness, or, in other words, of self-dependence, might overbalance them +all. + +The next morning his brother Frank was obliged to leave betimes, and +consequently had no opportunity of advising or remonstrating with him. +On rising, he felt sick and feverish, and incapable of going into his +workshop. The accession made to his family being known, several of his +neighbors came in to inquire after the health of his wife and infant; +and as Art, when left to his own guidance, had never been remarkable +for keeping a secret, he made no scruple of telling them that he had +got drunk the night before, and was, of course, quite out of order that +morning. Among the rest, the first to come in was little Toal Finnigan, +who, in addition to his other virtues, possessed a hardness of head--by +which we mean a capacity for bearing drink--that no liquor, or no +quantity of liquor, could overcome. + +“Well,” said Toal, “sure it's very reasonable that you should be out of +ordher; after bein' seven years from it, it doesn't come so natural to +you as it would do. Howandiver, you know that there's but the one cure +for it--a hair of the same dog that bit you; and if you're afeared to +take the same hair by yourself, why I'll take a tuft of it wid you, +an' we'll dhrink the wife's health--my ould sweetheart--and the little +sthranger's.” + +“Throth I believe you're right,” said Art, “in regard to the cure; so +in the name of goodness we'll have a gauliogue to begin the day wid, an' +set the hair straight on us.” + +During that day, Art was neither drunk nor sober, but halfway between +the two states. He went to his workshop about two o'clock; but his +journeymen and apprentices could smell the strong whiskey off him, and +perceive an occasional thickness of pronunciation in his speech, which +a good deal surprised them. When evening came, however, his neighbors, +whom he had asked in, did not neglect to attend; the bottle was again +produced, and poor Art, the principle of restraint having now been +removed, re-enacted much the same scene as on the preceding night, with +this exception only, that he was now encouraged instead of being checked +or reproved. + +There were now only three days to elapse until the following Sabbath, +on which day the child was to be baptized; one of them, that is, the one +following his first intoxication with Frank, was lost to him, for, as +we have said, though not precisely drunk, he was not in a condition to +work, nor properly to give directions. The next he felt himself in much +the same state, but with still less of regret. + +“The truth is,” said he, “I won't be rightly able to do any thing till +afther this christenin', so that I may set down the remaindher o' the +week as lost; well, sure that won't break me at any rate. It's long +since I lost a week before, and we must only make up for it; afther the +christenin' I'll work double tides.” + +This was all very plausible reasoning, but very fallacious +notwithstanding; indeed, it is this description of logic which conceals +the full extent of a man's errors from, himself, and which has sent +thousands forward on their career to ruin. Had Art, for instance, been +guided by his steady and excellent brother, or, what would have been +better still, by his own good sense and firmness, he would have got up +the next morning in health, with an easy mind, and a clear conscience, +and been able to resume his work as usual. Instead of that, the +night's debauch produced its natural consequences, feverishness and +indisposition, which, by the aid of a bad proverb, and worse company, +were removed by the very cause which produced them. The second night's +debauch lost the following day, and then, forsooth, the week was nearly +gone, and it wasn't worth while to change the system, as if it was ever +too soon to mend, or as if even a single day's work were not a matter of +importance to a mechanic. Let any man who feels himself reasoning as Art +Maguire did, rest assured that there is an evil principle within him, +which, unless he strangle it by prompt firmness, and a strong conviction +of moral duty, will ultimately be his destruction. + +There was once a lake, surrounded by very beautiful scenery, to which +its waters gave a fine and picturesque effect. This lake was situated on +an elevated part of the country, and a little below it, facing the +west, was a precipice, which terminated a lovely valley, that gradually +expanded until it was lost in the rich campaign country below. From this +lake there was no outlet of water whatsoever, but its shores at the same +time were rich and green, having been all along devoted to pasture. +Now, it so happened that a boy, whose daily occupation was to tend his +master's sheep, went one day when the winds were strong, to the edge of +the lake, on the side to which they blew, and began to amuse himself by +making a small channel in the soft earth with his naked foot. This small +identation was gradually made larger and larger by the waters--whenever +the wind blew strongly in that direction--until, in the course of time, +it changed into a deep chasm, which wore away the earth that intervened +between the lake and the precipice. The result may be easily guessed. +When the last portion of the earth gave way, the waters of the lake +precipitated themselves upon the beautiful and peaceful glen, carrying +death and destruction in their course, and leaving nothing but a dark +unsightly morass behind them. So is it with the mind of man. When +he gives the first slight assent to a wrong tendency, or a vicious +resolution, he resembles the shepherd's boy, who, unconscious of the +consequences that followed, made the first small channel in the earth +with his naked foot. The vice or the passion will enlarge itself by +degrees until all power of resistance is removed; and the heart becomes +a victim to the impetuosity of an evil principle to which no assent of +the will ever should have been given. + +Art, as we have said, lost the week, and then came Sunday for the +christening. On that day, of course, an extra cup was but natural, +especially as it would put an end to his indulgence on the one hand, and +his idleness on the other. Monday morning would enable him to open a new +leaf, and as it was the last day--that is, Sunday was--why, dang it, +he would take a good honest jorum. Frank, who had a greater regard for +Art's character than it appeared Art himself had, Spoke to him privately +on the morning of the christening, as to the necessity and decency +of keeping himself sober on that day; but, alas! during this friendly +admonition he could perceive, that early as it was, his brother was +not exactly in a state of perfect sobriety. His remonstrances were very +unpalatable to Art, and as a consciousness of his conduct, added to the +nervousness produced by drink, had both combined to produce irritability +of temper, he addressed himself more harshly to his brother than he had +ever done in his life before. Frank, for the sake of peace, gave up the +task, although he saw clearly enough that the christening was likely to +terminate, at least so far as Art was concerned, in nothing less than +a drunken debauch. This, indeed, was true. Little Toal, who drank more +liquor than any two among them, and Frank himself, were the only sober +persons present, all the rest having successfully imitated the example +set them by Art, who was carried to bed at an early hour in the evening. +This was but an indifferent preparation for his resolution to commence +work on Monday morning, as the event proved. When the morning came, +he was incapable of work; a racking pain in the head, and sickness of +stomach, were the comfortable assurances of his inability. Here was +another day lost; but finding that it also was irretrievably gone, he +thought it would be no great harm to try the old cure--a hair of the +dog--as before, and it did not take much force of reasoning to persuade +himself to that course. In this manner he went on, losing day after day, +until another week was lost. At length he found himself in his workshop, +considerably wrecked and debilitated, striving with tremulous and +unsteady hands to compensate for his lost time; it was now, however, +too late--the evil habit had been contracted--the citadel had been +taken--the waters had been poisoned at their source--the small track +with the naked foot had been made. From this time forward he did little +but make resolutions to-day, which he broke tomorrow; in the course of +some time he began to drink with his own workmen, and even admitted his +apprentices to their potations. Toal Finnigan, and about six or eight +dissolute and drunken fellows, inhabitants of Ballykeerin, were his +constant companions, and never had they a drinking bout that he was +not sent for: sometimes they would meet in his own workshop, which was +turned into a tap-room, and there drink the better part of the day. Of +course the workmen could not be forgotten in their potations, and, as a +natural consequence, all work was suspended, business at a stand, time +lost, and morals corrupted. + +His companions now availed themselves of his foibles, winch they drew +out into more distinct relief. Joined to an overweening desire to +hear himself praised, was another weakness, which proved to be very +beneficial to his companions; this was a swaggering and consequential +determination, when tipsy, to pay the whole reckoning, and to treat +every one he knew. + +He was a Maguire--he was a gentleman--had the old blood in his veins, +and that he might never handle a plane, if any man present should pay a +shilling, so long as he was to the fore. This was an argument in which +he always had the best of it; his companions taking care, even if he +happened to forget it, that some chance word or hint should bring it to +his memory. + +“Here, Barney Scaddhan--Barney, I say, what's the reckonin', you sinner? +Now, Art Maguire, divil a penny of this you'll pay for--you're too +ginerous, an' have the heart of a prince.” + +“And kind family for him to have the heart of a prince, sure we all know +what the Fermanagh Maguires wor; of coorse we won't let him pay.” + +“Toal Finnigan, do you want me to rise my hand to you? I tell you that +a single man here won't pay a penny o' reckonin', while I'm to the good; +and, to make short work of it, by the contints o' the book, I'll strike +the first of ye that'll attempt it. Now!” + +“Faix, an' I for one,” said Toal, “won't come undher your fist; it's +little whiskey ever I'd drink if I did.” + +“Well, well,” the others would exclaim, “that ends it; howendiver, never +mind, Art, I'll engage we'll have our revenge on you for that--the next +meetin' you won't carry it all your own way; we'll be as stiff as you'll +be stout, my boy, although you beat us out of it now.” + +“Augh,” another would say, in a whisper especially designed for him, “by +the livin' farmer there never was one, even of the Maguires, like him, +an' that's no lie.” + +Art would then pay the reckoning with the air of a nobleman, or, if he +happened to be without money, he would order it to be scored to him, for +as yet his credit was good. + +It is wonderful to reflect how vanity blinds common sense, and turns +all the power of reason and judgment to nothing. Art was so thoroughly +infatuated by his own vanity, that he was utterly incapable of seeing +through the gross and selfish flattery with which they plied him. Nay, +when praising him, or when sticking him in for drink, as it is termed, +they have often laughed in his very face, so conscious were they that it +could be done with impunity. + +This course of life could not fail to produce suitable consequences to +his health, his reputation, and his business. His customers began to +find now that the man whose word had never been doubted, and whose +punctuality was proverbial, became so careless and negligent in +attending to his orders, that it was quite useless to rely upon his +promises, and, as a very natural consequence, they began to drop off +one after another, until he found to his cost that a great number of his +best and most respectable supporters ceased to employ him. + +When his workmen, too, saw that he had got into tippling and irregular +habits, and that his eye was not, as in the days of his industry, +over them, they naturally became careless and negligent, as did the +apprentices also. Nor was this all; the very individuals who had been +formerly remarkable for steadiness, industry, and sobriety--for Art +would then keep no other--were now, many of them, corrupted by his own +example, and addicted to idleness and drink. This placed him in a very +difficult position; for how, we ask, could he remonstrate with them so +long as he himself transgressed more flagrantly than they did? For this +reason he was often forced to connive at outbreaks of drunkenness and +gross cases of neglect, which no sober man would suffer in those whom he +employed. + +“Take care of your business, and your business will take care of you,” + is a good and a wholesome proverb, that cannot bo too strongly impressed +on the minds of the working classes. Art began to feel surprised that +his business was declining, but as yet his good sense was strong enough +to point out to him the cause of it. His mind now became disturbed, for +while he felt conscious that his own neglect and habits of dissipation +occasioned it, he also felt that he was but a child in the strong grasp +of his own propensities. This was anything but a consoling reflection, +and so long as it lasted he was gloomy, morbid, and peevish; his +excellent wife was the first to remark this, and, indeed, was the first +that had occasion to remark it, for even in this stage of his life, the +man who had never spoken to her, or turned his eye upon her, but with +tenderness and affection, now began, especially when influenced by +drink, to give manifestations of temper that grieved her to the heart. +Abroad, however, he was the same good-humored fellow as ever, with a few +rare exceptions--when he got quarrelsome and fought with his companions. +His workmen all were perfectly aware of his accessibility to flattery, +and some of them were not slow to avail themselves of it: these were +the idle and unscrupulous, who, as they resembled himself, left nothing +unsaid or undone to maintain his good opinion, and they succeeded. His +business now declined so much, that he was obliged to dismiss some of +them, and, as if he had been fated to ruin, the honest and independent, +who scorned to flatter his weaknesses, were the very persons put out +of his employment, because their conduct was a silent censure upon his +habits, and the men he retained were those whom he himself had made +drunken and profligate by his example; so true is it that a drunkard is +his own enemy in a thousand ways. + +Here, then, is our old friend Art falling fast away from the proverbial +integrity of his family--his circumstances are rapidly declining--his +business running to a point--his reputation sullied, and his +temper becoming sharp and vehement; these are strong indications of +mismanagement, neglect, and folly, or, in one word, of a propensity to +drink. + +About a year and a half has now elapsed, and Art, in spite of several +most determined resolutions to reform, is getting still worse in every +respect. It is not to be supposed, however, that during this period he +has not had visitations of strong feeling--of repentance--remorse--or +that love of drink had so easy a victory over him as one would imagine. +No such thing. These internal struggles sometimes affected him even unto +agony, and he has frequently wept bitter tears on finding himself the +victim of this terrible habit. He had not, however, the courage to +look into his own condition with a firm eye, or to examine the state of +either his heart or his circumstances with the resolution of a man who +knows that he must suffer pain by the inspection. Art could not bear the +pain of such an examination, and, in order to avoid feeling it, he had +recourse to the oblivion of drink; not reflecting that the adoption of +every such remedy for care resembles the wisdom of the man, who, when +raging under the tortures of thirst, attempted to allay them by drinking +sea-water. Drink relieved him for a moment, but he soon found that in +his case the remedy was only another name for the disease. + +It is not necessary to assure our readers that during Art's unhappy +progress hitherto, his admirable brother Frank felt wrung to the heart +by his conduct. All that good advice, urged with good feeling and good +sense, could do, was tried on him, but to no purpose; he ultimately lost +his temper on being reasoned with, and flew into a passion with Frank, +whom he abused for interfering, as he called it, in business which did +not belong to him. Notwithstanding this bluster, however, there was no +man whom he feared so much; in fact, he dreaded his very appearance, and +would go any distance out of his way rather than come in contact with +him. He felt Frank's moral ascendency too keenly, and was too bitterly +sensible of the neglect with which he had treated his affectionate and +friendly admonitions, to meet him with composure. Indeed, we must say, +that, independently of his brother Frank, he was not left to his own +impulses, without many a friendly and sincere advice. The man had been +so highly respected--his name was so stainless--his conduct so good, +so blameless; he stood forth such an admirable pattern of industry, +punctuality, and sobriety, that his departure from all these virtues +occasioned general regret and sorrow. Every friend hoped that he +would pay attention to his advice, and every friend tried it, but, +unfortunately, every friend failed. Art, now beyond the reach of +reproof, acted as every man like him acts; he avoided those who, because +they felt an interest in his welfare, took the friendly liberty of +attempting to rescue him, and consequently associated only with those +who drank with him, flattered him, skulked upon him, and laughed at him. + +One friend, however, he had, who, above all others, first in place and +in importance, we cannot overlook--that friend was his admirable and +affectionate wife. Oh, in what language can we adequately describe +her natural and simple eloquence, her sweetness of disposition, her +tenderness, her delicacy of reproof, and her earnest struggles to win +back her husband from the habits which were destroying him! And in +the beginning she was often successful for a time, and many a tear of +transient repentance has she occasioned him to shed, when she succeeded +in touching his heart, and stirring his affection for her and for their +children. + +In circumstances similar to Art's, however, we first feel our own +errors, we then feel grateful to those who have the honesty to reprove +us for them: by and by, on finding that we are advancing on the wrong +path, we begin to disrelish the advice, as being only an unnecessary +infliction of pain; having got so far as to disrelish the advice, +we soon begin to disrelish the adviser; and ultimately, we become so +thoroughly wedded to our own selfish vices, as to hate every one who +would take us out of their trammels. + +When Art found that the world, as he said, was going against him, +instead of rallying, as he might, and ought to have done, he began +to abuse the world, and attribute to it all the misfortunes which he +himself, and not the world, had occasioned him. The world, in fact, +is nothing to any man but the reflex of himself; if you treat yourself +well, and put yourself out of the power of the world, the world will +treat you well, and respect you; but if you neglect yourself, do not at +all be surprised that the world and your friends will neglect you also. +So far the world acts with great justice and propriety, and takes +its cue from your own conduct; you cannot, therefore, blame the world +without first blaming yourself. + +Two years had now elapsed, and Art's business was nearly gone; he had +been obliged to discharge the drunken fellows we spoke of, but not until +they had assisted in a great measure to complete his ruin. Two years of +dissipation, neglect of business, and drunkenness, were quite sufficient +to make Art feel that it is a much easier thing to fall into poverty and +contempt, than to work a poor man's way, from early struggle and the tug +of life, to ease and independence. + +His establishment was now all but closed; the two apprentices had +scarcely anything to do, and, indeed, generally amused themselves in +the workshop by playing Spoil Five--a fact which was discovered by Art +himself, who came on them unexpectedly one day when tipsy; but, as he +happened to be in an extremely good humor, he sat down and took a hand +along with them. This was a new element of enjoyment to him, and instead +of reproving them for their dishonest conduct, he suffered himself to +be drawn into the habit of gambling, and so strongly did this grow upon +him, that from henceforth he refused to participate in any drinking +bout unless the parties were to play for the liquor. For this he had now +neither temper nor coolness; while drinking upon the ordinary plan +with his companions, he almost uniformly paid the reckoning from sheer +vanity; or, in other words, because they managed him; but now that it +depended upon what he considered to be skill, nothing ever put him +so completely out of temper as to be put in for it. This low gambling +became a passion with him; but it was a passion that proved to be the +fruitful cause of fights and quarrels without end. Being seldom either +cool or sober, he was a mere dupe in the hands of his companions; but +whether by fair play or foul, the moment he perceived that the game had +gone against him, that moment he generally charged his opponents with +dishonesty and fraud, and then commenced a fight. Many a time has +he gone home, beaten and bruised, and black, and cut, and every way +disfigured in these vile and blackguard contests; but so inveterately +had this passion for card-playing--that is, gambling for liquor--worked +itself upon him, that he could not suffer a single day to pass without +indulging in it. Defeat of any kind was a thing he could never think of; +but for a Maguire--one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--to be beaten +at a rascally game of Spoil Five, was not to be endured; the matter was +impossible, unless by foul play, and as there was only one method of +treating those who could stoop to the practice of foul play, why he +seldom lost any time in adopting it. This was to apply the fist, and as +he had generally three or four against him, and as, in most instances, +he was in a state of intoxication, it usually happened that he received +most punishment. + +Up to this moment we have not presented Art to our readers in any other +light than that of an ordinary drunkard, seen tipsy and staggering in +the streets, or singing as he frequently was, or fighting, or playing +cards in the public-houses. Heretofore he was not before the world, and +in everybody's eye; but he had now become so common a sight in the town +of Ballykeerin, that his drunkenness was no longer a matter of surprise +to its inhabitants. At the present stage of his life he could not bear +to see his brother Frank; and his own Margaret, although unchanged and. +loving as ever, was no longer to him the Margaret that she had been. +He felt how much he had despised her advice, neglected her comfort, and +forgotten the duties which both God and nature had imposed upon him, +with respect to her and their children. These feelings coming upon him +during short intervals of reflection, almost drove him mad, and he +has often come home to her and them in a frightful and terrible +consciousness that he had committed some great crime, and that she and +their children were involved in its consequences. + +“Margaret,” he would say, “Margaret, what is it I've done aginst you and +the childre? I have done some great crime aginst you all, for surely if +I didn't, you wouldn't look as you do--Margaret, asthore, where is the +color that was in your cheeks? and my own Art here--that always pacifies +me when nobody else can--even Art doesn't look what he used to be.” + +“Well, sure he will, Art, dear,” she would reply; “now will you let me +help you to bed? it's late; it's near three o'clock; Oh Art, dear, if +you were----” + +“I won't go to bed--I'll stop here where I am, wid my head on the table, +till mornin'. Now do you know--come here, Margaret--let me hear you--do +you know, and are you sensible of the man you're married to?” + +“To be sure I am.” + +“No, I tell you; I say you are not. There is but one person in the house +that knows that.” + +“You're right, Art darlin'--you're right. Come here, Atty; go to your +father; you know what to say, avick.” + +“Well, Art,” he would continue, “do you know who your father is?” + +“Ay do I; he's one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--the greatest family +in the kingdom. Isn't that it?” + +“That's it, Atty darlin'--come an' kiss me for that; yes, I'm one of the +great Fermanagh Maguires. Isn't that a glorious thin', Atty?” + +“Now, Art, darlin', will you let me help you to bed--think of the hour +it is.” + +“I won't go, I tell you. I'll sit here wid my head on the table all +night. Come here, Atty. Atty, it's wondherful how I love you--above all +creatures livin' do I love you. Sure I never refuse to do any thing for +you, Atty; do I now?” + +“Well, then, will you come to bed for me?” + +“To be sure I will, at wanst;” and the unhappy man instantly rose and +staggered into his bedroom, aided and supported by his wife and child; +for the latter lent whatever little assistance he could give to his +drunken father, whom he tenderly loved. + +His shop, however, is now closed, the apprentices are gone, and the last +miserable source of their support no longer exists. Poverty now sets +in, and want and destitution. He parts with his tools; but not for the +purpose of meeting the demands of his wife and children at home; no; +but for drink--drink--drink--drink. He is now in such a state that he +cannot, dares not, reflect, and consequently, drink is more necessary +to him than ever. His mind, however, is likely soon to be free from +the pain of thinking; for it is becoming gradually debauched and +brutified--is sinking, in fact, to the lowest and most pitiable state of +degradation. It was then, indeed, that he felt how the world deals with +a man who leaves himself depending on it. + + +[Illustration: PAGE AM1018-- They immediately expelled him] + + +His friends had now all abandoned him; decent people avoided him--he +had fallen long ago below pity, and was now an object of contempt. +His family at home were destitute; every day brought hunger--positive, +absolute want of food wherewith to support nature. His clothes were +reduced to tatters; so were those of his wife and children. His frame, +once so strong and athletic, was now wasted away to half its wonted +size; his hands were thin, tremulous, and flesh-less; his face pale and +emaciated; and his eye dead and stupid. He was now nearly alone in the +world. Low and profligate as were his drunken companions, yet even they +shunned him; and so contemptuously did they treat him, now that he was +no longer able to pay his way, or enable the scoundrels to swill at his +expense, that whenever he happened to enter Barney Scaddhan's tap, while +they were in it, they immediately expelled him without ceremony, or +Barney did it for them. He now hated home; there was nothing there for +him, but cold, naked, shivering destitution. The furniture had gone by +degrees for liquor; tables, chairs, kitchen utensils, bed and bedding, +with the exception of a miserable blanket for Margaret and the child, +had all been disposed of for about one-tenth part of their value. +Alas, what a change is this from comfort, industry, independence, and +respectability, to famine, wretchedness, and the utmost degradation! +Even Margaret, whose noble heart beat so often in sympathy with the +distresses of the poor, has scarcely any one now who will feel sympathy +with her own. Not that she was utterly abandoned by all. Many a time +have the neighbors, in a stealthy way, brought a little relief in the +shape of food, to her and her children. Sorry are we to say, however, +that there were in the town of Ballykeerin, persons whom she had herself +formerly relieved, and with whom the world went well since, who now +shut their eyes against her misery, and refused to assist her. Her lot, +indeed, was now a bitter one, and required all her patience, all her +fortitude to enable her to bear up under it. Her husband was sunk +down to a pitiable pitch, his mind consisting, as it were, only of two +elements, stupidity and ill-temper. Up until the disposal of all the +furniture, he had never raised his hand to her, or gone beyond verbal +abuse; now, however, his temper became violent and brutal. All sense +of shame--every pretext for decency--all notions of self-respect, were +gone, and nothing was left to sustain or check him. He could not look in +upon himself and find one spark of decent pride, or a single principle +left that contained the germ of his redemption. He now gave himself over +as utterly lost, and consequently felt no scruple to stoop to any +act, no matter how mean or contemptible. In the midst of all this +degradation, however, there was one recollection which he never gave up; +but alas, to what different and shameless purposes did he now prostitute +it! That which had been in his better days a principle of just pride, a +spur to industry, an impulse to honor, and a safeguard to integrity, had +now become the catchword of a mendicant--the cant or slang, as it +were, of an impostor. He was not ashamed to beg in its name--to ask +for whiskey in its name--and to sink, in its name, to the most sordid +supplications. + +“Will you stand the price of a glass? I'm Art Maguire; one of the great +Maguires of Fermanagh! Think of the blood of the Maguires, and stand +a glass. Barney Scaddhan won't trust me now; although many a pound and +penny of good money I left him.” + +“Ay,” the person accosted would reply, “an' so sign's on you; you would +be a different man to-day, had you visited Barney Scaddhan's seldomer, +or kept out of it altogether.” + +“It's not a sarmon I want; will you stand the price of a glass?” + +“Not a drop.” + +“Go to blazes, then, if you won't. I'm a betther man than ever you +wor, an' have betther blood in my veins. The great Fermanagh Maguires +forever!” + +But, hold--we must do the unfortunate man justice. Amidst all this +degradation, and crime, and wretchedness, there yet shone undimmed one +solitary virtue. This was an abstract but powerful affection for his +children, especially for his eldest son; now a fine boy about eight or +nine. In his worst and most outrageous moods--when all other influence +failed--when the voice of his own Margaret, whom he once loved--oh how +well! fell heedless upon his ears--when neither Frank, nor friend, nor +neighbor could manage nor soothe him--let but the finger of his boy +touch him, or a tone of his voice fall upon his ear, and he placed +himself in his hands, and did whatever the child wished him. + +One evening about this time, Margaret was sitting upon a small hassock +of straw, that had been made for little Art, when he began to walk. +It was winter, and there was no fire; a neighbor, however, had out of +charity lent her a few dipped rushes, that they might not be in utter +darkness. One of these was stuck against the wall, for they had no +candlestick; and oh, what a pitiable and melancholy spectacle did +its dim and feeble light present! There she sat, the young, virtuous, +charitable, and lovely Margaret of the early portion of our narrative, +surrounded by her almost naked children--herself with such thin and +scanty covering as would wring any heart but to know it. Where now was +her beauty? Where her mirth, cheerfulness, and all her lightness of +heart? Where? Let her ask that husband who once loved her so well, but +who loved his own vile excesses and headlong propensities better. There, +however, she sat, with a tattered cap on, through the rents of which her +raven hair, once so beautiful and glossy, came out in matted elf-locks, +and hung down about her thin and wasted neck. Her face was pale and +ghastly as death; her eyes were without fire--full of languor--full +of sorrow; and alas, beneath one of them, was too visible, by its +discoloration, the foul mark of her husband's brutality. To this had +their love, their tenderness, their affection come; and by what? Alas! +by the curse of liquor--the demon of drunkenness--and want of manly +resolution. She sat, as we have said, upon the little hassock, while +shivering on her bosom was a sickly-looking child, about a year old, to +whom she was vainly endeavoring to communicate some of her own natural +warmth. The others, three in number, were grouped together for the +same reason; for poor little Atty--who, though so very young, was his +mother's only support, and hope, and consolation--sat with an arm about +each, in order, as well as he could, to keep off the cold--the night +being stormy and bitter. Margaret sat rocking herself to and fro, as +those do who indulge in sorrow, and crooning for her infant the sweet +old air of “_Tha ma cullha's na dhuska me_,” or “I am asleep and don't +waken me!”--a tender but melancholy air, which had something peculiarly +touching in it on the occasion in question. + +“Ah,” she said, “I am asleep and don't waken me; if it wasn't for your +sakes, darlins, it's I that long to be in that sleep that we will +never waken from; but sure, lost in misery as we are, what could yez do +without me still?” + +“What do you mane, mammy?” said Atty; “sure doesn't everybody that goes +to sleep waken out of it?” + + +[Illustration: PAGE AM1019-- There's a sleep that nobody wakens from] + + +“No, darlin'; there's a sleep that nobody wakens from.” + +“Dat quare sleep, mammy,” said a little one. “Oh, but me's could, mammy; +will we eva have blankets?” + +The question, though simple, opened up the cheerless, the terrible +future to her view. She closed her eyes, put her hands on them, as if +she strove to shut it out, and shivered as much at the apprehension of +what was before her, as with the chilly blasts that swept through the +windowless house. + +“I hope so, dear,” she replied; “for God is good.” + +“And will he get us blankets, mammy?”. + +“Yes, darlin', I hope so.” + +“Me id rady he'd get us sometin' to ait fust, mammy; I'm starvin' wid +hungry;” and the poor child began to cry for food. + +The disconsolate mother was now assailed by the clamorous outcries of +nature's first want, that of food. She surveyed her beloved little brood +in the feeble light, and saw in all its horror the fearful impress of +famine stamped upon their emaciated features, and strangely lighting up +their little heavy eyes. She wrung her hands, and looking up silently to +heaven, wept aloud for some minutes. + +“Childre,” she said at length, “have patience, poor things, an' you'll +soon get something to eat. I sent over Nanny Hart to my sisther's, an' +when she comes back yell get something;--so have patience, darlins, till +then.” + +“But, mother,” continued little Atty, who could not understand her +allusion to the sleep from which there is no awakening; “what kind of +sleep is it that people never waken from?” + +“The sleep that's in the grave, Atty, dear; death is the sleep I mean.” + +“An' would you wish to die, mother?” + +“Only for your sake, Atty, and for the sake of the other darlins, if +it was the will of God, I would; and,” she added, with a feeling of +indescribable anguish, “what have I now to live for but to see you all +about me in misery and sorrow!” + +The tears as she spoke ran silently, but bitterly, down her cheeks. + +“When I think of what your poor lost father was,” she added, “when we +wor happy, and when he was good, and when I think of what he is now--oh, +my God, my God,” she sobbed' out, “my manly young husband, what curse +has come over you that has brought you down to this! Curse! oh, fareer +gair, it's a curse that's too well known in the country--it's the curse +that laves many an industrious man's house as ours is this bitther +night--it's the curse that takes away good name and comfort, and honesty +(that's the only thing it has left us)--that takes away the strength of +both body and mind--that banishes dacency and shame--that laves many a +widow and orphan to the marcy of an unfeelin' world--that fills the +jail and the madhouse--that brings many a man an' woman to a disgraceful +death--an' that tempts us to the commission of every evil;--that curse, +darlins, is whiskey--drinkin' whiskey--an' it is drinkin' whiskey that +has left us as we are, and that has ruined your father, and destroyed +him forever.” + +“Well, but there's no other curse over us, mother?” + +The mother paused a moment-- + +“No, darlin',” she replied; “not a curse--but my father and mother both +died, and did not give me their blessin'; but now, Atty, don't ask me +anything more about that, bekase I can't tell you.” This she added from +a feeling of delicacy to her unhappy husband, whom, through all his +faults and vices, she constantly held up to her children as an object of +respect, affection, and obedience. + +Again the little ones were getting importunate for food, and their cries +were enough to touch any heart, much less that of a tender and loving +mother. Margaret herself felt that some unusual delay must have +occurred, or the messenger she sent to her sister must have long since +returned; just then a foot was heard outside the door, and there was an +impatient cessation of the cries, in the hope that it was the return +of Nanny Hart--the door opened, and Toal Finnigan entered this wretched +abode of sorrow and destitution. + +There was something peculiarly hateful about this man, but in the eyes +of Margaret there was something intensely so. She knew right well that +he had been the worst and most demoralizing companion her husband ever +associated with, and she had, besides, every reason to believe that, +were it not for his evil influence over the vain and wretched man, he +might have overcome his fatal propensity to tipple. She had often told +Art this; but little Toal's tongue was too sweet, when aided by his +dupe's vanity. Many a time had she observed a devilish leer of satanic +triumph in the misshapen little scoundrel's eye, when bringing home +her husband in a state of beastly intoxication, and for this reason, +independently of her knowledge of his vile and heartless disposition, +and infamous character, she detested him. After entering, he looked +about him, and even with the taint light of the rush she could mark that +his unnatural and revolting features were lit up with a hellish triumph. + +“Well, Margaret Murray,” said he, “I believe you are now nearly as badly +off as you can be; your husband's past hope, and you are as low as a +human bein' ever was. I'm now satisfied; you refused to marry me--you +made a May-game of me--a laughin' stock of me, and your father tould my +father that I had legs like reapin' hooks! Now, from the day you refused +to marry me, I swore I'd never die till I'd have my revinge, and I have +it; who has the laugh now, Margaret Murray?” + +“You say,” she replied calmly, “that I am as low as a human bein' can +be, but that's false, Toal Finnigan, for I thank God I have committed no +crime, and my name is pure and good, which is more than any one can say +for you; begone from my place.” + +“I will,” he replied, “but before I go jist let me tell you, that I have +the satisfaction to know that, if I'm not much mistaken, it was I that +was the principal means of leavin' you as you are, and your respectable +husband as he is; so my blessin' be wid you, an that's more than your +father left you. Raipin' hooks, indeed!” + +The little vile Brownie then disappeared. + +Margaret, the moment he was gone, immediately turned round, and going to +her knees, leaned, with her half-cold infant still in her arms, against +a creaking chair, and prayed with as much earnestness as a distracted +heart permitted her. The little ones, at her desire, also knelt, and in +a few minutes afterwards, when her drunken husband came home, he found +his miserable family, grouped as they were in their misery, worshipping +God in their own simple and touching manner. His entrance disturbed +them, for Margaret knew she must go through the usual ordeal to which +his nightly return was certain to expose her. + +“I want something to ait,” said he. + +“Art, dear,” she replied--and this was the worst word she ever uttered +against him--“Art, dear, I have nothing for you till by an' by; but I +will then.” + +“Have you any money?” + +“Money, Art! oh, where would I get it? If I had money I wouldn't be +without something' for you to eat, or the childre here that tasted +nothin' since airly this mornin'.” + +“Ah, you're a cursed useless wife,” he replied, “you brought nothin' but +bad luck to me an' them; but how could you bring anything else, when you +didn't get your father's blessin'.” + +“But, Art, don't you remember,” she said meekly in reply, “you surely +can't forget for whose sake I lost it.” + +“Well, he's fizzin' now, the hard-hearted ould scoundrel, for keepin' +it from you; he forgot who you wor married to, the extortin' ould +vagabone--to one of the great Fermanagh Maguires, an' he' not fit to +wipe their shoes. The curse o' heaven upon you an' him, wherever he is! +It was an unlucky day to me I ever seen the face of one of you--here, +Atty, I've some money; some strange fellow at the inn below stood to me +for the price of a naggin, an' that blasted Barney Scaddhan wouldn't let +me in, bekase, he said, I was a disgrace to his house, the scoundrel.” + +“The same house was a black sight to you, Art.” + +“Here, Atty, go off and, get me a naggin.” + +“Wouldn't it be better for you to get something to eat, than to drink +it, Art.” + +“None of your prate, I say, go off an' bring me a naggin o' whiskey, an' +don't let the grass grow under your feet.” + +The children, whenever he came home, were awed into silence, but +although they durst not speak, there was an impatient voracity visible +in their poor features, and now wolfish little eyes, that was a terrible +thing to witness. Art took the money, and went away to bring his father +the whiskey. + +“What's the reason,” said he, kindling into sudden fury, “that you +didn't provide something for me to eat? Eh? What's the reason?” and +he approached her in a menacing attitude. “You're a lazy, worthless +vagabone. Why didn't you get me something to ait, I say? I can't stand +this--I'm famished.” + +“I sent to my sister's,” she replied, laying-down the child; for she +feared that if he struck her and knocked her down, with the child in +her arms, it might be injured, probably killed, by the fall; “when the +messenger comes back from my sister's----” + +“D--n yourself and your sister,” he replied, striking her a blow at +the same time upon the temple. She fell, and in an instant her face was +deluged with blood. + +“Ay, lie there,” he continued, “the loss of the blood will cool you. +Hould your tongues, you devils, or I'll throw yez out of the house,” he +exclaimed to the children, who burst into an uproar of grief on seeing +their “mammy,” as they called her, lying bleeding and insensible. +“That's to taich her not to have something for me to ait. Ay,” he +proceeded, with a hideous laugh--“ha, ha, ha! I'm a fine fellow--amn't +I? There she lies now, and yet she was wanst Margaret Murray!--my own +Margaret--that left them all for myself; but sure if she did, wasn't I +one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh?--Get up, Margaret; here, I'll +help you up, if the divil was in you!” + +He raised her as he spoke, and perceived that consciousness was +returning. The first thing she did was to put up her hand to her temple, +where she felt the warm blood. She gave him one look of profound sorrow. + +“Oh, Art dear,” she exclaimed, “Art dear--” her voice failed her, but the +tears flowed in torrents down her cheeks. + +“Margaret,” said he, “you needn't spake to me that way. You know any how +I'm damned--damned--lol de rol lol--tol de rol lol! ha, ha, ha! I have +no hope either here or hereafther--divil a morsel of hope. Isn't that +comfortable? eh?--ha, ha, ha”--another hideous laugh. “Well, no matter; +we'll dhrink it out, at all events. Where's Atty, wid the whiskey? Oh, +here he is! That's a good boy, Atty.” + +“Oh, mammy darlin',” exclaimed the child, on seeing the blood streaming +from her temple--“mammy darlin', what happened you?” + +“I fell, Atty dear,” she replied, “and was cut.” + +“That's a lie, Atty; it was I, your fine chip of a father, that struck +her. Here's her health, at all events! I'll make one dhrink of it; hoch! +they may talk as they like, but I'll stick to Captain Whiskey.” + +“Father,” said the child, “will you come over and lie down upon the +straw, for your own me, for your own Atty; and then you'll fall into a +sound sleep?” + +“I will, Atty, for you--for you--I will, Atty; but mind, I wouldn't do +it for e'er another livin'.” + +One day wid Captain Whiskey I wrastled a fall, But, t'aix, I was no +match for the Captain at all, Though the landlady's measures they wor +damnably small--But I'll thry him to morrow when I'm sober. + +“Come,” said the child, “lie down here on the straw; my poor mammy says +we'll get clane straw to-morrow; and we'll be grand then.” + +His father, who was now getting nearly helpless, went over and threw +himself upon some straw--thin and scanty and cold it was--or rather, +in stooping to throw himself on it he fell with what they call in the +country a soss; that is, he fell down in a state of utter helplessness; +his joints feeble and weak, and all his strength utterly prostrated. +Margaret, who in the meantime was striving to stop the effusion of blood +from her temple, by the application of cobwebs, of which there was no +scarcity in the house, now went over, and loosening his cravat, she got +together some old rags, of which she formed, as well as she could, a +pillow to support his head, in order to avoid the danger of his being +suffocated. + +“Poor Art,” she exclaimed, “if you knew what you did, you would cut that +hand off you sooner than raise it to your own Margaret, as you used to +call me. It is pity that I feel for you, Art dear, but no anger; an' +God, who sees my heart, knows that.” + +Now that he was settled, and her own temple bound up, the children once +more commenced their cry of famine; for nothing can suspend the stern +cravings of hunger, especially when fanged by the bitter consciousness +that there is no food to be had. Just then, however, the girl returned +from her sister's, loaded with oatmeal--a circumstance which changed the +cry of famine into one of joy. + +But now, what was to be done for fire, there was none in the house. + +“Here is half-a-crown,” said the girl, “that she sent you; but she put +her hands acrass, and swore by the five crasses, that unless you left +Art at wanst, they'd never give you a rap farden's worth of assistance +agin, if you and they wor to die in the streets.” + +“Leave him!” said Margaret; “oh never! When I took him, I took him for +betther an' for worse, and I'm not goin' to neglect my duty to him now, +because he's down. All the world has desarted him, but I'll never desart +him. Whatever may happen, Art dear--poor, lost Art--whatever may happen, +I'll live with you, beg with you, die with you; anything but desart +you.” + +She then, after wiping the tears which accompanied her words, sent out +the girl, who bought some turf and milk, in order to provide a meal of +wholesome food for the craving children. + +“Now,” said she to the girl, “what is to be done? for if poor Art +sees this meal in the morning, he will sell the best part of it to get +whiskey; for I need scarcely tell you,” she added, striving to palliate +his conduct, “that he cannot do without it, however he might contrive to +do without his breakfast.” But, indeed, this was true. So thoroughly was +he steeped in drunkenness--in the low, frequent, and insatiable appetite +for whiskey--that, like tobacco or snuff, it became an essential portion +of his life--a necessary-evil, without which he could scarcely exist. At +all events, the poor children had one comfortable meal, which made them +happy; the little stock that remained was stowed away in some nook or +other, where Art was not likely to find it; the girl went home, and we +were about to say that the rest of this miserable family went to bed; +but, alas! they had no bed to go to, with the exception of a little +straw, and a thin single blanket to cover them. + +If Margaret's conduct during these severe and terrible trials was not +noble and heroic, we know not what could be called so. The affection +which she exhibited towards her husband overcame everything. When Art +had got about half way in his mad and profligate career, her friends +offered to support her, if she would take refuge with them and abandon +him; but the admirable woman received the proposal as an insult; and the +reply she gave is much the same as the reader has heard from her lips, +with reference to the girl's message from her sister. + +Subsequently, they offered to take her and the children; but this also +she indignantly rejected. She could not leave him, she said, at the very +time when it was so necessary that her hands should be about him. What +might be the fate of such a man if he had none to take care of him? +No, this almost unexampled woman, rather than desert him in such +circumstances, voluntarily partook in all the wretchedness, destitution, +and incredible misery which his conduct inflicted on her, and did so +patiently, and without a murmur. + +In a few days after the night we have described, a man covered with +rags, without shoe, or stocking, or shirt, having on an old hat, through +the broken crown of which his hair, wefted with bits of straw, stood +out, his face shrunk and pale, his beard long and filthy, and his eyes +rayless and stupid--a man of this description, we say, with one child in +his arms, and two more accompanying him, might be seen begging +through the streets of Ballykeerin; yes, and often in such a state of +drunkenness as made it frightful to witness his staggering gait, lest he +might tumble over upon the infant, or let it fair out of his arms. This +man was Art Maguire; to such a destiny had he come, or rather had he +brought himself at last; Art Maguire--one of the great Maguires of +Fermanagh! + +But where is she--the attached, the indomitable in love--the patient, +the much enduring, the uncomplaining? Alas! she is at length separated +from him and them; her throbbing veins are hot and rife with fever--her +aching head is filled with images of despair and horror--she is calling +for her husband--her young and manly husband--and says she will not be +parted from him--she is also calling for her children, and demands to +have them. The love of the mother and of the wife is now furious; but, +thank God, the fury that stimulates it is that of disease, and not of +insanity. The trials and privations which could not overcome her noble +heart, overcame her physical frame, and on the day succeeding that woful +night she was seized with a heavy fever, and through the interference +of some respectable inhabitants of the town, was conveyed to the fever +hospital, where she now lies in a state of delirium. + +And Frank Maguire--the firm, the industrious, and independent--where is +he? Unable to bear the shame of his brother's degradation, he gave up +his partnership, and went to America, where he now is; but not without +having left in the hands of a friend something for his unfortunate +brother to remember him by; and it was this timely aid which for the +last three quarters of a year has been the sole means of keeping life in +his brother's family. + +Thus have we followed Art Maguire from his youth up to the present stage +of his life, attempting, as well as we could, to lay open to our readers +his good principles and his bad, together with the errors and ignorances +of those who had the first formation of his character--we mean his +parents and family. We have endeavored to trace, with as strict an +adherence to truth and nature as possible, the first struggles of a +heart naturally generous and good, with the evil habit which beset him, +as well as with the weaknesses by which that habit was set to work upon +his temperament. Whether we have done this so clearly and naturally +as to bring home conviction of its truth to such of our readers as may +resemble him in the materials which formed his moral constitution, and +consequently, to hold him up as an example to be avoided, it is not for +ourselves to say. If our readers think so, or rather feel so, then we +shall rest satisfied of having performed our task as we ought. + +Our task, however, is not accomplished. It is true, we have accompanied +him with pain and pity to penury, rags, and beggary--unreformed, +unrepenting, hardened, shameless, desperate. Do our readers now suppose +that there is anything in the man, or any principle external to him, +capable of regenerating and elevating a heart so utterly lost as his? + +But hush! what is this? How dark the moral clouds that have been hanging +over the country for a period far beyond the memory of man! how black +that dismal canopy which is only lit by fires that carry and shed around +them disease, famine, crime, madness, bloodshed, and death. How hot, +sultry, and enervating to the whole constitution of man, physically and +mentally, is the atmosphere we have been breathing so long! The miasma +of the swamp, the simoom of the desert, the merciless sirocco, +are healthful when compared to such an atmosphere. And, hark! what +formidable being is that who, with black expanded wings, flies about +from place to place, and from person to person, with a cup of fire in +his hands, which he applies to their eager lips? And what spell or +charm lies in that burning cup, which, no sooner do they taste than they +shout, clap their hands with exultation, and cry out, “We are happy! we +are happy!” Hark; he proclaims himself, and shouteth still louder than +they do; but they stop their ears, and will not listen; they shut their +eyes and will not see. What sayeth he? “I am the Angel of Intemperance, +Discord, and Destruction, who oppose myself to God and all his laws--to +man, and all that has been made for his good; my delight is in misery +and unhappiness, in crime, desolation, ruin, murder, and death in a +thousand shapes of vice and destitution. Such I am, such I shall be, for +behold, my dominion shall last forever!” + +But hush again! Look towards the south! What faint but beautiful light +is it, which, fairer than that of the morning, gradually breaketh upon +that dark sky? See how gently, but how steadily, its lustre enlarges +and expands! It is not the light of the sun, nor of the moon, nor of the +stars, neither is it the morning twilight, which heralds the approach of +day; no, but it is the serene effulgence which precedes and accompanies +a messenger from God, who is sent to bear a new principle of happiness +to man! This principle is itself an angelic spirit, and lo! how the sky +brightens, and the darkness flees away like a guilty thing before it! +Behold it on the verge of the horizon, which is now glowing with the +rosy hues of heaven--it advances, it proclaims its mission:--hark! + +“I am the Angel of Temperance, of Industry, of Peace! who oppose myself +to the Spirit of Evil and all his laws--I am the friend of man, and +conduct him to the true enjoyment of all that has been made for his +good. My mission is to banish misery, unhappiness, and crime, to save +mankind from desolation, ruin, murder, and death, in a thousand shapes +of vice and destitution.” + +And now see how he advances in beauty and power, attended by knowledge, +health, and truth, while the harmonies of domestic life, of civil +concord, and social duty, accompany him, and make music in his path. But +where is the angel of intemperance, discord, and destruction? Hideous +monster, behold him! No longer great nor terrible, he flies, or rather +totters, from before his serene opponent--he shudders--he stutters and +hiccups in his howlings--his limbs are tremulous--his hands shake as +if with palsy--his eye is lustreless and bloodshot, and his ghastly +countenance the exponent of death. He flies, but not unaccompanied; +along with him are crime, poverty, hunger, idleness, his music the groan +of the murderer, the clanking of the madman's chain, filled up by the +report of the suicide's pistol, and the horrible yell of despair! And +now he and his evil spirits are gone, the moral atmosphere is bright and +unclouded, and the Angel of Temperance, Industry, and Peace goes abroad +throughout the land, fulfilling his beneficent mission, and diffusing +his own virtues into the hearts of a regenerated people! + +Leaving allegory, however, to the poets, it is impossible that, treating +of the subject which we have selected, we could, without seeming to +undervalue it, neglect to say a few words upon the most extraordinary +moral phenomenon, which, apart from the miraculous, the world ever saw; +we allude to the wonderful Temperance Movement, as it is called, which, +under the guiding hand of the Almighty, owes its visible power and +progress to the zeal and incredible exertions of one pious and humble +man--the Very Rev. Theobald Matthew, of Cork. When we consider the +general, the proverbial character, which our countrymen have, during +centuries, borne for love of drink, and their undeniable habits of +intemperance, we cannot but feel that the change which has taken place +is, indeed, surprising, to say the least of it. But, in addition to +this, when we also consider the natural temperament of the Irishman--his +social disposition--his wit, his humor, and his affection--all of which +are lit up by liquor--when we just reflect upon the exhilaration of +spirits produced by it--when we think upon the poverty, the distress, +and the misery which too generally constitute his wretched lot, and +which it will enable him, for a moment, to forget--and when we remember +that all his bargains were made over it--that he courted his sweetheart +over it--got married over it--wept for his dead over it--and generally +fought his enemy of another faction, or the Orangeman of another creed, +when under its influence:--when we pause over all these considerations, +we can see how many temptations our countrymen had to overcome in +renouncing it as they did; and we cannot help looking at it as a moral +miracle, utterly without parallel in the history of man. + +Now we are willing to give all possible credit, and praise, and honor to +Father Matthew; but we do not hesitate to say, that even he would have +failed in being, as he is, the great visible exponent of this admirable +principle, unless there had been other kindred principles in the +Irishman's heart, which recognized and clung to it. In other words it is +unquestionable, that had the religious and moral feelings of the Irish +people been neglected, the principle of temperance would never have +taken such deep root in the heart of the nation as it has done. Nay, it +could not; for does not every man of common sense know, that good moral +principles seldom grow in a bad moral soil, until it is cultivated for +their reception. It is, therefore, certainly a proof that the Roman +Catholic priesthood of Ireland had not neglected the religious +principles of the people. It may, I know, and it has been called a +superstitious contagion; but however that may be, so long as we have +such contagions among us, we will readily pardon the superstition. Let +superstition always assume a shape of such beneficence and virtue to +man, and we shall not quarrel with her for retaining the name. Such a +contagion could never be found among any people in whom there did not +exist predisposing qualities, ready to embrace and nurture the good +which came with it. + +Our argument, we know, may be met by saying that its chief influence was +exerted on those whose habits of dissipation, immorality, and irreligion +kept, them aloof from the religious instruction of the priest. But to +those who know the Irish heart, it is not necessary to say that many +a man addicted to drink is far from being free from the impressions of +religion, or uninfluenced by many a generous and noble virtue. Neither +does it follow that every such man has been neglected by his priest, or +left unadmonished of the consequences which attended his evil habit. +But how did it happen, according to that argument, that it was this +very class of persons--the habitual, or the frequent, or the occasional +drunkard--that first welcomed the spirit of temperance, and availed +themselves of its blessings? If there had not been the buried seeds of +neglected instruction lying in their hearts, it is very improbable that +they would have welcomed and embraced the principle as they did. On the +other hand, it is much more likely that they would have fled from, +and avoided a spirit which deprived them of the gratification of their +ruling and darling passion. Evil and good, we know, do not so readily +associate. + +Be this, however, as it may, we have only to state, in continuation +of our narrative, that at the period of Art Maguire's most lamentable +degradation, and while his admirable but unhappy wife was stretched upon +the burning bed of fever, the far low sounds of the Temperance Movement +were heard, and the pale but pure dawn of its distant light seen +at Ballykeerin. That a singular and novel spirit accompanied it, is +certain; and that it went about touching and healing with all the power +of an angel, is a matter not of history, but of direct knowledge and +immediate recollection. Nothing, indeed, was ever witnessed in any +country similar to it. Whereever it went, joy, acclamation, ecstasy +accompanied it; together with a sense of moral liberty, of perfect +freedom from the restraint, as it were, of some familiar devil, that had +kept its victims in its damnable bondage. Those who had sunk exhausted +before the terrible Molpch of Intemperance, and given themselves over +for lost, could now perceive that there was an ally at hand, that was +able to bring them succor, and drag them back from degradation and +despair, to peace and independence, from contempt and infamy, to respect +and praise. Nor was this all. It was not merely into the heart of the +sot and drunkard that it carried a refreshing consciousness of joy and +deliverance, but into all those hearts which his criminal indulgence had +filled with heaviness and sorrow. It had, to be sure, its dark side +to some--ay, to thousands. Those who lived by the vices +--the low indulgences and the ruinous excesses--of their +fellow-creatures--trembled and became aghast at its approach. The vulgar +and dishonest publican, who sold a _bona fide_ poison under a false +name; the low tavern-keeper; the proprietor of the dram-shop; of the +night-house; and the shebeen--all were struck with terror and dismay. +Their occupation was doomed to go. No more in the dishonest avarice of +gain where they to coax and jest with the foolish tradesman, until they +confirmed him in the depraved habit, and led him on, at his own expense, +and their profit, step by step, until the naked and shivering sot, now +utterly ruined, was kicked out, like Art Maguire, to make room for those +who were to tread in his steps, and share his fate. + +No more was the purity and inexperience of youth to be corrupted by evil +society, artfully introduced for the sordid purpose of making him spend +his money, at the expense of health, honesty, and good name. + +No more was the decent wife of the spendthrift tradesman, when forced by +stern necessity, and the cries of her children, to seek her husband in +the public house, of a Saturday night, anxious as she was to secure what +was left unspent of his week's wages, in order to procure to-morrow's +food--no more was she to be wheedled into the bar, to get the landlord's +or the landlady's treat, in order that the outworks of temperance, and +the principles of industry, perhaps of virtue, might be gradually broken +down, for the selfish and diabolical purpose of enabling her drunken +husband to spend a double share of his hardly-earned pittance. + +Nor more was the male servant, in whom every confidence was placed, to +be lured into these vile dens of infamy, that he might be fleeced or his +money, tutored into debauchery or dishonesty, or thrown into the society +of thieves and robbers, that he might become an accomplice in their +crimes, and enable them to rob his employer with safety. No more was the +female servant, on the other hand, to be made familiar with tippling, +or corrupted by evil company, until she became a worthless and degraded +creature, driven out of society, without reputation or means of +subsistence, and forced to sink to that last loathsome alternative of +profligacy which sends her, after a short and wicked course, to the +jeering experiments of the dissecting-room. + +Oh, no; those wretches who lived by depravity, debauchery, and +corruption, were alarmed almost into distraction by the approach +of temperance, for they knew it would cut off the sources of their +iniquitous gains, and strip them of the vile means of propagating +dishonesty and vice, by which they lived. But even this wretched class +were not without instances of great disinterestedness and virtue; +several of them closed their debasing establishments, forfeited their +ill-gotten means of living, and trusting to honesty and legitimate +industry, voluntarily assumed the badge of temperance, and joined its +peaceful and triumphant standard! + +Previous to this time, however, and, indeed, long before the joyful +sounds of its advancing motion were heard from afar, it is not to be +taken for granted that the drunkards of the parish of Ballykeerin Avere +left to the headlong impulses of their own evil propensities. Before Art +Maguire had fallen from his integrity and good name, there had not been +a more regular attendant at mass, or at his Easter and Christmas +duties, in the whole parish; in this respect he was a pattern, as Father +Costelloe, the priest, often said, to all who were anxious to lead a +decent and creditable life, forgetting their duty neither to God nor +man. A consciousness of his fall, however, made him ashamed in the +beginning to appear at mass, until he should decidedly reform, which he +proposed and resolved to do, or thought he resolved, from week to week, +and from day to day. How he wrought out these resolutions our readers +know too well; every day and every week only made him worse and worse, +until by degrees all thought of God, or prayer, or priest, abandoned +him, and he was left to swelter in misery among the very dregs of +his prevailing vice, hardened and obdurate. Many an admonition has he +received from Father Costelloe, especially before he become hopeless, +and many a time, when acknowledging his own inability to follow up his +purposes of amendment, has he been told by that good and Christian man, +that he must have recourse to better and higher means of support, and +remember that God will not withhold his grace from those who ask it +sincerely and aright. Art, however, could not do so, for although he had +transient awakenings of conscience, that were acute while they lasted, +yet he could not look up to God with a thorough and heartfelt resolution +of permanent reformation. The love of liquor, and the disinclination to +give it up, still lurked in his heart, and prevented him from setting +about his amendment in earnest. If they had not, he would have taken a +second oath, as his brother Frank often advised him to do, but without +effect. He still hoped to be able to practise moderation, and drink +within bounds, and consequently persuaded himself that total abstinence +was not necessary in his case. At length Father Costelloe, like all +those who were deeply anxious for his reformation, was looked upon as +an unwelcome adviser, whose Christian exhortations to a better course of +life were anything but agreeable, because he spoke truth; and so strong +did this feeling grow in him, that in his worst moments he would rather +sink into the earth than meet him: nay, a glimpse of him at any distance +was sure to make the unfortunate man hide himself in some hole or corner +until the other had passed, and all danger of coming under his reproof +was over. Art was still begging with his children, when, after a long +and dangerous illness, it pleased God to restore his wife to him and +them. So much pity, and interest, and respect did she excite during +her convalescence--for it was impossible that her virtues, even in the +lowest depths of her misery, could be altogether unknown--that the heads +of the hospital humanely proposed to give her some kind of situation in +it, as soon as she should regain sufficient strength to undertake its +duties. The mother's love, however, still prompted her to rejoin her +children, feeling as she did, and as she said, how doubly necessary now +her care and attention to them must be. She at length yielded to their +remonstrances, when they assured her that to return in her present weak +condition to her cold and desolate house, and the utter want of all +comfort which was to be found in it, might, and, in all probability, +would, be fatal to her; and that by thus exposing herself too soon to +the consequences of cold and destitution, she might leave her children +motherless. This argument prevailed, but in the meantime she stipulated +that her children and her husband, if the latter were in a state of +sufficient sobriety, should be permitted occasionally to see her, that +she might inquire into their situation, and know how they lived. This +was acceded to, and, by the aid of care and nourishing food, she soon +found herself beginning to regain her strength. + +In the meantime the Temperance movement was rapidly and triumphantly +approaching. In a town about fifteen miles distant there was a meeting +advertised to be held, at which the great apostle himself was to +administer the pledge; Father Costelloe announced it from the altar, and +earnestly recommended his parishioners to attend, and enrol themselves +under the blessed banner of Temperance, the sober man as well as the +drunkard. + +“It may be said,” he observed, “that sober men have no necessity for +taking the pledge; and if one were certain that every sober man was +to remain sober during his whole life, there would not, indeed, be a +necessity for sober men to take it; but, alas! my friends, you know how +subject we are to those snares, and pitfalls, and temptations of life +by which our paths are continually beset. Who can say to-day that he +may not transgress the bounds of temperance before this day week? Your +condition in life is surrounded by inducements to drink. You scarcely +buy or sell a domestic animal in fair or market, that you are not +tempted to drink; you cannot attend a neighbor's funeral that you are +not tempted to drink--'tis the same at the wedding and the christening, +and in almost all the transactions of your lives. How then can you +answer for yourselves, especially when your spirits may happen to be +elevated, and your hearts glad? Oh! it is then, my friends, that the +tempter approaches you, and probably implants in your unguarded hearts +the germ of that accursed habit which has destroyed millions. How often +have you heard it said of many men, even within the range of your own +knowledge, 'Ah, he was an industrious, well-conducted, and respectable +man--until he took to drink!' Does not the prevalence of such a vile +habit, and the fact that so many sober men fall away from that virtue, +render the words that I have just uttered a melancholy proverb in the +country? Ah, there he is--in rags and misery; yet he was an industrious, +well-conducted, and respectable man once, that is--before he took to +drink! Prevention, my dear friends, is always better than cure, and in +binding yourselves by this most salutary obligation, you know not how +much calamity and suffering--how much general misery--how much disgrace +and crime you may avoid. And, besides, are we not to look beyond this +world? Is a crime which so greatly depraves the heart, and deadens its +power of receiving the wholesome impressions of religion and truth, not +one which involves our future happiness or misery? Ah, my dear brethren, +it is indeed a great and a cross popular error to say that sober men +should not take this pledge. I hope I have satisfied you that it is a +duty they owe themselves to take it, so long as they feel that they are +frail creatures, and liable to sin and error; and not only themselves, +but their children, their friends, and all who might be affected, either +for better or worse, by their example. + +“There is another argument, however, which I cannot overlook, while +dwelling upon this important subject. We know that the drunkard, if God +should, through the instrumentality of this great and glorious movement, +put the wish for amendment into his heart, still feels checked and +deterred by a sense of shame; because, the truth is, if none attended +these meetings but such men, that very fact alone would prove a great +obstruction in the way of their reformation. Many, too many, are +drunkards; but every man is not an open drunkard, and hundreds, nay, +thousands, would say, 'By attending these meetings of drunken men, I +acknowledge myself to be a drunkard also;' hence they will probably +decline going through shame, and consequently miss the opportunity of +retrieving themselves. Now, I say, my friends, it is the duty of sober +men to deprive them of this argument, and by an act, which, after all, +involves nothing of self-denial, but still an act of great generosity, +to enable them to enter into this wholesome obligation, without being +openly exposed to the consequences of having acknowledged that they were +intemperate.” + +He then announced the time and place of the meeting, which was in the +neighboring town of Drumnabrogue, and concluded by again exhorting +them all, without distinction, to attend it and take the pledge. His +exhortations were not without effect; many of his parishioners did +attend, and among them some of Art's former dissolute companions. + +Art himself, when spoken to, and pressed to go, hiccuped and laughed +at the notion of any such pledge reforming him; a strong proof that +all hope of recovering himself, or of regaining his freedom from +drunkenness, had long ago deserted him. This, if anything further was +necessary to do so, completed the scene of his moral prostration and +infamy. Margaret, who was still in the hospital, now sought to avail +herself of the opportunity which presented itself, by reasoning with, +and urging him to go, but, like all others, her arguments were laughed +at, and Art expressed contempt for her, Father Matthew, and all the +meetings that had yet taken place. + +“Will takin' the pledge,” he asked her, “put a shirt to my back, a thing +I almost forget the use of, or a good coat? Will it put a dacent house +over my head, a good bed under me, and a warm pair of blankets on us to +keep us from shiverin', an' coughin', an' barkin' the whole night long +in the could? + +“No, faith, I'll not give up the whiskey, for it has one comfort, it +makes me sleep in defiance o' wind and weather; it's the only friend I +have left now--it's my shirt--its my coat--my shoes and stockin's--my +house--my blankets--my coach--my carriage--it makes me a nobleman, a +lord; but, anyhow, sure I'm as good, ay, by the mortual, and better, +for amn't I one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh! Whish, the ou--ould +blood forever, and to the divil wid their meetins!” + +“Art,” said his wife, “I believe if you took the pledge that it would +give you all you say, and more; for it would bring you back the respect +and good-will of the people, that you've long lost.” + +“To the divil wid the people! I'll tell you what, if takin' the pledge +reforms Mechil Gam, the crooked disciple that he is, or Tom Whiskey, +mind--mind me--I say if it reforms them, or young Barney Scaddhan, thin +you may spake up for it, an' may be, I'll listen to you.” + +At length the meeting took place, and the three men alluded to by Art, +attended it as they said they would; each returned home with his pledge; +they rose up the next morning, and on that night went to bed sober. +This was repeated day after day, week after week, month after month, and +still nothing characterized them but sobriety, peace, and industry. + +Unfortunately, so far as Art Maguire was concerned, it was out of his +power, as it was out of that of hundreds, to derive any benefit from +the example which some of his old hard-drinking associates had so +unexpectedly set both him and them. No meeting had since occurred within +seventy or eighty miles of Ballykeerin, and yet the contagion of good +example had spread through that and the adjoining parishes in a manner +that was without precedent. In fact, the people murmured, became +impatient, and, ere long, demanded from their respective pastors +that another meeting should be held, to afford them an opportunity of +publicly receiving the pledge; and for that purpose they besought the +Rev. gentlemen to ask Father Matthew to visit Ballykeerin. This wish +was complied with, and Father Matthew consented, though at considerable +inconvenience to himself, and appointed a day for the purpose specified. +This was about three or four months after the meeting that was held in +the neighboring town already alluded to. + +For the last six weeks Margaret had been able to discharge the duties of +an humble situation in the hospital, on the condition that she should +at least once a day see her children. Poor as was the situation in +question, it enabled her to contribute much more to their comfort, than +she could if she had resided with them, or, in other words, begged with +them; for to that, had she returned home, it must have come; and, as the +winter was excessively severe, this would have killed her, enfeebled as +she had been by a long and oppressive fever. Her own good sense taught +her to see this, and the destitution of her children and husband--to +feel it. In this condition then were they--depending on the scanty aid +which her poor exertions could afford them, eked out by the miserable +pittance that he extorted as a beggar--when the intelligence arrived +that the great Apostle of Temperance had appointed a day on which to +hold a teetotal meeting in the town of Ballykeerin. + +It is utterly unaccountable how the approach of Father Matthew, and of +these great meetings, stirred society into a state of such extraordinary +activity, not only in behalf of temperance, but also of many other +virtues; so true is it, that when one healthy association is struck it +awakens all those that are kindred to it into new life. In addition to a +love of sobriety, the people felt their hearts touched, as it were, by +a new spirit, into kindness and charity, and a disposition to discharge +promptly and with good-will all brotherly and neighborly offices. +Harmony, therefore, civil, social, and domestic, accompanied the +temperance movement wherever it went, and accompanies it still wherever +it goes; for, like every true blessing, it never comes alone, but brings +several others in its train. + +The morning in question, though cold, was dry and bright; a small +platform had been raised at the edge of the market-house, which was open +on one side, and on it Father Matthew was to stand. By this simple means +he would be protected from rain, should any fall, and was sufficiently +accessible to prevent any extraordinary crush among the postulants. +But how will we attempt to describe the appearance which the town of +Ballykeerin presented on the morning of this memorable and auspicious +day? And above all, in what terms shall we paint the surprise, the +wonder, the astonishment with which they listened to the music of the +teetotal band, which, as if by magic, had been formed in the town of +Drumnabogue, where, only a few months before, the meeting of which we +have spoken had been held. Indeed, among all the proofs of national +advantages which the temperance movement has brought out, we are not to +forget those which it has bestowed on the country--by teaching us what +a wonderful capacity for music, and what a remarkable degree of +intellectual power, the lower classes of our countrymen are endowed +with, and can manifest when moved by adequate principles. Early as +daybreak the roads leading to Ballykeerin presented a living stream of +people listening onwards towards the great rendezvous; but so much +did they differ in their aspect from almost any other assemblage of +Irishmen, that, to a person ignorant of their purpose, it would be +difficult, if not impossible, to guess the cause, not that moved them in +such multitudes towards the same direction, but that marked them by such +peculiar characteristics. We have seen Irishmen and Irishwomen going to +a country race in the summer months, when labor there was none; we +have seen them going to meetings of festivity and amusement of all +descriptions;--to fairs, to weddings, to dances--but we must confess, +that notwithstanding all our experience and intercourse with them, we +never witnessed anything at all resembling their manner and bearing on +this occasion. There was undoubtedly upon them, and among them, all the +delightful enjoyment of a festival spirit; they were easy, cheerful, +agreeable, and social; but, in addition to this, there was clearly +visible an expression of feeling that was new even to themselves, as +well as to the spectators. But how shall we characterize this feeling? +It was certainly not at variance with the cheerfulness which they felt, +but, at the same time, it shed over it a serene solemnity of manner +which communicated a moral grandeur to the whole proceeding that fell +little short of sublimity. This was a principle of simple virtue upon +which all were equal; but it was more than that, it was at once a +manifestation of humility, and an exertion of faith in the aid and +support of the Almighty, by whose grace those earnest but humble people +felt and trusted that they would be supported. And who can say that +their simplicity of heart--their unaffected humility, and their firmness +of faith have not been amply rewarded, and triumphantly confirmed by the +steadfastness with which they have been, with extremely few exceptions, +faithful to their pledge. + +About nine o'clock the town of Ballykeerin was crowded with a multitude +such as had never certainly met in it before. All, from the rustic +middle classes down, were there. The crowd was, indeed, immense, yet, +notwithstanding their numbers, one could easily mark the peculiar class +for whose sake principally the meeting had been called together. + +There was the red-faced farmer of substance, whose sunburnt cheeks, and +red side-neck, were scorched into a color that disputed its healthy hue +with the deeper purple tint of strong and abundant drink. + +“Such a man,” an acute observer would say, “eats well, and drinks well, +but is very likely to pop off some day, without a minute's warning, or +saying good-by to his friends.” + +Again, there was the pale and emaciated drunkard, whose feeble and +tottering gait, and trembling hands, were sufficiently indicative of his +broken-down constitution, and probably of his anxiety to be enabled to +make some compensation to the world, or some provision on the part of +his own soul, to balance the consequences of an ill-spent life, during +which morals were laughed at, and health destroyed. + +There was also the healthy-looking drunkard of small means, who, had he +been in circumstances to do so, would have gone to bed drunk every night +in the year. He is not able, from the narrowness of his circumstances, +to drink himself into apoplexy on the one hand, or debility on the +other; but he is able, notwithstanding, to drink the clothes off his +back, and the consequence is, that he stands before you as ragged, +able-bodied, and thumping a specimen of ebriety as you could wish to +see during a week's journey. There were, in fact, the vestiges of +drunkenness in all their repulsive features, and unhealthy variety. + +There stood the grog-drinker with his blotched face in full flower, his +eye glazed in his head, and his protuberant paunch projecting over his +shrunk and diminished limbs. + +The tippling tradesman too was there, pale and sickly-looking, his thin +and over-worn garments evidently insufficient to keep out the chill of +morning, and prevent him from shivering every now and then, as if he +were afflicted with the ague. + +In another direction might be seen the servant out of place, known by +the natty knot of his white cravat, as well as by the smartness with +which he wears his dress, buttoned up as it is, and coaxed about him +with all the ingenuity which experience and necessity bring to the aid +of vanity. His napeless hat is severely brushed in order to give the +subsoil an appearance of the nap which is gone, but it won't do; every +one sees that his intention is excellent, were it possible for address +and industry to work it out. This is not the case, however, and the hat +is consequently a clear exponent of his principles and position, taste +and skill while he was sober--vain pride and trying poverty now in his +drunkenness. + +The reckless-looking sailor was also there (but with a serious air now), +who, having been discharged for drunkenness, and refused employment +everywhere else, for the same reason, was obliged to return home, and +remain a burden upon his friends. He, too, has caught this healthy +epidemic, and the consequence is, that he will once more gain +employment, for the production of his medal will be accepted as a +welcome proof of his reformation. + +And there was there, what was better still, the unfortunate female, the +victim of passion and profligacy, conscious of her past life, and almost +ashamed in the open day to look around her. Poor thing! how her heart, +that was once innocent and pure, now trembles within a bosom where +there is awakened many a painful recollection of early youth, and the +happiness of home, before that unfortunate night, when, thrown off +her guard by accursed liquor, she ceased to rank among the pure and +virtuous. Yes, all these, and a much greater variety, were here actuated +by the noble resolution to abandon forever the evil courses, the vices, +and the profligacy into which they were first driven by the effects of +drink. + +The crowd was, indeed, immense, many having come a distance of twenty, +thirty, some forty, and not a few fifty miles, in order to free +themselves, by this simple process, from the influence of the +destructive habit which either was leading, or had led them, to ruin. +Of course it is not to be supposed that among such a vast multitude +of people there were not, as there always is, a great number of those +vagabond impostors who go about from place to place, for the purpose of +extorting charity from the simple and credulous, especially when under +the influence of liquor. All this class hated the temperance movement, +because they knew right well that sobriety in the people was there +greatest enemy; the lame, the blind, the maimed, the deaf, and the dumb, +were there in strong muster, and with their characteristic ingenuity +did everything in their power, under the pretence of zeal and religious +enthusiasm, to throw discredit upon the whole proceedings. It was this +vile crew, who, by having recourse to the aid of mock miracles, fancied +they could turn the matter into derision and contempt, and who, by +affecting to be cured of their complaints, with a view of having +their own imposture, when detected, imputed to want of power in Father +Matthew;--it was this vile crew, we say, that first circulated the +notion that he could perform miracles. Unfortunately, many of the +ignorant among the people did in the beginning believe that he possessed +this power, until he himself, with his characteristic candor, disclaimed +it. For a short time the idea of this slightly injured the cause, and +afforded to its enemies some silly and senseless arguments, which, in +lieu of better, they were glad to bring against it. + +At length Father Matthew, accompanied by several other clergymen and +gentlemen, made his appearance on the platform; then was the rush, the +stretching of necks, and the bitter crushing, accompanied by devices +and manoeuvres of all kinds, to catch a glimpse of him. The windows were +crowded by the more respectable classes, who were eager to witness the +effects of this great and sober enthusiasm among the lower classes. The +proceedings, however, were very simple. He first addressed them in +a plain and appropriate discourse, admirably displaying the very +description of eloquence which was best adapted to his auditory. This +being concluded, he commenced distributing the medal, for which every +one who received it, gave a shilling, the latter at the same time +repeating the following words: “I promise, so long as I shall continue +a member of the Teetotal Temperance Society, to abstain from all +intoxicating liquors, unless recommended for medical purposes, and to +discourage by all means in my power the practice of intoxication in +others.” Father Matthew then said, “May God bless you, and enable you to +keep your promise!” + +Such was the simple ceremony by which millions have been rescued from +those terrible evils that have so long cursed and afflicted society in +this country. + +In this large concourse there stood one individual, who presented in his +person such symptoms of a low, grovelling, and unremitting indulgence in +drink, as were strikingly observable even amidst the mass of misery and +wretchedness that was there congregated. It is rarely, even in a life, +that an object in human shape, encompassed and pervaded by so many of +the fearful results of habitual drunkenness, comes beneath observation. +Sometimes we may see it in a great city, when we feel puzzled, by the +almost total absence of reason in the countenance, to know whether the +utter indifference to nakedness and the elements, be the consequence of +drunken destitution, or pure idiocy. To this questionable appearance had +the individual we speak of come. The day was now nearly past, and the +crowd had considerably diminished, when this man, approaching Father +Matthew, knelt down, and clasping his skeleton hands, exclaimed-- + +“Father, I'm afeard I cannot trust myself.” + +“Who can?” said Father Matthew; “it is not in yourself you are to place +confidence, but in God, who will support you, and grant you strength, if +you ask for it sincerely and humbly.” + +These words, uttered in tones of true Christian charity, gave comfort to +the doubting heart of the miserable creature, who said-- + +“I would wish to take the pledge, if I had money; but I doubt it's too +late--too late for me! Oh, if I thought it wasn't!” + +“It's never too late to repent,” replied the other, “or to return from +evil to good. If you feel your heart inclined to the right I course, do +not let want of money prevent you from pledging yourself to sobriety and +temperance.” + +“In God's name, then, I will take it,” he replied; and immediately +repeated the simple words which constitute the necessary form. + +“May God bless you,” said Father Matthew, placing his hand on his head, +“and enable you to keep your promise!” + +This man, our readers already guess, was Art Maguire. + +Having thus taken the medal, and pledged himself to sobriety, and a +total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors, his first feeling was +very difficult to describe. Father Matthew's words, though few and +brief, had sunk deep into his heart, and penetrated his whole spirit. +He had been for many a long day the jest and jibe of all who knew him; +because they looked upon his recovery as a hopeless thing, and spoke to +him accordingly in a tone of contempt and scorn--a lesson to us that we +never should deal harshly with the miserable. Nor, however, he had been +addressed in accents of kindness, and in a voice that proclaimed an +interest in his welfare. This, as we said, added to the impressive +spirit that prevailed around, touched him, and he hurried home. + +On reaching his almost empty house, he found Margaret and the children +there before him; she having come to see how the poor things fared--but +being quite ignorant of what had just taken place with regard to her +husband. + +“Art,” said she, with her usual affectionate manner; “you will want +something to eat; for if you're not hungry, your looks! belie you very +much. I have brought something for you and these creatures.” + +Art looked at her, then at their children, then at the utter desolation +of the house, and spreading his two hands over his face, he wept aloud. +This was repentance. Margaret in exceeding surprise, rose and approached +him:-- + +“Art dear,” she said, “in the name of God, what's the matter?” + +“Maybe my father's sick, mother,” said little Atty; “sure, father, if +you are, I an' the rest will go out ourselves, an' you can stay at home; +but we needn't go this day, for my mammy brought us as much as will put +us over it.” + +To neither the mother nor child did he make any reply; but wept on and +sobbed as if his heart would break. + +“Oh my God, my God,” he exclaimed bitterly, “what have I brought you to, +my darlin' wife and childre, that I loved a thousand times betther than +my own heart? Oh, what have I brought you to?” + +“Art,” said his wife, and her eye kindled, “in the name of the heavenly +God, is this sorrow for the life you led?” + +“Ah, Margaret darlin',” he said, still sobbing; “it's long since I ought +to a felt it; but how can I look back on that woful life? Oh my God, my +God! what have I done, an' what have I brought on you!” + +“Art,” she said, “say to me that you're sorry for it; only let my ears +hear you saying the words.” + +“Oh, Margaret dear,” he sobbed, “from my heart--from the core of my +unhappy heart--I am sorry--sorry for it all.” + +“Then there's hope,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and looking up +to heaven, “there is hope--for him--for him--for us all! Oh my heart,” + she exclaimed, quickly, “what is this?” and she scarcely uttered the +words, when she sank upon the ground insensible--sudden joy being +sometimes as dangerous as sudden grief. + +Art, who now forgot his own sorrow in apprehension for her, raised her +up, assisted by little Atty, who, as did the rest of the children, cried +bitterly, on seeing his mother's eyes shut, her arms hanging lifelessly +by her side, and herself without motion. Water, however, was brought +by Atty; her face sprinkled, and a little put to her lips, and with +difficulty down her throat. At length she gave a long deep-drawn sigh, +and opening her eyes, she looked tenderly into her husband's face-- + +“Art dear,” she said, in a feeble voice, “did I hear it right? And you +said you were sorry?” + +“From my heart I am, Margaret dear,” he replied; “oh, if you knew what I +feel this minute!” + +She looked on him again, and her pale face was lit up with a smile of +almost ineffable happiness. + +“Kiss me,” said she; “we are both young yet, Art dear, and we will gain +our lost ground wanst more.” + +While she spoke, the tears of delight fell in torrents down her cheeks. +Art kissed her tenderly, and immediately pulling out the medal, showed +it to her. + +She took the medal, and after looking at it, and reading the +inscription-- + +“Well, Art,” she said, “you never broke your oath--that's one comfort.” + +“No,” he replied; “nor I'll never break this; if I do,” he added +fervently, and impetuously, “may God mark me out for misery and +misfortune!” + +“Whisht, dear,” she replied; “don't give way to these curses--they sarve +no purpose, Art. But I'm so happy this day!” + +“An' is my father never to be drunk any more, mammy?” asked the little +ones, joyfully; “an he'll never be angry wid you, nor bate you any +more?” + +“Whisht, darlins,” she exclaimed; “don't be spakin' about that; sure +your poor father never beat me, only when he didn't know what he was +doin'. Never mention it again, one of you.” + +“Ah, Margaret,” said Art, now thoroughly awakened, “what recompense can +I ever make you, for the treatment I gave you? Oh, how can I think of +it, or look back upon it?” + +His voice almost failed him, as he uttered the last words; but his +affectionate wife stooped and kissing away the tears from his cheeks, +said-- + +“Don't, Art dear; sure this now is not a time to cry;” and yet her own +tears were flowing;--“isn't our own love come back to us? won't we now +have peace? won't we get industrious, and be respected again?” + +“Ah, Margaret darling,” he replied, “your love never left you; so don't +put yourself in; but as for me--oh, what have I done? and what have I +brought you to?” + +“Well, now, thanks be to the Almighty, all's right. Here's something for +you to ait; you must want it.” + +“But,” he replied, “did these poor crathurs get anything? bekase if they +didn't, I'll taste nothin' till they do.” + +“They did indeed,” said Margaret; and all the little ones came joyfully +about him, to assure him that they had been fed, and were not hungry. + +The first feeling Art now experienced on going abroad was shame--a +deep and overwhelming sense of shame; shame at the meanness of his past +conduct--shame at his miserable and unsightly appearance--shame at all +he had done, and at all he had left undone. What course now, however, +was he to adopt? Being no longer stupified and besotted by liquor, into +a state partly apathetic, partly drunken, and wholly shameless, he could +not bear the notion of resuming his habits of mendicancy. The decent but +not the empty and senseless, pride of his family was now reawakened in +him, and he felt, besides, that labor and occupation were absolutely +necessary to enable him to bear up against the incessant craving which +he felt for the pernicious stimulant. So strongly did this beset him, +that he suffered severely from frequent attacks of tremor and sensations +that resembled fits of incipient distraction. Nothing, therefore, +remained for him but close employment, that would keep both mind and +body engaged. + +When the fact of his having taken the pledge became generally known, +it excited less astonishment than a person might imagine; in truth, the +astonishment would have been greater, had he refused to take it at all, +so predominant and full of enthusiasm was the spirit of temperance at +that period. One feeling, however, prevailed with respect to him, which +was, that privation of his favorite stimulant would kill him--that his +physical system, already so much exhausted and enfeebled, would, break +down---and that poor Art would soon go the way of all drunkards. + +On the third evening after he had taken the pledge, he went down to the +man who had succeeded himself in his trade, and who, by the way, had +been formerly one of his own journeymen, of the very men who, while he +was running his career of dissipation, refused to flatter his vanity, +or make one in his excesses, and who was, moreover, one of the very +individuals he had dismissed. To this man he went, and thus accosted +him--his name was Owen Gallagher. + +“Owen,” said he, “I trust in God that I have gained a great victory of +late.” + +The man understood him perfectly well, and replied-- + +“I hope so, Art; I hear you have taken the pledge.” + +“Belyin' on God's help, I have.” + +“Well,” replied Owen, “you couldn't rely on betther help.” + +“No,” said Art, “I know I could not; but, Owen, I ran a wild and a +terrible race of it--I'm grieved an' shamed to think--even to think of +it.” + +“An' that's a good sign, Art, there couldn't be betther; for unless a +man's heart is sorry for his faults, and ashamed of them too, it's not +likely he'll give them over.” + +“I can't bear to walk the streets,” continued Art, “nor to rise my head; +but still something must be done for the poor wife and childre.” + +“Ah, Art,” replied Owen, “that is the wife! The goold of Europe isn't +value for her; an' that's what every one knows.” + +“But who knows it, an' feels it as I do?” said Art, “or who has the +right either? howandiver, as I said, something must be done; Owen, will +you venture to give me employment? I know I'm in bad trim to come into a +dacent workshop, but you know necessity has no law;--it isn't my clo'es +that will work, but myself; an', indeed, if you do employ me, it's not +much I'll be able to do this many a day; but the truth is, if I don't +get something to keep me busy, I doubt I won't be able to stand against +what I feel both in my mind and body.” + +These words were uttered with such an air of deep sorrow and perfect +sincerity as affected Gallagher very much. + +“Art,” said he, “there was no man so great a gainer by the unfortunate +coorse you tuck as I was, for you know I came into the best part of your +business; God forbid then that I should refuse you work, especially as +you have turned over a new lafe;--or to lend you a helpin' hand either, +now that I know it will do you and your family good, and won't go to the +public-house. Come wid me.” + +He took down his hat as he spoke, and brought Art up to one of +those general shops that are to be found in every country town like +Ballykeerin. + +“Mr. Trimble,” said he, “Art Maguire wants a plain substantial suit o' +clothes, that will be chape an' wear well, an' I'll be accountable for +them; Art, sir, has taken the pledge, an' is goin' to turn over a new +lafe, an' be as he wanst was, I hope.” + +“And there is no man,” said the worthy shopkeeper, “in the town of +Ballykeerin that felt more satisfaction than I did when I heard he had +taken it. I know what he wants, and what you want for him, and he shall +have it both cheap and good.” + +Such was the respect paid to those who nobly resolved to overcome their +besetting sin of drink, and its consequent poverty or profligacy, +that the knowledge alone that they had taken the pledge, gained them +immediate good-will, as it was entitled to do. This, to be sure, was in +Art's favor; but there was about him, independently of this, a serious +spirit of awakened resolution and sincerity which carried immediate +conviction along with it. + +“This little matter,” said the honest carpenter, with natural +consideration for Art, “will, of coorse, rest between you an' me, Mr. +Trimble.” + +“I understand your feeling, Owen,” said he, “and I can't but admire it; +it does honor to your heart.” + +“Hut,” said Gallagher, “it's nothin'; sure it's jist what Art would do +for myself, if we wor to change places.” + +Thus it is with the world, and ever will be so, till human nature +changes. Art had taken the first step towards his reformation, and Owen +felt that he was sincere; this step, therefore, even slight as it was, +sufficed to satisfy his old friend that he would be safe in aiding him. +Gallagher's generosity, however, did not stop here; the assistance which +he gave Art, though a matter of secrecy between themselves, was soon +visible in Art's appearance, and that of his poor family. Good fortune, +however, did not stop here; in about a week after this, when Art was +plainly but comfortably dressed, and working with Gallagher, feeble as +he was, upon journeyman's wages, there came a letter from his brother +Frank, enclosing ten pounds for the use of his wife and children. It +was directed to a friend in Ballykeerin, who was instructed to apply it +according to his own discretion, and the wants of his family, only by +no means to permit a single shilling of it to reach his hands, unless on +the condition that he had altogether given up liquor. This seemed to Art +like a proof that God had rewarded him for the step he had taken; in +a few weeks it was wonderful how much comfort he and his family had +contrived to get about them. Margaret was a most admirable manager, +and a great economist, and with her domestic knowledge and good sense, +things went on beyond their hopes. + +Art again was up early and down late--for his strength, by the aid of +wholesome and regular food, and an easy mind, was fast returning to +him--although we must add here, that he never regained the healthy and +powerful constitution which he had lost. His reputation, too, was fast +returning; many a friendly salutation he received from those, who, +in his degradation, would pass him by with either ridicule or solemn +contempt. + +Nothing in this world teaches a man such well-remembered lessons of +life as severe experience. Art, although far, very far removed from his +former independence, yet, perhaps, might be said never to have enjoyed +so much peace of mind, or so strong a sense of comfort, as he did now in +his humble place with his family. The contrast between his past misery, +and the present limited independence which he enjoyed, if it could +be called independence, filled his heart with a more vivid feeling of +thankfulness than he had ever known. He had now a bed to sleep on, +with _bona fide_ blankets--he had a chair to sit on--a fire on his +hearth--and food, though plain, to eat; so had his wife, so had his +children; he had also very passable clothes to his back, that kept him +warm and comfortable, and prevented him from shivering like a reed in +the blast; so had his wife, and so had his children. But he had more +than this, for he had health, a good conscience, and a returning +reputation. People now addressed him as an equal, as a man, as an +individual who constituted a portion of society; then, again, he loved +his wife as before, and lived with her in a spirit of affection equal to +any they had ever felt. Why, this was, to a man who suffered what he and +his family had suffered, perfect luxury. + +In truth, Art now wondered at the life he had led,--he could not +understand it; why he should have suffered himself, for the sake of +a vile and questionable enjoyment--if enjoyment that could be called, +which was no enjoyment--at least for the sake of a demoralizing and +degrading habit, to fall down under the feet as it were, under the +evil tongues, and the sneers--of those who constituted his world--the +inhabitants of Ballykeerin--was now, that he had got rid of the +thraldom, perfectly a mystery to him. Be this as it may, since he had +regenerated his own character, the world was just as ready to take him +up as it had been to lay him down. + +Nothing in life gives a man such an inclination for active industry as +to find that he is prospering; he has then heart and spirits to work, +and does work blithely and cheerfully; so was it with Art. He and his +employer were admirably adapted for each other, both being extremely +well-tempered, honest, and first-rate workmen. About the expiration of +the first twelve months, Art had begun to excite a good deal of interest +in the town of Ballykeerin, an interest which was beginning to affect +Owen Gallagher himself in a beneficial way. He was now pointed out to +strangers as the man, who, almost naked, used to stand drunk and begging +upon the bridge of Ballykeerin, surrounded by his starving and equally +naked children. In fact, he began to get a name, quite a reputation for +the triumph which he had achieved over drunkenness; and on this account +Owen Gallagher, when it was generally known in the country that Art +worked with him, found his business so rapidly extending, that he was +obliged, from time to time, to increase the number of hands in his +establishment. Art felt this, and being now aware that his position in +life was, in fact, more favorable for industrious exertion than ever, +resolved to give up journey work, and once more, if only for the +novelty of the thing, to set up for himself. Owen Gallagher, on hearing +this from his own lips, said he could not, nor would not blame him, but, +he added-- + +“I'll tell you what we can do, Art--come into partnership wid me, for I +think as we're gettin' an so well together, it 'ud be a pity, almost a +sin, to part; join me, and I'll give you one-third of the business,”--by +which he meant the profits of it. + +“Begad,” replied Art, laughing, “it's as much for the novelty of the +thing I'm doin' it as any thing else; I think it 'ud be like a dhrame to +me, if I was to find myself and my family as we wor before.” And so they +parted. + +It is unnecessary here to repeat what we have already detailed +concerning the progress of his early prosperity; it is sufficient, we +trust, to tell our readers that he rose into rapid independence, and +that he owed all his success to the victory that he had obtained over +himself. His name was now far and near, and so popular had he become, +that no teetotaller would employ any other carpenter. This, at length, +began to make him proud, and to feel that his having given up drink, +instead of being simply a duty to himself and his family, was altogether +an act of great voluntary virtue on his part. + +“Few men,” he said, “would do it, an' may be, afther all, if I hadn't +the ould blood in my veins--if I wasn't one of the great Fermanagh +Maguires, I would never a' done it.” + +He was now not only a vehement Teetotaller, but an unsparing enemy to +all who drank even in moderation; so much so, indeed, that whenever +a man came to get work done with him, the first question he asked him +was--“Are you a Teetotaller?” If the man answered “No,” his reply was, +“Well, I'm sorry for that, bekase I couldn't wid a safe conscience do +your work; but you can go to Owen Gallagher, and he will do it for you +as well as any man livin'.” + +This, to be sure, was the abuse of the principle; but we all know that +the best things may be abused. He was, in fact, outrageous in defence of +Teetotalism; attended all its meetings; subscribed for Band-money; and +was by far the most active member in the whole town of Ballykeerin. It +was not simply that he forgot his former poverty; he forgot himself. +At every procession he was to be seen, mounted on a spanking horse, +ridiculously over-dressed--the man, we mean, not the horse--flaunting +with ribands, and quite puffed up at the position to which he had raised +himself. + +This certainly was not the humble and thankful feeling with which he +ought to have borne his prosperity. The truth, however, was, that Art, +in all this parade, was not in the beginning acting upon those broad, +open principles of honesty, which, in the transactions of business, had +characterized his whole life. He was now influenced by his foibles--by +his vanity--and by his ridiculous love of praise. Nor, perhaps, would +these have been called into action, were it not through the intervention +of his old friend and pot companion, Toal Finnigan. Toal, be it known +to the reader, the moment he heard that Art had become a Teetotaller, +immediately became one himself, and by this means their intimacy was +once more renewed; that is to say, they spoke in friendly terms whenever +they met--but no entreaty or persuasion could ever induce Toal to enter +Art's house; and the reader need not be told why. At all events, Toal, +soon after he joined it, put himself forward in the Teetotal Movement +with such prominence, that Art, who did not wish to be outdone in +anything, began to get jealous of him. Hence his ridiculous exhibitions +of himself in every manner that could attract notice, or throw +little Toal into the shade; and hence also the still more senseless +determination not to work for any but a Teetotaller; for in this, +too, Toal had set him the example. Toal, the knave, on becoming a +Teetotaller, immediately resolved to turn it to account; but Art, +provided he could show off, and cut a conspicuous figure in a +procession, had no dishonest motive in what he did; and this was +the difference between them. For instance, on going up the town of +Ballykeerin, you might see over the door of a middle-sized house, +“Teetotal Meal Shop. N. B.--None but Teetotallers need come here.” + +Now every one knew Toal too well not to understand this; for the truth +is, that maugre his sign, he never refused his meal or other goods to +any one that had money to pay for them. + +One evening about this time, Art was seated in his own parlor--for he +now had a parlor, and was in a state of prosperity far beyond anything +he had ever experienced before--Margaret and the children were with him; +and as he smoked his pipe, he could not help making an observation or +two upon the wonderful change which so short a time had brought about. + +“Well, Margaret,” said he, “isn't this wondherful, dear? look at the +comfort we have now about us, and think of--; but troth I don't like to +think of it at all.” + +“I never can,” she replied, “without a troubled and a sinkin' heart; +but, Art, don't you remember when I wanst wished you to become a +Teetotaller, the answer you made me?” + +“May be I do; what was it?” + +“Why, you axed me--and you were makin' game of it at the time--whether +Teetotallism would put a shirt or a coat to your back--a house over your +head--give you a bed to lie on, or blankets to keep you and the childre +from shiverin', an' coughin', an' barkin' in the could of the night? +Don't you remember sayin' this?” + +“I think I do; ay, I remember something about it now. Didn't I say that +whiskey was my coach an' my carriage, an' that it made me a lord?” + +“You did; well, now what do you say? Hasn't Teetotallism bate you in +your own argument? Hasn't it given you a shirt an' a coat to your back, +a good bed to lie on, a house over your head? In short, now, Art, hasn't +it given you all you said, an' more than ever you expected? eh, now?” + +“I give in, Margaret--you have me there; but,” he proceeded, “it's not +every man could pull himself up as I did; eh?” + +“Oh, for God's sake, Art, don't begin to put any trust in your own mere +strength, nor don't be boasting of what you did, the way you do; sure, +we ought always to be very humble and thankful to God for what he has +done for us; is there anything comes to us only through him?” + +“I'm takin' no pride to myself,” said Art, “divil a taste; but this I +know, talk as you will, there's always somethin' in the ould blood.” + +“Now, Art,” she replied, smiling, “do you know I could answer you on +that subject if I liked?” + +“You could,” said Art; “come, then, let us hear your answer--come +now--ha, ha, ha!” + +She became grave, but complacent, as she spoke. “Well, then, Art,” said +she, “where was the ould blood when you fell so low? If it was the ould +blood that riz you up, remember it was the ould blood that put you down. +You drank more whiskey,” she added, “upon the head of the ould blood +of Ireland, and the great Fermanagh Maguires, than you did on all other +subjects put together. No, Art dear, let us not trust to ould blood or +young blood, but let us trust to the grace o' God, an' ax it from our +hearts out.” + +“Well, but arn't we in great comfort now?” + +“We are,” she replied, “thank the Giver of all good for it; may God +continue it to us, and grant it to last!” + +“Last! why wouldn't it last, woman alive? Well, begad, after all, 'tis +not every other man, any way--” + +“Whisht, now,” said Margaret, interrupting him, “you're beginnin' to +praise yourself.” + +“Well, I won't then; I'm going down the town to have a glass or two o' +cordial wid young Tom Whiskey, in Barney Scaddhan's.” + +“Art,” she replied, somewhat solemnly, “the very name of Barney Scaddhan +sickens me. I know we ought to forgive every one, as we hope to be +forgiven ourselves; but still, Art, if I was in your shoes, the sorra +foot ever I'd put inside his door. Think of the way he trated you; ah, +Art acushla, where's the pride of the ould blood now?” + +“Hut, woman, divil a one o' me ever could keep in bad feelin' to any +one. Troth, Barney of late's as civil a crature as there's alive; sure +what you spake of was all my own fault and not his; I'll be back in an +hour or so.” + +“Well,” said his wife, “there's one thing, Art, that every one knows.” + +“What is that, Margaret?” + +“Why, that a man's never safe in bad company.” + +“But sure, what harm can they do me, when we drink nothing that can +injure us?” + +“Well, then,” said she, “as that's the case, can't you as well stay with +good company as bad?” + +“I'll not be away more than an hour.” + +“Then, since you will go, Art, listen to me; you'll be apt to meet Toal +Finnigan there; now, as you love me and your childre, an' as you wish +to avoid evil and misfortune, don't do any one thing that he proposes to +you: I've often tould you that he's your bitterest enemy.” + +“I know you did; but sure, wanst a woman takes a pick (pique) aginst a +man she'll never forgive him. In about an hour mind.” He then went out. + +The fact is, that some few of those who began to feel irksome under the +Obligation--by which I mean the knaves and hypocrites, for it is not +to be supposed that among such an incredible multitude as joined the +movement there were none of this description--some few, I say, were in +the habit of resorting to Barney Scaddhan's for the social purpose of +taking a glass of the true Teetotal cordial together. This drinking of +cordial was most earnestly promoted by the class of low and dishonest +publicans whom we have already described, and no wonder that it was so; +in the first place, it's sale is more profitable than that of whiskey +itself, and, in the second place, these fellows know by experience that +it is the worst enemy that teetolism has, very few having ever strongly +addicted themselves to cordial, who do not ultimately break the pledge, +and resume the use of intoxicating liquor. This fact was well known at +the time, for Father Costelloe, who did every thing that man could do to +extend and confirm the principle of temperance, had put his parishioners +on their guard against the use of this deleterious trash. Consequently, +very few of the Ballykeerin men, either in town or parish, would taste +it; when they stood in need of anything to quench their thirst, or +nourish them, they confined themselves to water, milk, or coffee. +Scarcely any one, therefore, with the exception of the knaves and +hypocrites, tampered with themselves by drinking it. + +The crew whom Art went to meet on the night in question consisted of +about half a dozen, who, when they had been in the habit of drinking +whiskey, were hardened and unprincipled men--profligates in every +sense--fellows that, like Toal Finnigan, now adhered to teetotalism from +sordid motives only, or, in other words, because they thought they +could improve their business by it. It is true, they were suspected +and avoided by the honest teetotallers, who wondered very much that Art +Maguire, after the treatment he had formerly received at their hands, +should be mean enough, they said, ever “to be hail fellow well met” with +them again. But Art, alas! in spite of all his dignity of old blood, and +his rodomontade about the Fermanagh Maguires, was utterly deficient in +that decent pride which makes a man respect himself, and prevents him +from committing a mean action. + +For a considerable time before his arrival, there were assembled in +Barney Scaddhan's tap, Tom Whiskey, Jerry Shannon, Jack Mooney, Toal +Finnigan, and the decoy duck, young Barney Scaddhan himself, who merely +became a teetotaller that he might be able to lure his brethren in to +spend their money in drinking cordial. + +“I wondher Art's not here before now,” observed Tom Whiskey; “blood +alive, didn't he get on well afther joinin' the 'totallers?” + +“Faix, it's a miracle,” replied Jerry Shannon, “there's not a more +'spbnsible man in Ballykeerin, he has quite a Protestant look;--ha, ha, +ha!” + +“Divil a sich a pest ever this house had as the same Art when he was a +blackguard,” said young Scaddhan; “there was no keepin' him out of it, +but constantly spungin' upon the dacent people that wor dhrmkin' in it.” + +“Many a good pound and penny he left you for all that, Barney, my lad,” + said Mooney; “and purty tratement you gave him when his money was gone.” + +“Ay, an' we'd give you the same,” returned Scaddhan, “if your's was +gone, too; ha, ha, ha! it's not moneyless vagabones we want here.” + +“No,” said Shannon, “you first make them moneyless vagabones, an' then +you kick them out o' doors, as you did him.” + +“Exactly,” said the hardened miscreant, “that's the way we live; when we +get the skin off the cat, then we throw out the carcass.” + +“Why, dang it, man,” said Whiskey, “would you expect honest Barney here, +or his still honester ould rip of a father, bad as they are, to give us +drink for nothing?” + +“Now,” said Finnigan, who had not yet spoken, “yez are talkin' about Art +Maguire, and I'll tell yez what I could do; I could bend my finger that +way, an' make him folly me over the parish.” + +“And how could you do that?” asked Whiskey. + +“By soodherin' him--by ticklin' his empty pride--by dwellin' on the ould +blood of Ireland, the great Fermanagh Maguires--or by tellin' him that +he's betther than any one else, and could do what nobody else could.” + +“Could you make him drunk to-night?” asked Shannon. + +“Ay,” said Toal, “an' will, too, as ever you seen him in your lives; only +whin I'm praisin' him do some of you oppose me, an' if I propose any +thing to be done, do you all either support me in it, or go aginst me, +accordin' as you see he may take it.” + +“Well, then,” said Mooney, “in ordher to put you in spirits, go off, +Barney, an' slip a glass o' whiskey a piece into this cordial, jist to +tighten it a bit--ha, ha, ha!” + +“Ay,” said Tom Whiskey, “till we dhrink success to teetotalism, ha, ha, +ha!” + +“Suppose you do him in the cordial,” said Shannon. + +“Never mind,” replied Toal; “I'll first soften him a little on the +cordial, and then make him tip the punch openly and before faces, like a +man.” + +“Troth, it's a sin,” observed Moonoy, who began to disrelish the +project; “if it was only on account of his wife an' childre.” + +Toal twisted his misshapen mouth into still greater deformity at this +observation-- + +“Well,” said he, “no matter, it'll only be a good joke; Art is a dacent +fellow, and afther this night we won't repate it. Maybe,” he continued +“I may find it necessary to vex him, an' if I do, remember you won't let +him get at me, or my bread's baked.” + +This they all promised, and the words were scarcely concluded, when Art +entered and joined them. As a great portion of their conversation did +not bear upon the subject matter of this narrative, it is therefore +unnecessary to record it. After about two hours, during which Art had +unconsciously drunk at least three glasses of whiskey, disguised in +cordial, the topic artfully introduced by Toal was the Temperance +Movement. + +“As for my part,” said he, “I'm half ashamed that I ever joined it. As I +was never drunk, where was the use of it? Besides, it's an unmanly thing +for any one to have it to say that he's not able to keep himself sober, +barrin' he takes an oath, or the pledge.” + +“And why did you take it then?” said Art. + +“Bekaise I was a fool,” replied Toal; “devil a thing else.” + +“It's many a good man's case,” observed Art in reply, “to take an oath +against liquor, or a pledge aither, an' no disparagement to any man that +does it.” + +“He's a betther man that can keep himself sober widout it,” said Toal +dryly. + +“What do you mane by a betther man?” asked Art, somewhat significantly; +“let us hear that first, Toal.” + +“Don't be talking' about betther men here,” said Jerry Shannon; “I tell +you, Toal, there's a man in this room, and when you get me a betther +man in the town of Ballykeerin, I'll take a glass of punch wid you, or a +pair o' them, in spite of all the pledges in Europe!” + +“And who is that, Jerry,” said Toal. + +“There he sits,” replied Jerry, putting his extended palm upon Art's +shoulder and clapping it. + +“May the divil fly away wid you,” replied Toal; “did you think me a +manus, that I'd go to put Art Maguire wid any man that I know? Art +Maguire indeed! Now, Jerry, my throoper, do you think I'm come to this +time o' day, not to know that there's no man in Ballykeerin, or the +parish it stands in--an' that's a bigger word--that could be called a +betther man that Art Maguire?” + +“Come, boys,” said Art, “none of your nonsense. Sich as I am, be the +same good or bad, I'll stand the next trate, an' devilish fine strong +cordial it is.” + +“Why, then, I don't think myself it's so good,” replied young Scaddhan; +“troth it's waiker than we usually have it; an' the taste somehow isn't +exactly to my plaisin'.” + +“Very well,” said Art; “if you have any that 'ill plaise yourself +betther, get it; but in the mane time bring us a round o' this, an' +we'll be satisfied.” + +“Art Maguire,” Toal proceeded, “you were ever and always a man out o' +the common coorse.” + +“Now, Toal, you're beginnin',” said Art; “ha, ha, ha--well, any way, how +is that!” + +“Bekaise the divil a taste o' fear or terror ever was in your +constitution. When Art, boys, was at school--sure he an' I wor +schoolfellows--if he tuck a thing into his head, no matter what, jist +out of a whim, he'd do it, if the divil was at the back door, or the +whole world goin' to stop him.” + +“Throth, Toal, I must say there's a great deal o' thruth in that. Divil +a one livin' knows me betther than Toal Finigan, sure enough, boys.” + +“Arra, Art, do you remember the day you crossed the weir, below Tom +Booth's,” pursued Toal, “when the river was up, and the wather jist +intherin' your mouth?” + +“That was the day Peggy Booth fainted, when she thought I was gone; +begad, an' I was near it.” + +“The very day.” + +“That may be all thrue enough,” observed Tom Whiskey; “still I think +I know Art this many a year, and I can't say I ever seen any of these +great doing's. I jist seen him as aisy put from a thing, and as much +afeard of the tongues of the nabors, or of the world, as another.” + +“He never cared a damn for either o' them, for all that,” returned +Toal; “that is, mind, if he tuck a thing into his head; ay, an' I'll go +farther--divil a rap ever he cared for them, one way or other. No, the +man has no fear of any kind in him.” + +“Why, Toal,” said Mooney, “whether he cares for them or not, I think is +aisily decided; and whether he's the great man you make him. Let us hear +what he says himself upon it, and then we'll know.” + +“Very well, then,” replied Toal; “what do you say yourself, Art? Am I +right, or am I wrong?” + +“You're right, Toal, sure enough; if it went to that, I don't care a +curse about the world, or all Ballykeerin along wid it. I've a good +business, and can set the world at defiance. If the people didn't want +me, they wouldn't come to me.” + +“Come, Toal,” said Jerry; “here--I'll hould you a pound note”--and lie +pulled out one as he spoke--“that I'll propose a thing he won't do.” + +“Aha--thank you for nothing, my customer--I won't take that bait,” + replied the other; “but listen--is it a thing that he can do?” + +“It is,” replied Jerry; “and what's more, every man in the room can do +it, as well as Art, if he wishes.” + +“He can?” + +“He can.” + +“Here,” said Toal, clapping down his pound. “Jack Mooney, put these in +your pocket till this matther's decided. Now, Jerry, let us hear it.” + +“I will;--he won't drink two tumblers of punch, runnin'; that is, one +afther the other.” + +“No,” observed Art, “I will not; do you want me to break the pledge?” + +“Sure,” said Jerry, “this is not breaking the pledge--it's only for a +wager.” + +“No matther,” said Art; “it's a thing I won't do.” + +“I'll tell you what, Jerry,” said Toal, “I'll hould you another pound +now, that I do a thing to-night that Art won't do; an' that, like your +own wager, every one in the room can do.” + +“Done,” said the other, taking out the pound note, and placing it in +Mooney's hand--Toal following his example. + +“Scaddhan,” said Toal, “go an' bring me two tumblers of good strong +punch. I'm a Totaller as well as Art, boys. Be off, Scaddhan.” + +“By Japers,” said Tom Whiskey, as if to himself--looking at the same +time as if he were perfectly amazed at the circumstance--“the little +fellow has more spunk than Maguire, ould blood an' all! Oh, holy Moses; +afther that, what will the world come to!” + +Art heard the soliloquy of Whiskey, and looked about him with an air of +peculiar meaning. His pride--his shallow, weak, contemptible pride, was +up, while the honest pride that is never separated from firmness and +integrity, was cast aside and forgotten. Scaddhan came in, and placing +the two tumblers before Toal, that worthy immediately emptied first one +of them, and then the other. + +“The last two pounds are yours,” said Jerry; “Mooney, give them to him.” + +Art, whose heart was still smarting under the artful soliloquy of Tom +Whiskey, now started to his feet, and exclaimed-- + +“No, Jerry, the money's not his yet. Barney, bring in two tumblers. What +one may do another may do; and as Jerry says, why it's only for a wager. +At any rate, for one o' my blood was never done out, and never will.” + +“By Japers,” said Whiskey, “I knew he wouldn't let himself be bate. I +knew when it came to the push he wouldn't.” + +“Well, Barney,” said Toal, “don't make them strong for him, for they +might get into his head; he hasn't a good head anyway--let them be +rather wake, Barney.” + +“No,” said Art, “let them be as strong as his, and stronger, Barney; and +lose no time about it.” + +“I had better color them,” said Barney, “an' the people about the place +'ll think it's cordial still.” + +“Color the devil,” replied Art; “put no colorin' on them. Do you think +I'm afeard of any one, or any colors?” + +“You afeard of any one,” exclaimed Tom Whiskey; “one o' the ould +Maguires afeard! ha, ha, ha!--that 'ud be good!” + +Art, when the tumblers came in, drank off first one, which he had no +sooner emptied, than he shivered into pieces against the grate; he then +emptied the other, which shared the same fate. + +“Now,” said he to Barney, “bring me a third one; I'll let yez see what a +Maguire is.” + +The third, on making its appearance, was immediately drained, and +shivered like the others--for the consciousness of acting-wrong, in +spite of his own resolution, almost drove him mad. Of what occurred +subsequently in the public house, it is not necessary to give any +account, especially as we must follow Art home--simply premising, before +we do so, that the fact of “Art Maguire having broken the pledge,” had +been known that very night to almost all Ballykeerin--thanks to the +industry of Toal Finnigan, and his other friends. + +His unhappy wife, after their conversation that evening, experienced one +of those strange, unaccountable presentiments or impressions which every +one, more or less, has frequently felt. Until lately, he had not often +gone out at night, because it was not until lately that the clique began +to reassemble in Barney Scaddhan's. 'Tis true the feeling on her part +was involuntary, but on that very account it was the more distressing; +her principal apprehension of danger to him was occasioned by his +intimacy with Toal Finnigan, who, in spite of all her warnings and +admonitions, contrived, by the sweetness of his tongue, to hold his +ground with him, and maintain his good opinion. Indeed, any one who +could flatter, wheedle, and play upon his vanity successfully, was +sure to do this; but nobody could do it with such adroitness as Toal +Finnigan. + +It is wonderful how impressions are caught by the young from those who +are older and have more experience than themselves. Little Atty, who had +heard the conversation already detailed, begged his mammy not to send +him to bed that night until his father would come home, especially +as Mat Mulrennan, an in-door apprentice, who had been permitted that +evening to go to see his family, had not returned, and he wished, he +said, to sit up and let him in. The mother was rather satisfied than +otherwise, that the boy should sit up with her, especially as all the +other children and the servants had gone to bed. + +“Mammy,” said the boy, “isn't it a great comfort for us to be as we are +now, and to know that my father can never get drunk again?” + +“It is indeed, Atty;” and yet she said so; with a doubting, if not an +apprehensive heart. + +“He'll never beat you more, mammy, now?” + +“No, darlin'; nor he never did, barrin' when he didn't know what he was +doin'.” + +“That is when he was drunk, mammy?” + +“Yes, Atty dear.” + +“Well, isn't it a great thing that he can never get drunk any more, +mammy; and never beat you any more; and isn't it curious too, how he +never bate me?” + +“You, darlin'? oh, no, he would rather cut his arm off than rise it to +you, Atty dear; and it's well that you are so good a boy as you are--for +I'm afeard, Atty, that even if you deserved to be corrected, he wouldn't +do it.” + +“But what 'ud we all do widout my father, mammy? If anything happened to +him I think I'd die. I'd like to die if he was to go.” + +“Why, darlin'?” + +“Bekase, you know, he'd go to heaven, and I'd like to be wid him; sure +he'd miss me--his own Atty--wherever he'd be.” + +“And so you'd lave me and your sisters, Atty, and go to heaven with your +father!” + +The boy seemed perplexed; he looked affectionately at his mother, and +said-- + +“No, mammy, I wouldn't wish to lave you, for then you'd have no son at +all; no, I wouldn't lave you--I don't know what I'd do--I'd like to stay +wid you, and I'd like to go wid him, I'd--” + +“Well, darlin', you won't be put to that trial this many a long day, I +hope.” + +Just then voices were heard at the door, which both recognized as those +of Art and Mat Mulrennan the apprentice. + +“Now, darlin',” said the mother, who observed that the child was pale +and drowsy-looking, “you may go to bed, I see you are sleepy, Atty, not +bein' accustomed to sit up so late; kiss me, an' good-night.” He then +kissed her, and sought the room where he slept. + +Margaret, after the boy had gone, listened a moment, and became deadly +pale, but she uttered no exclamation; on the contrary, she set her +teeth, and compressed her lips closely together, put her hand on the +upper part of her forehead, and rose to go to the door. She was not yet +certain, but a dreadful terror was over her--Could it be possible that +he was drunk?--she opened it, and the next moment her husband, in a +state of wild intoxication, different from any in which she had ever +seen him, come in. He was furious, but his fury appeared to have been +directed against the apprentice, in consequence of having returned home +so late. + +On witnessing with her own eyes the condition in which he returned, all +her presentiments flashed on her, and her heart sank down into a state +of instant hopelessness and misery. + +“Savior of the world!” she exclaimed, “I and my childre are lost; now, +indeed, are we hopeless--oh, never till now, never till now!” She wept +bitterly. + +“What are you cryin' for now?” said he; “what are you cryin' for, I +say?” he repeated, stamping his feet madly as he spoke; “stop at wanst, +I'll have no cry--cryin' what--at--somever.” + +She instantly dried her eyes. + +“Wha--what kep that blasted whelp, Mul--Mulrennan, out till now, I say?” + +“I don't know indeed, Art.” + +“You--you don't! you kno--know noth-in'; An' now I'll have a smash, by +the--the holy man, I'll--I'll smash every thing in--in the house.” + +He then took up a chair, which, by one blow against the floor, he +crashed to pieces. + +“Now,” said he, “tha--that's number one; whe--where's that whelp, +Mul--Mulrennan, till I pay--pay him for stayin' out so--so late. Send +him here, send the ska-min' sco--scoundrel here, I bid you.”. Margaret, +naturally dreading violence, went to get little Atty to pacify him, as +well as to intercede for the apprentice; she immediately returned, and +told him the latter was coming. Art, in the mean time, stood a little +beyond the fireplace, with a small beach chair in his hand which he had +made for Atty, when the boy was only a couple of years old, but which +had been given to the other children in succession. He had been first +about to break it also, but on looking at it, he paused and said-- + +“Not this--this is Atty's, and I won't break it.” + +At that moment Mulrennan entered the room, with Atty behind him, but +he had scarcely done so, when Art with all his strength flung the hard +beach chair at his head; the lad, naturally anxious to avoid it, started +to one side out of its way, and Atty, while in the act of stretching out +his arms to run to his father, received the blow which had been designed +for the other. It struck him a little above the temple, and he fell, +but was not cut. The mother, on witnessing the act, raised her arms and +shrieked, but on hearing the heavy, but dull and terrible sound of the +blow against the poor boy's head, the shriek was suspended when half +uttered, and she stood, her arms still stretched out, and bent a little +upwards, as if she would have supplicated heaven to avert it;--her mouth +was half open--her eyes apparently enlarged, and starting as if it +were out of their sockets; there she stood--for a short time so full +of horror as to be incapable properly of comprehending what had taken +place. At length this momentary paralysis of thought passed away, and +with all the tender terrors of affection awakened in her heart, she +rushed to the insensible boy. Oh, heavy and miserable night! What pen +can portray, what language describe, or what imagination conceive, the +anguish, the agony of that loving mother, when, on raising her sweet, +and beautiful, and most affectionate boy from the ground whereon he lay, +that fair head, with its flaxen locks like silk, fell utterly helpless +now to this side, and now to that! + +“Art Maguire,” she said, “fly, fly,”--and she gave him one look; but, +great God! what an object presented itself to her at that moment. A man +stood before her absolutely hideous with horror; his face but a minute +ago so healthy and high-colored, now ghastly as that of a corpse, his +hands held up and clenched, his eyes frightful, his lips drawn back, +and his teeth locked with strong and convulsive agony. He uttered not +a word, but stood with his wild and gleaming eyes riveted, as if by the +force of some awful spell, upon his insensible son, his only one, if he +was then even that. All at once he fell down without sense or motion, +as if a bullet had gone through his heart or his brain, and there lay as +insensible as the boy he had loved so well. + +All this passed so rapidly that the apprentice, who seemed also to have +been paralyzed, had not presence of mind to do any thing but look from +one person to another with terror and alarm. + +“Go,” said Margaret, at length, “wake up the girls, and then fly--oh, +fly--for the doctor.” + +The two servant maids, however, had heard enough in her own wild shriek +to bring them to this woful scene. They entered as she spoke, and, aided +by the apprentice, succeeded with some difficulty in laying their master +on his bed, which was in a back room off the parlor. + +“In God's name, what is all this?” asked one of them, on looking at the +insensible bodies of the father and son. + +“Help me,” Margaret replied, not heeding the question, “help me to lay +the treasure of my heart--my breakin' heart--upon his own little bed +within, he will not long use it--tendherly, Peggy, oh, Peggy dear, +tendherly to the broken flower--broken--broken--broken, never to rise +his fair head again; oh, he is dead,” she said, in a calm low voice, +“my heart tells me that he is dead--see how his limbs hang, how lifeless +they hang. My treasure--our treasure--our sweet, lovin', and only little +man--our only son sure--our only son is dead--and where, oh, where, is +the mother's pride out of him now--where is my pride out of him now?” + +They laid him gently and tenderly--for even the servants loved him as +if he had been a relation--upon the white counterpane of his own little +crib, where he had slept many a sweet and innocent sleep, and played +many a lightsome and innocent play with his little sisters. His mother +felt for his pulse, but she could feel no pulse, she kissed his passive +lips, and then--oh, woful alternative of affliction!--she turned to his +equally insensible father. + +“Oh, ma'am,” said one of the girls, who had gone over to look at Art; +“oh, for God's sake, ma'am, come here--here is blood comin' out of the +masther's mouth.” + +She was at the bedside in an instant, and there, to deepen her +sufferings almost beyond the power of human fortitude, she saw the blood +oozing slowly out of his mouth. Both the servants were now weeping and +sobbing as if their hearts would break. + +“Oh, mistress dear,” one of them exclaimed, seizing her affectionately +by both hands, and looking almost distractedly into her face, “oh, +mistress dear, what did you ever do to desarve this?” + +“I don't know, Peggy,” she replied, “unless it was settin' my father's +commands, and my mother's at defiance; I disobeyed them both, and they +died without blessin' either me or mine. But oh,” she said, clasping +her hands, “how can one poor wake woman's heart stand all this--a double +death--husband and son--son and husband--and I'm but one woman, one +poor, feeble, weak woman--but sure,” she added, dropping on her knees, +“the Lord will support me. I am punished, and I hope forgiven, and he +will now support me.” + +She then briefly, but distractedly, entreated the divine support, and +rose once more with a heart, the fibres of which were pulled asunder, as +it were, between husband and son, each of whose lips she kissed, having +wiped the blood from those of her husband, with a singular blending +together of tenderness, distraction and despair. She went from the one +to the other, wringing her hands in dry agony, feeling for life in +their hearts and pulses, and kissing their lips with an expression of +hopelessness so pitiable and mournful, that the grief of the servants +was occasioned more by her sufferings than by the double catastrophe +that had occurred. + +The doctor's house, as it happened, was not far from theirs, and in a +very brief period he arrived. + +“Heavens! Mrs. Maguire, what has happened?” said he, looking on the two +apparently inanimate bodies with alarm. + +“His father,” she said, pointing to the boy, “being in a state of drink, +threw a little beech chair at the apprentice here, he stepped aside, as +was natural, and the blow struck my treasure there,” she said, holding +her hand over the spot where he was struck, but not on it; “but, doctor, +look at his father, the blood is trickling out of his mouth.” + +The doctor, after examining into the state of both, told her not to +despair-- + +“Your husband,” said he, “who is only in a fit, has broken a +blood-vessel, I think some small blood-vessel is broken; but as for the +boy, I can as yet pronounce no certain opinion upon him. It will be a +satisfaction to you, however, to know that he is not dead, but only in a +heavy stupor occasioned by the blow.” + +It was now that her tears began to flow, and copiously and bitterly they +did flow; but as there was still hope, her grief, though bitter, was not +that of despair. Ere many minutes, the doctor's opinion respecting one +of them, at least, was verified. Art opened his eyes, looked wildly +about him, and the doctor instantly signed to his wife to calm the +violence of her sorrow, and she was calm. + +“Margaret,” said he, “where's Atty? bring him to me--bring him to me!” + +“Your son was hurt,” replied the doctor, “and has just gone to sleep.” + +“He is dead,” said Art, “he is dead, he will never waken from that +sleep--and it was I that killed him!” + +“Don't disturb yourself,” said the doctor, “as you value your own life +and his; you yourself have broken a blood-vessel, and there is nothing +for you now but quiet and ease.” + +“He is dead,” said his father, “he is dead, and it was I that killed +him; or, if he's not dead, I must hear it from his mother's lips.” + +“Art, darlin', he is not dead, but he is very much hurted,” she replied; +“Art, as you love him, and me, and us all, be guided by the doctor.” + +“He is not dead,” said the doctor; “severely hurt he is, but not dead. +Of that you may rest assured.” + +So far as regarded Art, the doctor was right; he had broken only a small +blood vessel, and the moment the consequences of his fit had passed away, +he was able to get up, and walk about with very little diminution of his +strength. + +To prevent him from seeing his son, or to conceal the boy's state from +him, was impossible. He no sooner rose than with trembling hands, a +frightful terror of what was before him, he went to the little bed on +which the being dearest to him on earth lay. He stood for a moment, +and looked down upon the boy's beautiful, but motionless face; he first +stooped, and putting his mouth to the child's ear said-- + +“Atty, Atty”--he then shook his head; “you see,” he added, addressing +those who stood about him, “that he doesn't hear me--no, he doesn't hear +me--that ear was never deaf to me before, but it's deaf now;” he then +seized his hand, and raised it, but it was insensible to his touch, and +would have fallen on the bed had he let it go. “You see,” he proceeded, +“that his hand doesn't know mine any longer! Oh, no, why should it? this +is the hand that laid our flower low, so why should he acknowledge it? +yet surely he would forgive his father, if he knew it--oh, he would +forgive that father, that ever and always loved him--loved him--loved +him, oh, that's a wake word, a poor wake word. Well,” he went on, “I +will kiss his lips, his blessed lips--oh, many an' many a kiss, many a +sweet and innocent kiss--did I get from them lips, Atty dear, with those +little arms, that are now so helpless, clasped about my neck.” He then +kissed him again and again, but the blessed child's lips did not return +the embrace that had never been refused before. “Now,” said he, “you all +see that--you all see that he won't kiss me again, and that is bekaise +he can't do it; Atty, Atty,” he said, “won't you speak to me? it's I, +Atty, sure it's I, Atty dear, your lovin' father, that's callin' you to +spake to him. Atty dear, won't you spake to me--do you hear my voice, +_asthore machree_--do you hear your father's voice, that's callin' +on you to forgive him?” He paused for a short time, but the child lay +insensible and still. + +At this moment there was no dry eye present; the very doctor wept. +Margaret's grief was loud; she felt every source of love and tenderness +for their only boy opened in her unhappy and breaking heart, and was +inconsolable: but then compassion for her husband was strong as +her grief. She ran to Art, she flung her arms about his neck, and +exclaimed-- + +“Oh, Art dear, Art dear, be consoled: take consolation if you can, or +you will break my heart. Forgive you asthore! you, you that would shed +your blood for him! don't you know he would forgive you? Sure, I forgive +you--his mother, his poor, distracted, heart-broken mother forgives +you--in his name I forgive you.” She then threw herself beside the body +of their child, and shouted out--“Atty, our blessed treasure, I have +forgiven your father for you--in your blessed name, and in the name of +the merciful God that you are now with, I have forgiven your unhappy +find heart-broken father--as you would do, if you could, our lost +treasure, as you would do.” + +“Oh,” said his father vehemently distracted with his horrible +affliction; “if there was but any one fault of his that I could remimber +now, any one failin' that our treasure had--if I could think of a single +spot upon his little heart, it would relieve me; but, no, no, there's +nothin' of that kind to renumber aginst him. Oh, if he wasn't what he +was--if he wasn't what he was--we might have some little consolation; +but now we've none; we've none--none!” + +As he spoke and wept, which he did with the bitterest anguish of +despair, his grief assumed a character that was fearful from the inward +effusion of blood, which caused him from time to time to throw it up in +red mouthfuls, and when remonstrated with by the doctor upon the danger +of allowing himself to be overcome by such excitement-- + +“I don't care,” he shouted, “if it's my heart's blood, I would shed it +at any time for him; I don't care about life now; what 'ud it be to me +without my son? widout you, Atty dear, what is the world or all +that's in it to me now! An' when I think of who it was that cut you +down--cursed be the hand that gave you that unlucky blow, cursed may +it be--cursed be them that tempted me to drink--cursed may the drink be +that made me as I was, and cursed of God may I be that--” + +“Art, Art,” exclaimed Margaret, “any thing but that, remember there's a +God above--don't blasphame;--we have enough to suffer widout havin' to +answer for that.” + +He paused at her words, and as soon as the paroxysm was over, he sunk +by fits into a gloomy silence, or walked from room to room, wringing +his hands and beating his head, in a state of furious distraction, very +nearly bordering on insanity. + +The next morning, we need scarcely assure our readers, that, as the +newspapers have it, a great and painful sensation had been produced +through the town of Bally-keerin by the circumstances which we have +related:-- + +“Art Maguire had broken the pledge, gone home drunk, and killed his only +son by the blow of an iron bar on the, head; the crowner had been sent +for, an' plaise God we'll have a full account of it all.” + +In part of this, however, common fame, as she usually is, was mistaken; +the boy was not killed, neither did he then die. On the third day, about +eight o'clock in the evening, he opened his eyes, and his mother, who +was scarcely ever a moment from his bedside, having observed the fact, +approached him with hopes almost as deep as those of heaven itself in +her heart, and in a voice soft and affectionate as ever melted into a +human ear-- + +“Atty, treasure of my heart, how do you feel?” + +The child made no reply, but as his eye had not met hers, and as she had +whispered very low, it was likely, she thought, that he had not heard +her. + +“I will bring his father,” said she, “for if he will know or spake to +any one, he will, spake to him.” + +She found Art walking about, as he had done almost ever since the +unhappy accident, and running to him with a gush of joyful tears, she +threw her arms about his neck, and kissing him, said-- + +“Blessed be the Almighty, Art--” but she paused, “oh, great God, Art, +what is this! merciful heaven, do I smell whiskey on you?” + +“You do,” he replied, “it's in vain, I can't live--I'd die widout it; +it's in vain, Margaret, to spake--if I don't get it to deaden my grief +I'll die: but, what wor you goin' to tell me?” he added eagerly. + +She burst into tears. + +“Oh, Art,” said she, “how my heart has sunk in spite of the good news I +have for you.” + +“In God's name,” he asked, “what is it? is our darlin' betther?” + +“He is,” she replied, “he has opened his eyes this minute, and I want +you to spake to him.” + +They both entered stealthily, and to their inexpressible delight heard +the child's voice; they paused,--breathlessly paused,--and heard him +utter, in a low sweet voice, the following words-- + +“Daddy, won't you come to bed wid me, wid your own Atty?” + +This he repeated twice or thrice before they approached him, but when +they did, although his eye turned from one to another, it was vacant, +and betrayed no signs whatsoever of recognition. + +Their hearts sank again, but the mother, whose hope was strong and +active as her affection, said-- + +“Blessed be the Almighty that he is able even to spake but he's not well +enough to know us yet.” + +This was unhappily too true, for although they spoke to him, and placed +themselves before him by turns, yet it was all in vain; the child knew +neither them nor any one else. Such, in fact, was now their calamity, +as a few weeks proved. The father by that unhappy blow did not kill +his body, but he killed his mind; he arose from his bed a mild, placid, +harmless idiot, silent and inoffensive--the only words he was almost +heard to utter, with rare exceptions, being those which had been in his +mind when he was dealt the woful blow:--“Daddy, won't you come to bed +wid me, wid your own Atty?” And these he pronounced as correctly as +ever, uttering them with the same emphasis of affection which had marked +them before his early reason had been so unhappily destroyed. Now, even +up to that period, and in spite of this great calamity, it was not +too late for Art Maguire to retrieve himself, or still to maintain the +position which he had regained. The misfortune which befell his +child ought to have shocked him into an invincible detestation of all +intoxicating liquors, as it would most men; instead of that, however, +it drove him back to them. He had contracted a pernicious habit of +diminishing the importance of first errors, because they appeared +trivial in themselves; he had never permitted himself to reason against +his propensities, unless through the indulgent medium of his own vanity, +or an overweening presumption in the confidence of his moral strength, +contrary to the impressive experience of his real weakness. His virtues +were many, and his foibles few; yet few as they were, our readers +perceive that, in consequence of his indulging them, they proved the +bane of his life and happiness. They need not be surprised, then, to +hear that from the want of any self-sustaining power in himself he fell +into the use of liquor again; he said he could not live without it, but +then he did not make the experiment; for he took every sophistry that +appeared to make in his favor for granted. He lived, if it could be +called life, for two years and a half after this melancholy accident, +but without the spring or energy necessary to maintain his position, or +conduct his business, which declined as rapidly as he did himself. He +and his family were once more reduced to absolute beggary, until in the +course of events they found a poorhouse to receive them. Art was seldom +without a reason to justify his conduct, and it mattered not how feeble +that reason might be, he always deemed it sufficiently strong to satisfy +himself. For instance, he had often told his wife that if Atty had +recovered, sound in body and mind, he had determined never again to +taste liquor; “but,” said he, “when I seen my darlin's mind gone, I +couldn't stand it widout the drop of drink to keep my heart an' spirits +up.” He died of consumption in the workhouse of Ballykeerin, and there +could not be a stronger proof of the fallacy with which he reasoned than +the gratifying fact, that he had not been more than two months dead, +when his son recovered his reason, to the inexpressible joy of his +mother; so that had he followed up his own sense of what was right, he +would have lived to see his most sanguine wishes, with regard to +his son, accomplished, and perhaps have still been able to enjoy a +comparatively long and happy life. + +On the morning of the day on which he died, although not suffering much +from pain, he seemed to feel an impression that his end was at hand. It +is due to him to say here, that he had for months before his death been +deeply and sincerely penitent, and that he was not only sensible of the +vanity and errors which had occasioned his fall from integrity, and cut +him off in the prime of life, but also felt his heart sustained by +the divine consolations of religion. Father Costello was earnest and +unremitting in his spiritual attentions to him, and certainly had the +gratification of knowing that he felt death to be in his case not merely +a release from all his cares and sorrows, but a passport into that life +where the weary are at rest. + +About twelve o'clock in the forenoon he asked to see his wife--his own +Margaret--and his children, but, above all, his blessed Atty--for such +was the epithet he had ever annexed to his name since the night of the +melancholy accident. In a few minutes the sorrowful group appeared, his +mother leading the unconscious boy by the hand, for he knew not where he +was. Art lay, or rather reclined, on the bed, supported by two bolsters; +his visage was pale, but the general expression of his face was calm, +mild, and sorrowful; although his words were distinct, his voice was +low and feeble, and every now and then impeded by a short catch--for to +cough he was literally unable. + +“Margaret,” said he, “come to me, come to me now,” and he feebly +received her hand in his; “I feel that afther all the warfare of this +poor life, afther all our love and our sorrow, I am goin' to part wid +you and our childhre at last.” + +“Oh, Art, darlin', I can think of nothing now, asthore, but our love,” + she replied, bursting into a flood of tears, in which she was joined by +the children--Atty, the unconscious Atty, only excepted. + +“An' I can think of little else,” said he, “than our sorrows and +sufferins, an' all the woful evil that I brought upon you and them.” + +“Darlin',” she replied, “it's a consolation to yourself, as it is to us, +that whatever your errors wor, you've repented for them; death is not +frightful to you, glory be to God!” + +“No,” said he, looking upwards, and clasping his worn hands; “I am +resigned to the will of my good and merciful God, for in him is my hope +an' trust. Christ, by his precious blood, has taken away my sins, for +you know I have been a great sinner;” he then closed his eyes for a few +minutes, but his lips were moving as if in prayer. “Yes, Margaret,” he +again proceeded, “I am goin' to lave you all at last; I feel it--I +can't say that I'll love you no more, for I think that even in heaven +I couldn't forget you; but I'll never more lave you a sore heart, as +I often did--I'll never bring the bitther tear to your eye--the hue +of care to your face, or the pang of grief an' misery to your heart +again--thank God I will not; all my follies, all my weaknesses, and all +my crimes--” + +“Art,” said his wife, wringing her hands, and sobbing as if her heart +would break, “if you wish me to be firm, and to set our childre an +example of courage, now that it's so much wanted, oh, don't spake as you +do--my heart cannot stand it.” + +“Well, no,” said he, “I won't; but when I think of what I might be this +day, and of what I am--when I think of what you and our childre might +be--an' when I see what you are--and all through my means--when I think +of this, Margaret dear, an' that I'm torn away from you and them in the +very prime of life--but,” he added, turning hastily from that view of +his situation, “God is good an' merciful, an' that is my hope.” + +“Let it be so, Art dear,” replied Margaret; “as for us, God will take +care of us, and in him we will put our trust, too; remimber that he is +the God and father of the widow an' the orphan.” + +He here appeared to be getting very weak, but in a minute or two he +rallied a little, and said, while his eye, which was now becoming heavy, +sought about until it became fixed upon his son-- + +“Margaret, bring him to me.” + +She took the boy by the hand, and led him over to the bedside. + +“Put his hand in mine,” said he, “put his blessed hand in mine.” + +She did so, and Art looked long and steadily upon the face of his child. + +“Margaret,” said he, “you know that durin' all my wild and sinful +coorses, I always wore the lock of hair you gave me when we wor young +next my heart--my poor weak heart.” + +Margaret buried her face in her hands, and for some time could not +reply. + +“I don't wish, darlin',” said he, “to cause you sorrow--you will have +too much of that; but I ax it as a favor--the last from my lips--that +you will now cut off a lock of his hair--his hair fair--an' put it along +with your own upon my heart; it's all I'll have of you both in the grave +where I'll sleep; and, Margaret, do it now--oh, do it soon.” + +Margaret, who always carried scissors hanging by her pocket, took them +out, and cutting a long abundant lock of the boy's hair, she tenderly +placed it where he wished, in a little three-cornered bit of black silk +that was suspended from his neck, and lay upon his heart. + +“Is it done?” said he. + +“It is done,” she replied as well as she could! + +“This, you know, is to lie on my heart,” said he, “when I'm in my grave; +you won't forget that!” + +“No--oh, no, no; but, merciful God, support me! for Art, my husband, my +life, I don't know how I'll part with you.” + +“Well, may God bless you forever, my darlin' wife, and support you and +my orphans! Bring them here.” + +They were then brought over, and in a very feeble voice he blessed them +also. + +“Now, forgive me all,” said he, “forgive ME ALL!” + +But, indeed, we cannot paint the tenderness and indescribable affliction +of his wife and children while uttering their forgiveness of all his +offences against them, as he himself termed it. In the meantime he kept +his son close by him, nor would he suffer him to go one moment from his +reach. + +“Atty,” said he, in a low voice, which was rapidly sinking;--“put his +cheek over to mine”--he added to his wife, “then raise my right arm, an' +put it about his neck;--Atty,” he proceeded, “won't you give me one last +word before I depart?” + +His wife observed that as he spoke a large tear trickled down his cheek. +Now, the boy was never in the habit of speaking when he was spoken to, +or of speaking at all, with the exception of the words we have already +given. On this occasion, however, whether the matter was a coincidence +or not, it is difficult to say, he said in a quiet, low voice, as if +imitating his father's-- + +“Daddy, won't you come to bed for me, for your own Atty?” + +The reply was very low, but still quite audible-- + +“Yes, darlin', I--I will--I will for you, Atty.” + +The child said no more, neither did his father, and when the sorrowing +wife, struck by the stillness which for a minute or two succeeded the +words, went to remove the boy, she found that his father's spirit had +gone to that world where, we firmly trust, his errors, and follies, and +sins have been forgiven. While taking the boy away, she looked upon +her husband's face, and there still lay the large tear of love and +repentance--she stooped down--she kissed it--and it was no longer there. + +There is now little to be added, unless to inform those who may take +an interest in the fate of his wife and children, that his son soon +afterwards was perfectly restored to the use of his reason, and that in +the month of last September he was apprenticed in the city of Dublin to +a respectable trade, where he is conducting himself with steadiness and +propriety; and we trust, that, should he ever read this truthful account +of his unhappy father, he will imitate his virtues, and learn to +avoid the vanities and weaknesses by which he brought his family to +destitution and misery, and himself to a premature grave. With respect +to his brother Frank, whom his irreclaimable dissipation drove out of +the country, we are able to gratify our readers by saying that he got +happily married in America, where he is now a wealthy man, in prosperous +business and very highly respected. + +Margaret, in consequence of her admirable character, was appointed to +the situation of head nurse in the Ballykeerin Hospital, and it will not +surprise our readers to hear that she gains and retains the respect and +good-will of all who know her, and that the emoluments of her situation +are sufficient, through her prudence and economy, to keep her children +comfortable and happy. + +Kind reader, is it necessary that we should recapitulate the moral we +proposed to show' in this true but melancholy narrative? We trust not. +If it be not sufficiently obvious, we can only say it was our earnest +intention that it should be so. At all events, whether you be +a Teetotaller, or a man carried away by the pernicious love of +intoxicating liquors, think upon the fate of Art Maguire, and do not +imitate the errors of his life, as you find them laid before you in this +simple narrative of “The Broken Pledge.” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other +Stories, by William Carleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP *** + +***** This file should be named 16019-0.txt or 16019-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16019/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/16019-0.zip b/16019-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..67ffd95 --- /dev/null +++ b/16019-0.zip diff --git a/16019-h.zip b/16019-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3659711 --- /dev/null +++ b/16019-h.zip diff --git a/16019-h/16019-h.htm b/16019-h/16019-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2ca353 --- /dev/null +++ b/16019-h/16019-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16586 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Stories of the Irish, by William Carleton, Part 7 + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other Stories +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: Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other Stories + 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 #16019] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + STORIES OF THE IRISH + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + BY WILLIAM CARLETON + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="pageAM1018 (173K)" src="images/pageAM1018.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="titlepage (59K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <h2> + CONTENTS + </h2> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> WILDGOOSE LODGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> TUBBER DERG; Or, THE RED WELL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> NEAL MALONE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ART MAGUIRE; OR, THE BROKEN PLEDGE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + List of Illustrations + </h2> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0001"> Page Wg939— By This Sacred An' Holy + Book of God </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0002"> Page Am994— At Length Margaret Spoke + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0003"> Page Am1018— They Immediately Expelled + Him </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0004"> Page Am1019— There's a Sleep That + Nobody Wakens From </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP. + </h2> + <p> + Phelim O'Toole, who had the honor of being that interesting personage, an + only son, was heir to a snug estate of half an acre, which had been the + family patrimony since the time of his grandfather, Tyrrell O'Toole, who + won it from the Sassenah at the point of his reaping-hook, during a + descent once made upon England by a body of “spalpeens,” in the month of + August. This resolute little band was led on by Tyrrell, who, having + secured about eight guineas by the excursion, returned to his own country, + with a coarse linen travelling-bag slung across his shoulder, a new hat in + one hand, and a staff in the other. On reaching once more his native + village of Teernarogarah, he immediately took half an acre, for which he + paid a moderate rent in the shape of daily labor as a cotter. On this he + resided until death, after which event he was succeeded by his son, Larry + O'Toole, the father of the “purty boy” who is about to shine in the + following pages. + </p> + <p> + Phelim's father and mother had been married near seven years without the + happiness of a family. This to both was a great affliction. Sheelah + O'Toole was melancholy from night to morning, and Larry was melancholy + from morning to night. Their cottage was silent and solitary; the floor + and furniture had not the appearance of any cottage in which Irish + children are wont to amuse themselves. When they rose in the morning, a + miserable stillness prevailed around them; young voices were not heard—laughing + eyes turned not on their parents—the melody of angry squabbles, as + the urchins, in their parents' fancy, cuffed and scratched each other—half, + or wholly naked among the ashes in the morning, soothed not the yearning + hearts of Larry and his wife. No, no; there was none of this. + </p> + <p> + Morning passed in a quietness hard to be borne: noon arrived, but the + dismal dreary sense of childlessness hung upon the house and their hearts; + night again returned, only to add its darkness to that which overshadowed + the sorrowful spirits of this disconsolate couple. + </p> + <p> + For the first two or three years, they bore this privation with a strong + confidence that it would not last. The heart, however, sometimes becomes + tired of hoping, or unable to bear the burthen of expectation, which time + only renders heavier. They first began to fret and pine, then to murmur, + and finally to recriminate. + </p> + <p> + Sheelah wished for children, “to have the crathurs to spake to,” she said, + “and comfort us when we'd get ould an' helpless.” + </p> + <p> + Larry cared not, provided they had a son to inherit the “half acre.” This + was the burthen of his wishes, for in all their altercations, his closing + observation usually was—“well, but what's to become of the half + acre?” + </p> + <p> + “What's to become of the half acre? Arrah what do I care for the half + acre? It's not that you ought to be thinkin' of, but the dismal poor house + we have, wid not the laugh or schreech of a <i>single pastiah</i> (* + child) in it from year's end to year's end.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sheelah?—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yourself, Larry? To the diouol I pitch your half acre, man.” + </p> + <p> + “To the diouol you—pitch—What do you fly at me for?” + </p> + <p> + “Who's flyin' at you? They'd have little tow on their rock that 'ud fly at + you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are flyin' at me; an' only you have a hard face, you wouldn't do it.” + </p> + <p> + “A hard face! Indeed it's well come over wid us, to be tould that by the + likes o' you! ha!” + </p> + <p> + “No matther for that! You had betther keep a soft tongue in your head, an' + a civil one, in the mane time. Why did the divil timpt you to take a fancy + to me at all?” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. Throw the <i>grah</i> an' love I <i>once</i> had for you in my + teeth, now. It's a manly thing for you to do, an' you may be proud, of it. + Dear knows, it would be betther for me I had fell in consate wid any face + but yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to goodness you had! I wouldn't be as I am to-day. There's that + half acre—” + </p> + <p> + “To the diouol, I say, I pitch yourself an' your half acre! Why do you be + comin' acrass me wid your half acre? Eh?—why do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Come now; don't be puttin' your hands agin your sides, an waggin' your + impty head at me, like a rockin' stone.” + </p> + <p> + “An' why do you be aggravatin' at me wid your half acre?” + </p> + <p> + “Bekase I have a good right to do it. What'll become of it when I d—” + </p> + <p> + “——That for you an' it, you poor excuse!” + </p> + <p> + “When I di—” + </p> + <p> + “——That for you an' it, I say! That for you an' it, you + atomy!” + </p> + <p> + “What'll become of my half acre when I die? Did you hear that?” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to think of what'll become of yourself, when you die; that's + what you ought to think of; but little it throubles you, you sinful + reprobate! Sure the neighbors despises you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's falsity; but they know the life I lade wid you. The edge of your + tongue's well known. They pity me, for bein' joined to the likes of you. + Your bad tongue's all you're good for.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you afeard to be flyin' in the face o' Providence the way you are? + An' to be ladin' me sich a heart-scalded life for no rason?” + </p> + <p> + “It's your own story you're tellin'. Sure I haven't a day's pace wid you, + or ever had these three years. But wait till next harvest, an' if I'm + spared, I'll go to England. Whin I do, I've a consate in my head, that + you'll never see my face agin.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know that's an' ould story wid you. Many a time you threatened us + wid that afore. Who knows but you'd be dhrowned on your way, an' thin we'd + get another husband.” + </p> + <p> + “An' be these blessed tongs, I'll do it afore I'm much oulder!” + </p> + <p> + “An' lave me here to starve an' sthruggle by myself! Desart me like a + villain, to poverty an' hardship! Marciful Mother of Heaven, look down + upon me this day! but I'm the ill-thrated, an' ill-used poor crathur, by a + man that I don't, an' never did, desarve it from! An' all in regard that + that 'half acre' must go to strangers! Och! oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay! now take to the cryin', do; rock yourself over the ashes, an' wipe + your eyes wid the corner of your apron; but, I say agin, <i>what's to + become of the half acre?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God forgive you, Larry! That's the worst I say to you, you poor + half-dead blaguard!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you massacray me wid your tongue as you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Go. an—go an. I won't make you an answer, you atomy! That's what + I'll do. The heavens above turn your heart this day, and give me strinth + to bear my throubles an' heart burnin', sweet Queen o' Consolation! Or + take me into the arms of Parodies, sooner nor be as I am, wid a poor baste + of a villain, that I never turn my tongue on, barrin' to tell him the kind + of a man he is, the blaguard!” + </p> + <p> + “You're betther than you desarve to be!” + </p> + <p> + To this, Sheelah made no further reply; on the contrary, she sat smoking + her pipe with a significant silence, that was only broken by an occasional + groan, an ejaculation, or a singularly devout upturning of the eyes to + heaven, accompanied by a shake of the head, at once condemnatory and + philosophical; indicative of her dissent from what he said, as well as of + her patience in bearing it. + </p> + <p> + Larry, however, usually proceeded to combat all her gestures by viva voce + argument; for every shake of her head he had an appropriate answer: but + without being able to move her from the obstinate silence she maintained. + Having thus the field to himself, and feeling rather annoyed by the want + of an antagonist, he argued on in the same form of dispute, whilst she, + after first calming her own spirit by the composing effects of the pipe, + usually cut him short with— + </p> + <p> + “Here, take a blast o' this, maybe it'll settle you.” + </p> + <p> + This was received in silence. The good man smoked on, and every puff + appeared, as an evaporation of his anger. In due time he was as placid as + herself, drew his breath in a grave composed manner, laid his pipe quietly + on the hob, and went about his business as if nothing had occurred between + them. + </p> + <p> + These bickerings were strictly private, with the exception of some + disclosures made to Sheelah's mother and sisters. Even these were thrown + out rather as insinuations that all was not right, than as direct + assertions that they lived unhappily. Before strangers they were perfect + turtles. + </p> + <p> + Larry, according to the notices of his life furnished by Sheelah, was “as + good a husband as ever broke the world's bread;” and Sheelah “was as good + a poor man's wife as ever threw a gown over her shoulders.” + Notwithstanding all this caution, their little quarrels took wind; their + unhappiness became known. Larry, in consequence of a failing he had, was + the cause of this. He happened to be one of those men who can conceal + nothing when in a state of intoxication. Whenever he indulged in liquor + too freely, the veil which discretion had drawn over their recriminations + was put aside, and a dolorous history of their weaknesses, doubts, hopes, + and wishes, most unscrupulously given to every person on whom the + complainant could fasten. When sober, he had no recollection of this, so + that many a conversation of cross-purposes took place between him and his + neighbors, with reference to the state of his own domestic inquietude, and + their want of children. + </p> + <p> + One day a poor mendicant came in at dinner hour, and stood as if to + solicit alms. It is customary in Ireland, when any person of that + description appears during meal times, to make him wait until the meal is + over, after which he is supplied with the fragments. No sooner had the + boccagh—as a certain class of beggars is termed—advanced past + the jamb, than he was desired to sit until the dinner should be concluded. + In the mean time, with the tact of an adept in his calling, he began to + ingratiate himself with Larry and his wife; and after sounding the simple + couple upon their private history, he discovered that want of children was + the occasion of their unhappiness. + </p> + <p> + “Well good people,” said the pilgrim, after listening to a dismal story on + the subject, “don't be cast down, sure, whether or not. There's a Holy + Well that I can direct yez to in the county—. Any one, wid trust in + the Saint that's over it, who'll make a pilgrimage to it on the Patthern + day, won't be the worse for it. When you go there,” he added, “jist turn + to a Lucky Stone that's at the side of the well, say a Rosary before it, + and at the end of every dicken (decade) kiss it once, ache of you. Then + you're to go round the well nine times, upon your bare knees, sayin' your + Pathers and Avers all the time. When that's over, lave a ribbon or a bit + of your dress behind you, or somethin' by way of an offerin', thin go into + a tent an' refresh yourselves, an' for that matther, take a dance or two; + come home, live happily, an' trust to the holy saint for the rest.” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of newly awakened hope might be discovered lurking in the eyes of + this simple pair, who felt that natural yearning of the, heart incident to + such as are without offspring. + </p> + <p> + They looked forward with deep anxiety to the anniversary of the Patron + Saint; and when it arrived, none certainly who attended it, felt a more + absorbing interest in the success of the pilgrimage than they did. + </p> + <p> + The days on which these pilgrimages are performed at such places are + called Pattern or Patron days. The journey to holy wells or holy lakes is + termed a Pilgrimage, or more commonly a Station. It is sometimes enjoined + by the priest, as an act of penance; and sometimes undertaken voluntarily, + as a devotional, work of great merit in the sight of God. The crowds in + many places amount to from five hundred to a thousand, and often to two, + three, four, or five thousand people. + </p> + <p> + These Stations have, for the most part, been placed in situations + remarkable for wild and savage grandeur, or for soft, exquisite, and + generally solitary beauty. They may be found on the high and rugged + mountain top; or sunk in the bottom of some still and lonely glen, far + removed from the ceaseless din of the world. Immediately beside them, or + close in their vicinity, stand the ruins of probably a picturesque old + abbey, or perhaps a modern chapel. The appearance of these gray, + ivy-covered walls is strongly calculated to stir up in the minds of the + people the memory of bygone times, when their religion, with its imposing + solemnities, was the religion of the land. It is for this reason, + probably, that patrons are countenanced; for if there be not a political + object in keeping them up, it is beyond human ingenuity to conceive how + either religion or morals can be improved by debauchery, drunkenness, and + bloodshed. + </p> + <p> + Let the reader, in order to understand the situation of the place we are + describing, imagine to himself a stupendous cliff overhanging a green + glen, into which tumbles a silver stream down a height of two or three + hundred feet. At the bottom of this rock, a few yards from the basin + formed by the cascade, in a sunless nook, was a well of cool, delicious + water. This was the “Holy Well,” out of which issued a slender stream, + that joined the rivulet formed by the cascade. On the shrubs which grew + out of the crag-cliffs around it, might be seen innumerable rags bleached + by the weather out of their original color, small wooden crosses, locks of + human hair, buttons, and other substitutes for property; poverty allowing + the people to offer it only by fictitious emblems. Lower down in the glen, + on the river's bank, was a smooth green, admirably adapted for the dance, + which, notwithstanding the religious rites, is the heart and soul of a + Patron. + </p> + <p> + On that morning a vast influx of persons, male and female, old and young, + married and single, crowded eagerly towards the well. Among them might be + noticed the blind, the lame, the paralytic, and such as were afflicted + with various other diseases; nor were those good men and their wives who + had no offspring to be omitted. The mendicant, the pilgrim, the boccagh, + together with every other description of impostors, remarkable for + attending such places, were the first on the ground, all busy in their + respective vocations. The highways, the fields, and the boreens, or + bridle-roads, were filled with living streams of people pressing forward + to this great scene of fun and religion. The devotees could in general be + distinguished from the country folks by their Pharisaical and penitential + visages, as well as by their not wearing shoes; for the Stations to such + places were formerly made with bare feet: most persons now, however, + content themselves with stripping off their shoes and stockings on coming + within the precincts of the holy ground. Human beings are not the only + description of animals that perform pilgrimages to holy wells and blessed + lakes. Cows, horses, and sheep are made to go through their duties, either + by way of prevention, or cure, of the diseases incident to them. This is + not to be wondered at, when it is known that in their religion every + domestic animal has its patron saint, to whom its owner may at any time + pray on its behalf. When the crowd was collected, nothing in the shape of + an assembly could surpass it in the originality of its appearance. In the + glen were constructed a number of tents, where whiskey and refreshments + might be had in abundance. Every tent had a fiddler or a piper; many two + of them. From the top of the pole that ran up from the roof of each tent, + was suspended the symbol by which the owner of it was known by his friends + and acquaintances. Here swung a salt herring or a turf; there a shillelah; + in a third place a shoe, in a fourth place a whisp of hay, in a fifth an + old hat, and so on with the rest. + </p> + <p> + The tents stood at a short distance from the scene of devotion at the + well, but not so far as to prevent the spectator from both seeing and + hearing what went on in each. Around the well, on bare knees, moved a body + of people thickly wedged together, some praying, some screaming, some + excoriating their neighbors' shins, and others dragging them out of their + way by the hair of the head. Exclamations of pain from the sick or lame, + thumping oaths in Irish, recriminations in broken English, and prayers in + bog Latin, all rose at once to the ears of the patron saint, who, we are + inclined to think—could he have heard or seen his worshippers—would + have disclaimed them altogether. + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of the Holy Virgin, keep your sharp elbows out o' my ribs.” + </p> + <p> + “My blessin' an you, young man, an' don't be lanin' an me, i' you plase!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Damnho sherry orth a rogarah ruah!</i>* what do you mane? Is it my + back you're brakin'?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Eternal perdition on you, you red rogue. +</pre> + <p> + “Hell pershue you, you ould sinner, can't you keep the spike of your + crutch out o' my stomach! If you love me tell me so; but, by the livin' + farmer, I'll take no such hints as that!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a pilgrim, an' don't brake my leg upon the rock, an' my blessin' an + you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, murdher sheery! my poor child'll be smothered!” + </p> + <p> + “My heart's curse an you! is it the ould cripple you're trampin' over?” + </p> + <p> + “Here, Barny, blood alive, give this purty young girl a lift, your sowl, + or she'll soon be undhermost!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Och, 'twas on a Christmas mornin' + That Jeroosillim was born in + The Holy Land'——' +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, my neck's broke!—the curse——Oh! I'm kilt fairly, so + I am! The curse o' Cromwell an you, an' hould away— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'The Holy Land adornin' + All by the Baltic Say. + The angels on a Station, + Wor takin' raycrayation, + All in deep meditation, + All by the'—— +</pre> + <p> + contints o' the book if you don't hould away, I say agin, an' let me go on + wid my <i>rann</i> it'll be worse force for you!— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Wor takin' raycraytion, + All by the Baltic Say!” + </pre> + <p> + “Help the ould woman there.” + </p> + <p> + “Queen o' Patriots pray for us!—St. Abraham——go to the + divil, you bosthoon; is it crushin' my sore leg you are?—St. Abraham + pray for us! St. Isinglass, pray for us! St. Jonathan,——musha, + I wisht you wor in America, honest man, instid o' twistin' my arm like a + gad f— St. Jonathan, pray for us; Holy Nineveh, look down upon us + wid compression an' resolution this day. Blessed Jerooslim, throw down + compuncture an' meditation upon us Chrystyeens assembled here afore you to + offer up our sins! Oh, grant us, blessed Catasthrophy, the holy virtues of + Timptation an' Solitude, through the improvement an' accommodation of St. + Kolumbdyl! To him I offer up this button, a bit o' the waistband o' my own + breeches, an' a taste of my wife's petticoat, in remimbrance of us having + made this holy Station; an' may they rise up in glory to prove it for us + at the last day! Amin!” + </p> + <p> + Such was the character of the prayers and ejaculations which issued from + the lips of the motley group that scrambled, and crushed, and screamed, on + their knees around the well. In the midst of this ignorance and absurdity, + there were visible, however, many instances of piety, goodness of heart, + and simplicity of character. From such you could hear neither oath nor + exclamation. They complied with the usages of the place modestly and + attentively: though not insensible, at the same time, to the strong + disgust which the general conduct of those who were both superstitious and + wicked was calculated to excite. A little from the well, just where its + waters mingled with those of the cascade, men and women might be seen + washing the blood off their knees, and dipping such parts of their body as + Were afflicted with local complaints into the stream. This part' of the + ceremony was anything but agreeable to the eye. Most of those who went + round the well drank its waters; and several of them filled flasks and + bottles with it, which they brought home for the benefit of such members + of the family as could not attend in person. + </p> + <p> + Whilst all this went forward at the well, scenes of a different kind were + enacted lower down among the tents. No sooner had the penitents got the + difficult rites of the Station over, than they were off to the whiskey; + and decidedly, after the grinding of their bare knees upon the hard rock—after + the pushing, crushing, and exhaustion of bodily strength which they had + been forced to undergo—we say, that the comforts and refreshments to + be had in the tents were very seasonable. Here the dancing, shouting, + singing, courting, drinking, and fighting, formed one wild uproar of + noise, that was perfectly astounding. The leading boys and the prettiest + girls of the parish were all present, partaking in the rustic revelry. + Tipsy men were staggering in every direction; fiddles were playing, pipes + were squeaking, men were rushing in detached bodies to some fight, women + were doctoring the heads of such as had been beaten, and factions were + collecting their friends for a fresh battle. Here you might see a grove of + shillelahs up, and hear the crash of the onset; and in another place, the + heads of the dancing parties bobbing up and down in brisk motion among the + crowd that surrounded them. + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim, having now gone through his Station, stood hemmed in by a + circle of those who wanted to purchase his beads or his scapulars. The + ballad-singer had his own mob, from among whom his voice might be heard + rising in its purest tones to the praise of— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Brave O'Connell, the Liberathur, + An' great Salvathur of Ireland's Isle!” + </pre> + <p> + As evening approached, the whiskey brought out the senseless prejudices of + parties and factions in a manner quite consonant to the habits of the + people. Those who, in deciding their private quarrels, had in the early + part of the day beat and abused each other, now united as the subordinate + branches of a greater party, for the purpose of opposing in one general + body some other hostile faction. These fights are usually commenced by a + challenge from one party to another, in which a person from the opposite + side is simply, and often very good-humoredly, invited to assert, that + “black is the white of his enemy's eye;” or to touch the old coat which he + is pleased to trail after him between the two opposing powers. This + characteristic challenge is soon accepted; the knocking down and yelling + are heard; stones fly, and every available weapon is pressed into the + service on both sides. In this manner the battle proceeds, until, + probably, a life or two is lost. Bones, too, are savagely broken, and + blood copiously spilled, by men who scarcely know the remote cause of the + enmity between the parties. + </p> + <p> + Such is a hasty sketch of the Pattern, as it is called in Ireland, at + which Larry and Sheelah duly performed their station. We, for our parts, + should be sorry to see the innocent pastimes of a people abolished; but, + surely, customs which perpetuate scenes of profligacy and crime should not + be suffered to stain the pure and holy character of religion. + </p> + <p> + It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers that Larry O'Toole and + Sheelah complied with every rite of the Station. To kiss the “Lucky + Stone,” however, was their principal duty. Larry gave it a particularly + honest smack, and Sheelah impressed it with all the ardor of a devotee. + Having refreshed themselves in the tent, they returned home, and, in + somewhat less than a year from that period, found themselves the happy + parents of an heir to the half-acre, no less a personage than young + Phelim, who was called after St. Phelim, the patron of the “Lucky Stone.” + </p> + <p> + The reader perceives that Phelim was born under particularly auspicious + influence. His face was the herald of affection everywhere. + </p> + <p> + From the moment of his birth, Larry and Sheelah were seldom known to have + a dispute. Their whole future life was, with few exceptions, one + unchanging honeymoon. Had Phelim been deficient in comeliness, it would + have mattered not a <i>crona baun</i>. Phelim, on the contrary, promised + to be a beauty; both, his parents thought it, felt it, asserted it; and + who had a better right to be acquainted, as Larry said, “wid the outs an' + ins, the ups an' downs of his face, the darlin' swaddy!” + </p> + <p> + For the first ten years of his life Phelim could not be said to owe the + tailor much; nor could the covering which he wore be, without more + antiquarian loire than we can give to it, exactly classed under any + particular term by which the various parts of human dress are known. He + himself, like some of our great poets, was externally well acquainted with + the elements. The sun and he were particularly intimate; wind and rain + were his brothers, and frost also distantly related to him. With mud he + was hand and glove, and not a bog in the parish, or a quagmire in the + neighborhood, but sprung up under Phelim's tread, and threw him forward + with the brisk vibration of an old acquaintance. Touching his dress, + however, in the early part of his life, if he was clothed with nothing + else, he was clothed with mystery. Some assert that a cast-off pair of his + father's nether garments might be seen upon him each Sunday, the wrong + side foremost, in accommodation with some economy of his mother's, who + thought it safest, in consequence of his habits, to join them in this + inverted way to a cape which he wore on his shoulders. We ourselves have + seen one, who saw another, who saw Phelim in a pair of stockings which + covered him from his knee-pans to his haunches, where, in the absence of + waistbands, they made a pause—a breach existing from that to the + small of his back. The person who saw all this affirmed, at the same time, + that there was a dearth of cloth about the skirts of the integument which + stood him instead of a coat. He bore no bad resemblance, he said, to-a + moulting fowl, with scanty feathers, running before a gale in the farm + yard. + </p> + <p> + Phelim's want of dress in his merely boyish years being, in a great + measure, the national costume of some hundred thousand young Hibernians in + his rank of life, deserves a still more, particular notice. His infancy we + pass over; but from the period at which he did not enter into small + clothes, he might be seen every Sunday morning, or on some important + festival, issuing from his father's mansion, with a piece of old cloth + tied about him from the middle to the knees, leaving a pair of legs + visible, that were mottled over with characters which would, if found on + an Egyptian pillar, put an antiquary to the necessity of constructing a + new alphabet to decipher them. This, or the inverted breeches, with his + father's flannel waistcoat, or an old coat that swept the ground at least + two feet behind him, constituted his state dress. On week days he threw + off this finery, and contented himself, if the season were summer, with + appearing in a dun-colored shirt, which resembled a noun-substantive, for + it could stand alone. The absence of soap and water is sometimes used as a + substitute for milling linen among the lower Irish; and so effectually had + Phelim's single change been milled in this manner, that, when + disenshirting at night, he usually laid it standing at his bedside where + it reminded one of frosted linen in everything but whiteness. + </p> + <p> + This, with but little variation, was Phelim's dress until his tenth year. + Long before that, however, he evinced those powers of attraction which + constituted so remarkable a feature in his character. He won all hearts; + the chickens and ducks were devotedly attached to him; the cow, which the + family always intended to buy, was in the habit of licking Phelim in his + dreams; the two goats which they actually did buy, treated him like I one + of themselves. Among the first and last he spent a great deal of his early + life; for as the floor of his father's house was but a continuation of the + dunghill, or the dunghill a continuation of the floor, we know not rightly + which, he had a larger scope, and a more unsavory pool than usual, for + amusement. Their dunghill, indeed, was the finest of it size and kind to + be seen; quite a tasteful thing, and so convenient, that he could lay + himself down at the hearth, and roll out to its foot, after which he + ascended it on his legs, with all the elasticity of a young poet + triumphantly climbing Parnassus. + </p> + <p> + One of the greatest wants which Phelim experienced in his young days, was + the want of a capacious pocket. We insinuate nothing; because with respect + to his agility in climbing fruit-trees, it was only a species of exercise + to which he was addicted—the eating and carrying away of the fruit + being merely incidental, or, probably, the result of abstraction, which, + as every one knows, proves what is termed “the Absence of Genius.” In + these ambitious exploits, however, there is no denying that he bitterly + regretted the want of a pocket; and in connection with this we have only + to add, that most of his solitary walks were taken about orchards and + gardens, the contents of which he has been often seen to contemplate with + deep interest. This, to be sure, might proceed from a provident regard to + health, for it is a well-known fact that he has frequently returned home + in the evenings, distended like a Boa-Constrictor after a gorge; yet no + person was ever able to come at the cause of his inflation. There were, to + be sure, suspicions abroad, and it was mostly found that depredations in + some neighboring orchard or garden had been committed a little before the + periods in which it was supposed the distention took place. Wo mention + these things after the example of those “d——d good-natured” + biographers who write great men's lives of late, only for the purpose of + showing that there could be no truth in such suspicions. Phelim, we assure + an enlightened public, was voraciously fond of fruit; he was frequently + inflated, too, after the manner of those who indulge therein to excess; + fruit was always missed immediately after the periods of his distention, + so that it was impossible he could have been concerned in the depredations + then made upon the neighboring orchards. In addition to this, we would beg + modestly to add, that the pomonian temperament is incompatible with the + other qualities for which he was famous. His parents were too ignorant of + those little eccentricities which, had they known them, would have opened + up a correct view of the splendid materials for village greatness which he + possessed, and which, probably, were nipped in their bud for the want of a + pocket to his breeches, or rather by the want of a breeches to his pocket; + for such was the wayward energy of his disposition, that he ultimately + succeeded in getting the latter, though it certainly often failed him to + procure the breeches. In fact, it was a misfortune to him that he was the + Son of his father and mother at all. Had he been a second Melchizedec, and + got into breeches in time, the virtues which circumstances suppressed in + his heart might have flourished like cauliflowers, though the world would + have lost all the advantages arising from the splendor of his talents at + going naked. + </p> + <p> + Another fact, in justice to his character, must not be omitted. His + penchant for fruit was generally known; but few persons, at the period we + are describing, were at all aware that a love of whiskey lurked as a + predominant trait in his character, to be brought out at a future era in + his life. + </p> + <p> + Before Phelim reached his tenth year, he and his parents had commenced + hostilities. Many were their efforts to subdue some peculiarities of his + temper which then began to appear. Phelim, however, being an only son, + possessed high vantage ground. Along with other small matters which he was + in the habit of picking up, might be reckoned a readiness at swearing. + Several other things also made their appearance in his parents' cottage, + for whose presence there, except through his instrumentality, they found + it rather difficult to account. Spades, shovels, rakes, tubs, frying-pans, + and many other-articles of domestic use, were transferred, as if by magic, + to Larry's cabin. + </p> + <p> + As Larry and his wife were both honest, these things were, of course, + restored to their owners, the moment they could be ascertained. Still, + although this honest couple's integrity was known, there were many + significant looks turned upon Phelim, and many spirited prophecies uttered + with especial reference to him, all of which hinted at the probability of + his dying something in the shape of a perpendicular death. This habit, + then, of adding to their furniture, was one cause of the hostility between + him and his parents; we say one, for there were at least, a good round + dozen besides. His touch, for instance, was fatal to crockery; he stripped + his father's Sunday clothes of their buttons, with great secrecy and + skill; he was a dead shot at the panes of his neighbors' windows; a + perfect necromancer at sucking eggs through pin-holes; took great delight + in calling home the neighboring farmers' workingmen to dinner an hour + before it was ready; and was in fact a perfect master in many other + ingenious manifestations of character, ere he reached his twelfth year. + </p> + <p> + Now, it was about this period that the small-pox made its appearance in + the village. Indescribable was the dismay of Phelim's parents, lest he + among others might become a victim to it. Vaccination, had not then + surmounted the prejudices with which every discovery beneficial to mankind + is at first met; and the people were left principally to the imposture of + quacks, or the cunning of certain persons called “fairy men” or “sonsie + women.” Nothing remained now but that this formidable disease should be + met by all the power and resources of superstition. The first thing the + mother did was to get a gospel consecrated by the priest, for the purpose + of guarding Phelim against evil. What is termed a Gospel, and worn as a + kind of charm about the person, is simply a slip of paper, on which are + written by the priest the few first verses of the Gospel of St. John. + This, however, being worn for no specific purpose, was incapable of + satisfying the honest woman. Superstition had its own peculiar remedy for + the small-pox, and Sheelah was resolved to apply it. Accordingly she + borrowed a neighbor's ass, drove it home with Phelim, however, on its + back, took the interesting youth by the nape of the neck, and, in the name + of the Trinity, shoved him three times under it, and three times over it. + She then put a bit of bread into its mouth, until the ass had mumbled it a + little, after which she gave the savory morsel to Phelim, as a <i>bonne + bouche</i>. This was one preventive against the small-pox; but another was + to be tried. + </p> + <p> + She next clipped off the extremities of Phelim's elf locks, tied them in + linen that was never bleached, and hung them beside the Gospel about his + neck. This was her second cure; but there was still a third to be applied. + She got the largest onion possible, which, having cut into nine parts, she + hung from the roof tree of the cabin, having first put the separated parts + together. It is supposed that this has the power of drawing infection of + any kind to itself. It is permitted to remain untouched, until the disease + has passed from the neighborhood, when it is buried as far down in the + earth as a single man can dig. This was a third cure; but there was still + a fourth. She borrowed ten asses' halters from her neighbors, who, on + hearing that they were for Phelim's use, felt particular pleasure in + obliging her. Having procured these, she pointed them one by one at + Phelim's neck, until the number nine was completed. The tenth, she put on + him, and with the end of it in her hand, led him like an ass, nine + mornings, before sunrise, to a south-running stream, which he was obliged + to cross. On doing this, two conditions were to be fulfilled on the part + of Phelim; he was bound, in the first place, to keep his mouth filled, + during the ceremony, with a certain fluid which must be nameless: in the + next, to be silent from the moment he left home until his return. + </p> + <p> + Sheelah having satisfied herself that everything calculated to save her + darling from the small-pox was done, felt considerably relieved, and hoped + that whoever might be infected, Phelim would escape. On the morning when + the last journey to the river had been completed, she despatched him home + with the halters. Phelim, however, wended his way to a little hazel copse, + below the house, where he deliberately twined the halters together, and + erected a swing-swang, with which he amused himself till hunger brought + him to his dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, you idle thief, what kep you away till now?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh; mudher, mudher, gi' me a piece o' arran? (* bread.) + </p> + <p> + “Why, here's the praties done for your dinner. What kep you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, be gorra, it's well you ever seen me at all, so it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said his father, “what happened you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bedad, a terrible thing all out. As I was crassin' Dunroe Hill, I + thramped on hungry grass. First, I didn't know what kem over me, I got so + wake; an' every step I wint, 'twas waker an' waker I was growin', till at + long last, down I dhrops, an' couldn't move hand or fut. I dunna how long + I lay there, so I don't; but anyhow, who should be <i>sthreelin</i>' + acrass the hill, but an old <i>baccagh</i>. + </p> + <p> + “'My <i>bouchaleen dhas</i>,' says he—'my beautiful boy,' says he—'you're + in a bad state I find. You've thramped upon Dunroe <i>hungry grass</i>, + an' only for somethin' it's a <i>prabeen</i> you'd be, afore ever you'd + see home. Can you spake at all?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, murdher,' says I,' I b'lieve not.' + </p> + <p> + “'Well here,' says the baccagh, 'open your purty gub, an' take in a + thrifle of this male, an' you'll soon be stout enough.' Well, to be sure, + it bates the world! I had hardly tasted the male, whin I found myself as + well as ever; bekase you know, mudher, that's the cure for it. 'Now,' says + the baccagh, 'this is the spot the fairies planted their hungry grass, an' + so you'll know it agin when you see it. What's your name?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Phelim O'Toole,' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, 'go home an' tell your father an' mother to offer up a + prayer to St. Phelim, your namesake, in regard that only for him you'd be + a corp before any relief would a come near you; or, at any rate, wid the + fairies.'” + </p> + <p> + The father and mother, although with a thousand proofs before them that + Phelim, so long as he could at all contrive a lie, would never speak + truth, yet were so blind to his well-known propensity, that they always + believed the lie to be truth, until they discovered it to be a falsehood. + When he related a story, for instance, which carried not only + improbability, but impossibility on the face of it, they never questioned + his veracity. The neighbors, to be sure, were vexed and nettled at the + obstinacy of their credulity; especially on reflecting that they were as + sceptical in giving credence to the narrative of any other person, as all + rational people ought to be. The manner of training up Phelim, and + Phelim's method of governing them, had become a by-word in the village. + “Take a sthraw to him, like Sheelah O'Toole,” was often ironically said to + mothers remarkable for mischievous indulgence to their children. + </p> + <p> + The following day proved that no charm could protect Phelim from the + small-pox. Every symptom of that disease became quite evident; and the + grief of his doting parents amounted to distraction. Neither of them could + be declared perfectly sane; they knew not how to proceed—what + regimen to adopt for him, nor what remedies to use. A week elapsed, but + each succeeding day found him in a more dangerous state. At length, by the + advice of some of the neighbors, an old crone, called “Sonsy Mary,” was + called in to administer relief through the medium of certain powers which + were thought to be derived from something holy and also supernatural. She + brought a mysterious bottle, of which he was to take every third spoonful, + three times a day; it was to be administered by the hand of a young girl + of virgin innocence, who was also to breathe three times down his throat, + holding his nostrils closed with her fingers. The father and mother were + to repeat a certain number of prayers; to promise against swearing, and to + kiss the hearth-stone nine times—the one turned north, and the other + south. All these ceremonies were performed with care, but Phelim's malady + appeared to set them at defiance; and the old crone would have lost her + character in consequence, were it not that Larry, on the day of the cure, + after having promised not to swear, let fly an oath at a hen, whose + cackling disturbed Phelim. This saved her character, and threw Larry and + Sheelah into fresh despair. + </p> + <p> + They had nothing now for it but the “fairy man,” to whom, despite the + awful mystery of his character, they resolved to apply rather than see + their only son taken from them for ever. Larry proceeded without delay to + the wise man's residence, after putting a small phial of holy water in his + pocket to protect himself from fairy influence. The house in which this + person lived was admirably in accordance with his mysterious character. + One gable of it was formed by the mound of a fairy Rath, against the + cabin, which stood endwise; within a mile there was no other building; the + country around it was a sheep-walk, green, and beautifully interspersed + with two or three solitary glens, in one of which might be seen a cave + that was said to communicate under ground with the rath. A ridge of + high-Peaked mountains ran above it, whose evening shadow, in consequence + of their form, fell down on each side of the rath, without obscuring its + precincts. It lay south; and, such was the power of superstition, that + during summer, the district in which it stood was thought to be covered + with a light decidedly supernatural. In spring, it was the first to be in + verdure, and in autumn the last. Nay, in winter itself, the rath and the + adjoining valleys never ceased to be green, these circumstances were not + attributed to the nature of the soil, to its southern situation, nor to + the fact of its being pasture land; but simply to the power of the + fairies, who were supposed to keep its verdure fresh for their own revels. + </p> + <p> + When Larry entered the house, which had an air of comfort and snugness + beyond the common, a tall thin pike of a man, about sixty years of age, + stood before him. He wore a brown great-coat that fell far short of his + knees; his small-clothes were closely fitted to thighs not thicker than + hand telescopes; on his legs were drawn gray woollen stockings, rolled up + about six inches over his small-clothes; his head was covered by a bay + bob-wig, on which was a little round, hat, with the edge of the leaf + turned up in every direction. His face was short and sallow; his chin + peaked; his nose small and turned up. If we add to this, a pair of + skeleton-like hands and arms projecting about eight inches beyond the + sleeves of his coat; two fiery ferret-eyes; and a long small holly wand, + higher than himself, we have the outline of this singular figure. + </p> + <p> + “God save you, nabor,” said Larry. + </p> + <p> + “Save you, save you, neighbor,” he replied, without pronouncing the name + of the deity. + </p> + <p> + “This is a thryin' time,” said Larry, “to them that has childhre.” + </p> + <p> + The fairy-man fastened his red glittering eyes upon him, with a sinister + glance that occasioned Larry to feel rather uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “So you venthured to come to the fairy-man?” + </p> + <p> + “It is about our son, an' he all we ha—” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht!” said the man, waving his hand with a commanding air. “Whisht; I + wish you wor out o' this, for it's a bad time to be here. Listen! Listen! + Do you hear nothing?” + </p> + <p> + Larry changed color. “I do,” he replied—“The Lord protect me: Is + that them?” + </p> + <p> + “What did you hear?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” returned the other, “I heard the bushes of the rath all movin', + jist as if a blast o' wind came among them!” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht,” said the fairy-man, “they're here; you mustn't open your lips + while you're in the house. I know what you want, an' will see your son. Do + you hear anything more? If you do, lay your forefinger along your nose; + but don't spake.” + </p> + <p> + Larry heard with astonishment, the music of a pair of bagpipes. The tune + played was one which, according to a popular legend, was first played by + Satan; it is called: “Go to the Devil and shake yourself.” To our own + knowledge, the peasantry in certain parts of Ireland refuse to sing it for + the above reason. The mystery of the music was heightened too by the fact + of its being played, as Larry thought, behind the gable of the cabin, + which stood against the side of the rath, out of which, indeed, it seemed + to proceed. + </p> + <p> + Larry laid his finger along his nose, as he had been desired; and this + appearing to satisfy the fairy-man, he waved his hand to the door, thus + intimating that his visitor should depart; which he did immediately, but + not without observing that this wild-looking being closed and bolted the + door after him. + </p> + <p> + It is unnecessary to say that he was rather anxious to get off the + premises of the good people; he therefore lost little time until he + arrived at his own cabin; but judge of his wonder when, on entering it, he + found the long-legged spectre awaiting his return. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Banaght dhea orrin!</i>” he exclaimed, starting back; “the blessing of + God be upon us! Is it here before me you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue, man,” said the other, with a smile of mysterious + triumph. “Is it that you wondher at? Ha, ha! That's little of it!” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you know my name? or who I was? or where I lived at all? + Heaven protect us! it's beyant belief, clane out.” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue,” replied the man; “don't be axin' me any thing o' the + kind. Clear out, both of ye, till I begin my pisthrogues wid the sick + child. Clear out, I say.” + </p> + <p> + With some degree of apprehension, Larry and Sheelah left the house as they + had been ordered, and the Fairy-man having pulled out a flask of poteen, + administered a dose of it to Phelim; and never yet did patient receive his + medicine with such a relish. He licked his lips, and fixed his eye upon it + with a longing look. + </p> + <p> + “Be Gorra,” said he, “that's fine stuff entirely. Will you lave me the + bottle?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Fairy-man, “but I'll call an' give you a little of it wanst + a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay do,” replied Phelim; “the divil a fear o' me, if I get enough of it. I + hope I'll see you often.” + </p> + <p> + The Fairy-man kept his word; so that what with his bottle, a hardy + constitution, and light bed-clothes, Phelim got the upper hand of his + malady. In a month he was again on his legs; but, alas! his complexion + though not changed to deformity, was wofully out of joint. His principal + blemish, in addition to the usual marks left by his complaint, consisted + in a drooping of his left eyelid, which gave to his whole face a cast + highly ludicrous. + </p> + <p> + When Phelim felt thoroughly recovered, he claimed a pair of “leather + crackers,” * a hare-skin cap, and a coat, with a pertinacity which kept + the worthy couple in a state of inquietude, until they complied with his + importunity. Henceforth he began to have everything his own way. His + parents, sufficiently thankful that he was spared to them, resolved to + thwart him no more. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Breeches made of sheep's skin, so called from the + noise they make in walking or running. +</pre> + <p> + “It's well we have him at all,” said his mother; “sure if we hadn't him, + we'd be breakin' our hearts, and sayin' if it 'ud plase God to send him + back to us, that we'd be happy even wid givin' him his own way.” + </p> + <p> + “They say it breaks their strinth, too,” replied his father, “to be + crubbin' them in too much, an' snappin' at thim for every hand's turn, an' + I'm sure it does too.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't he become the pock-marks well, the crathur?” said the mdther. + </p> + <p> + “Become!” said the father; “but doesn't the droop in his eye set him off + all to pieces!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” observed the mother, “an' how the crathur went round among all the + neighbors to show them the 'leather crackers!' To see his little pride out + o' the hare-skin cap, too, wid the hare's ears stickin' out of his + temples. That an' the droopin: eye undher them makes him look so cunnin' + an' ginteel, that one can't help havin' their heart fixed upon him.” + </p> + <p> + “He'd look betther still if that ould coat wasn't sweepin' the ground + behind him; an' what 'ud you think to put a pair o' <i>martyeens</i> on + his legs to hide the mazles! He might go anywhere thin.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth he might; but Larry, what in the world wide could be in the + Fairy-man's bottle that Phelim took sich a likin' for it. He tould me this + mornin' that he'd suffer to have the pock agin, set in case he was cured + wid the same bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the Heaven be praised, any how, that we have a son for the + half-acre, Sheelah.' + </p> + <p> + “Amin! An' let us take good care of him, now that he's spared to us.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's appetite, after his recovery, was anything but a joke to his + father. He was now seldom at home, except during meal times; for wherever + fun or novelty was to be found, Phelim was present. He became a regular + attendant upon all the sportsmen. To such he made himself very useful by + his correct knowledge of the best covers for game, and the best pools for + fish. He was acquainted with every rood of land in the, parish; knew with + astonishing accuracy where coveys were to be sprung, and hares started. No + hunt was without him; such was his wind and speed of foot, that to follow + a chase and keep up with the horsemen was to him only a matter of sport. + When daylight passed, night presented him with amusements suitable to + itself. No wake, for instance, could escape him; a dance without young + Phelim O'Toole would have been a thing worthy to be remembered. He was + zealously devoted to cock-fighting; on Shrove-Tuesday he shouted loudest + among the crowd that attended the sport of throwing at cooks tied to a + stake; foot-ball and hurling never occurred without him. Bull-baiting—for + it was common in his youth—was luxury to him; and, ere he reached + fourteen, every one knew Phelim O'Toole as an adept at card-playing. + Wherever a sheep, a leg of mutton, a dozen of bread, or a bottle of + whiskey was put up in a shebeen house, to be played for by the country + gamblers at the five and ten, or spoil'd five, Phelim always took a hand + and was generally successful. On these occasions he was frequently charged + with an over-refined dexterity; but Phelim usually swore, in vindication + of his own innocence, until he got black in the face, as the phrase among + such characters goes. + </p> + <p> + The reader is to consider him now about fifteen—a stout, overgrown, + unwashed cub. His parents' anxiety that he should grow strong, prevented + them from training him to any kind of employment. He was eternally going + about in quest of diversion; and wherever a knot of idlers was to be + found, there was Phelim. He had, up to this period, never worn a shoe, nor + a single article of dress that had been made for himself, with the + exception of one or two pair of sheepskin small-clothes. In this way he + passed his time, bare-legged, without shoes, clothed in an old coat much + too large for him, his neck open, and his sooty locks covered with the + hare-skin cap, the ears as usual sticking out above his brows. Much of his + time was spent in setting the idle boys of the village to fight; and in + carrying lying challenges from one to another. He himself was seldom + without a broken head or a black eye; for in Ireland, he who is known to + be fond of quarrelling, as the people say, usually “gets enough an' lavins + of it.” Larry and Sheelah, thinking it now high time that something should + be done with Phelim, thought it necessary to give him some share of + education. Phelim opposed this bitterly as an unjustifiable encroachment + upon his personal liberty; but, by bribing him with the first and only + suit of clothes he had yet got, they at length succeeded in prevailing on + him to go. + </p> + <p> + The school to which he was sent happened to be kept in what is called an + inside Kiln. This kind of kiln is usually—but less so now than + formerly—annexed to respectable farmers' outhouses, to which, in + agricultural districts, it forms a very necessary appendage. It also + serves at the same time as a barn, the kiln-pot being sunk in the shape of + an inverted cone at one end, but divided from the barn floor by a wall + about three feet high. From this wall beams run across the kiln-pot, over + which, in a transverse direction, are laid a number of rafters like the + joists of a loft, but not fastened. These ribs are covered with straw, + over which again is spread a winnow-cloth to keep the grain from being + lost. The fire is sunk on a level with the bottom of the kiln-pot, that + is, about eight or ten feet below the floor of the barn. The descent to it + is by stairs formed at the side wall. We have been thus minute in + describing it, because, as the reader will presently perceive, the feats + of Phelim render it necessary. + </p> + <p> + On the first day of his entering the school he presented himself with a + black eye; and as his character was well known to both master and + scholars, the former felt no hesitation in giving him a wholesome lecture + upon the subject of his future conduct. For at least a year before this + time, he had gained the nick-name of “Blessed Phelim,” and “Bouncing,” + epithets bestowed on him by an ironical allusion to his patron saint, and + his own habits. + </p> + <p> + “So, Blessed Phelim,” said the master, “you are comin' to school!!! Well, + well! I only say that miracles will never cease. Arrah, Phelim, will you + tell us candidly—ah—I beg your pardon; I mean, will you tell + us the best lie you can coin upon the cause of your coming to imbibe moral + and literary knowledge? Silence, boys, till we hear Blessed Phelim's lie.” + </p> + <p> + “You must hear it, masther,” said Phelim. “I'm comin' to larn to read an' + write.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! By the bones of Prosodius, I expected a lie, but not such a + thumper as that. And you're comin' wid a black eye to prove it! A black + eye, Phelim, is the blackguard's coat of arms; and to do you justice, you + are seldom widout your crest.” + </p> + <p> + For a few days Phelim attended the school, but learned not a letter. The + master usually sent him to be taught by the youngest lads, with a hope of + being able to excite a proper spirit of pride and emulation in a mind that + required some extraordinary impulse. One day he called him up to ascertain + what progress he had actually made; the unsuspecting teacher sat at the + time upon the wall which separated the barn-floor from the kiln-pot, with + his legs dangling at some distance from the ground. It was summer, any + rafters used in drying the grain had been removed. On finding that Blessed + Phelim, notwithstanding all the lessons he had received, was still in a + state of the purest ignorance, he lost his temper, and brought him over + between his knees, that he might give him an occasional cuff for his + idleness. The lesson went on, and the master's thumps were thickening + about Phelim's ears, much to the worthy youth's displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said the master, “I'll invert you a scarecrow for dunces. I'll + lay you against the wall, with your head down and your heels up like a + forked carrot.” + </p> + <p> + “But how will you manage that?” said Phelim. “What 'ud I be doin' in the + mane time?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll find a way to manage it,” said the master. + </p> + <p> + “To put my head down an' my heels up, is it?” inquired Phelim. + </p> + <p> + “You've said it, my worthy,” returned his teacher. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't know the way,” replied the pupil, “I'll show you;” getting + his shoulder under the master's leg, and pitching him heels over his head + into the kiln-pot. He instantly seized his cap, and ran out of the school, + highly delighted at his feat; leaving the scholars to render the master + whatever assistance was necessary. The poor man was dangerously hurt, for + in addition to a broken arm, he received half a dozen severe contusions on + the head, and in different parts of the body. + </p> + <p> + This closed Phelim's education; for no persuasion could ever induce him to + enter a school afterwards; nor could any temptation prevail on the + neighboring teachers to admit him as a pupil. + </p> + <p> + Phelim now shot up rapidly to the stature of a young man; and a graceful + slip was he. From the period of fifteen until nineteen, he was + industriously employed in idleness. About sixteen he began to look after + the girls, and to carry a cudgel. The father in vain attempted to + inoculate him with a love of labor; but Phelim would not receive the + infection. His life was a pleasanter one. Sometimes, indeed, when he + wanted money to treat the girls at fairs and markets, he would prevail on + himself to labor a week or fortnight with some neighboring farmer; but the + moment he had earned as much as he deemed sufficient, the spade was thrown + aside. Phelim knew all the fiddlers and pipers in the barony; was master + of the ceremonies at every wake and dance that occurred within several + miles of him. He was a crack dancer, and never attended a dance without + performing a horn-pipe on a door or a table; no man could shuffle, or + treble, or cut, or spring, or caper with him. Indeed it was said that he + could dance “Moll Roe” upon the end of a five-gallon keg, and snuff a + mould candle with his heels, yet never lose the time. The father and + mother were exceedingly proud of Phelim, The former, when he found him + grown up, and associating with young men, began to feel a kind of ambition + in being permitted to join Phelim and his companions, and to look upon the + society of his own son as a privilege. With the girls Phelim was a beauty + without paint. They thought every wake truly a scene of sorrow, if he did + not happen to be present. Every dance was doleful without him. Phelim wore + his hat on one side, with a knowing but careless air; he carried his + cudgel with a good-humored, dashing spirit, precisely in accordance with + the character of a man who did not care a traneen whether he drank with + you as a friend or fought with you as a foe. Never were such songs heard + as Phelim could sing, nor such a voice as that with which he sang them. + His attitudes and action were inimitable. The droop in his eye was a + standing wink at the girls; and when he sang his funny songs, with what + practised ease he gave the darlings a roguish chuck under the chin! Then + his jokes! “Why, faix,” as the fair ones often said of him, “before Phelim + speaks at all, one laughs at what he says.” This was fact. His very + appearance at a wake, dance, or drinking match, was hailed by a peal of + mirth. This heightened his humor exceedingly; for say what you will, + laughter is to wit what air is to fire—the one dies without the + other. + </p> + <p> + Let no one talk of beauty being on the surface. This is a popular error, + and no one but a superficial fellow would defend it Among ten thousand you + could not get a more unfavorable surface than Phelim's. His face resembled + the rough side of a cullender, or, as he was often told in raillery, “you + might grate potatoes on it.” The lid of his left eye, as the reader knows, + was like the lid of a salt-box, always closed; and when he risked a wink + with the right, it certainly gave him the look of a man shutting out the + world, and retiring into himself for the purpose of self-examination. No, + no; beauty is in the mind; in the soul; otherwise Phelim never could have + been such a prodigy of comeliness among the girls. This was the + distinction the fair sex drew in his favor. “Phelim,” they would say, “is + not purty, but he's very comely. Bad end to the one of him but would stale + a pig off a tether, wid his winnin' ways.” And so he would, too, without + much hesitation, for it was not the first time he had stolen his father's. + </p> + <p> + From nineteen until the close of his minority, Phelim became a + distinguished man in fairs and markets. He was, in fact, the hero of the + parish; but, unfortunately, he seldom knew on the morning of the fair-day + the name of the party or faction on whose side he was to fight. This was + merely a matter of priority; for whoever happened to give him the first + treat uniformly secured him. The reason of this pliability on his part + was, that Phelim being every person's friend, by his good nature, was + nobody's foe, except for the day. He fought for fun and for whiskey. When + he happened to drub some companion or acquaintance on the opposite side, + he was ever ready to express his regret at the circumstance, and abused, + them heartily for not having treated him first. + </p> + <p> + Phelim was also a great Ribbonman; and from the time he became initiated + into the system, his eyes were wonderfully opened to the oppressions of + the country. Sessions, decrees, and warrants he looked upon as I gross + abuses; assizes, too, by which so many of his friends were put to some + inconvenience, he considered as the result of Protestant Ascendancy—cancers + that ought to be cut out of the constitution. Bailiffs, drivers, + tithe-proctors, tax-gatherers, policemen, and parsons, he thought were + vermin that ought to be compelled to emigrate to a much warmer country + than Ireland. + </p> + <p> + There was no such hand in the county as Phelim at an alibi. Just give him + the outline—a few leading particulars of the fact—and he would + work wonders. One would think, indeed, that he had been born for that + especial purpose; for, as he was never known to utter a syllable of truth + but once, when he had a design in not being believed, so there was no risk + of a lawyer getting truth out of him. No man was ever afflicted with such + convenient maladies as Phelim; even his sprains, tooth-aches, and colics + seemed to have entered into the Whiteboy system. But, indeed, the very + diseases in Ireland are seditious. Many a time has a tooth-ache come in to + aid Paddy in obstructing the course of justice; and a colic been guilty of + misprision of treason. Irish deaths, too, are very disloyal, and + frequently at variance with the laws: nor are our births much better; for + although more legitimate than those of our English neighbors, yet they are + in general more illegal. Phelim, in proving his alibis, proved all these + positions. On one occasion, “he slep at the prisoner's house, and couldn't + close his eye with a thief of a tooth-ache that parsecuted him the whole + night;” so, that in consequence of having the tooth-ache, it was + impossible that the prisoner could leave the house without his knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Again, the prisoner at the bar could not possibly have shot the deceased, + “bekase Mickey slept that very night at Phelim's, an' Phelim, bein' ill o' + the colic, never slep at all durin' the whole night; an', by the vartue of + his oath, the poor boy couldn't go out o' the house unknownst to him. If + he had, Phelim would a seen him, sure.” + </p> + <p> + Again, “Paddy Cummisky's wife tuck ill of a young one, an' Phelim was sent + for to bring the midwife; but afore he kem to Paddy's, or hard o' the + thing at all, the prisoner, airly in the night, comin' to sit awhile wid + Paddy, went for the midwife instead o' Phelim, an' thin they sot up an' + had a sup in regard of the 'casion; an' the prisoner never left them at + all that night until the next mornin'. An' by the same token, he + remimbered Paddy Cummisky barrin' the door, an' shuttin' the windies, + bekase it's not lucky to have them open, for fraid that the fairies 'ud + throw their <i>pishthrogues</i> upon the young one, an' it not + christened.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim was certainly an accomplished youth. As an alibist, however, his + career was, like that of all alibists, a short one. The fact was, that his + face soon became familiar to the court and the lawyers, so that his name + and appearance were ultimately rather hazardous to the cause of his + friends. + </p> + <p> + Phelim, on other occasions, when summoned as evidence against his + well-wishers or brother Ribbonmen, usually forgot his English, and gave + his testimony by an interpreter. Nothing could equal his ignorance and + want of common capacity during these trials. His face was as free from + every visible trace of meaning as if he had been born an idiot. No block + was ever more impenetrable than he. + </p> + <p> + “What is the noble gintleman sayin'?” he would ask in Irish; and on having + that explained, he would inquire, “what is that?” then demand a fresh + explanation of the last one, and so on successively, until he was given up + in despair. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in cases of a capital nature, Phelim, with the consent of his + friends, would come forward and make disclosures, in order to have them + put upon their trial and acquitted; lest a real approver, or some one + earnestly disposed to prosecute, might appear against them. Now the alibi + and its usual accompaniments are all of old standing in Ireland; but the + master-stroke to which we have alluded is a modern invention. Phelim would + bear evidence against them; and whilst the government—for it was + mostly in government prosecutions he adventured this—believed they + had ample grounds for conviction in his disclosures, it little suspected + that the whole matter was a plan to defeat itself. In accordance with his + design, he gave such evidence upon the table as rendered conviction + hopeless. His great object was to damn his own character as a witness, and + to make such blunders, premeditated slips, and admissions, as just left + him within an inch of a prosecution for perjury. Having succeeded in + acquitting his friends, he was content to withdraw amid a volley of + pretended execrations, leaving the Attorney-General, with all his legal + knowledge, outwitted and foiled. + </p> + <p> + All Phelim's accomplishments, however, were nothing when compared to his + gallantry. With personal disadvantages which would condemn any other man + to old bachelorship, he was nevertheless the whiteheaded boy among the + girls. He himself was conscious of this, and made his attacks upon their + hearts indiscriminately. If he met an unmarried female only for five + minutes, be she old or ugly, young or handsome, he devoted at least four + minutes and three-quarters to the tender passion; made love to her with an + earnestness that would deceive a saint; backed all his protestations with + a superfluity of round oaths; and drew such a picture of her beauty as + might suit the Houries of Mahomet's paradise. + </p> + <p> + Phelim and his father were great associates. No two agreed better. They + went to fairs and markets together; got drunk together; and returned home + with their arms about each other's neck in the most loving and + affectionate manner. Larry, as if Phelim were too modest to speak for + himself, seldom met a young girl without laying siege to her for the son. + He descanted upon his good qualities, glossed over his defects, and drew + deeply upon invention in his behalf. Sheelah, on the other hand, was an + eloquent advocate for him. She had her eye upon half a dozen of the + village girls, to every one of whom she found something to say in Phelim's + favor. + </p> + <p> + But it is time the action of our story should commence. When Phelim had + reached his twenty-fifth year, the father thought it was high time for him + to marry. The good man had, of course, his own motives for this. In the + first place, Phelim, with all his gallantry and cleverness, had never + contributed a shilling, either toward his own support or that of the + family. In the second place, he was never likely to do so. In the third + place, the father found him a bad companion; for, in good truth, he had + corrupted the good man's morals so evidently, that his character was now + little better than that of his son. In the fourth place, he never thought + of Phelim, that he did not see a gallows in the distance; and matrimony, + he thought, might save him from hanging, as one poison neutralizes + another. In the fifth place, the half-acre Was but a shabby patch to meet + the exigencies of the family, since Phelim grew up. “Bouncing Phelim,” as + he was called for more reasons than one, had the gift of a good digestion, + along with his other accomplishments; and with such energy was it + exercised, that the “half-acre” was frequently in hazard of leaving the + family altogether. The father, therefore, felt quite willing, if Phelim + married, to leave him the inheritance, and seek a new settlement for + himself. Or, if Phelim preferred leaving him, he agreed to give him + one-half of it, together with an equal division of all his earthly goods; + to wit—two goats, of which Phelim was to get one; six hens and a + cock, of which Phelim was to get three hens, and the chance of a toss-up + for the cock; four stools, of which Phelim was to get two; two pots—a + large one and a small one—the former to go with Phelim; three horn + spoons, of which Phelim was to get one, and the chance of a toss-up for a + third. Phelim was to bring his own bed, provided he did not prefer getting + a bottle of fresh straw as a connubial luxury. The blanket was a tender + subject; for having been fourteen years in employment, it entangled the + father and Phelim, touching the prudence of the latter claiming it all. + The son was at length compelled to give it up, at least in the character + of an appendage to his marriage property. He feared that the wife, should + he not be able to replace it by a new one, or should she herself not be + able to bring him one, as part of her dowry, would find the honeymoon + rather lively. Phelim's bedstead admitted of no dispute, the floor of the + cabin having served him in that capacity ever since he began to sleep in a + separate bed. His pillow was his small clothes, and his quilt his own + coat, under which he slept snugly enough. + </p> + <p> + The father having proposed, and the son acceded to these arrangements, the + next thing to be done was to pitch upon a proper girl as his wife. This + being a more important matter, was thus discussed by the father and son, + one evening, at their own fireside, in the presence of Sheelah. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Phelim,” said the father, “look about you, an' tell us what girl in + the neighborhood you'd like to be married to.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” replied Phelim, “I'll lave that to you; jist point out the girl + you'd like for your daughter-in-law, an' be she rich, poor, ould, or ugly, + I'll delude her. That's the chat.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Phelim, if you could put your comedher an Gracey Dalton, you'd be a + made boy. She has the full of a rabbit-skin o' guineas.” + </p> + <p> + “A made boy! Faith, they say I'm that as it is, you know. But would you + wish me to put my comedher on Gracey Dalton? Spake out.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I would.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” observed the mother, “or what 'ud you think of Miss Pattherson? That + 'ud be the girl. She has a fine farm, an' five hundre pounds. She's a + Protestant, but Phelim could make a Christian of her.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I could,” said Phelim, “have her thumpin' her breast, and + countin' her Padareens in no time. Would you wish me to have her, mudher?” + </p> + <p> + “Throth an' I would, avick.” + </p> + <p> + “That 'ud never do,” observed the father. “Sure you don't think she'd ever + think of the likes o' Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make a goose of yourself, ould man,” observed Phelim. “Do you think + if I set about it, that I'd not manufacture her senses as asy as I'd peel + a piatee?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” replied the father, “in the name o' Goodness make up to her. + Faith it ud' be somethin' to have a jauntin' car in the family!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but what the sorra will I do for a suit o' clo'es?” observed Phelim. + “I could never go near her in these breeches. My elbows, too, are out o' + this ould coat, bad luck to it! An' as for a waistcoat, why, I dunna but + it's a sin to call what I'm wearin' a waistcoat at all. Thin agin—why, + blood alive, sure I can't go to her barefooted, an' I dunna but it 'ud be + dacenter to do that same, than to step out in sich excuses for brogues as + these. An' in regard o' the stockins', why, I've pulled them down, + strivin' to look dacent, till one 'ud think the balls o' my legs is at my + heels.” + </p> + <p> + “The sorra word's in that but thruth, any how,” observed the father; “but + what's to be done? For we have no way of gettin' them.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I don't know that,” said Phelim. “What if we'd borry? I could get + the loan of a pair of breeches from Dudley Dwire, an' a coat from Sam + Appleton. We might thry Billy Brady for a waistcoat, an' a pair of + stockings. Barny Buckram-back, the pinsioner, 'ud lend me his pumps; an' + we want nothing now but a hat.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' under a Caroline 'ud do, goin' there,” observed the father. + </p> + <p> + “I think Father O'Hara 'ud oblige me wid the loan o' one for a day or + two;” said Phelim; “he has two or three o' them, all as good as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Phelim,” said the father, “before we go to all this trouble, are you + sure you could put your comedher on Miss Pattherson?” + </p> + <p> + “None o' your nonsense,” said Phelim, “don't you know I could? I hate a + man to be puttin' questions to me, when he knows them himself. It's a + fashion you have got, an' you ought to dhrop it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well thin,” said the father, “let us set about it to-morrow. If we can + borry the clo'es, thry your luck.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim and the father, the next morning, set out each in a different + direction, to see how far they could succeed on the borrowing system. The + father was to make a descent on Dudley Dwire for the breeches, and appeal + to the generosity of Sam Appleton for the coat. Phelim himself was to lay + his case before the priest, and to assail Buckram-back, the pensioner, on + his way home, for the brogues. + </p> + <p> + When Phelim arrived at the priest's house, he found none of the family up + but the housekeeper. After bidding her good morrow, and being desired to + sit down, he entered into conversation with the good woman, who felt + anxious to know the scandal of the whole parish. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you a son of Larry Toole's, young man?” + </p> + <p> + “I am, indeed, Mrs. Doran. I'm Phelim O'Toole, my mother says.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you're comin' to spake to the priest about your duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, be gorra, I'm glad you axed me, so I am—for only you + seen the pinance in my face, you'd never suppose sich a thing. I want to + make my confishion to him, wid the help o' Goodness.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any news goin', Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a much, barrin' what you hard yourself, I suppose, about Frank + Fogarty, that went mad yesterday, for risin' the meal on the poor, an' ate + the ears off himself afore anybody could see him.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Vick na hoiah</i>, Phelim; do you tell me so?” + </p> + <p> + “Why man o' Moses, is it possible you did not hear it, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, worra, man alive, not a syllable! Ate the ears off of himself! + Phelim, acushla, see what it is to be hard an the poor!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was ever an' always the biggest nagar livin', ma'am. Ay, an' when + he was tied up, till a blessed priest 'ud be brought to maliwgue the divil + out of him, he got a scythe an' cut his own two hands off.” + </p> + <p> + “No thin, Phelim!” + </p> + <p> + “Faitha, ma'am, sure enough. I suppose, ma'am, you hard about Biddy + Duignan?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she, Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why the misfortunate crathurs a daughter of her father's, ould Mick + Duignan, of Tavenimore.” + </p> + <p> + “An' what about her, Phehm! What happened her?” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, ma'am, a bit of a mistake she met wid; but, anyhow, ould Harry + Connolly's to stand in the chapel nine Sundays, an' to make three Stations + to Lough Dergh for it. Bedad, they say it's as purty a crathur as you'd + see in a day's thravellin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Harry Connolly! Why, I know Harry, but I never heard of Biddy Duiguan, or + her father at all. Harry Connolly! Is it a man that's bent over his staff + for the last twenty years! Hut, tut, Phelim, don't say sich a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, ma'am, sure he takes wid it himself; he doesn't deny it at all, the + ould sinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that I mayn't sin, Phelim, if one knows who to thrust in this world, + so they don't. Why the desateful ould—hut, Phelim, I can't give into + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, ma'am, no wondher; but sure when he confesses it himself! Bedad, + Mrs. Doran, I never seen you look so well. Upon my sowl, you'd take the + shine out o' the youngest o' thim!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it me, Phelim? Why, you're beside yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Beside myself, am I? Faith, an' if I am, what I said's thruth, anyhow. + I'd give more nor I'll name, to have so red a pair of cheeks as you have. + Sowl, they're thumpers.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha! Oh, that I mayn't sin, but that's a good joke! An ould woman + near sixty!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mrs. Doran, that's nonsense, an' nothing else. Near sixty! Oh, by my + purty, that's runnin' away wid the story entirely—No, nor thirty. + Faith, I know them that's not more nor five or six-an'-twenty, that 'ud be + glad to borry the loan of your face for a while. Divil a word o' lie in + that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Phelim, aroon, I seen the day; but that's past. I remimber when + the people did say I was worth lookin' at. Won't you sit near the fire? + You're in the dhraft there.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly, ma'am; faith, you have the name, far an' near, for + bein' the civilest woman alive this day. But, upon my sowl, if you wor ten + times as civil, an' say that you're not aquil to any young girl in the + parish, I'd dispute it wid you; an' say it was nothin' else than a + bounce.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, Phelim, darlin, how can you palaver me that way? I hope your + dacent father's well, Phelim, an' your honest mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a fear o' them. Now, I'd hould nine to one that the purtiest o' + them hasn't a sweeter mout' than you have. By dad, you have a pair o' + lips, God bless them that—well, well—” + </p> + <p> + Phelim here ogled her with looks particularly wistful. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, you're losin' the little sense you had.” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, an' it's you that's taken them out o' me, then. A purty woman + always makes a fool o' me. Divil a word o' lie in it. Faix, Mrs. Doran, + ma'am, you have a chin o' your own! Well, well! Oh, be Gorra, I wish I + hadn't come out this mornin' any how!” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, why, Phelim? In throth, it's you that's the quare Phelim!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, ma'am—Oh bedad it's a folly to talk. I can't go widout tastin' + them. Sich a pair o' timptations as your lips, barrin' your eyes, I didn't + see this many a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Tastin' what, you mad crathur?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'll show you what I'd like to be afther tastin'. Oh! bedad, I'll + have no refusin'; a purty woman always makes a foo——” + </p> + <p> + “Keep away, Phelim; keep off; bad end to you; what do you mane? Don't you + see Fool Art lyin' in the corner there undher the sacks? I don't think + he's asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool Art! why, the misfortunate idiot, what about him? Sure he hasn't + sinse to know the right hand from the left. Bedad, ma'am the truth is, + that a purty woman always makes a——” + </p> + <p> + “Throth an' you won't,” said she struggling. + </p> + <p> + “Throth an' I will, thin, taste the same lips, or we'll see whose + strongest!” + </p> + <p> + A good-humored struggle took place between the housekeeper and Phelim, who + found her, in point of personal strength, very near a match for him. She + laughed heartily, but Phelim attempted to salute her with a face of mock + gravity as nearly resembling that of a serious man as he could assume. In + the meantime, chairs were overturned, and wooden dishes trundled about; a + crash was heard here, and another there. Phelim drove her to the hob, and + from the hob they both bounced into the fire, the embers and ashes of + which were kicked up into a cloud about them. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, spare your strinth,” said the funny housekeeper, “it won't do. Be + asy now, or I'll get angry. The priest, too, will hear the noise, and so + will Fool Art.” + </p> + <p> + “To the divil wid Fool Art an' the priest, too,” said Phelim, “who cares + abuckey about the priest when a purty woman like you is consarn— + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” said the priest, stepping down from the parlor—“What's + the matter? Oh, ho, upon my word, Mrs. Doran! Very good, indeed! Under my + own roof, too! An' pray, ma'am, who is the gallant? Turn round young man. + Yes, I see! Why, better and better! Bouncing Phelim O'Toole, that never + spoke truth! I think, Mr. O'Toole, that when you come a courting, you + ought to consider it worth your while to appear somewhat more smooth in + your habiliments. I simply venture to give that as my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Why sure enough,” replied Phelim, without a moment's hesitation; “your + Reverence has found us out.” + </p> + <p> + “Found you out! Why, is that the tone you speak in?” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, sir, thruth's best. I wanted her to tell it to you long ago, but + she wouldn't. Howsomever, it's still time enough.—Hem! The thruth, + sir, is, that Mrs. Doran an' I is goin' to get the words said as soon as + we can; so, sir, wid the help o' Goodness, I came to see if your Reverence + 'ud call us next Sunday wid a blessin'.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Doran had, for at least a dozen round years before this, been in a + state-of hopelessness upon the subject of matrimony; nothing in the shape + of a proposal having in the course of that period come in her way. Now we + have Addison's authority for affirming, that an old woman who permits the + thoughts of love to get into her head, becomes a very odd kind of animal. + Mrs. Doran, to do her justice, had not thought of it for nearly three + lustres, for this reason, that she had so far overcome her vanity as to + deem it possible that a proposal could be ever made to her. It is + difficult, however, to know what a day may bring forth. Here was an offer, + dropping like a ripe plum into her mouth. She turned the matter over in + her mind with a quickness equal to that of Phelim himself. One leading + thought struck her forcibly: if she refused to close with this offer, she + would never get another. + </p> + <p> + “Is it come to this, Mrs. Doran?” inquired the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bedad, sir, she knows it is,” replied Phelim, giving her a wink with + the safe eye. + </p> + <p> + Now, Mrs. Doran began to have her suspicions. The wink she considered as + decidedly ominous. Phelim, she concluded with all the sagacity of a woman + thinking upon that subject, had winked at her to assent only for the + purpose of getting themselves out of the scrape for the present. She + feared that Phelim would be apt to break off the match, and take some + opportunity, before Sunday should arrive, of preventing the priest from + calling them. Her decision, however, was soon made. She resolved, if + possible to pin down Phelim to his own proposal. + </p> + <p> + “Is this true, Mrs. Doran?” inquired the priest, a second time. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Doran could not, with any regard to the delicacy of her sex, give an + assent without proper emotion. She accordingly applied her apron to her + eyes, and shed a few natural tears in reply to the affecting query of the + pastor. + </p> + <p> + Phelim, in the meantime, began to feel mystified. Whether Mrs. Doran's + tears were a proof that she was disposed to take the matter seriously, or + whether they were tears of shame and vexation for having been caught in + the character of a romping old hoyden, he could not then exactly decide. + He had, however, awful misgivings upon the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the priest, “it is to be understood that I'm to call you both + on Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no use in keepin' it back from you,” replied Mrs. Doran. “I know + it's foolish of me; but we have all our failins, and to be fond of Phelim + there, is mine. Your Reverence is to call us next Sunday, as Phelim tould + you. I am sure I can't tell you how he deluded me at all, the desaver o' + the world!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's face during this acknowledgment was, like Goldsmith's Haunch of + Venison, “a subject for painters to study.” His eyes projected like a + hare's until nothing could be seen but the balls. Even the drooping lid + raised itself up, as if it were never to droop again. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the priest, “I shall certainly not use a single argument to + prevent you. Your choice, I must say, does you credit, particularly when + it is remembered that you have come at least to years of discretion. + Indeed, many persons might affirm that you have gone beyond them; but I + say nothing. In the meantime your wishes must be complied with. I will + certainly call Phelim O'Toole and Bridget Doran on Sunday next; and one + thing I know, that we shall have a very merry congregation.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's eyes turned upon the priest and the old woman alternately, with + an air of bewilderment which, had the priest been a man of much + observation, might have attracted his attention. + </p> + <p> + “Oh murdher alive, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, “how am I to do for clo'es? + Faith, I'd like to appear dacent in the thing, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said the priest. “Have you made no provision for smoothing the + externals of your admirer? Is he to appear in this trim?” + </p> + <p> + “Bedad, sir,” said Phelim, “we never thought o' that. All the world knows, + your Reverence, that I might carry my purse in my eye, an' never feel a + mote in it. But the thruth is, sir, she was so lively on the subject—in + a kind of a pleasant, coaxin' hurry of her own—an' indeed I was so + myself, too. Augh, Mrs. Doran! Be gorra, sir, she put her comedher an me + entirely, so she did. Well, be my sowl, I'll be the flower of a husband to + her anyhow. I hope your Reverence 'll come to the christ'nin'? But about + the clo'es;—bad luck saize the tack I have to put to my back, but + what you see an me, if we wor to be married to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Phelim, aroon,” said Mrs. Doran, “his Reverence here has my little + pences o' money in his hands, an' the best way is for you to get the price + of a suit from him. You must get clo'es, an' good ones, too, Phelim, + sooner nor any stop should be put to our marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Augh, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, ogling her from the safe eye, with a + tender suavity of manner that did honor to his heart; “be gorra, ma'am, + you've played the puck entirely wid me. Faith, I'm gettin' fonder an' + fonder of her every minute, your Reverence.” + </p> + <p> + He set his eye, as he uttered this, so sweetly and significantly upon the + old house-keeper, that the priest thought it a transgression of decorum in + his presence. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said he, “you had better keep your melting looks to yourself, + Phelim. Restrain your gallantry, if you please, at least until I + withdraw.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, blood alive! sir, when people's fond of one another, it's hard to + keep the love down. Augh, Mrs. Doran! Faith, you've rendhored my heart + like a lump o' tallow.” + </p> + <p> + “Follow me to the parlor,” said the priest, “and let me know, Bridget, + what sum I am to give to this melting gallant of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I may as well get what'll do the weddin' at wanst,” observed Phelim. + “It'll save throuble, in the first place; an' sackinly, it'll save time; + for, plase Goodness, I'll have everything ready for houldin' the weddin' + the Monday afther the last call. By the hole o' my coat, the minute I get + the clo'es we'll be spliced, an' thin for the honeymoon!” + </p> + <p> + “How much money shall I give him?” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir, I think you ought to know that; I'm ignorant o' what 'ud + make a dacent weddin'. We don't intend to get married undher a hedge; + we've frinds an both sides, an' of course, we must have them about us, + plase Goodness.” + </p> + <p> + “Be gorra, sir, it's no wondher I'm fond of her, the darlin'? Bad win to + you, Mrs. Doran, how did you come over me at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Bridget,” said the priest, “I have asked you a simple question, to which + I expect a plain answer. What money am I to give this tallow-hearted swain + of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, your Reverence, whatsomever you think may be enough for full, an' + plinty, an' dacency, at the weddin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Not forgetting the thatch for me, in the mane time,” said Phelim. + “Nothin' less will sarve us, plase your Reverence. Maybe, sir, you'd think + 'of comin' to the weddin' yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “There are in my hands,” observed the priest, “one hundred and twenty-two + guineas of your money, Bridget. Here, Phelim, are ten for your wedding + suit and wedding expenses. Go to your wedding! No! don't suppose for a + moment that I countenance this transaction in the slightest degree. I + comply with your wishes, because I heartily despise you both; but + certainly this foolish old woman most. Give me an acknowledgment for this, + Phelim.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, sir!” said Phelim, as if he had paid them a compliment. + “In regard o' the acknowledgment, sir, I acknowledge it wid all my heart; + but bad luck to the scrape at all I can write.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no matter. You admit, Bridget, that I give this money to this + blessed youth by your authority and consent.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, your Reverence; I'll never go back of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Phelim,” said the priest, “you have the money; pray get married as + soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you my oath,” said Phelim; “an' be the blessed iron tongs in + the grate there, I'll not lose a day in gettin' myself spliced. Isn't she + the tendher-hearted sowl, your Reverence? Augh, Mrs. Doran!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave my place,” said the priest. “I cannot forget the old proverb, that + one fool makes many, but an old fool is worse than any. So it is with this + old woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ould woman! Oh, thin, I'm sure I don't desarve this from your Reverence!” + exclaimed the housekeeper, wiping her eyes: “if I'm a little seasoned now, + you know I wasn't always so. If ever there was a faithful sarvant, I was + that, an' managed your house and place as honestly as I'll manage my own, + plase Goodness.” + </p> + <p> + As they left the parlor, Phelim became the consoler. + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, you darlin'!” he exclaimed. “Sure you'll have Bouncin' Phelim to + comfort you. But now that he has shut the door, what—hem—I'd + take it as a piece o' civility if you'd open my eyes a little; I mane—hem—was + it—is this doin' him, or how? Are you—hem—do you + undherstand me, Mrs. Doran?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want to know, Phelim? I think everything is very plain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the divil a plainer, I suppose. But in the mane time, might one axe, + out o' mere curiosity, if you're in airnest?” + </p> + <p> + “In airnest! Arrah, what did I give you my money for, Phelim? Well, now + that everything is settled, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “A bad what?” + </p> + <p> + “I say, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to me. I'm afeard, + Phelim, that I'll be too foolish about you—that I'll be too fond of + you.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim looked at her in solemn silence, and then replied—“Let us + trust in God that you may be enabled to overcome the weakness. Pray to Him + to avoid all folly, an' above everything, to give you a dacent stock of + discration, for it's a mighty fine thing for a woman of your yea—hem—a + mighty fine thing it is, indeed, for a sasoned woman, as you say you are.” + </p> + <p> + “When will the weddin' take place, Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “The what?” said Phelim, opening his brisk eye with a fresh stare of + dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the weddin', acushla. When will it take place? I think the Monday + afther the last call 'ud be the best time. We wouldn't lose a day thin. + Throth, I long to hear my last call over, Phelim, jewel.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim gave her another look. + </p> + <p> + “The last call! Thin, by the vestment, you don't long half as much for + your last call as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, Phoilim, did you take the—the—what you wor wantin' + awhile agone? Throth, myself disremimbers.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, around dozen o' them. How can you forget it?” + </p> + <p> + The idiot in the corner here gave a loud snore, but composed himself to + sleep, as if insensible to all that passed. + </p> + <p> + “Throth, an' I do forget it. Now, Phelim, you'll not go till you take a + cup o' tay wid myself. Throth, I do forget it, Phelim darlin', jewel.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's face now assumed a very queer expression. He twisted his features + into all possible directions; brought his mouth first round to one ear and + then to the other; put his hand, as if in great pain, on the pit of his + stomach; lifted one knee up till it almost touched his chin, then let it + down, and instantly brought up the other in a similar manner. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, darlin', what ails you?” inquired the tender old nymph. “Wurrah, + man alive, aren't you well?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, be the vestment,” said Phelim, “what's this at all? Murdher, sheery, + what'll I do! Oh, I'm very bad! At death's door, so I am! Be gorra, Mrs. + Doran, I must be off.” + </p> + <p> + “Wurrah, Phelim dear, won't you stop till we settle everything?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, purshuin' to the ha'p'orth I can settle till I recover o' this + murdherin' colic! All's asthray wid me in the inside. I'll see you—I'll + see you—<i>Hanim an dioul!</i> what's this?—I must be off like + a shot—oh, murdher sheery?—but—but—I'll see you + to-morrow. In the mane time, I'm—I'm—for ever oblaged to you + for—for—lendin' me the—loan of—oh, by the + vestments, I'm a gone man!—for lendin' me the loan of the ten + guineas—Oh, I'm gone!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim disappeared on uttering these words, and his strides on passing out + of the house were certainly more rapid and vigorous than those of a man + laboring under pain. In fact, he never looked behind him until one-half + the distance between the priest's house and his father's cabin had been + fairly traversed. + </p> + <p> + Some misgivings occurred to the old housekeeper, but her vanity, having + been revived by Phelim's blarney, would not permit her to listen to them. + She had, besides, other motive to fortify her faith in his attachment. + First, there was her money, a much larger sum than ever Phelim could + expect with any other woman, young or old; again, they were to be called + on the following Sunday, and she knew that when a marriage affair proceeds + so far, obstruction or disappointment is not to be apprehended. + </p> + <p> + When Phelim reached home, he found the father returned after having + borrowed a full suit of clothes for him. Sam Appleton on hearing from + Larry that Bouncing Phelim was about to get a “Great Match,” * generously + lent him coat, waistcoat, hat, and small-clothes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * When a country girl is said to have a large fortune, + the peasantry, when speaking of her in reference to + matrimony, say she's a “Great Match.” + </pre> + <p> + When Phelim presented himself at home, he scarcely replied to the queries + put to him by his father and mother concerning his interview with the + priest. He sat down, rubbed his hands, scratched his head, rose up, and + walked to and fro, in a mood of mind so evidently between mirth and + chagrin, that his worthy parents knew not whether to be merry or + miserable. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said the mother, “did you take anything while you wor away?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I take anything! is it? Arrah, be asy, ould woman! Did I take + anything! Faith you may say that!” + </p> + <p> + “Let us know, anyhow, what's the matther wid you?' asked the father. + </p> + <p> + “Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed the son, “what is this for, at all at all? + It's too killin' I am, so it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not lookin' at Sam Appleton's clo'es,” said the father, “that he + lent you the loan of, hat an' all?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to put an affront upon me, ould man? To the divil wid himself + an' his clo'es! When I wants clo'es I'll buy them wid my own money!' + </p> + <p> + “Larry,” observed the mother, “there's yourself all over—as proud as + a payoock when the sup's in your head, an' 'ud spake as big widout the + sign o' money in your pocket, as if you had the rint of an estate.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say about the sign o' money?” exclaimed Phelim, with a + swagger. “Maybe you'll call that the sign o' money!” he added, producing + the ten guineas in gold. The father and mother looked at it for a + considerable time, then at each other, and shook their heads. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim!” said the father, solemnly. “Phelim!” said the mother, awfully; + and both shook their heads again. + </p> + <p> + “You wor never over-scrupulous,” the father proceeded, “an' you know you + have many little things to answer for, in the way of pickin' up what + didn't belong to yourself. I think, too, you're not the same boy you wor + afore you tuck to swearin' the alibies. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, an' I doubt I'll haye to get some one to swear an alibi for myself + soon,” Phelim replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why, blessed hour!” said Larry, “didn't I often tell you never to join + the boys in anything that might turn out a hangin' matther?” + </p> + <p> + “If this is not a hangin' matther,” said Phelim, “it's something nearly as + bad: it's a marryin' matther. Sure I deluded another since you seen me + last. Divil a word o' lie in it. I was clane fell in love wid this mornin' + about seven o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you get the money, Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, from the youthful sprig that fell in love wid me. Sure we're to be + 'called' in the Chapel on Sunday next.” + </p> + <p> + “Why thin now, Phelim! An' who is the young crathur? for in throth she + must be young to go to give the money beforehand!” + </p> + <p> + “Murdher!” exclaimed Phelim, “what's this for! Was ever any one done as I + am? Who is she! Why she's—oh, murdher, oh!—she's no other than—hem—divil + a one else than Father O'Hara's housekeeper, ould Biddy Doran!” + </p> + <p> + The mirth of the old couple was excessive. The father laughed till he fell + off his stool, and the mother till the tears ran down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Death alive; ould man! but you're very merry,” said Phelim. “If you wor + my age, an' in such an' amplush, you'd laugh on the wrong side o' your + mouth. Maybe you'll tarn your tune when you hear that she has a hundhre + and twenty guineas.” + </p> + <p> + “An' you'll be rich, too,” said the father. “The sprig an' you will be + rich!—ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “An' the family they'll have!” said the mother, in convulsions. + </p> + <p> + “Why, in regard o' that,” said Phelim, rather nettled, “if all fails us, + sure we can do as my father and you did: kiss the Lucky Stone, an' make a + Station.” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, aroon,” said the mother, seriously, “put it out o' your head. + Sure you wouldn't go to bring me a daughter-in-law oulder nor myself?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd as soon go over,” (* be transported) said Phelim; “or swing itself, + before I'd marry sich a piece o' desate. Hard feelin' to her! how she did + me to my face!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim then entered into a long-visaged detail of the scene at Father + O'Hara's, dwelling bitterly on the alacrity with which the old housekeeper + ensnared him in his own mesh. + </p> + <p> + “However,” he concluded, “she'd be a sharp one if she'd do me altogether. + We're not married yet; an' I've a consate of my own, that she's done for + the ten guineas, any how!” + </p> + <p> + A family council was immediately held upon Phelim's matrimonial prospects. + On coming close to the speculation of Miss Patterson, it was somehow + voted, notwithstanding Phelim's powers of attraction, to be rather a + discouraging one. Gracey Dalton was also given up. The matter was now + serious, the time short, and Phelim's bounces touching his own + fascinations with the sex in general, were considerably abated. It was + therefore resolved that he ought to avail himself of Sam Appleton's + clothes, until his own could be made. Sam, he said, would not press him + for them immediately, inasmuch as he was under obligations to Phelim's + silence upon some midnight excursions that he had made. + </p> + <p> + “Not,” added Phelim, “but I'm as much, an' maybe more in his power, than + he is in mine.” + </p> + <p> + When breakfast was over, Phelim and the father, after having determined to + “drink a bottle” that night in the family of an humble young woman, named + Donovan, who, they all agreed, would make an excellent wife for him, + rested upon their oars until evening. In the meantime, Phelim sauntered + about the village, as he was in the habit of doing, whilst the father kept + the day as a holiday. We have never told our readers that Phelim was in + love, because in fact we know not whether he was or not. Be this as it + may, we simply inform them, that in a little shed in the lower end of the + village, lived a person with whom Phelim was very intimate, called Foodie + Flattery. He was, indeed, a man after Phelim's own heart, and Phelim was a + boy after his. He maintained himself by riding country races; by handing, + breeding, and feeding cocks; by fishing, poaching, and serving processes; + and finally, by his knowledge as a cow-doctor and farrier—into the + two last of which he had given Phelim some insight. We say the two last, + for in most of the other accomplishments Phelim was fully his equal. + Phelim frequently envied him his life. It was an idle, amusing, vagabond + kind of existence, just such a one as he felt a relish for. This man had a + daughter, rather well-looking; and it so happened, that he and Phelim had + frequently spent whole nights out together, no one knew on what + employment. Into Flattery's house did Phelim saunter with something like + an inclination to lay the events of the day before him, and to ask his + advice upon his future prospects. On entering the cabin he was much + surprised to find the daughter in a very melancholy mood; a circumstance + which puzzled him not a little, as he knew that they lived very + harmoniously together. Sally had been very useful to her father; and, if + fame did not belie her, was sometimes worthy Foodie's assistant in his + nocturnal exploits. She was certainly reputed to be “light-handed;” an + imputation which caused the young men of her acquaintance to avoid, in + their casual conversations with her, any allusion to matrimony. + </p> + <p> + “Sally, achora,” said Phelim, when he saw her in distress, “what's the + fun? Where's your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Phelim,” she replied, bursting into tears, “long runs the fox, but + he's cotch at last. My father's in gaol.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's jaw dropped. “In gaol! <i>Chorp an diouol</i>, no!” + </p> + <p> + “It's thruth, Phelim. Curse upon this Whiteboy business, I wish it never + had come into the counthry at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Sally, I must see him; you know I must. But tell me how it happened? Was + it at home he was taken?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he was taken this mornin' in the market. I was wid him sellin' some + chickens. What'll you and Sam Appleton do, Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Uz! Why, what danger is there to either Sim or me, you darlin'?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided + for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor man, + that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind him wid' + nobody to take care o' me.—He says, too, if anything 'ud make him + stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said to + me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?” + </p> + <p> + A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face, which + was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of aspect, + became remarkably blank. + </p> + <p> + “Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess + what brought me here to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now tell + me this—Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young + fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction. Sure, + I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like me, + that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by.” + </p> + <p> + “Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in case—supposin'—that + same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you mistress of the Half Acre, + what 'ud you be sayin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them—ah, the dickens go + wid you, Phelim—this is more o' your thricks—but if it was + thruth you wor spakin', Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “It is thruth,” said Phelim; “be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now, say + yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go an' + tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But see, + Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm marryin' + you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in it. Now, yes + or no?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—throth—to be sure—the sorra one, Phelim, but you + have quare ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?” + </p> + <p> + “Be the stool I'm sittin' on!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know it. + Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on you, + Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next. + Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us. An' + now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Behave, Phelim—oh—oh—Phelim, now—there you've + tuck it—och, the curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my + hair down! There now, you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, + Phelim. I hope you won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get + married.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid o' + lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the + great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But, + Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it but + ourselves—that is, none o' the neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll sing dumb,” said Phelim. “Well, <i>binaght lath, a rogarah!</i>* + Tell him the thruth—to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled + together whin he comes out, plase Goodness.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * My blessing be with you, you rogue! +</pre> + <p> + Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art + projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with + mud, divided from the other part of the cabin. + </p> + <p> + “Is he gone?” said Art. + </p> + <p> + “You may come out, Art,” said she, “he's gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Art, triumphantly, “I often tould him, when he vexed me an' + pelted me wid snow-balls, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An' it's + not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see wid his + eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hi the colic, the colic! + An' ho the colic for Phelim!” + </pre> + <p> + “Then you think he won't, Art?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hi the colic, the colic! + An' ho the colic for Phelim!” + </pre> + <p> + “Now, Art, don't say a word about my father not bein' in gaol. He's to be + back from my grandfather's in a short time, an' if we manage well, you'll + see what you'll get, Art—a brave new shirt, Art.” + </p> + <p> + “Art has the lane for Phelim, but it's not the long one wid no turn in it. + Wherroo for Art!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim, on his return home, felt queer; here was a second matrimonial + predicament, considerably worse than the first, into which he was hooked + decidedly against his will. The worst feature in this case was the danger + to be apprehended from Foodie Flattery's disclosures, should he take it + into his head to 'peach upon his brother Whiteboys. Indeed, Phelim began + to consider it a calamity that he ever entered into their system at all; + for, on running over his exploits along with them, he felt that he was + liable to be taken up any morning of the week, and lodged in one of his + majesty's boarding-houses. The only security he had was the honesty of his + confederates; and experience took the liberty of pointing out to him many + cases in which those who considered themselves quite secure, upon the same + grounds, either dangled or crossed the water. He remembered, too, some + prophecies that had been uttered concerning him with reference both to + hanging and matrimony. Touching the former it was often said, that “he'd + die where the bird flies”—between heaven and earth; on matrimony, + that there seldom was a swaggerer among the girls but came to the ground + at last. + </p> + <p> + Now Phelim had a memory of his own, and in turning over his situation, and + the prophecies that had been so confidently pronounced concerning him, he + felt, as we said, rather queer. He found his father and mother in + excellent spirits when he got home. The good man had got a gallon of + whiskey on credit; for it had been agreed on not to break the ten golden + guineas until they should have ascertained how the matchmaking would + terminate that night at Donovan's. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said the father, “strip yourself, an' put on Sam's clo'es: you + must send him down yours for a day or two; he says it's the least he may + have the wearin' o' them, so long as you have his.” + </p> + <p> + “Right enough,” said Phelim; “Wid all my heart; I'm ready to make a fair + swap wid him any day, for that matther.” + </p> + <p> + “I sent word to the Donovans that we're to go to coort there to night,” + said Larry; “so that they'll be prepared for us; an' as it would be shabby + not to have a friend, I asked Sam Appleton himself. He's to folly us.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Phelim, “I see. Well, the best boy in Europe Sam is, for + such a spree. Now, Fadher, you must lie like the ould diouol tonight. Back + everything I say, an' there's no fear of us. But about what she's to get, + you must hould out for that. I'm to despise it, you know. I'll abuse you + for spakin' about fortune, but don't budge an inch.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not the first time I've done that for you, Phelim; but in regard o' + these ten guineas, why you must put them in your pocket for fraid they be + wantin' to get off wid layin' down guinea for guinea. You see, they don't + think we have a rap; an' if they propose it we'll be up to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Larry,” observed Sheelah, “don't make a match except they give that pig + they have. Hould out for that by all means.” + </p> + <p> + “Tare-an'-ounze!” exclaimed Phelim, “am I goin' to take the counthry out + o' the face? By the vestments, I'm a purty boy! Do you know the fresh news + I have for yez?” + </p> + <p> + “Not ten guineas more, Phelim?” replied the father. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you soodhered another ould woman,” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + “Be asy,” replied Phelim. “No, but the five crasses, I deluded a young one + since! I went out!” + </p> + <p> + The old couple were once more disposed to be mirthful; but Phelim + confirmed his assertion with such a multiplicity of oaths, that they + believed him. Nothing, however, could wring the secret of her name out of + him. He had reasons for concealing it which he did not wish to divulge. In + fact, he could never endure ridicule, and the name of Sally Flattery, as + the person whom he had “deluded,” would constitute, on his part, a triumph + quite as sorry as that which he had achieved in Father O'Hara's. In + Ireland no man ever thinks of marrying a female thief—which Sally + was strongly suspected to be—except some worthy fellow, who happens + to be gifted with the same propensity. + </p> + <p> + When the proper hour arrived, honest Phelim, after having already made + arrangements to be called on the following Sunday, as the intended husband + of two females, now proceeded with great coolness to make, if possible, a + similar engagement with a third. There is something, however, to be said + for Phelim. His conquest over the housekeeper was considerably out of the + common course of love affairs. He had drawn upon his invention, only to + bring himself and the old woman out of the ridiculous predicament in which + the priest found them. He had, moreover, intended to prevail on her to + lend him the hat, in case the priest himself had refused him. He was + consequently not prepared for the vigorous manner in which Mrs. Doran + fastened upon the subject of matrimony. On suspecting that she was + inclined to be serious, he pleaded his want of proper apparel; but here + again the liberality of the housekeeper silenced him, whilst, at the same + time, it opened an excellent prospect of procuring that which he most + required—a decent suit of clothes. This induced him to act a part + that he did not feel. He saw the old woman was resolved to outwit him, and + he resolved to overreach the old woman. + </p> + <p> + His marriage with Sally Flattery was to be merely a matter of chance. If + he married her at all, he knew it must be in self-defence. He felt that + her father had him in his power, and that he was anything but a man to be + depended on. He also thought that his being called with her, on the Sunday + following, would neutralize his call with the housekeeper; just as + positive and negative quantities in algebra cancel each other. But he was + quite ignorant that the story of Flattery's imprisonment was merely a plan + of the daughter's to induce him to marry her. + </p> + <p> + With respect to Peggy Donovan, he intended, should he succeed in + extricating himself from the meshes which the other two had thrown around + him, that she should be the elected one to whom he was anxious to unite + himself. As to the confusion produced by being called to three at once, he + knew that, however laughable in itself, it would be precisely something + like what the parish would expect from him. Bouncing Phelim was no common + man, and to be called to three on the same Sunday, would be a + corroboration of his influence with the sex. It certainly chagrined him + not a little that one of them was an old woman, and the other of + indifferent morals; but still it exhibited the claim of three women upon + one man, and that satisfied him. His mode of proceeding with Peggy Donovan + was regular, and according to the usages of the country. The notice had + been given that he and his father would go a courting, and of course they + brought the whiskey with them, that being the custom among persons in + their circumstances in life. These humble courtships very much resemble + the driving of a bargain between two chapmen; for, indeed, the closeness + of the demands on the one side, and the reluctance of concession on the + other, are almost incredible. Many a time has a match been broken up by a + refusal on the one part, to give a slip of a pig, or a pair of blankets, + or a year-old calf. These are small matters in themselves, but they are of + importance to those who, perhaps, have nothing else on earth with which to + begin the world. The house to which Phelim and his father directed + themselves was, like their own, of the-humblest description. The floor of + it was about sixteen feet by twelve; its furniture rude and scanty. To the + right of the fire was a bed, the four posts of which ran up to the low + roof; it was curtained with straw mats, with the exception of an opening + about a foot and a half wide on the side next the fire, through which + those who slept in it passed. A little below the foot of the bed were + ranged a few shelves of deal, supported by pins of wood driven into the + wall. These constituted the dresser. In the lower end of the house stood a + potato-bin, made up of stakes driven into the floor, and wrought with + strong wicker-work. Tied to another stake beside this bin stood a cow, + whose hinder part projected so close to the door, that those who entered + the cabin were compelled to push her over out of their way. This, indeed, + was effected without much difficulty, for the animal became so habituated + to the necessity of moving aside, that it was only necessary to lay the + hand upon her. Above the door in the inside, almost touching the roof, was + the hen-roost, made also of wicker-work; and opposite the bed, on the + other side of the fire, stood a meal-chest. + </p> + <p> + Its lid on a level with the little pane of glass which served as a window. + An old straw chair, a few stools, a couple of pots, some wooden vessels + and crockery, completed the furniture of the house. The pig to which + Sheolah alluded was not kept within the cabin, that filthy custom being + now less common than formerly. + </p> + <p> + This catalogue of cottage furniture may appear to our English readers very + miserable. We beg them to believe, however, that if every cabin in Ireland + were equally comfortable, the country would be comparatively happy. Still + it is to be remembered, that the <i>dramatis personae</i> of our story are + of the humblest class. + </p> + <p> + When seven o'clock drew nigh, the inmates of this little cabin placed + themselves at a clear fire; the father at one side, the mother at the + other, and the daughter directly between them, knitting, for this is + usually the occupation of a female on such a night. Everything in the + house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth; the + parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday + apparel. She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor + otherwise. Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an anxious + look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to a female, + heightened her complexion to a blush that became her. The creature had + certainly made the most of her little finery. Her face shone like that of + a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel; her hair, carefully + curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been smoothed with soap until it + became lustrous by repeated polishing, and her best red ribbon was tied + tightly about it in a smart knot, that stood out on the side of her head + with something of a coquettish air. Old Donovan and his wife maintained a + conversation upon some indifferent subject, but the daughter evidently + paid little attention to what they said. It being near the hour appointed + for Phelim's arrival, she sat with an appearance of watchful trepidation, + occasionally listening, and starting at every sound that she thought bore + any resemblance to a man's voice or footstep. + </p> + <p> + At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse + of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A sailor coorted a farmer's daughter + That lived contagious to the Isle of Man, + A long time coortin', an' still discoorsin' + Of things consarnin' the ocean wide; + At linth he saize, 'My own dearest darlint, + Will you consint for to be my bride?'” + </pre> + <p> + “An' so she did consint, the darlin', but what the puck would she do else? + God save the family! Paddy Donovan, how is your health? Molly, avourneen, + I'm glad to hear that you're thrivin'. An' Peggy—eh? Ah, be gorra, + fadher, here's somethin' to look at! Give us the hand of you, you bloomer! + Och, och! faith you're the daisey!” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said the father, “will you behave yourself? Haven't you the + night before you for your capers? Paddy Donovan, I'm glad to see you! + Molly, give us your right hand, for, in troth, I have a regard for you! + Peggy, dear, how are you? But I'm sure, I needn't be axin when I look at + you! In troth, Phelim, she is somethin' to throw your eye at.” + </p> + <p> + “Larry Toole, you're welcome,” replied Donovan and his wife, “an' so is + your son. Take stools both of you, an' draw near the hearth. Here, + Phelim,” said the latter, “draw in an' sit beside myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly, Molly,” replied Phelim; “but I'll do no sich thing.. + Arrah, do you think, now, that I'd begin to gosther wid an ould woman, + while I have the likes o' Peggy, the darlin', beside me? I'm up to a + thrick worth nine of it. No, no; this chest 'll do. Sure you know, I must + help the 'duck of diamonds' here to count her stitches.” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy,” said Larry, in a friendly whisper, “put this whiskey past for a + while, barrin' this bottle that we must taste for good luck. Sam + Appleton's to come up afther us an', I suppose, some o' your own cleavens + 'll be here afther a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Thrue for you,” said Donovan. “Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin is to come + over presently. But, Larry, this is nonsense. One bottle o' whiskey was + lashins; my Goodness, what'll we be doin' wid a whole gallon?” + </p> + <p> + “Dacency or nothin', Paddy; if it was my last I'd show sperit, an' why + not? Who'd be for the shabby thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Larry, I can't say but you're right afther all! Maybe I'd do + the same thing myself, for all I'm spakin' aginst it.” + </p> + <p> + The old people then passed round an introductory glass, after which they + chatted away for an hour or so, somewhat like the members of a committee + who talk upon indifferent topics until their brethren are all assembled. + </p> + <p> + Phelim, in the meantime, grappled with the daughter, whose knitting he + spoiled by hooking the thread with his finger, jogging her elbow until he + ran the needles past each other, and finally unravelling her clew; all + which she bore with great good-humor. Sometimes, indeed, she ventured to + give him a thwack upon the shoulder, with a laughing frown upon her + countenance, in order to correct him for teasing her. + </p> + <p> + When Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin arrived, the spirits of the party got + up. The whiskey was formally produced, but as yet the subject of the + courtship, though perfectly understood, was not introduced. Phelim and the + father were anxious to await the presence of Sam Appleton, who was + considered, by the way, a first-rate hand at match-making. + </p> + <p> + Phelim, as is the wont, on finding the din of the conversation raised to + the proper pitch, stole one of the bottles and prevailed on Peggy to + adjourn with him to the potato-bin. Here they ensconced themselves very + snugly; but not, as might be supposed, contrary to the knowledge and + consent of the seniors, who winked at each other on seeing Phelim + gallantly tow her down with the bottle under his arm. It was only the + common usage on such occasions, and not considered any violation + whatsoever of decorum. When Phelim's prior engagements are considered, it + must be admitted that there was something singularly ludicrous in the + humorous look he gave over his shoulder at the company, as he went toward + the bin, having the bottom of the whiskey-bottle projecting behind his + elbow, winking at them in return, by way of a hint to mind their own + business and allow him to plead for himself. The bin, however, turned out + to be rather an uneasy seat, for as the potatoes lay in a slanting heap + against the wall, Phelim and his sweetheart were perpetually sliding down + from the top to the bottom. Phelim could be industrious when it suited his + pleasure. In a few minutes those who sat about the fire imagined, from the + noise at the bin, that the house was about to come about their ears. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, you thief,” said the father, “what's all that noise for?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Chrosh orrin!</i>” (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, “is + that tundher?” + </p> + <p> + “Devil carry these piatees,” exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with both + hands and all his might, “if there's any sittin' at all upon them! I'm + levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to give + us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse o' + Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his + sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as + here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down, you + jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the crathur + in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in the world?” + </p> + <p> + Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the poorer + Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into the following + sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and entangled + conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm lovingly about + her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world—bad cess to me but I'm as glad + as two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an + them. Eh, avourneen?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, you may say that—(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' + tell us all about your bachelors.” + </p> + <p> + “The sarra one ever I had, Phelim.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake a + word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy Moran + pullin' a coard?” + </p> + <p> + “No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim. Nothin' + ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father an' mother + wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was along wid + them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed, in civility + an' friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a sweetheart + at all?” + </p> + <p> + “The nerra one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your + own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh,—, by the tarn, that won't + pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, an' supposin' I had—behave Phelim—supposin' I had, + where's the harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' + have yet, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you, + till, one get's married. I had enough of them, in my day, but you're the + flower o' them all, that I'd like to spend my life wid”—(a squeeze.) + </p> + <p> + “The sorra one word the men say a body can trust. I warrant you tould that + story to every one o' them as well as to me. Stop Phelim—it's well + known that what you say to the colleens is no gospel. You know what they + christened you 'Bouncin' Phelim!” + </p> + <p> + “Betune you an' me, Peggy, I'll tell you a sacret; I was the boy for + deludin them. It's very well known the matches I might a got; but you see, + you little shaver, it was waitin' for yourself I was.” + </p> + <p> + “For me! A purty story indeed I'm sure it was! Oh, afther that! Why, + Phelim, how can you——Well, well, did any one ever hear the + likes?” + </p> + <p> + “Be the vestments, it's thruth. I had you in my eye these three years, but + was waitin' till I'd get together as much money as ud' set us up in the + world dacently. Give me that egg-shell agin. Talkin's dhruthy work. <i>Shudorth, + a rogarah!</i> (* This to you you rogue) an' a pleasant honeymoon to us!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we're married first, Phelim; thin it'll be time enough to + dhrink that.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, acushla, it's your turn now; taste the shell, an' you'll see how + lovin' it'll make us. Mother's milk's a thrifle to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I take this, Phelim, I'll not touch another dhrop to-night. In + the mane time here's whatever's best for us! Whoo! Oh, my! but that's + strong! I dunna how the people can dhrink so much of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, nor me; except bekase they have a regard for it, an' that it's + worth havin' a regard for, jist like yourself an' me. Upon my faix, Peggy, + it bates all, the love an likin' I have for you, an' ever had these three + years past. I tould you about the eyes, mavourneen, an'—an'—about + the lips—” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim—behave—I say—now stop wid you—well—well—but + you're the tazin' Phelim!—Throth the girls may be glad when you're + married,” exclaimed Peggy, adjusting her polished hair. + </p> + <p> + “Bad cess to the bit, if ever I got so sweet a one in my life—the + soft end of a honeycomb's a fool to it. One thing, Peggy, I can tell you—that + I'll love you in great style. Whin we're marrid it's I that'll soodher you + up. I won't let the wind blow on you. You must give up workin', too. All + I'll ax you to do will be to nurse the childhre; an' that same will keep + you busy enough, plase Goodness.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my faix, Phelim, you're the very sarra, so you are. Will you be asy + now? I'll engage when you're married, it'll soon be another story wid you. + Maybe you'd care little about us thin!” + </p> + <p> + “Be the vestments, I'm spakin' pure gospel, so I am. Sure you don't know + that to be good husbands runs in our family. Every one of them was as + sweet as thracle to their wives. Why, there's that ould cock, my fadher, + an' if you'd see how he butthers up the ould woman to this day, it 'ud + make your heart warm to any man o' the family.” + </p> + <p> + “Ould an' young was ever an' always the same to you, Phelim. Sure the + ouldest woman in the parish, if she happened to be single, couldn't miss + of your blarney. It's reported you're goin' to be marrid to an ould + woman.' + </p> + <p> + “He—-hem—ahem! Bad luck to this cowld I have! it's stickin' in + my throath entirely, so it is!—hem!—to a what?” + </p> + <p> + “Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he + carried the housekeeper's money. + </p> + <p> + “Would you oblage one wid her name?” + </p> + <p> + “You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks. + </p> + <p> + “To the sarra wid her, an' all sasoned women. God be praised that the + night's line, anyhow! Hand me the shell, an' we'll take a <i>gauliogue</i> + aich, an' afther that we'll begin an' talk over how lovin' an' fond o' one + another we'll be.” + </p> + <p> + “You're takin' too much o' the whiskey, Phelim. Oh, for Goodness' sake!—oh—b—b—n—now + be asy. Faix, I'll go to the fire, an' lave you altogether, so I will, if + you don't give over slustherin' me, that way, an' stoppin' my breath.” + </p> + <p> + “Here's all happiness to our two selves, <i>acushla machree!</i> Now thry + another <i>gauliogue</i>, an' you'll see how deludin' it'll make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a sup, Phelim.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, nonsense! Be the vestment, it's as harmless as new milk from the + cow. It'll only do you good, alanna. Come now, Peggy, don't be ondacent, + an' it our first night's coortin'! Blood alive! don't make little o' my + father's son on sich a night, an' us at business like this, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, by the crass, I won't take it; so that ends it. Do you want to + make little o' me? It's not much you'd think o' me in your mind, if I'd + dhrink it.” + </p> + <p> + “The shell's not half full.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't brake my oath for all the whiskey in the kingdom; so don't ax + me. It's neither right nor proper of you to force it an me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I say is, that it's makin' little of one Phelim O'Toole, that + hasn't a thought in his body but what's over head an' ears in love wid + you. I must only dhrink it for you myself, thin. Here's all kinds o' good + fortune to us! Now, Peggy,—sit closer to me acushla!—Now, + Peggy, are you fond o' me at all? Tell thruth, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Fond o' you! Sure you know all the girls is fond of you. Aren't you the + boy for deludin' them?—ha, ha, ha?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, you shaver; that won't do. Be sarious. If you knew how my + heart's warmin' to you this minute, you'd fall in love wid my shadow. + Come, now, out wid it. Are you fond of a sartin boy not far from you, + called Bouncin' Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I am. Are you satisfied now? Phelim! I say,”— + </p> + <p> + “Faith, it won't pass, avourneen. That's not the voice for it. Don't you + hear me, how tendher I spake wid my mouth brathin' into your ear, <i>acushla + machree?</i> Now turn about, like a purty entisin' girl, as you are, an' + put your sweet bill to my ear the same way, an' whisper what you know into + it? That's a darlin'! Will you, achora?” + </p> + <p> + “An' maybe all this time you're promised to another?” + </p> + <p> + “Be the vestments, I'm not promised to one. Now! Saize the one!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll say that, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you see my hands acrass? Be thim five crasses, I'm not promised to a + girl livin', so I'm not, nor wouldn't, bekase I had you in my eye. Now + will you tell me what I'm wantin' you? The grace o' Heaven light down an + you, an' be a good, coaxin darlin' for wanst. Be this an' be that, if ever + you heerd or seen sich doin's an' times as we'll have when we're marrid. + Now the weeny whisper, a colleen dhas.” + </p> + <p> + “It's time enough yet to let you know my mind, Phelim. If you behave + yourself an' be——-Why thin is it at the bottle agin you are? + Now don't dhrink so much, Phelim, or it'll get into your head. I was + sayin' that if you behave yourself, an' be a good boy, I may tell you + somethin' soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Somethin' soon! Live horse, an' you'll get grass! Peggy, if that's the + way wid you, the love's all on my side, I see clearly. Are you willin' to + marry me, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm willin' to do whatsomever my father an' mother wishes.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm for havin' the weddin' off-hand; an' of coorse, if we agree to-night, + I think our best plan is to have ourselves called on Sunday. An' I'll tell + you what, avourneen—be the holy vestments, if I was to be 'called' + to fifty on the same Sunday, you're the darlin' I'd marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, it's time for us to go up to the fire; we're long enough here. I + thought you had only three words to say to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, if you're tired o' me, Peggy, I don't want you to stop. I wouldn't + force myself on the best girl that ever stepped.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure you have tould me all you want to say, an' there's no use in us + stayin' here. You know, Phelim, there's not a girl in the Parish 'ud + believe a word that 'ud come but o' your lips. Sure there's none o' them + but you coorted one time or other. If you could get betther, Phelim, I + dunna whether you'd be here to-night at all or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer me this, Peggy. What do you! think your father 'ud be willin' to + give you? Not that I care a <i>cron abaun</i> about it, for I'd marry you + wid an inch of candle.” + </p> + <p> + “You know my father's but a poor man, Phelim, an' can give little or + nothing. Them that won't marry me as I am, needn't come here to look for a + fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, Peggy, an' be the same token, I want no fortune at all wid + you but yourself, darlin'. In the mane time, to show you that I could get + a fortune—<i>Dhera Lorha Heena</i>, I could have a wife wid a hundre + an' twenty guineas!” + </p> + <p> + Peggy received this intelligence much in the same manner as Larry and + Sheelah had received it. Her mirth was absolutely boisterous for at least + ten minutes. Indeed, so loud had it been, that Larry and her father could + not help asking:— + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, what's the fun, Peggy, achora?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin',” she replied, “but one o' Phelim's bounces.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Phelim, “you won't believe me? Be all the books—” + </p> + <p> + Peggy's mirth prevented his oaths from being heard. In vain he declared, + protested, and swore. On this occasion, he was compelled to experience the + fate peculiar to all liars. Even truth, from his lips, was looked upon as + falsehood. + </p> + <p> + Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an + acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject of the + large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to produce an + impression, but the pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o' + this I'll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won't. + Saize the toe I'll move, now, till I'm sick wid cryin'! Oh, murdher alive, + this night! Isn't it a poor case entirely, that the girl I'd suffer myself + to be turned inside out for, won't say that she cares about a hair o' my + head! Oh, thin, but I'm the misfortunate blackguard all out! Och, oh! + Peggy, achora, you'll break my heart! Hand me that shell, acushla—for + I'm in the height of affliction!” + </p> + <p> + Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him. Her mirth was even more + intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less affected + with secret laughter than Peggy. + </p> + <p> + “It is makin' fun o' me you are, you thief, eh?—Is it laughin' at my + grief you are?” exclaimed Phelim. “Be the tarn' o' wor, I'll punish you + for that.” + </p> + <p> + Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking a + salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire, and + in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered. + </p> + <p> + Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the + courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Paddy Donovan, that we're altogether, let me tell you one thing: + there's not a betther natur'd boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow in + the parish, than my Phelim. He'll make your daughther as good, a husband + as ever broke bread!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sayin' against that, Larry. He is a good-nathur'd boy: but I tell + you, Larry Toole, that my daughter's his fill of a wife any day. An' I'll + put this to the back o' that—she's a hard-workin' girl, that ates no + idle bread.” + </p> + <p> + “Very right,” said Sam Appleton. “Phelim's a hairo, an' she's a beauty. + Dang me, but they wor made for one another. Phelim, <i>abouchal</i>, why + don't you—oh, I see you are. Why, I was goin' to bid you make up to + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Give no gosther, Sam,” replied Phelim, “but sind round the bottle, an' + don't forget to let it come this way. I hardly tasted a dhrop to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Phelim!” exclaimed Peggy. + </p> + <p> + “Whisht!” said Phelim, “there's no use in lettin' the ould fellows be + committin' sin. Why, they're hearty (* Tipsy) as it is, the sinners.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, nabors,” said Burn, “I'm the boy that's for close work. How does + the match stand? You're both my friends, an' may this be poison to me, but + I'll spake like an honest man, for the one as well as for the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Donovan, “how is Phelim to support my daughther, Larry? + Sure that's a fair questin', any way.” + </p> + <p> + “Wiry, Paddy,” replied Larry, “when Phelim gets her, he'll have a patch of + his own, as well as another. There's that 'half-acre,' and a betther piece + o' land isn't in Europe!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but what plenishin' are they to have, Larry? A bare half acre's but + a poor look up.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd as soon you'd not make little of it, in the mane time,” replied + Larry, rather warmly. “As good a couple as ever they wor lived on that + half acre; along wid what they earned by hard work otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not disparagin' it, Larry; I'd be long sorry; but about the + furniture? What are they to begin the world wid?” + </p> + <p> + “Hut,” said Devlin, “go to the sarra wid yez!—What 'ud they want, no + more nor other young people like them, to begin the world wid? Are you + goin' to make English or Scotch of them, that never marries till they're + able to buy a farm an' stock it, the nagurs. By the staff in my hand, an + Irish man 'ud lash a dozen o' them, wid all then prudence! Hasn't Phelim + an' Peggy health and hands, what most new-married couples in Ireland + begins the world wid? Sure they're not worse nor a thousand others?” + </p> + <p> + “Success, Antony,” said Phelim. “Here's your health for that!” + </p> + <p> + “God be thanked they have health and hands,” said Donovan. “Still, Antony, + I'd like that they'd have somethin' more.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Paddy, spake up for yourself,” observed Larry. “What will you + put to the fore for the colleen? Don't take both flesh an' bone!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not spake up, till I know all that Phelim's to expect,” said + Donovan. “I don't think he has a right to be axin' anything wid sich a + girl as my Peggy.” + </p> + <p> + “Hut, tut, Paddy! She's a good colleen enough; but do you think she's + above any one that carries the name of O'Toole upon him? Still, it's but + raisonable for you to wish the girl well settled. My Phelim will have one + half o' my worldly goods, at all evints.” + </p> + <p> + “Name them, Larry, if you plase.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he'll have one o' the goats—the gray one, for she's the best + o' the two, in throth. He'll have two stools; three hens, an' a toss-up + for the cock. The biggest o' the two pots; two good crocks; three good + wooden trenchers, an'—hem—he'll have his own—I say, + Paddy, are you listenin' to me?—Phelim, do you hear what I'm givin' + you, <i>a veehonee?—his own bed!</i> An' there's all I can or will + do for him. Now do you spake up for Peggy.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm to have my own bedstead too,” said Phelim, “an' bad cess to the + stouter one in Europe. It's as good this minute as it was eighteen years + agone.” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy Donovan, spake up,” said Larry. + </p> + <p> + “Spake up!” said Paddy, contemptuously. “Is it for three crowns' worth I'd + spake up? The bedstead, Phelim! <i>Bedhu husth</i>, (* hold your tongue) + man!” + </p> + <p> + “Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're dhry here.” + </p> + <p> + “Thrue enough, Phelim,” said the father. “Paddy, here's towarst you an' + yours—nabors—all your healths—young couple! Paddy, give + us your hand, man alive! Sure, whether we agree or not, this won't put + between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, it won't, Larry—an' I'm thankful to you. Your health, + Larry, an' all your healths! Phelim an' Peggy, success to yez, whether or + not! An' now, in regard o' your civility, I will spake up. My proposal is + this:—I'll put down guinea for guinea wid you.” + </p> + <p> + Now we must observe, by the way, that this was said under the firm + conviction that neither Phelim nor the father had a guinea in their + possession. + </p> + <p> + “I'll do that same, Paddy,” said Larry; “but I'll lave it to the present + company, if you're not bound to put down the first guinea. Nabors, amn't I + right?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Larry,” said Burn; “it's but fair that Paddy should put + down the first.” + </p> + <p> + “Molly, achora,” said Donovan to the wife, who, by the way, was engaged in + preparing the little feast usual on such occasions—“Molly, achora, + give me that ould glove you have in your pocket.” + </p> + <p> + She immediately handed him an old shammy glove, tied up into a hard knot, + which he felt some difficulty in unloosing. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Larry,” said he, laying down a guinea-note, “cover that like a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim carries my purse,” observed the father; but he had scarcely spoken + when the laughter of the company rang loudly through the house—The + triumph of Donovan appeared to be complete, for he thought the father's + alusion to Phelim tantamount to an evasion. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim! Phelim carries it! Faix, an' I, doubt he finds it a light + burdyeen.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim approached in all his glory. + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do?” he inquired, with a swagger. + </p> + <p> + “You're to cover that guinea-note wid a guinea, if you can,” said Donovan. + </p> + <p> + “Whether 'ud you prefar goold or notes,” said Phelim, looking pompously + about him; “that's the talk.” + </p> + <p> + This was received with another merry peal of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, goold—goold by all manes!” replied Donovan. + </p> + <p> + “Here goes the goold, my worthy,” said Phelim, laying down his guinea with + a firm slap upon the table. + </p> + <p> + Old Donovan seized it, examined it, then sent it round, to satisfy himself + that it was a <i>bona fide</i> guinea. + </p> + <p> + On finding that it was good, he became blank a little; his laugh lost its + strength, much of his jollity was instantly neutralized, and his face got + at least two inches longer. Larry now had the laugh against him, and the + company heartily joined in it. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Paddy,” said Larry, “go an!—ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + Paddy fished for half a minute through the glove; and, after what was + apparently a hard chase, brought up another guinea, which he laid down. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Phelim!” said he, and his eye brightened again with a hope that + Phelim would fail. + </p> + <p> + “Good agin!” said Phelim, thundering down another, which was instantly + subjected to a similar scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “You'll find it good,” said Larry. “I wish we had a sackful o' them. Go + an, Paddy. Go an, man, who's afeard?” + </p> + <p> + “Sowl, I'm done,” said Donovan, throwing down the purse with a hearty + laugh—“give me your hand, Larry. Be the goold afore us, I thought to + do you. Sure these two guineas is for my rint, an' we mustn't let them + come atween us at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Larry, “to let you see that my son's not widout something to + begin the world wid—Phelim, shill out the rest o' the yallow boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, you ought to dhrink the ould woman's health for this,” said Phelim. + “Poor ould crathur, many a long day she was savin' up these for me. It's + my mother I'm speakin' about.” + </p> + <p> + “An' we will, too,” said the father; “here's Sheelah's health, neighbors! + The best poor man's wife that ever threwn a gown over her shouldhers.” + </p> + <p> + This was drank with all the honors, and the negotiation proceeded. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Appleton, “what's to be done? Paddy, say what you'll do for + the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Money's all talk,” said Donovan; “I'll give the girl the two-year ould + heifer—an' that's worth double what his father has promised Phelim; + I'll give her a stone o' flax, a dacent suit o' clo'es, my blessin'—an' + there's her fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she neither bed nor beddin'?” inquired Larry. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you say that Phelim's to have his own bed?” observed Donovan. + “Sure one bed 'ill be plinty for them.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care a damn about fortune,” said Phelim, for the first time + taking a part in the bargain—“so long as I get the darlin' herself. + But I think there 'ud be no harm in havin' a spare pair o' blankets—an', + for that matther, a bedstead, too—in case a friend came to see a + body.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't much mind givin' you a brother to the bedstead you have, Phelim,” + replied Donovan, winking at the company, for he was perfectly aware of the + nature of Phelim's bedstead. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what you must do,” said Larry, “otherwise I'll not stand + it. Give the colleen a chaff bed, blankets an' all other parts complate, + along wid that slip of a pig. If you don't do this, Paddy Donovan, why + we'll finish the whiskey an' part friends—but it's no match.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll never do it, Larry. The bed an' beddin' I'll give; but the pig I'll + by no manner o' manes part wid.” + </p> + <p> + “Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're gettin' dhry agin—sayin' + nothin' is dhroothy work. Ould man, will you not bother us about fortune!” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Paddy Donnovan,” wid Devlin, “dang it, let out a little, considher + he has ten guineas; and I give it as my downright maxim an opinion, that + he's fairly entitled to the pig.” + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome to give your opinion, Antony, an' I'm welcome not to care + a rotten sthraw about it. My daughter's wife enough for him, widout a gown + to her back, if he had his ten guineas doubled.” + </p> + <p> + “An' my son,” said Larry, “is husband enough for a betther girl nor ever + called you father—not makin' little, at the same time, of either you + or her.” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy,” said Burn, “there's no use in spakin' that way. I agree wid + Antony, that you ought to throw in the 'slip.'” + </p> + <p> + “Is it what I have to pay my next gale o' rint wid? No, no! If he won't + marry her widout it, she'll get as good that will.” + </p> + <p> + “Saize the 'slip,” said Phelim, “the darlin' herself here is all the slip + I want.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not so,” said Larry, “the 'slip' must go in, or it's a brake off. + Phelim can get girls that has money enough to buy us all out o' root. Did + you hear that, Paddy Donovan?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear it,” said Paddy, “but I'll b'lieve as much of it as I like.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim apprehended that as his father got warm with the liquor, he might, + in vindicating the truth of his own assertion, divulge the affair of the + old housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Ould man,” said he “have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any + regard for Phelim.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd not be brow-bate into anything,” observed Donovan. + </p> + <p> + “Sowl, you would not,” said Phelim; “for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to + marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all, + barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip.” + </p> + <p> + “Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency,” said + Donovan; “but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past + the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather.” + </p> + <p> + “Whish!” said Appleton, “that's the go! Success ould heart! Give us your + hand, Paddy,—here's your good health, an' may you never button an + empty pocket!” + </p> + <p> + “Is all settled?” inquired Molly. + </p> + <p> + “All, but about the weddin' an' the calls,” replied her husband. “How are + we to do about that, Larry?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, in the name o' Goodness, to save time,” he replied, “let them be + called on Sunday next, the two Sundays afther, an thin marrid, wid a + blessin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I agree wid that entirely,” observed Molly; “an' now Phelim, clear away, + you an' Peggy, off o' that chist, till we have our bit o' supper in + comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said Larry, “when the suppers done, you must slip over to + Roche's for a couple o' bottles more o' whiskey. We'll make a night of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “There's two bottles in the house,” said Donovan; “an', be the saikerment, + the first man that talks of bringin' in more, till these is dhrunk, is + ondacent.” + </p> + <p> + This was decisive. In the meantime, the chest was turned into a table, the + supper laid, and the attack commenced. All was pleasure, fun, and + friendship. The reader may be assured that Phelim, during the negotiation, + had not misspent the time with Peggy, Their conversation, however, was in + a tone too low to be heard by those who were themselves talking loudly. + </p> + <p> + One thing, however, Phelim understood from his friend Sam Appleton, which + was, that some clue had been discovered to an outrage in which he + (Appleton) had been concerned. Above all other subjects, that was one on + which Phelim was but a poor comforter. He himself found circumspection + necessary; and he told Appleton, that if ever danger approached him, he + had resolved either to enlist, or go to America, if he could command the + money. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to do that immediately,” added Phelim. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the money?” replied the other. “I don't know,” said Phelim; “but + if I was bent on goin', the want of money wouldn't stop me as long as it + could be found in the counthry. We had to do as bad for others, an' it + can't be a greater sin to do that much for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll think of it,” said Appleton. “Any rate, it's in for a penny, in for + a pound, wid me.” + </p> + <p> + When supper was over, they resumed their drinking, sang songs, and told + anecdotes with great glee and hilarity. Phelim and Peggy danced jigs and + reels, whilst Appleton sang for them, and the bottle also did its duty. + </p> + <p> + On separating about two o'clock, there was not a sober man among them but + Appleton. He declined drinking, and was backed in his abstemiousness by + Phelim, who knew that sobriety on the part of Sam would leave himself more + liquor. Phelim, therefore, drank for them both, and that to such excess, + that Larry, by Appleton's advice, left him at his father's in consequence + of his inability to proceed homewards. It was not, however, without + serious trouble that Appleton could get Phelim and the father separated; + and when he did, Larry's grief was bitter in the extreme. By much + entreaty, joined to some vigorous shoves towards the door, he was + prevailed upon to depart without him; but the old man compensated for the + son's absence, by indulging in the most vociferous sorrow as he went + along, about “Ma Phelim.” When he reached home, his grief burst out + afresh; he slapped the palms of his hands together, and indulged in a + continuous howl, that one on hearing it would imagine to be the very echo + of misery, When he had fatigued himself, he fell asleep on the bed, + without having undressed, where he lay until near nine o'clock the next + morning. Having got up and breakfasted, he related to his wife, with an + aching head, the result of the last night's proceedings. Everything he + assured her was settled: Phelim and Peggy were to be called the following + Sunday, as Phelim, he supposed, had already informed her. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Phelim?” said the wife; “an' why didn't he come home wid you last + night?” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Phelim? Why, Sheelah, woman sure he did come home wid me last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ghrush orrin</i>, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I + thought you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often + at night, myself didn't think it sthrange.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who had + altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding night, + after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to Donovan's + to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when Phelim made his + appearance, dressed in his own tender apparel only. His face was three + inches longer than usual, and the droop in his eye remarkably conspicuous. + </p> + <p> + “No fear of him,” said the father, “here's himself. Arrah, Phelim, what + became of you last night? Where wor you?” + </p> + <p> + Phelim sat down very deliberately and calmly, looked dismally at his + mother, and then looked more dismally at his father. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're sick too, Phelim,” said the father. “My head's goin' + round like a top.” + </p> + <p> + “Ate your breakfast,” said his mother; it's the best thing for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Where wor you last night, Phelim?” inquired the father. + </p> + <p> + “What are you sayin', ould man?” + </p> + <p> + “Who wor you wid last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Do, Phelim,” said the mother, “tell us, aroon. I hope it wasn't out you + wor. Tell us, avourneen?” + </p> + <p> + “Ould woman, what are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + Phelim whistled “<i>ulican dim oh</i>,” or, “the song of sorrow.” At + length he bounced to his feet, and exclaimed in a loud, rapid voice:—“<i>Ma + chuirp an diouol!</i> ould couple, but I'm robbed of my ten guineas by Sam + Appleton!” + </p> + <p> + “Robbed by Sam Appleton! Heavens above!” exclaimed the father. + </p> + <p> + “Robbed by Sam Appleton! <i>Gra machree</i>, Phelim! no, you aren't!” + exclaimed the mother. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Gra machree</i> yourself! but I say I am,” replied Phelim; “robbed + clane of every penny of it!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim then sat down to breakfast—for he was one of those happy + mortals whose appetite is rather sharpened by affliction—and + immediately related to his father and mother the necessity which + Appleton's connection had imposed on him of leaving the country; adding, + that while he was in a state of intoxication, he had been stripped of + Appleton's clothes; that his own were left beside him; that when he awoke + the next morning, he found his borrowed suit gone; that on searching for + his own, he found, to his misery, that the ten guineas had disappeared + along with Appleton, who, he understood from his father, had “left the + neighborhood for a while, till the throuble he was in 'ud pass over.” + </p> + <p> + “But I know where he's gone,” said Phelim, “an' may the divil's luck go + wid him, an' God's curse on the day I ever had anything to do wid that + hell-fire Ribbon business! 'Twas he first brought me into it, the villain; + an' now I'd give the town land we're in to be fairly out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hanim an diouol!</i>” said the father, “is the ten guineas gone? The + curse of hell upon him, for a black desaver! Where's the villain, Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone to America,” replied the son* “The divil tare the tongue out o' + myself,' too! I should be puttin' him up to go there, an' to get money, if + it was to be had. The villain bit me fairly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but how are we to manage?” inquired Larry. “What's to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the other, “to bear it an say nothin'. Even if he was in his + father's house, the double-faced villain has me so much in his power, that + I couldn't say a word about it. My curse on the Ribbon business, I say, + from my heart out!” + </p> + <p> + That day was a very miserable one to Phelim and the father. The loss of + the ten guineas, and the feverish sickness produced from their debauch, + rendered their situation not enviable. Some other small matters, too, in + which Phelim was especially concerned, independent of the awkward + situation in which he felt himself respecting the three calls on the + following day, which was Sunday, added greater weight to his anxiety. He + knew not how to manage, especially upon the subject of his habiliments, + which certainly were in a very dilapidated state. An Irishman, however, + never despairs. If he has not apparel of his own sufficiently decent to + wear on his wedding-day, he borrows from a friend. Phelim and his father + remembered that there were several neighbors in the village, who would + oblige him with a suit for the wedding; and as to the other necessary + expenses, they did what their countrymen are famous for—they trusted + to chance. + </p> + <p> + “We'll work ourselves out of it some way,” said Larry. “Sure, if all fails + us, we can sell the goats for the weddin' expenses. It's one comfort that + Paddy Donovan must find the dinner; an' all we have to get is the whiskey, + the marriage money, an' some other thrifies.” + </p> + <p> + “They say,” observed Phelim, “that people have more luck whin they're + married than whin they're single. I'll have a bout at the marriage, so I + will; for worse luck I can't have, if I had half a dozen wives, than I + always met wid.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * This is another absurd opinion peculiar to the + Irish, and certainly one of the most pernicious that + prevail among them. Indeed, I believe there is no + country in which so many absurd maxims exist. +</pre> + <p> + “I'll go down,” observed Larry, “to Paddy Donovan's, an' send him to the + priest's to dive in your names to be called to-morrow. Faith, it's well + that you won't have to appear, or I dunna how you'd get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Phelim, “that bill won't pass. You must go to the priest + yourself, an' see the curate: if you go near Father O'Hara, it 'ud knock a + plan on the head that I've invinted. I'm in the notion that I'll make the + ould woman bleed agin. I'll squeeze as much out of her as I'll bring me to + America, for I'm not overly safe here; or, if all fails, I'll marry her, + an' run away wid the money. It 'ud bring us all across.” + </p> + <p> + Larry's interview with the curate was but a short one. He waited on + Donovan, however, before he went, who expressed himself satisfied with the + arrangement, and looked forward to the marriage as certain. As for Phelim, + the idea of being called to three females at the same time, was one that + tickled his vanity very much. Vanity, where the fair sex was concerned, + had been always his predominant failing. He was not finally determined on + marriage with any of them; but he knew that should he even escape the + three, the <i>eclat</i>, resulting from so celebrated a transaction would + recommend him to the sex for the remainder of his life. Impressed with + this view of the matter, he sauntered about as usual; saw Foodie + Flattery's daughter, and understood that her uncle had gone to the priest, + to have his niece and worthy Phelim called the next day. But besides this + hypothesis, Phelim had another, which, after all, was the real one. He + hoped that the three applications would prevent the priest from calling + him at all. + </p> + <p> + The priest, who possessed much sarcastic humor, on finding the name of + Phelim come in as a candidate for marriage honors with three different + women, felt considerably puzzled to know what he could be at. That Phelim + might hoax one or two of them was very probable, but that he should have + the effrontery to make him the instrument of such an affair, he thought a + little too bad. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he to his curate, as they talked the matter over that night. + “it is quite evident that this scapegrace reckons upon our refusal to call + him with any of those females to-morrow. It is also certain that not one + of the three to whom he has pledged himself is aware that he is under + similar obligations to the other two.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you intend to act, sir?” inquired the curate. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Mr. O'Hara, “certainly to call him to each: it will give the + business a turn for which he is not prepared. He will stand exposed, + moreover, before the congregation, and that will be some punishment to + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as to the punishment,” replied the curate. “If ever a human + being was free from shame, Phelim is. The fellow will consider it a joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Very possible,” observed his superior, “but I am anxious to punish this + old woman. It may prevent her from uniting herself with a fellow who + certainly would, on becoming master of her money, immediately abandon her—perhaps + proceed to America.” + </p> + <p> + “It will also put the females of the parish on their guard against him,” + said the innocent curate, who knew not that it would raise him highly in + their estimation. + </p> + <p> + “We will have a scene, at all events,” said Mr. O'Hara; “for I'm resolved + to expose him. No blame can be attached to those whom he has duped, + excepting only the old woman, whose case will certainly excite a great + deal of mirth. That matters not, however; she has earned the ridicule, and + let her bear it.” It was not until Sunday morning that the three calls + occurred to Phelim in a new light. + </p> + <p> + He forgot that the friends of the offended parties might visit upon his + proper carcase the contumely he offered to them. This, however, did not + give him much anxiety, for Phelim was never more in his element than when + entering upon a row. + </p> + <p> + The Sunday in question was fine, and the congregation unusually large; one + would think that all the inhabitants of the parish of Teernarogarah had + been assembled. Most of them certainly were. + </p> + <p> + The priest, after having gone through the usual ceremonies of the Sabbath + worship, excepting those with which he concludes the mass, turned round to + the congregation, and thus addressed them:— + </p> + <p> + “I would not,” said he, “upon any other occasion of this kind, think it + necessary to address you at all; but this is one perfectly unique, and in + some degree patriarchal, because, my friends, we are informed that it was + allowed in the times of Abraham and his successors, to keep more than one + wife. This custom is about being revived by a modern, who wants, in rather + a barefaced manner, to palm himself upon us as a patriarch. And who do you + think, my friends, this Irish Patriarch is? Why, no other than bouncing + Phelim O'Toole!” + </p> + <p> + This was received precisely as the priest anticipated: loud were the + snouts of laughter from all parts of the congregation. + </p> + <p> + “Divil a fear o' Phelim!” they exclaimed. “He wouldn't be himself, or he'd + kick up a dust some way.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed Phelim! Just like him! Faith, he couldn't be marrid in the common + coorse!” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, whisht till we hear the name o' the happy crathur that's to be + blisthered with Phelim! The darlin's in luck, whoever she is, an' has + gained a blessed prize in the 'Bouncer.'” + </p> + <p> + “This bouncing patriarch,” continued the priest, “has made his selection + with great judgment and discrimination. In the first place, he has pitched + upon a hoary damsel of long standing in the world;—one blessed with + age and experience. She is qualified to keep Phelim's house well, as soon + as it shall be built; but whether she will be able to keep Phelim himself, + is another consideration. It is not unlikely that Phelim, in imitation of + his great prototypes, may prefer living in a tent. But whether she keeps + Phelim or the house, one thing is certain, that Phelim will keep her + money. Phelim selected this aged woman, we presume, for her judgment; for + surely she who has given such convincing proof of discretion, must make a + useful partner to one who, like Phelim, has that virtue yet to learn. I + have no doubt, however, but in a short time he will be as discreet as his + teacher.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood alive! Isn't that fine language?” + </p> + <p> + “You may say that! Begad, it's himself can discoorse! What's the + Protestants to that?” + </p> + <p> + “The next upon the list is one who, though a poor man's daughter, will + certainly bring property to Phelim. There is also an aptness in this + selection, which does credit to the 'Patriarch.' Phelim is a great dancer, + an accomplishment with which we do not read that the patriarchs themselves + were possessed: although we certainly do read that a light heel was of + little service to Jacob. Well, Phelim carries a light heel, and the second + female of his choice on this list carries a 'light hand;' (* Intimating + theft) it is, therefore, but natural to suppose that, if ever they are + driven to extremities, they will make light of many things which other + people would consider as of weighty moment. Whether Phelim and she may + long remain stationary in this country, is a problem more likely to be + solved at the county assizes than here. It is not improbable that his + Majesty may recommend the 'Patriarch' and one of his wives to try the + benefit of a voyage to New South Wales, he himself graciously vouch-saving + to bear their expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a lie in that, anyhow! If ever any one crossed the wather, Phelim + will. Can't his Reverence be funny whin he plases?” + </p> + <p> + “Many a time it was prophecized for him: an' his Reverence knows best.” + </p> + <p> + “Begad, Phelim's gettin' over the coals. But sure it's all the way the + father an' mother reared him.” + </p> + <p> + “Tunder-an'-trff, is he goin' to be called to a pair o' them?” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, so it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the divil's clip! Is he mad? But let us hear it out.” + </p> + <p> + “The third damsel is by no means so, well adapted for Phelim as either of + the other two. What she could have seen in him is another problem much + more difficult than the one I have mentioned. I would advise her to + reconsider the subject, and let Phelim have the full benefit of the + attention she may bestow upon it. If she finds the 'Patriarch' possessed + of any one virtue, except necessity, I will admit that it is pretty + certain that she will soon discover the longitude, and that has puzzled + the most learned men of the world. If she marries this 'Patriarch', I + think the angels who may visit him will come in the shape of policemen; + and that Phelim, so long as he can find a cudgel, will give them anything + but a patriarchal reception, is another thing of which we may rest pretty + certain. + </p> + <p> + “I. now publish the bans of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of + Teernarogarah, and Bridget Doran of Dernascobe. If any person knows of any + impediment why these two should not be joined in wedlock, they are bound + to declare it. + </p> + <p> + “This Bridget Doran, my friends, is no other than my old housekeeper; but + when, where, or how, Phelim could have won upon her juvenile affections is + one of those mysteries which is never to be explained. I dare say, the + match was brought about by despair on her side, and necessity on his. She + despaired of getting a husband, and he had a necessity for the money. In + point of age I admit she would make a very fit wife for any 'Patriarch.'” + </p> + <p> + Language could not describe the effect which this disclosure produced upon + the congregation. The fancy of every one present was tickled at the idea + of a union between Phelim and the old woman. It was followed by roars of + laughter which lasted several minutes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thin, the curse o' the crows upon him, was he only able to butther up + the ould woman! Oh, <i>Ghe dldven!</i> that flogs. Why, it's a wondher he + didn't stale the ould slip, an' make a run-away match of it—ha, ha, + ha! Musha, bad scran to her, but she had young notions of her own! A purty + bird she picked up in Phelim!—ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of + Teernarogarah and Sally Flattery of the same place. If any of you knows of + any impediment why they should not be joined in wedlock you are bound to + declare it.” + </p> + <p> + The mirth rose again, loud and general. Poodle Flattery, whose character + was so well known, appeared so proper a father-in-law for Phelim, that his + selection in this instance delighted them highly. + </p> + <p> + “Betther an' betther, Phelim! More power to you! You're fixed at last. + Poodle Flattery's daughter—a known thief! Well, what harm? Phelim + himself has pitch on his fingers—or had, anyhow, when he was growin' + up—for many a thing stuck to them. Oh, bedad, now we know what his + Reverence was at when he talked about the 'Sizes, bad luck to them! Betune + her an' the ould woman, Phelim 'ud be in Paradise! Foodie Flattery's + daughter! Begad, she'll 'bring him property' sure enough, as his Reverence + says.” + </p> + <p> + “I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole—whom + we must in future call the 'Patriarch'—of Teernarogarah, and Peggy + Donovan of the same place. If any of you knows any impediment in the way + of their marriage, you are bound to declare it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! Phelim acushla. 'Tis you that's the blessed youth. + Tundher-an'-whiskey, did ever any body hear of sich desate? To do three o' + them. Be sure the Bouncer has some schame in this. Well, one would suppose + Paddy Donovan an' his daughter had more sinse nor to think of sich a + runagate as Bouncin' Phelim.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but the Pathriark! Sure his Reverence sez that we musn't call him + anything agin but the Pathriark! Oh, be gorra, that's the name!—ha, + ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + When the mirth of the congregation had subsided, and their comments ended, + the priest concluded in the following words:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, my friends, here is such a piece of profligacy as I have never, in + the whole course of my pastoral duties, witnessed. It is the act of Phelim + O'Toole, be it known, who did not scruple to engage himself for marriage + to three females—that is, to two girls and an old woman—and + who, in addition, had the effrontery to send me his name and theirs, to be + given out all on the same Sunday; thus making me an instrument in his + hands to hoax those who trusted in his word. That he can marry but one of + them is quite clear; but that he would not scruple to marry the three, and + three more to complete the half-dozen, is a fact which no one who knows + him will doubt. For my part, I know not how this business may terminate. + Of a truth he has contrived to leave the claims of the three females in a + state of excellent confusion. Whether it raise or lessen him in their + opinion I cannot pretend to determine. I am sorry for Donovan's daughter, + for I know not what greater calamity could befall any honest family than a + matrimonial union with Phelim O'Toole. I trust that this day's proceedings + will operate as a caution to the females of the parish against such an + unscrupulous reprobate. It is for this purpose only that I publish the + names given in to me. His character was pretty well known before; it is + now established; and having established it, I dismiss the subject + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's fame was now nearly at its height. Never before had such a case + been known; yet the people somehow were not so much astonished as might be + supposed. On the contrary, had Phelim's courtship gone off like that of + another man, they would have felt more surprised. We need scarcely say, + that the “giving out” or “calling” of Phelim and the three damsels was + spread over the whole parish before the close of that Sunday. Every one + had it—man, woman, and child. It was told, repeated, and improved as + it went along. Now circumstances were added, fresh points made out, and + other <i>dramatis personae</i> brought in—all with great felicity, + and quite suitable to Phelim's character. + </p> + <p> + Strongly contrasted with the amusement of the parishioners in general, was + the indignation felt by the three damsels and their friends. The old + housekeeper was perfectly furious; so much so, indeed, that the priest + gave some dark hints at the necessity of sending for a strait waistcoat. + Her fellow-servants took the liberty of breaking some strong jests upon + her, in return for which she took the liberty of breaking two strong + churnstaves upon them. Being a remarkably stout woman for her years, she + put forth her strength to such purpose that few of them went to bed + without sore bones. The priest was seriously annoyed at it, for he found + that his house was a scene of battle during the remainder of the day. + </p> + <p> + Sally Flattery's uncle, in the absence of her father, indignantly espoused + the cause of his niece. He and Donovan each went among their friends to + excite in them a proper resentment, and to form a faction for the purpose + of chastising Phelim. Their chagrin was bitter on finding that their most + wrathful representations of the insult sustained by their families, were + received with no other spirit than one of the most extravagant mirth. In + vain did they rage and fume, and swear; they could get no one to take a + serious view of it. Phelim O'Toole was the author of all, and from him it + was precisely what they had expected. + </p> + <p> + Phelim himself, and the father, on hearing of the occurrence after mass, + were as merry as any other two in the parish. At first the father was + disposed to lose his temper; but on Phelim telling him he would bear no + “gosther” on the subject, he thought proper to take it in good humor. + About this time they had not more than a week's provision in the house, + and only three shillings of capital. The joke of the three calls was too + good a one to pass off as an ordinary affair; they had three shillings, + and although it was their last, neither of them could permit the matter to + escape as a dry joke. They accordingly repaired to the little public-house + of the village, where they laughed at the world, got drunk, hugged each + other, despised all mankind, and staggered home, Fagged and merry, poor + and hearty, their arms about each other's necks, perfect models of filial + duty and paternal affection. + </p> + <p> + The reader is aware that the history of Phelim's abrupt engagement with + the housekeeper, was conveyed by Fool Art to Sally Flattery. Her thievish + character rendered marriage as hopeless to her as length of days did to + Bridget Doran. No one knew the plan she had laid for Phelim, but this + fool, and, in order to secure his silence, she had promised him a shirt on + the Monday after the first call. Now Art, as was evident by his endless + habit of shrugging, felt the necessity of a shirt very strongly. + </p> + <p> + About ton o'clock on Monday he presented himself to Sally, and claimed his + recompense. + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said Sally, “the shirt I intended for you is upon Squire Nugent's + hedge beside their garden. You know the family's goin' up to Dublin on + Thursday, Art, an' they're gettin' their washin' done in time to be off. + Go down, but don't let any one see you; take the third shirt on the row, + an' bring it up to me till I smooth it for you.” + </p> + <p> + Art sallied down to the hedge on which the linen had been put out to dry, + and having reconnoitered the premises, shrugged himself, and cast a + longing eye on the third shirt. With that knavish penetration, however, + peculiar to such persons, he began to reflect that Sally might have some + other object in view besides his accommodation. He determined, therefore, + to proceed upon new principles—sufficiently safe, he thought, to + protect him from the consequences of theft. “Good-morrow, Bush,” said Art, + addressing that on which the third shirt was spread. “Isn't it a burnin' + shame an' a sin for you,” he continued, “to have sich a line white shirt + an you, an' me widout a stitch to my back. Will you swap?” + </p> + <p> + Having waited until the bush had due time to reply. + </p> + <p> + “Sorra fairer,” he observed; “silence gives consint.” + </p> + <p> + In less than two minutes he stripped, put on one of the Squire's best + shirts, and spread out his own dusky fragment in its place. + </p> + <p> + “It's a good thing,” said Art, “to have a clear conscience; a fair + exchange is no robbery.” + </p> + <p> + Now, it so happened that the Squire himself, who was a humorist, and also + a justice of the peace, saw Art putting his morality in practice at the + hedge. He immediately walked out with an intention of playing off a trick + upon the fool for his dishonesty; and he felt the greater inclination to + do this in consequence of an opinion long current, that Art, though he had + outwitted several, had never been outwitted himself. + </p> + <p> + Art had been always a welcome guest in the Squire's kitchen, and never + passed the “Big House,” as an Irish country gentleman's residence is + termed, without calling. On this occasion, however, he was too cunning to + go near it—a fact which the Squire observed. By taking a short cut + across one of his own fields, he got before Art, and turning the angle of + a hedge, met him trotting along at his usual pace. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art, where now?” + </p> + <p> + “To the crass roads, your honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Art, is not this a fine place of mine? Look at these groves, and the + lawn, and the river there, and the mountains behind all. Is it not equal + to Sir William E——-'s?” + </p> + <p> + Sir William was Art's favorite patron. + </p> + <p> + “Sir William, your honor, has all this at his place.” + </p> + <p> + “But I think my views are finer.” + </p> + <p> + “They're fine enough,” replied Art; “but where's the lake afore the door?” + </p> + <p> + The Squire said no more about his prospects. + </p> + <p> + “Art,” he continued, “would you carry a letter from me to M——-?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be wantin' somethin' to dhrink on the way,” said Art. + </p> + <p> + “You shall get something to eat and drink before you go,” said the Squire, + “and half-a-crown for your trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Augh,” exclaimed Art, “be dodda, sir, you're nosed like Sir William, and + chinned like Captain Taylor.” This was always Art's compliment when + pleased. + </p> + <p> + The Squire brought him up to the house, ordered him refreshment, and while + Art partook of it, wrote a <i>letter of mittimus</i> to the county jailor, + authorizing him to detain the bearer in prison until he should hear + further from him. + </p> + <p> + Art, having received the half-crown and the letter, appeared delighted; + but, on hearing the name of the person to whom it was addressed, he smelt + a trick. He promised faithfully, however, to deliver it, and betrayed no + symptoms whatever of suspicion. After getting some distance from the big + house, he set his wits to work, and ran over in his mind the names of + those who had been most in the habit of annoying him. At the head of this + list stood Phelim O'Toole, and on Phelim's head did he resolve to transfer + the revenge which the Squire, he had no doubt, intended to take on + himself. + </p> + <p> + With considerable speed he made way to Larry O'Toole's, where such a scene + presented itself as made him for a moment forget the immediate purport of + his visit. + </p> + <p> + Opposite Phelim, dressed out in her best finery, stood the housekeeper, + zealously insisting' on either money or marriage. On one side of him stood + old Donovan and his daughter, whom he had forced to come, in the character + of a witness, to support his charges against the gay deceiver. On the + other were ranged Sally Flattery, in tears, and her uncle in wrath, each + ready to pounce upon Phelim. + </p> + <p> + Phelim stood the very emblem of patience and good-humor. When one of them + attacked him, he winked at the other two when either of the other two came + on, he Winked still at those who took breath. Sometimes he trod on his + father's toe, lest the old fellow might lose the joke, and not + unfrequently proposed their going to a public-house, and composing their + differences over a bottle, if any of them would pay the expenses. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mane to do?” said the housekeeper; “but it's asy known I'm an + unprojected woman, or I wouldn't be thrated as I am. If I had relations + livin' or near me, we'd pay you on the bones for bringin' me to shame and + scandal, as you have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my sanies, Mrs. Doran, I feel for your situation, so I do,” said + Phelim. You've outlived all your friends, an' if it was in my power to + bring any o' them back to you I'd do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you desaver, is that the feelin' you have for me, when I thought + you'd be a guard an' a projection to me? You know I have the money, you + sconce, an' how comfortable it 'ud keep us, if you'd only see what's good + for you. You blarnied an' palavered me, you villain, till you gained my + infections an' thin you tuck the cholic as an excuse to lave me in a state + of dissolution an' disparagement. You promised to marry me, an' you had no + notion of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not the only one he has disgraced, Mrs. Doran,” said Donovan. “A + purty way he came down, himself an' his father, undher pretence of + coortin' my daughter. He should lay down his ten guineas, too, to show us + what he had to begin the world wid, the villain!—an' him had no + notion of it aither.” + </p> + <p> + “An' he should send this girl to make me go to the priest to have him and + her called, the reprobate,” said Nick Flattery; “an' him had no notion of + it aither.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure he sent us all there,” exclaimed Donovan. + </p> + <p> + “He did,” said the old woman. + </p> + <p> + “Not a doubt of it,” observed Flattery. + </p> + <p> + “Ten guineas!” said the housekeeper. “An' so you brought my ten guineas in + your pocket to coort another girl! Aren't you a right profligate?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Donovan, “aren't you a right profligate?” + </p> + <p> + “Answer the dacent people,” said Mattery, “aren't you a right profligate?” + </p> + <p> + “Take the world asy, all of ye,” replied Phelim. “Mrs. Doran, there was + three of you called, sure enough; but, be the vestments, I intinded—do + you hear me, Mrs. Doran? Now have rason—I say, do you hear me? Be + the vestmints, I intinded to marry only one of you; an' that I'll do + still, except I'm vexed—(a wink at the old woman). Yet you're all + flyin' at me, as if I had three heads or three tails upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the poor boy's not so much to blame,” said Mrs. Doran. “There's + hussies in this world,” and here she threw an angry eye upon the other + two, “that 'ud give a man no pace till he'd promise to marry them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he promise to them that didn't want him thin?” exclaimed Donovan. + “I'm not angry that he didn't marry my daughther—for I wouldn't give + her to him now—but I am at the slight he put an her.” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy Donovan, did you hear what I said jist now?” replied Phelim, “I + wish to Jamini some people 'ud have sinse! Be them five crasses, I knew + thim I intinded to marry, as well as I do where I'm standin'. That's plain + talk, Paddy. I'm sure the world's not passed yet, I hope”—(a wink at + Paddy Donovan.) + </p> + <p> + “An' wasn't he a big rascal to make little of my brother's daughter as he + did?” said Flattery; “but he'll rub his heels together for the same act.” + </p> + <p> + “Nick Flathery, do you think I could marry three wives? Be that horseshoe + over the door, Sally Flathery, you didn't thrate me dacent. She did not, + Nick, an' you ought to know that it was wrong of her to come here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but what do you intind to do Phelim, avourn—you profligate?” + said the half-angry, half-pacified housekeeper, who, being the veteran, + always led on the charge. “Why, I intind to marry one of you,” said + Phelim. “I say, Mrs. Doran, do you see thim ten fingers acrass—be + thim five crasses I'll do what I said, if nothing happens to put it + aside.” + </p> + <p> + “Then be an honest man,” said Flattery, “an' tell us which o' them you + will marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Nick, don't you know I always regarded your family. If I didn't that I + may never do an ill turn! Now! But some people can't see anything. Arrah, + fandher-an'-whiskey, man, would you expect me to tell out before all + that's here, who I'll marry—to be hurtin' the feelin's of the rest. + Faith, I'll never do a shabby thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What rekimpinse will you make my daughter for bringin' down her name + afore the whole parish, along wid them she oughtn't to be named in the one + day wid?” said Donovan. + </p> + <p> + “An' who is that, Paddy Donovan?” said the housekeeper, with a face of + flame. + </p> + <p> + “None of your broad hints, Paddy,” said Nick. “If it's a collusion to + Sally Flattery you mane, take care I don't make you ate your words.” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy,” exclaimed Phelim, “you oughtn't to be hurtin' their feelin's!”—(a + friendly wink to Paddy.) + </p> + <p> + “If you mane me,” said the housekeeper, “by the crook on the fire, I'd + lave you a mark.” + </p> + <p> + “I mane you for one, thin, since you provoke me,” replied Donovan. + </p> + <p> + “For one, is it?” said Nick; “an' who's the other, i' you plase?” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother's daughter,” he replied. “Do you think I'd even (* compare) + my daughter to a thief?” + </p> + <p> + “Be gorra,” observed Phelim, “that's too provokin', an' what I wouldn't + bear. Will ye keep the pace, I say, till I spake a word to Mrs Doran? Mrs. + Doran, can I have a word or two wid you outside the house?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure you can,” she replied; “I'd give you fair play, if the diouol + was in you.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim, accordingly, brought her out, and thus accosted her,— + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mrs. Doran, you think I thrated you ondacent; but do you see that + book?” said he, producing a book of ballads, on which he had sworn many a + similar oath before? “Be the contints o' that book, as sure as you're + beside me, it's you I intind to marry. These other two—the curse o' + the crows upon them! I wish we could get them from about the place—is + bothyrin' for love o' me, an' I surely did promise to get myself called to + them. They wanted it to be a promise of marriage; but, says I, 'sure if + we're called together it's the same, for whin it comes to that, all's + right,'—an' so I tould both o' them, unknownst to one another. Arra, + be me sowl, you'd make two like them, so you would; an' if you hadn't a + penny, I'd marry you afore aither o' them to-morrow. Now, there's the + whole sacret, an' don't be onaisy about it. Tell Father O'Hara how it is, + whin you go home, an' that he must call the three o' you to me agin on + next Sunday, and the Sunday afther, plase Goodness; jist that I may keep + my promise to them. You know I couldn't have luck or grace if I marrid you + wid the sin of two broken promises on me.” + </p> + <p> + “My goodness, Phelim, but you tuck a, burdyeen off o' me! Faix, you'll see + how happy we'll be.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure we will! But I'm tould you're sometimes crass, Mrs. Doran. + Now, you must promise to be kind an' lovin' to the childre, or be the + vestment, I'll break off the match yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Och, an' why wouldn't I, Phelim, acushla? Sure that's but rason.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take this book an' swear it. Be gorra, your word won't do, for it's + a thing my mind's made up on. It's I that'll be fond o' the childre.” + </p> + <p> + “An' how am I to swear it, Phelim? for I never tuck an oath myself yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the book in your hand, shut one eye, and say the words afther me. Be + the contints o' this book,” + </p> + <p> + “Be the contints o' this book,” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be kind an' motherly, an' boistherous,” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be kind, an' motherly, an boistherous,” + </p> + <p> + “To my own childhre,” + </p> + <p> + “To my own childhre,” + </p> + <p> + “An' never bate or abuse thim,” + </p> + <p> + “An' never bate or abuse thim,” + </p> + <p> + “Barrin' whin they desarve it;” + </p> + <p> + “Barrin' whin they desarve it;” + </p> + <p> + “An' this I swear,” + </p> + <p> + “An' this I swear,” + </p> + <p> + “In the presence of St. Phelim,” + </p> + <p> + “In the presence of St. Phelim,” “Amin!” + </p> + <p> + “Amin!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mrs. Doran, acushla, if you could jist know how asy my conscience is + about the childhre, poor crathurs, you'd be in mighty fine spirits. There + won't be sich a lovin' husband, begad, in Europe. It's I that'll coax you, + an' butther you up like a new pair o' brogues; but, begad, you must be + sweeter than liquorice or sugar-candy to me. Won't you, darlin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Be the crass, Phelim, darlin', jewel, I'll be as kind a wife as ever + breathed. Arrah, Phelim, won't you come down to-morrow evenin'? There'll + be no one at home but myself, an'—ha, ha, ha!—Oh, you coaxin' + rogue! But, Phelim, you musn't be—Oh, you're a rogue! I see you + laughin'! Will you come darlin?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely. But, death alive! I was near for-gettin'; sure, bad luck to the + penny o' the ten guineas but I paid away.” + </p> + <p> + “Paid away! Is it my ten guineas?” + </p> + <p> + “Your ten guineas, darlin'; an' right well I managed it. Didn't I secure + Pat Hanratty's farm by it? Sam Appleton's uncle had it as good as taken; + so, begad, I came down wid the ten guineas, by way of airles, an' now we + have it. I knew you'd be plased to hear it, an' that you'd be proud to + give me ten more for clo'es an' the weddin' expenses. Isn't that good + news, avourneen? Eh, you duck o' diamonds? Faith, let Phelim alone! An' + another thing—I must call you Bridget for the future! It's sweeter + an' more lovin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim, I wish you had consulted wid me afore you done it: but it can't + be helped. Come down to-morrow evenin', an' we'll see what's to be done.” + </p> + <p> + “The grace o'heaven upon you, but you are the winnin'est woman alive this + day! Now take my advice, an' go home without comin' in. I'm wantin' to get + this other pair off o' my hands, as well as I can, an' our best way is to + do it all widout noise. Isn't it, darlin'?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, Phelim, jewel; an' I'll go.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, Bridget, you've dealt in thracle afore now, you're so sweet. Now, + acushla, farewell: an' take care of yourself till tomorrow evenin'!” + </p> + <p> + Phelim, on re-entering his father's cabin, found Larry and Peggy Donovan + placed between her father and Flattery, each struggling to keep them + asunder. Phelim at first had been anxious to set them by the ears, but his + interview with the old woman changed his plan of operations altogether. + With some difficulty he succeeded in repressing their tendency to single + combat, which, having effected, he brought out Flattery and his niece, + both of whom he thus addressed:— + </p> + <p> + “Be the vestment, Sally, only that my regard an' love for you is uncommon, + I'd break off the affair altogether, so I would.” + </p> + <p> + “An' why would you do so, Phelim O'Toole?” inquired the uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Bekase,” replied Phelim, “you came here an' made a show of me, when I + wished to have no <i>bruliagh</i>, at all at all. In regard of Peggy + Donovan, I never spoke a word to the girl about marriage since I was + christened. Saize the syllable! My father brought me down there to gosther + awhile, the other night, an' Paddy sent away for whiskey. An' the curse o' + Cromwell on myself! I should get tossicated. So while I was half-saes + over, the two ould rip set to makin' the match—planned to have us + called—an' me knowin' nothin' about it, good, bad, or indifferent. + That's the thruth, be the sky above us.” + </p> + <p> + “An' what have you to say about the housekeeper, Phelim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why I don't know yet, who done me there. I was about takin' a farm, an' + my father borried ten guineas from her. Somebody heard it—I suspect + Sam Appleton—an' gave in our names to the priest, to be called, + makin' a good joke of it. All sorts o' luck to them, barrin' good luck, + that did it; but they put me in a purty state! But never heed! I'll find + them out yet. Now go home, both o' you, an' I'll slip down in half an + hour, with a bottle o' whiskey in my pocket. We'll talk over what's to be + done. Sure Sally here, knows that it's my own intherest to marry her and + no one else.” + </p> + <p> + “If my father thought you would, Phelim, he'd not stag, even if he was to + cras the wather!” + </p> + <p> + “Go home, Sally darlin' till I get this mad Donovan an' his daughter away. + Be all that's beautiful I'll be apt to give him a taste o' my shillely, if + he doesn't behave himself! Half an hour I'll be clownin—wid the + bottle; an' don't you go, Nick, till you see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said the uncle, “you know how the case is. You must aither marry + the girl, or take a long voyage, abouchal. We'll have no bouncin' or + palaver.” + </p> + <p> + “Bedad, Mick, I've great patience wid you,” said Phelim, smiling: “go off, + I say, both of you.” + </p> + <p> + They proceeded homewards, and Phelim returned to appease the anger of + Donovan, as he had that of the others. Fresh fiction was again drawn + forth, every word of which the worthy father corroborated. They promised + to go down that night and drink another bottle together; a promise which + they knew by the state of their finances, it was impossible to fulfil. The + prospect of a “booze,” however, tranquillized Donovan, who in his heart + relished a glass of liquor as well as either Phelim or the father. Shaking + of hands and professions of friendship were again beginning to multiply + with great rapidity, when Peggy thought proper to make a few observations + on the merits of her admirer. + </p> + <p> + “In regard to me,” she observed, “you may save yourself the throuble o' + comin'. I wouldn't marry Phelim, afther what the priest said yistherday, + if he had the riches o' the townland we're spakin' in. I never cared for + him, nor liked him; an' it was only to plase my father an' mother, that I + consinted to be called to him at all. I'll never join myself to the likes + of him. If I do, may I be a corpse the next minute!” + </p> + <p> + Having thus expressed herself, she left her father, Phelim, and Larry, to + digest her sentiments, and immediately went home. + </p> + <p> + Donovan, who was outrageous at this contempt of his authority, got his hat + with the intention of compelling her to return and retract, in their + presence, what she had said; but the daughter, being the more light-footed + of the two, reached home before he could overtake her, where, backed by + her mother, she maintained her resolution, and succeeded, ere long, in + bringing the father over to her opinion. + </p> + <p> + During this whole scene in Larry's, Fool Art sat in that wild abstraction + which characterizes the unhappy class to which he belonged. He muttered to + himself, laughed—or rather chuckled—shrugged his shoulders, + and appeared to be as unconscious of what had taken place as an automaton. + When the coast was clear he rose up and plucking Phelim's skirt, beckoned + him towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Phelim,” said he, when they had got out, “would you like to airn a + crown?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me how, Art?” said Phelim. + </p> + <p> + “A letther from, the Square to the jailer of M——— jail. + If you bring back an answer, you'll get a crown, your dinner, an' a quart + o' strong beer.” + </p> + <p> + “But why don't you bring it yourself, Art?” + </p> + <p> + “Why I'm afeard. Sure they'd keep ma in jail, I'm tould, if they'd catch + me in it. Aha! Bo dodda, I won't go near them: sure they'd hang me for + shootin' Bonypart.—Aha!” + </p> + <p> + “Must the answer be brought back today, Art?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! It wouldn't do to-morrow, at all. Be dodda, no! Five shillins, your + dinner, an' a quart of sthrong beer!—Aha! But you must give me a + shillin' or two, to buy a sword; for the Square's goin' to make me a + captain: thin I'll be grand! an' I'll make you a sargin'.” + </p> + <p> + This seemed a windfall to Phelim. The unpleasant dilemma in which Sally + Flattery had placed him, by the fabricated account of her father's + imprisonment, made him extremely anxious to see Foodie himself, and to + ascertain the precise outrage for which he had been secured. Here then was + an opportunity of an interview with him, and of earning five shillings, a + good dinner, and a quart of strong beer, as already specified. + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said he, “give me the letther, an' I'm the boy that'll soon do the + job. Long life to you, Art! Be the contints o' the book, Art, I'll never + pelt you or vex you agin, my worthy; an' I'll always call you captain!” + Phelim immediately commenced his journey to M———, which + was only five miles distant, and in a very short time reached the jail, + saw the jailer, and presented his letter. + </p> + <p> + The latter, on perusing it, surveyed him with the scrutiny of a man whose + eye was practised in scanning offenders. + </p> + <p> + Phelim, whilst the jailer examined him, surveyed the strong and massy + bolts with which every door and hatchway was secured. Their appearance + produced rather an uncomfortable sensation in him; so much so, that when + the jailer asked him his name, he thought it more prudent, in consequence + of a touch of conscience he had, to personate Art for the present, + inasmuch as he felt it impossible to assume any name more safe than that + of an idiot. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Art Maguire,” said he in reply to the jailer. “I'm messenger + to Square S——, the one he had was discharged on Friday last. I + expect soon to be made groom, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Come this way,” said the jailer, “and you shall have an answer.” + </p> + <p> + He brought Phelim into the prison-yard, where he remained for about twenty + minutes, laboring under impressions which he felt becoming gradually more + unpleasant. His anxiety was not lessened on perceiving twenty or thirty + culprits, under the management of the turnkeys, enter the yard, where they + were drawn up in a line, like a file of soldiers. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” said one of the turnkeys. + </p> + <p> + “Art Maguire,” replied Phelim. + </p> + <p> + “Stand here,” said the other, shoving him among the prisoners. “Keep your + head up, you villain, an' don't be ashamed to look your friends in the + face. It won't be hard to identify you, at any rate, you scoundrel. A + glimpse of that phiz, even by starlight, would do you, you dog. Jack, tell + Mr. S. to bring in the gintlemen—they're all ready.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim's dismay on finding himself under drill with such a villainous crew + was indescribable. He attempted to parley with the turnkey, but was near + feeling the weight of his heavy keys for daring to approach a man placed + in authority. + </p> + <p> + While thus chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, three gentlemen, + accompanied by the jailer, entered the yard, and walked backward and + forward in front of the prisoners, whose faces and persons they examined + with great care. For a considerable time they could not recognize any of + them; but just as they were about to give up the scrutiny, one of the + gentlemen approached Phelim, and looking narrowly into his countenance, + exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “Here, jailer, this man I identify. I can-not be mistaken in his face; the + rough visage and drooping eye of that fellow put all doubt as to his + identity out of question. What's his' name?” + </p> + <p> + “He gives his name, sir, as Arthur Maguire.” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur what, sir?” said another of the turnkeys, looking earnestly at + Phelim. “Why, sir, this is the fellow that swore the alibis for the Kellys—ay, + an' for the Delaneys, an' for the O'Briens. His name is Phelim O'Toole; + an' a purty boy he is, by all report.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim, though his heart sank within him, attempted to banter them out of + their bad opinion of him; but there was something peculiarly dismal and + melancholy in his mirth. + </p> + <p> + “Why, gintlemen—ha, ha!—be gorra, I'd take it as a convanience—I + mane, as a favor—if you'd believe me that there's a small taste of + mistake here. I was sent by Square S. wid a letter to Mr. S——-t, + an' he gave me fifty ordhers to bring him back an answer this day. As for + Phelim O'Toole, if you mane the rascal that swears the alibis, faith, I + can't deny but I'm as like him, the villain, as one egg is to another. Bad + luck to his 'dhroop,' any how; little I thought that it would ever bring + me into throuble—ha, ha, ha! Mr. S———t, what + answer have you for the Square, sir? Bedad, I'm afeard I'll be late.” + </p> + <p> + “That letter, Master Maguire, or Toole, or whatever your name is, + authorizes me to detain you as a prisoner, until I hear further from Mr. + S.” + </p> + <p> + “I identify him distinctly,” said the gentleman, once more. “I neither + doubt nor waver on the subject; so you will do right to detain him. I + shall lodge information against him immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Phelim to the jailer, “the Square couldn't mane me at all, in + regard that it was another person he gave the letter to, for to bring to + you, the other person gave it to me. I can make my oath of that. Be gorra, + you're playin' your thrieks upon sthrangers now, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you lying rascal,” said the jailer, “have you not a few minutes ago + asserted to the contrary? Did you not tell me that your name was Arthur, + or Art Maguire? That you are Mr. S.'s messenger, and expect to be made his + groom. And now you deny all this.” + </p> + <p> + “He's Phelim O'Toole,” said the turnkey, “I'll swear to him; but if you + wait for a minute, I'll soon prove it.” + </p> + <p> + He immediately retired to the cell of a convict, whom he knew to be from + the townland of Teernarogarah: and ordering its inmate to look through the + bars of his window, which commanded the yard, he asked him if there was + any one among them whom he knew. + </p> + <p> + The fellow in a few minutes replied, “Whethen, divil a one, barrin' + bouncin' Phelim O'Toole.” + </p> + <p> + The turnkey brought him down to the yard, where he immediately recognized + Phelim as an old friend, shook hands with him, and addressed him by his + name. + </p> + <p> + “Bad luck to you,” said Phelim in Irish, “is this a place to welcome your + friends to!” + </p> + <p> + “There is some mystery here,” said the jailer. “I suppose the fact is, + that this fellow returned a wrong name to Mr. S., and that that accounts + for the name of Arthur Maguire being in the letter.” + </p> + <p> + All Phelim's attempts to extricate himself were useless. He gave them the + proper version of the letter affair with Fool Art, but without making the + slightest impression. The jailer desired him to be locked up. + </p> + <p> + “Divil fire you all, you villains!” exclaimed Phelim, “is it goin' to put + me in crib ye are for no rason in life? Doesn't the whole parish know that + I was never off o' my bed for the last three months, wid a complaint I + had, until widin two or three days agone!” + </p> + <p> + “There are two excellent motives for putting you in crib,” said the + jailer; “but if you can prove that you have been confined to your bed so + long as you say, why it will be all the better for yourself. Go with the + turnkey.” + </p> + <p> + “No, tarenation to the fut I'll go,” said Phelim, “till I'm carried.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't the gintleman identify you, you villain,” replied one of the + turnkeys; “an' isn't the Square's letther in your favor?” + </p> + <p> + “Villain, is id!” exclaimed Phelim. “An' from a hangman's cousin, too, + we're to bear this!—eh? Take that, anyhow, an' maybe you'll get more + when you don't expect it. Whoo! Success, Phelim! There's blood in you + still, abouchal!” + </p> + <p> + He accompanied the words by a spring of triumph from the ground, and + surveyed the already senseless turnkey with exultation. In a moment, + however, he was secured, for the purpose of being put into strong irons. + </p> + <p> + “To the devil's warmin' pan wid ye all,” he continued, “you may do your + worst. I defy you. Ha! by the heavens above me, you'll suffer for this, my + fine gintleman. What can ye do but hang or thransport me, you villains? I + tell ye, if a man's sowl had a crust of sin on it a foot thick, the best + way to get it off 'ud be jist to shoot a dozen like you. Sin! Oh, the + divil saize the sin at all in it. But wait! Did ye ever hear of a man they + call Dan O'Connell? Be my sowl, he'll make yez rub your heels together, + for keepin' an innocent boy in jail, that there's no law or no warrant out + for. This is the way we're thrated by thim that's ridin' rough shod over + us. But have a taste o' patience, ye scoundrels! It won't last, I can tell + yez. Our day will soon come, an' thin I'd recommend yez to thravel for + your health. Hell saize the day's pace or happiness ever will be seen in + the country, till laws, an' judges, an' Jries, an' jails, an' jailers, an' + turnkeys, an' hangmen is all swep out of it. Saize the day. An' along wid + them goes the parsons, procthors, tithes an' taxes, all to the devil + together. That day's not very far off, d——d villains! An' now + I tell ye, that if a hair o' my head's touched—ay, if I was hanged + to-morrow—I'd lave them behind me that 'ud put a bullet, wid the + help an' blessin' O Grod, through any one that'll injure me! So lay that + to your conscience, an' do your best. Be the crass, O'Connell I'll make + you look nine ways at wanst for this! He's the boy can put the pin in your + noses! He's the boy can make yez thrimble, one an' all o' yez—like a + dog in a wet sack! An', wid the blessin' o' God, he'll help us to put our + feet on your necks afore long!” + </p> + <p> + “That's a prudent speech,” observed the jailer; “it will serve you very + much.” + </p> + <p> + Phelim consigned him to a very warm settlement in reply. + </p> + <p> + “Bring the ruffian off” added the jailer; “put him in solitary + confinement.” + </p> + <p> + “Put me wid Foodie Flattery,” said Phelim; “you've got him here, an' I'll + go nowhere else. Faith, you'll suffer for givin' me false imprisonment. + Doesn't O'Connell's name make you shake? Put me wid Foodie Flattery, I + say.” + </p> + <p> + “Foodie Flattery! There is no such man here. Have you got such a person + here?” inquired the jailer of the turnkey. + </p> + <p> + “Not at present,” said the turnkey; “but I know Foodie well. We've had him + here twice. Come away, Phelim; follow me; you're goin' to be put where + you'll have an opportunity of sayin' your prayers.” + </p> + <p> + He then ushered Phelim to a cell, where the reader may easily imagine what + he felt. His patriotism rose to a high pitch; he deplored the wrongs of + his country bitterly, and was clearly convinced that until jails, judges, + and assizes, together with a long train of similar grievances, were + utterly abolished, Ireland could never be right, nor persecuted “boys,” + like himself, at full liberty to burn or murder the enemies of their + country with impunity. Notwithstanding these heroic sentiments, an + indifferent round oath more than once escaped him against Ribbonism in + whole and in part. He cursed the system, and the day, and the hour on + which he was inveigled into it. He cursed those who had initiated him; nor + did his father and mother escape for their neglect of his habits, his + morals, and his education. This occurred when he had time for reflection. + Whilst thus dispensing his execrations, the jailer and the three + gentlemen, having been struck with his allusion to Foodie Flattery, and + remembering that Foodie was of indifferent morals, came to the unanimous + opinion that it would be a good plan to secure him; and by informing him + that Phelim was in prison upon a capital charge, endeavor to work upon his + fears, by representing his companion as disposed to turn approver. The + state of the country, and Foodie's character, justified his apprehension + on suspicion. He was accordingly taken, and when certified of Phelim's + situation, acted precisely as had been expected. With very little + hesitation, he made a full disclosure of the names of several persons + concerned in burnings, waylayings, and robbery of arms. The two first + names on the list were those of Phelim and Appleton, with several besides, + some of whom bore an excellent, and others an execrable, character in the + country. + </p> + <p> + The next day Fool Art went to Larry's, where he understood that Phelim was + on the missing list. This justified his suspicions of the Squire; but by + no means lessened his bitterness against him, for the prank he had + intended to play upon him. With great simplicity, he presented himself at + the Big House, and met its owner on the lawn, accompanied by two other + gentlemen. The magistrate was somewhat surprised at seeing Art at large, + when he imagined him to be under the jailer's lock and key. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art,” said he, concealing his amazement, “did you deliver my + letter?” + </p> + <p> + “It went safe, your honor,” replied Art. “Did you yourself give it into + his hands, as I ordered you?” + </p> + <p> + “Whoo! Be dodda, would your honor think Art 'ud tell a lie? Sure he read + it. Aha!” + </p> + <p> + “An' what did he say, Art?” + </p> + <p> + “Whoo! Why, that he didn't know which of us had the least sense. You for + sendin' a fool on a message, or me for deliverin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “Was that all that happened?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. He said,” added the fool, with bitter sarcasm, alluding to a + duel, in which the Squire's character had not come off with flying colors—“he + said, sir, that whin you have another challenge to fight, you may get sick + agin for threepence to the poticarry.” + </p> + <p> + This having been the manner in which the Squire was said to have evaded + the duel, it is unnecessary to say that Art's readiness to refresh his + memory on the subject prevented him from being received at the Big House + in future. + </p> + <p> + Reader, remember that we only intended to give you a sketch of Phelim + O'Toole's courtship. We will, however, go so far beyond our original plan, + as to apprise you of his fate. + </p> + <p> + When it became known in the parish that he was in jail, under a charge of + felony, Sally Mattery abandoned all hopes of securing him as a husband. + The housekeeper felt suitable distress, and hoped, should the poor boy be + acquitted, that he might hould up his head wid any o' them. Phelim, + through the agency of his father, succeeded in getting ten guineas from + her, to pay the lawyers for defending him; not one penny of which he + applied to the purpose for which he obtained it. The expenses of his + defence were drawn from the Ribbon fund, and the Irish reader cannot + forget the eloquent and pathetic, appeal made by his counsel to the jury, + on his behalf, and the strength with which the fact of his being the whole + support of a helpless father and mother was stated. The appeal, however, + was ineffectual; worthy Phelim was convicted, and sentenced to + transportation for life. When his old acquaintances heard the nature of + his destiny, they remembered the two prophecies that had been so often + uttered concerning him. One of them was certainly fulfilled to the letter—we + mean that in which it was stated, “that the greatest swaggerer among the + girls generally comes to the wall at last.” The other, though not + literally accomplished, was touched at least upon the spirit; + transportation for life ranks next to hanging. We,cannot avoid mentioning + a fact connected with Phelim which came to light while he remained in + prison. By incessant trouble he was prevailed upon, or rather compelled, + to attend the prison school, and on examining him, touching his religion? + knowledge, it appeared that he was ignorant of the plainest truths of + Christianity; that he knew not how or by whom the Christian religion had + been promulgated; nor, indeed, any other moral truth connected with + Revelation. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after his transportation, Larry took to drink, and his mother + to begging, for she had no other means of living. In this mode of life, + the husband was soon compelled to join her. They are both mendicants, and + Sheelah now appears sensible of the error in their manner of bringing + Phelim up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Larry,” she is sometimes heard to say, “I doubt that we wor wrong for + flyin' in the face o' God, becase He didn't give us childhre. An' when it + plased Him to grant us a son, we oughtn't to 've spoiled him by + over-indulgence, an' by lettin' him have his own head in everythin' as we + did. If we had sint him to school, an' larned him to work, an' corrected + him when he desarved it, instead of laughin' at his lies, an' misbehavior, + and his oaths, as if they wor sport—ay, an abusin' the nabors when + they'd complain of him, or tell us what he was—ay!—if we had, + it's a credit an' a comfort he'd be to us now, an' not a shame an' a + disgrace, an' an affliction. We made our own bed, Larry, an' now we must + lie down an it. An' God help us! We made his bed too, poor boy, an' a hard + one it is. God forgive us! but, anyhow, my heart a breakin', for bad as he + was, sure we havn't him to look upon!” + </p> + <p> + “Thrue,” replied Larry. “Still he was game an' cute to the last. Biddy + Doran's ten guineas will sarve him beyant, poor fellow. But sure the boys' + kep their word to him, anyhow, in regard of shootin' Foodie Flattery. + Myself was never betther plased in my life, than to hear that he got the + slugs into his heart, the villain!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + We have attempted to draw Phelim O'Toole as closely as possible to the + character of that class, whose ignorance, want of education and absence of + all moral principle, constitute them the shame and reproach of the + country. By such men the peace of Ireland is destroyed, illegal + combinations formed, blood shed, and nightly outrages committed. There is + nothing more certain than this plain truth, that if proper religious and + moral knowledge were impressed upon the early principles of persons like + Phelim, a conscience would be created capable of revolting from crime. + Whatever the grievances of a people may be, whether real or imaginary, one + thing is clear, that neither murder nor illegal violence of any + description, can be the proper mode of removing or redressing them. We + have kept Phelim's Ribbonism in the background, because its details could + excite only aversion, and preferred exhibiting his utter ignorance of + morality upon a less offensive subject, in order that the reader might be + enabled to infer, rather than to witness with his mind's eye, the deeper + crimes of which he was capable. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WILDGOOSE LODGE + </h2> + <p> + I had read the anonymous summons, but from its general import I believed + it to be one of those special meetings convened for some purpose affecting + the usual objects and proceedings of the body; at least the terms in which + it was conveyed to me had nothing extraordinary or mysterious in them, + beyond the simple fact, that it was not to be a general but a select + meeting: this mark of confidence flattered me, and I determined to attend + punctually. I was, it is true, desired to keep the circumstances entirely + to myself, but there was nothing startling in this, for I had often + received summonses of a similar nature. I therefore resolved to attend, + according to the letter of my instructions, “on the next night, at the + solemn hour of midnight, to deliberate and act upon such matters as should + then and there be submitted to my consideration.” The morning after I + received this message, I arose and resumed my usual occupations; but, from + whatever cause it may have proceeded, I felt a sense of approaching evil + hang heavily upon me; the beats of my pulse were languid, and an + undefinable feeling of anxiety pervaded my whole spirit; even my face was + pale, and my eye so heavy, that my father and brothers concluded me to be + ill; an opinion which I thought at the time to be correct, for I felt + exactly that kind of depression which precedes a severe fever. I could not + understand what I experienced, nor can I yet, except by supposing that + there is in human nature some mysterious faculty, by which, in coming + calamities, the dread of some fearful evil is anticipated, and that it is + possible to catch a dark presentiment of the sensations which they + subsequently produce. For my part I can neither analyze nor define it; but + on that day I knew it by painful experience, and so have a thousand others + in similar circumstances. + </p> + <p> + It was about the middle of winter. The day was gloomy and tempestuous, + almost beyond any other I remember; dark clouds rolled over the hills + about me, and a close sleet-like rain fell in slanting drifts that chased + each other rapidly towards the earth on the course of the blast. The + outlying cattle sought the closest and calmest corners of the fields for + shelter; the trees and young groves were tossed about, for the wind was so + unusually high that it swept in hollow gusts through them, with that + hoarse murmur which deepens so powerfully on the mind the sense of + dreariness and desolation. + </p> + <p> + As the shades of night fell, the storm, if possible, increased. The moon + was half gone, and only a few stars were visible by glimpses, as a rush of + wind left a temporary opening in the sky. I had determined, if the storm + should not abate, to incur any penalty rather than attend the meeting; but + the appointed hour was distant, and I resolved to be decided by the future + state of the night. + </p> + <p> + Ten o'clock came, but still there was no change: eleven passed, and on + opening the door to observe if there were any likelihood of its clearing + up, a blast of wind, mingled with rain, nearly blew me off my feet. At + length it was approaching to the hour of midnight; and on examining it a + third time, I found it had calmed a little, and no longer rained. + </p> + <p> + I instantly got my oak stick, muffled myself in my great coat, strapped my + hat about my ears, and, as the place of meeting was only a quarter of a + mile distant, I presently set out. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the heavens was lowering and angry, particularly in that + point where the light of the moon fell against the clouds, from a seeming + chasm in them, through which alone she was visible. The edges of this + chasm were faintly bronzed, but the dense body of the masses that hung + piled on each side of her, was black and inpenetrable to sight. In no + other point of the heavens was there any part of the sky visible; a deep + veil of clouds overhung the whole horizon, yet was the light sufficient to + give occasional glimpses of the rapid shifting which took place in this + dark canopy, and of the tempestuous agitation with which the midnight + storm swept to and fro beneath it. + </p> + <p> + At length I arrived at a long slated house, situated in a solitary part of + the neighborhood; a little below it ran a small stream, which was now + swollen above its banks, and rushing with mimic roar over the flat meadows + beside it. The appearance of the bare slated building in such a night was + particularly sombre, and to those, like me, who knew the purpose to which + it was usually devoted, it was or ought to have been peculiarly so. There + it stood, silent and gloomy, without any appearance of human life or + enjoyment about or within it. As I approached, the moon once more had + broken out of the clouds, and shone dimly upon the wet, glittering slates + and windows, with a death-like lustre, that gradually faded away as I left + the point of observation, and entered the folding-door. It was the parish + chapel. + </p> + <p> + The scene which presented itself here was in keeping not only with the + external appearance of the house, but with the darkness, the storm, and + the hour, which was now a little after midnight. About forty persons were + sitting in dead silence upon the circular steps of the altar. They did not + seem to move; and as I entered and advanced, the echo of my footsteps rang + through the building with a lonely distinctness, which added to the + solemnity and mystery of the circumstances about me. The windows were + secured with shutters on the inside, and on the altar a candle was + lighted, which burned dimly amid the surrounding darkness, and lengthened + the shadow of the altar itself, and those of six or seven persons who + stood on its upper steps, until they mingled in the obscurity which + shrouded the lower end of the chapel. The faces of the men who sat on the + altar steps were not distinctly visible, yet their prominent and more + characteristic features were in sufficient relief, and I observed, that + some of the most malignant and reckless spirits in the parish were + assembled. In the eyes of those who stood at the altar, and those whom I + knew to be invested with authority over the others, I could perceive + gleams of some latent and ferocious purpose, kindled, as I soon observed, + into a fiercer expression of vengeance, by the additional excitement of + ardent spirits, with which they had stimulated themselves to a point of + determination that mocked at the apprehension of all future + responsibility, either in this world or the next. + </p> + <p> + The welcome which I received on joining them was far different from the + boisterous good-humor that used to mark our greetings on other occasions; + just a nod of the head from this or that person, on the part of those who + sat, with a <i>dhud dhemur tha fhu?</i> (* How are you?) in a suppressed + voice, even below a common whisper: but from the standing group, who were + evidently the projectors of the enterprise, I received a convulsive grasp + of the hand, accompanied by a fierce and desperate look, that seemed to + search my eye and countenance, to try if I were a person likely to shrink + from whatever they had resolved to execute. It is surprising to think of + the powerful expression which a moment of intense interest or great danger + is capable of giving to the eye, the features and the slightest actions, + especially in those whose station in society does not require them to + constrain nature, by the force of social courtesies, into habits that + conceal their natural emotions. None of the standing group spoke; but as + each of them wrung my hand in silence, his eye was fixed on mine, with an + expression of drunken confidence and secrecy, and an insolent + determination not to be gainsaid without peril. If looks could be + translated with certainty, they seemed to say, “We are bound upon a + project of vengeance, and if you do not join us, remember we can revenge.” + Along with this grasp, they did not forget to remind me of the common bond + by which we were united, for each man gave me the secret grip of Ribbonism + in a manner that made the joints of my fingers ache for some minutes + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + There was one present, however—the highest in authority—whose + actions and demeanor were calm and unexcited. He seemed to labor under no + unusual influence whatever, but evinced a serenity so placid and + philosophical, that I attributed the silence of the sitting group, and the + restraint which curbed in the outbreaking passions of those who stood, + entirely to his presence. He was a schoolmaster, who taught his daily + school in that chapel, and acted also on Sunday, in the capacity of clerk + to the priest—an excellent and amiable old man, who knew little of + his illegal connections and atrocious conduct. + </p> + <p> + When the ceremonies of brotherly recognition and friendship were past, the + Captain (by which title I shall designate the last-mentioned person) + stooped, and, raising a jar of whiskey on the corner of the altar, held a + wineglass to its neck, which he filled, and with a calm nod handed it to + me to drink. I shrank back, with an instinctive horror, at the profaneness + of such an act, in the house, and on the altar of God, and peremptorily + refused to taste the proffered I draught. He smiled mildly at what he + considered my superstition, and added quietly, and in a low voice, “You'll + be wantin' it I'm thinkin', afther the wettin' you got.” + </p> + <p> + “Wet or dry,” said I— + </p> + <p> + “Stop, man!” he replied, in the same tone; “spake low. But why wouldn't + you take the whiskey? Sure there's as holy people to the fore as you: + didn't they all take it? An' I wish we may never do worse nor dhrink a + harmless glass o' whiskey, to keep the cowld out, any way.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “I'll jist trust to God and the consequences, for the + cowld, Paddy, ma bouchal; but a blessed dhrop of it won't be crossin' my + lips, avick; so no more ghostlier about it;—dhrink it yourself if + you like. Maybe you want it as much as I do; wherein I've the patthern of + a good big-coat upon me, so thick, your sowl, that if it was rainin' + bullocks, a dhrop wouldn't get undher the nap of it.” + </p> + <p> + He gave me a calm, but keen glance as I spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jim,” said he, “it's a good comrade you've got for the weather + that's in it; but, in the manetime, to set you a dacent patthern, I'll + just take this myself,”—saying which, with the jar still upon its + side, and the fore-finger of his left hand in his neck, he swallowed the + spirits—“It's the first I dhrank to-night,” he added, “nor would I + dhrink it now, only to show you that I've heart an' spirit to do the thing + that we're all bound an' sworn to, when the proper time comes;” after + which he laid down the glass, and turned up the jar, with much coolness, + upon the altar. + </p> + <p> + During our conversation, those who had been summoned to this mysterious + meeting were pouring in fast; and as each person approached the altar, he + received from one to two or three glasses of whiskey, according as he + chose to limit himself; but, to do them justice, there were not a few of + those present, who, in despite of their own desire, and the Captain's + express invitation, refused to taste it in the house of God's worship. + Such, however, as were scrupulous he afterwards recommended to take it on + the outside of the chapel door, which they did, as, by that means, the + sacrilege of the act was supposed to be evaded. + </p> + <p> + About one o'clock they were all assembled except six: at least so the + Captain asserted, on looking at a written paper. + </p> + <p> + “Now, boys,” said he in the same low voice, “we are all present except the + thraitors, whose names I am goin' to read to you; not that we are to count + thim thraitors, till we know whether or not it was in their power to come. + Any how, the night's terrible—but, boys, you're to know, that + neither fire nor wather is to prevint you, when duly summoned to attind a + meeting—particularly whin the summons is widout a name, as you have + been told that there is always something of consequence to be done thin.” + </p> + <p> + He then read out the names of those who were absent, in order that the + real cause of their absence might be ascertained, declaring that they + would be dealt with accordingly. | + </p> + <p> + After this, with his usual caution, he shut and bolted the door, and + having put the key in his pocket, ascended the steps of the altar, and for + some time traversed the little platform from which the priest usually + addresses the congregation. + </p> + <p> + Until this night I had never contemplated the man's countenance with any + particular interest; but as he walked the platform, I had an opportunity + of observing him more closely. He was slight in person, apparently not + thirty; and, on a first view, appeared to have nothing remarkable in his + dress or features. I, however, was not the only person whose eyes were + fixed upon him at that moment; in fact, every one present observed him + with equal interest, for hitherto he had kept the object of the meeting + perfectly secret, and of course we all felt anxious to know it. It was + while he traversed the platform that I scrutinized his features with a + hope, if possible, to glean from them some evidence of what was passing + within him. I could, however, mark but little, and that little was at + first rather from the intelligence which seemed to subsist between him and + those whom I have already mentioned as standing against the altar, than + from any indication of his own. Their gleaming eyes were fixed upon him + with an intensity of savage and demon-like hope, which blazed out in + flashes of malignant triumph, as upon turning, he threw a cool but rapid + glance at them, to intimate the progress he was making in the subject to + which he devoted the undivided energies of his mind. But in the course of + his meditation, I could observe, on one or two occasions, a dark shade + come over his countenance, that contracted his brow into a deep furrow, + and it was then, for the first time, that I saw the satanic expression of + which his face, by a very slight motion of its muscles, was capable. His + hands, during this silence, closed and opened convulsively; his eyes shot + out two or three baleful glances, first to his confederates, and + afterwards vacantly into the deep gloom of the lower part of the chapel; + his teeth ground against each other, like those of a man whose revenge + burns to reach a distant enemy, and finally, after having wound himself up + to a certain determination, his features relapsed into their original calm + and undisturbed expression. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a loud laugh, having something supernatural in it, rang out + wildly from the darkness of the chapel; he stopped, and putting his open + hand over his brows, peered down into the gloom, and said calmly in Irish, + “<i>Bee dhu husth; ha nih anam inh</i>:—hold your tongue, it is not + yet time.” + </p> + <p> + Every eye was now directed to the same spot, but, in consequence of its + distance from the dim light on the altar, none could perceive the person + from whom the laugh proceeded. It was, by this time, near two o'clock in + the morning. + </p> + <p> + He now stood for a few moments on the platform, and his chest heaved with + a depth of anxiety equal to the difficulty of the design he wished to + accomplish. + </p> + <p> + “Brothers,” said he—“for we are all brothers—sworn upon all + that's blessed an' holy, to obey whatever them that's over us, manin' + among ourselves, wishes us to do—are you now ready, in the name of + God, upon whose althar I stand, to fulfil yer oaths?” + </p> + <p> + The words were scarcely uttered, when those who had stood beside the altar + during the night, sprang from their places, and descending its steps + rapidly turned round, and raising their arms, exclaimed, “By all that's + good an' holy we're willin'.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, those who sat upon the steps of the altar, instantly + rose, and following the example of those who had just spoken, exclaimed + after them, “To be sure—by all that's sacred an' holy we're + willin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, boys,” said the Captain, “ar'n't ye big fools for your pains? an' + one of ye doesn't know what I mane.” + </p> + <p> + “You're our Captain,” said one of those who had stood at the altar, “an' + has yer ordhers from higher quarthers; of coorse, whatever ye command upon + us we're bound to obey you in.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, smiling, “I only wanted to thry yez; an' by the oath ye + tuck, there's not a captain in the county has as good a right to be proud + of his min as I have. Well, ye won't rue it, maybe, when the right time + comes; and for that same rason every one of ye must have a glass from the + jar; thim that won't dhrink it in the chapel can dhrink it widout; an' + here goes to open the door for thim.” + </p> + <p> + He then distributed another glass to every one who would accept it, and + brought the jar afterwards to the chapel door, to satisfy the scruples of + those who would not drink within. When this was performed, and all duly + excited, he proceeded:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, brothers, you are solemnly sworn to obay me, and I'm sure there's no + thraithur here that 'ud parjure himself for a thrifle; but I'm sworn to + obay them that's above me, manin' still among ourselves; an' to show that + I don't scruple to do it, here goes!” + </p> + <p> + He then turned round, and taking the Missal between his hands placed it + upon the altar. Hitherto every word was uttered in a low precautionary + tone; but on grasping the book he again turned round, and looking upon his + confederates with the same satanic expression which marked his countenance + before, he exclaimed, in a voice of deep determination, first kissing the + book! + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/pageWG939.jpg" + alt="Page Wg939-- by This Sacred An' Holy Book of God " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “By this sacred an' holy book of God, I will perform the action which we + have met this night to accomplish, be that what it may; an' this I swear + upon God's book, and God's althar!” + </p> + <p> + On concluding, he struck the book violently with his open hand, thereby + occasioning a very loud report. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the candle which burned before him went suddenly out, and + the chapel was wrapped in pitchy darkness; the sound as if of rushing + wings fell upon our ears, and fifty voices dwelt upon the last words of + his oath with wild and supernatural tones, that seemed to echo and to mock + what he had sworn. There was a pause, and an exclamation of horror from + all present; but the Captain was too cool and steady to be disconcerted. + He immediately groped about until he got the candle, and proceeding calmly + to a remote corner of the chapel, took up a half-burned peat which lay + there, and after some trouble succeeded in lighting it again. He then + explained what had taken place; which indeed was easily done, as the + candle happened to be extinguished by a pigeon which sat directly above + it. The chapel, I should have observed, was at this time, like many + country chapels, unfinished inside, and the pigeons of a neighboring + dove-cot had built nests among the rafters of the unceiled roof; which + circumstance also explained the rushing of the wings, for the birds had + been affrighted by the sudden loudness of the noise. The mocking voices + were nothing but the echoes, rendered naturally more awful by the scene, + the mysterious object of the meeting, and the solemn hour of the night. + </p> + <p> + When the candle was again lighted, and these startling circumstances + accounted for, the persons whose vengeance had been deepening more and + more during the night, rushed to the altar in a body, where each, in a + voice trembling with passionate eagerness, repeated the oath, and as every + word was pronounced, the same echoes heightened the wildness of the + horrible ceremony, by their long and unearthly tones. The countenances of + these human tigers were livid with suppressed rage; their knit brows, + compressed lips, and kindled eyes, fell under the dim light of the taper, + with an expression calculated to sicken any heart not absolutely + diabolical. + </p> + <p> + As soon as this dreadful rite was completed, we were again startled by + several loud bursts of laughter, which proceeded from the lower darkness + of the chapel; and the Captain, on hearing them, turned to the place, and + reflecting for a moment, said in Irish, “<i>Gutsho nish, avohenee</i>—come + hither now, boys.” + </p> + <p> + A rush immediately took place from the corner in which they had secreted + themselves all the night; and seven men appeared, whom we instantly + recognized as brothers and cousins of certain persons who had been + convicted, some time before, for breaking into the house of an honest poor + man in the neighborhood, from whom, after having treated him with + barbarous violence, they took away such fire-arms as he kept for his own + protection. + </p> + <p> + It was evidently not the Captain's intention to have produced these + persons until the oath should have been generally taken, but the exulting + mirth with which they enjoyed the success of his scheme betrayed them, and + put him to the necessity of bringing them forward somewhat before the + concerted moment. + </p> + <p> + The scene which now took place was beyond all power of description; peals + of wild, fiendlike yells rang through the chapel, as the party which stood + on the altar and that which had crouched in the darkness met; wringing of + hands, leaping in triumph, striking of sticks and fire-arms against the + ground and the altar itself, dancing and cracking of fingers, marked the + triumph of some hellish determination. Even the Captain for a time was + unable to restrain their fury; but, at length, he mounted the platform + before the altar once more, and with a stamp of his foot, recalled their + attention to himself and the matter in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Boys,” said he, “enough of this, and too much; an' well for us it is that + the chapel is in a lonely place, or our foolish noise might do us no good. + Let thim that swore so manfully jist now, stand a one side, till the rest + kiss the book one by one.” + </p> + <p> + The proceedings, however, had by this time taken too fearful a shape for + even the Captain to compel them to a blindfold oath; the first man he + called flatly refused to answer, until he should hear the nature of the + service that was required. This was echoed by the remainder, who, taking + courage from the firmness of this person, declared generally that, until + they first knew the business they were to execute, none of them would take + the oath. The Captain's lip quivered slightly, and his brow again became + knit with the same hellish expression, which I have remarked gave him so + much the appearance of an, embodied fiend; but this speedily passed away, + and was succeeded by a malignant sneer, in which lurked, if there ever did + in a sneer, “a laughing devil,” calmly, determinedly atrocious. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't worth yer whiles to refuse the oath,” said he, mildly, “for the + truth is, I had next to nothing for yez to do. Not a hand, maybe, would + have to rise, only jist to look on, an' if any resistance would be made, + to show yourselves; yer numbers would soon make them see that resistance + would be, no use whatever in the present case. At all, evints, the oath of + secrecy must be taken, or woe be to him that will refuse that; he won't + know the day, nor the hour, nor the minute, when he'll be made a + spatch-cock of.” + </p> + <p> + He then turned round, and, placing his right hand on the Missal, swore, + “In the presence of God, and before his holy altar, that whatever might + take place that night he would keep secret, from man or mortal, except the + priest, and that neither bribery, nor imprisonment, nor death, would wring + it from his heart.” + </p> + <p> + Having done this, he again struck the book violently, as if to confirm the + energy with which he swore, and then calmly descending the steps, stood + with a serene countenance, like a man conscious of having performed a good + action. As this oath did not pledge those who refused to take the other to + the perpetration of any specific crime, it was readily taken by all + present. Preparations were then made to execute what was intended: the + half burned turf was placed in a little pot; another glass of whiskey was + distributed; and the door being locked by the Captain, who kept the key as + parish clerk and schoolmaster, the crowd departed silently from the + chapel. + </p> + <p> + The moment those who lay in the darkness, during the night, made their + appearance at the altar, we knew at once the persons we were to visit; + for, as I said before, they were related to the miscreants whom one of + those persons had convicted, in consequences of their midnight attack upon + himself and his family. The Captain's object in keeping them unseen was, + that those present, not being aware of the duty about to be imposed on + them, might have less hesitation about swearing to its fulfilment. Our + conjectures were correct; for on leaving the chapel we directed our steps + to the house in which this devoted man resided. + </p> + <p> + The night was still stormy, but without rain: it was rather dark, too, + though not so as to prevent us from seeing the clouds careering swiftly + through the air. The dense curtain which had overhung and obscured the + horizon was now broken, and large sections of the sky were clear, and + thinly studded with stars that looked dim and watery, as did indeed the + whole firmament; for in some places black clouds were still visible, + threatening a continuance of tempestuous weather. The road appeared washed + and gravelly; every dike was full of yellow water; and every little + rivulet and larger stream dashed its hoarse murmur into our ears; every + blast, too, was cold, fierce, and wintry, sometimes driving us back to a + standstill, and again, when a turn in the road would bring it in our + backs, whirling us along for a few steps with involuntary rapidity. At + length the fated dwelling became visible, and a short consultation was + held in a sheltered place, between the Captain and the two parties who + seemed so eager for its destruction. Their fire-arms were now loaded, and + their bayonets and short pikes, the latter shod and pointed with iron, + were also got ready. The live coal which was brought in the small pot had + become extinguished; but to remedy this, two or three persons from a + remote part of the county entered a cabin on the wayside, and, under + pretence of lighting their own and their comrades' pipes, procured a coal + of fire, for so they called a lighted turf. From the time we left the + chapel until this moment a profound silence had been maintained, a + circumstance which, when I considered the number of persons present, and + the mysterious and dreaded object of their journey, had a most appalling + effect upon my spirits. + </p> + <p> + At length we arrived within fifty perches of the house, walking in a + compact body, and with as little noise as possible; but it seemed as if + the very elements had conspired to frustrate our design, for on advancing + within the shade of the farm-hedge, two or three persons found themselves + up to the middle in water, and on stooping to ascertain more accurately + the state of the place, we could see nothing but one immense sheet of it—spread + like a lake over the meadows which surrounded the spot we wished to reach. + </p> + <p> + Fatal night! The very recollection of it, when associated with the fearful + tempests of elements, grows, if that were possible, yet more wild and + revolting. Had we been engaged in any innocent or benevolent enterprise, + there was something in our situation just then that had a touch of + interest in it to a mind imbued with a relish for the savage beauties of + nature. There we stood, about a hundred and thirty in number, our dark + forms bent forward, peering into the dusky expanse of water, with its dim + gleams of reflected light, broken by the weltering of the mimic waves into + ten thousand fragments, whilst the few stars that overhung it in the + firmament appeared to shoot through it in broken lines, and to be + multiplied fifty-fold in the gloomy mirror on which we gazed. + </p> + <p> + Over us was a stormy sky, and around us; a darkness through which we could + only distinguish, in outline, the nearest objects, whilst the wild wind + swept strongly and dismally upon us. When it was discovered that the + common pathway to the house was inundated, we were about to abandon our + object and return home. The Captain, however, stooped down low for a + moment, and, almost closing his eyes, looked along the surface of the + waters; and then, rising himself very calmly, said, in his usually quiet + tone, “Ye needn't go back, boys, I've found a way; jist follow me.” + </p> + <p> + He immediately took a more circuitous direction, by which we reached a + causeway that had been raised for the purpose of giving a free passage to + and from the house, during such inundations as the present. Along this we + had advanced more than half way, when we discovered a breach in it, which, + as afterwards appeared, had that night been made by the strength of the + flood. This, by means of our sticks and pikes, we found to be about three + feet deep, and eight yards broad. Again we were at a loss how to proceed, + when the fertile brain of the Captain devised a method of crossing it. + </p> + <p> + “Boys,” said he, “of coorse you've all played at leap-frog; very well, + strip and go in, a dozen of you, lean one upon the back of another from + this to the opposite bank, where one must stand facing the outside man, + both their shoulders agin one another, that the outside man may be + supported. Then we can creep over you, an' a dacent bridge you'll be, any + way.” + </p> + <p> + This was the work of only a few minutes, and in less than ten we were all + safely over. + </p> + <p> + Merciful Heaven! how I sicken at the recollection of what is to follow! On + reaching the dry bank, we proceeded instantly, and in profound silence, to + the house; the Captain divided us into companies, and then assigned to + each division its proper station. The two parties who had been so + vindictive all the night, he kept about himself; for of those who were + present, they only were in his confidence, and knew his nefarious purpose; + their number was about fifteen. Having made these dispositions, he, at the + head of about five of them, approached the house on the windy side, for + the fiend possessed a coolness which enabled him to seize upon every + possible advantage. That he had combustibles about him was evident, for in + less than fifteen minutes nearly one-half of the house was enveloped in + flames. On seeing this, the others rushed over to the spot where he and + his gang were standing, and remonstrated earnestly, but in vain; the + flames now burst forth with renewed violence, and as they flung their + strong light upon the faces of the foremost group, I think hell itself + could hardly present anything more satanic than their countenances, now + worked up into a paroxysm of infernal triumph at their own revenge. The + Captain's look had lost all its calmness, every feature started out into + distinct malignity, the curve in his brow was deep, and ran up,to the root + of the hair, dividing his face into two segments, that did not seem to + have been designed for each other. His lips were half open, and the + corners of his mouth a little brought back on each side, like those of a + man expressing intense hatred and triumph over an enemy who is in the + death-struggle under his grasp. His eyes blazed from beneath his knit + eyebrows with a fire that seemed to be lighted up in the infernal pit + itself. It is unnecessary, and only painful, to describe the rest of his + gang; demons might have been proud of such horrible visages as they + exhibited; for they worked under all the power of hatred, revenge, and + joy; and these passions blended into one terrible scowl, enough almost to + blast any human eye that would venture to look upon it. + </p> + <p> + When the others attempted to intercede for the lives of the inmates, there + were at least fifteen guns and pistols levelled at them. + </p> + <p> + “Another word,” said the Captain, “an' you're a corpse where you stand, or + the first man who will dare to spake for them; no, no, it wasn't to spare + them we came here. 'No mercy' is the pass-word for the night, an' by the + sacred oath I swore beyant in the chapel, any one among yez that will + attempt to show it, will find none at my hand. Surround the house, boys, I + tell ye, I hear them stirring. 'No quarter—no mercy,' is the ordher + of the night.” + </p> + <p> + Such was his command over these misguided creatures, that in an instant + there was a ring round the house to prevent the escape of the unhappy + inmates, should the raging element give them time to attempt it; for none + present durst withdraw themselves from the scene, not only from an + apprehension of the Captain's present vengeance, or that of his gang, but + because they knew that even had they then escaped, an early and certain + death awaited them from a quarter against which they had no means of + defence. The hour now was about half-past two! o'clock. Scarcely had the + last words escaped from the Captain's lips, when one of the windows of the + house was broken, and a human head, having the hair in a blaze, was + descried, apparently a woman's, if one might judge by the profusion of + burning tresses, and the softness of the tones, notwithstanding that it + called, or rather shrieked aloud for help and mercy. The only reply to + this was the whoop from the Captain and his gang, of “No mercy—no + mercy!” and that instant the former, and one of the latter, rushed to the + spot, and ere the action could be perceived, the head was transfixed with + a bayonet and a pike, both having entered it together. The word “mercy” + was divided in her mouth; a short silence ensued, the head hung down on + the window, but was instantly tossed back into the flames. + </p> + <p> + This action occasioned a cry of horror from all present, except the gang + and their leader, which startled and enraged the latter so much, that he + ran towards one of them, and had his bayonet, now reeking with the blood + of its innocent victim, raised to plunge it in his body, when, dropping + the point, he said in a piercing whisper, that hissed in the ears of all: + “It's no use now, you know; if one's to hang, all will hang; so our safest + way, you persave, is to lave none of them to tell the story. Ye may go + now, if you wish; but it won't save a hair of your heads. You cowardly + set! I knew if I had tould yez the sport, that none of you, except my own + boys, would come, so I jist played a thrick upon you; but remimber what + you are sworn to, and stand to the oath ye tuck.” + </p> + <p> + Unhappily, notwithstanding the wetness of the preceding weather, the + materials of the house were extremely combustible; the whole dwelling was + now one body of glowing flame, yet the shouts and shrieks within rose + awfully above its crackling and the voice of the storm, for the wind once + more blew in gusts, and with great violence. The doors and windows were + all torn open, and such of those within as had escaped the flames rushed + towards them, for the purpose of further escape, and of claiming mercy at + the hands of their destroyers; but whenever they appeared, the unearthly + cry of “no mercy” rang upon their ears for a moment, and for a moment + only, for they were flung back at the points of the weapons which the + demons had brought with them to make the work of vengeance more certain. + </p> + <p> + As yet there were many persons in the house, whose cry for life was strong + as despair, and who clung to it with all the awakened powers of reason and + instinct. The ear of man could hear nothing so strongly calculated to + stifle the demon of cruelty and revenge within him, as the long and + wailing shrieks which rose beyond the elements, in tones that were carried + off rapidly upon the blast, until they died away in the darkness that lay + behind the surrounding hills. Had not the house been in a solitary + situation, and the hour the dead of night, any person sleeping within a + moderate distance must have heard them, for such a cry of sorrow rising + into a yell of despair was almost sufficient to have awakened, the dead. + It was lost, however, upon the hearts and ears that heard it: to them, + though in justice be it said, to only comparatively a few of them, it + appeared as delightful as the tones of soft and entrancing music. + </p> + <p> + The claims of the surviving sufferers were now modified; they supplicated + merely to suffer death by the weapons of their enemies; they were willing + to bear that, provided they should be allowed to escape from the flames; + but no—the horrors of the conflagration were calmly and malignantly + gloried in by their merciless assassins, who deliberately flung them back + into all their tortures. In the course of a few minutes a man appeared + upon the side-wall of the house, nearly naked; his figure, as he stood + against the sky in horrible relief, was so finished a picture of woebegone + agony and supplication, that it is yet as distinct in my memory as if I + were again present at the scene. Every muscle, now in motion by the + powerful agitation of his sufferings, stood out upon his limbs and neck, + giving him an appearance of desperate strength, to which by this time he + must have been wrought up; the perspiration poured from his frame, and the + veins and arteries of his neck were inflated to a surprising thickness. + Every moment he looked down into the flames which were rising to where he + stood; and as he looked, the indescribable horror which flitted over his + features might have worked upon the devil himself to relent. His words + were few:— + </p> + <p> + “My child,” said he, “is still safe, she is an infant, a young crathur + that never harmed you, or any one—she is still safe. Your mothers, + your wives, have young innocent childhre like it. Oh, spare her, think for + a moment that it's one of your own; spare it, as you hope to meet a just + God, or if you don't, in mercy shoot me first—put an end to me, + before I see her burned!” + </p> + <p> + The Captain approached him coolly and deliberately. “You'll prosecute no + one now, you bloody informer,” said he: “you'll convict no more boys for + takin' an ould gun an' pistol from you, or for givin' you a neighborly + knock or two into the bargain.” + </p> + <p> + Just then, from a window opposite him, proceeded the shrieks of a woman, + who appeared at it with the infant, in her arms. She herself was almost + scorched to death; but, with the presence of mind and humanity of her sex, + she was about to put the little babe out of the window. The Captain + noticed this, and, with characteristic atrocity, thrust, with a sharp + bayonet, the little innocent, along with the person who endeavored to + rescue it, into the red flames, where they both perished. This was the + work of an instant. Again he approached the man: “Your child is a coal + now,” said he, with deliberate mockery; “I pitched it in myself, on the + point of this,”—showing the weapon—“an' now is your turn,”—saying + which, he clambered up, by the assistance of his gang, who stood with a + front of pikes and bayonets bristling to receive the wretched man, should + he attempt, in his despair, to throw himself from the wall. The Captain + got up, and placing the point of his bayonet against his shoulder, flung + him into the fiery element that raged behind him. He uttered one wild and + terrific cry, as he fell back, and no more. After this nothing was heard + but the crackling of the fire, and the rushing of the blast; all that had + possessed life within were consumed, amounting either to eight or eleven + persons. + </p> + <p> + When this was accomplished, those who took an active part in the murder, + stood for some time about the conflagration; and as it threw its red light + upon their fierce faces and rough persons, soiled as they now were with + smoke and black streaks of ashes, the scene seemed to be changed to hell, + the murderers to spirits of the damned, rejoicing over the arrival and the + torture of some guilty soul. The faces of those who kept aloof from the + slaughter were blanched to the whiteness of death: some of them fainted, + and others were in such agitation that they were compelled to lean on + their comrades. They became actually powerless with horror: yet to such a + scene were they brought by the pernicious influence of Ribbonism. + </p> + <p> + It was only when the last victim went down, that the conflagration shot up + into the air with most unbounded fury. The house was large, deeply + thatched, and well furnished; and the broad red pyramid rose up with + fearful magnificence towards the sky. Abstractedly it had sublimity, but + now it was associated with nothing in my mind but blood and terror. It was + not, however, without a purpose that the Captain and his gang stood to + contemplate its effect. “Boys,” said he, “we had betther be sartin that + all's safe; who knows but there might be some of the sarpents crouchin' + under a hape o' rubbish, to come out an' gibbet us to-morrow or next day: + we had betther wait a while, anyhow, if it was only to see the blaze.” + </p> + <p> + Just then the flames rose majestically to a surprising height. Our eyes + followed their direction; and we perceived, for the first time, that the + dark clouds above, together with the intermediate air, appeared to reflect + back, or rather to have caught the red hue of the fire. The hills and + country about us appeared with an alarming distinctness; but the most + picturesque part of it was the effect of reflection of the blaze on the + floods that spread over the surrounding plains. These, in fact, appeared + to be one broad mass of liquid copper, for the motion of the + breaking-waters caught from the blaze of the high waving column, as + reflected in them, a glaring light, which eddied, and rose, and + fluctuated, as if the flood itself had been a lake of molten fire. + </p> + <p> + Fire, however, destroys rapidly. In a short time the flames sank—became + weak and flickering—by and by, they shot out only in fits—the + crackling of the timbers died away—the surrounding darkness deepened—and, + ere long, the faint light was overpowered by the thick volumes of smoke + that rose from the ruins of the house and its murdered inhabitants. + </p> + <p> + “Now, boys,” said the Captain, “all is safe—we may go. Remember, + every man of you, what you've sworn this night, on the book an' altar of + God—not on a heretic Bible. If you perjure yourselves, you may hang + us; but let me tell you, for your comfort, that if you do, there is them + livin' that will take care the lease of your own lives will be but short.” + </p> + <p> + After this we dispersed every man to his own home. + </p> + <p> + Reader,—not many months elapsed ere I saw the bodies of this + Captain, whose name was Patrick Devann, and all those who were actively + concerned in the perpetration of this deed of horror, withering in the + wind, where they hung gibbeted, near the scene of their nefarious villany; + and while I inwardly thanked Heaven for my own narrow and almost + undeserved escape, I thought in my heart how seldom, even in this world, + justice fails to overtake the murder, and to enforce the righteous + judgment of God—that “whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his + blood be shed.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + This tale of terror is, unfortunately, too true. The scene of hellish + murder detailed in it lies at Wildgoose Lodge, in the county of Louth, + within about four miles of Carrickmacross, and nine of Dundalk. No such + multitudinous murder has occurred, under similar circumstances, except the + burning of the Sheas, in the county of Tipperary. The name of the family + burned in Wildgoose Lodge was Lynch. One of them had, shortly before this + fatal night, prosecuted and convicted some of the neighboring Ribbonmen, + who visited him with severe marks of their displeasure, in consequence of + his having refused to enrol himself as a member of their body. The + language of the story is partly fictitious; but the facts are pretty + closely such as were developed during the trial of the murderers. Both + parties were Roman Catholics, and either twenty-five or twenty-eight of + those who took an active part in the burning, were hanged and gibbeted in + different parts of the county of Louth. Devann, the ringleader, hung for + some months in chains, within about a hundred yards of his own house, and + about half a mile from Wildgoose Lodge. His mother could neither go into + nor out of her cabin without seeing his body swinging from the gibbet. Her + usual exclamation on looking at him was—“God be good to the sowl of + my poor marthyr!” The peasantry, too, frequently exclaimed, on seeing him, + “Poor Paddy!” A gloomy fact that speaks volumes! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TUBBER DERG; Or, THE RED WELL. + </h2> + <p> + The following story owes nothing to any coloring or invention of mine; it + is unhappily a true one, and to me possesses a peculiar and melancholy + interest, arising from my intimate knowledge of the man whose fate it + holds up as a moral lesson to Irish landlords. I knew him well, and many a + day and hour have I played about his knee, and ran, in my boyhood, round + his path, when, as he said to himself, the world was no trouble to him. + </p> + <p> + On the south side of a sloping tract of light ground, lively, warm, and + productive, stood a white, moderate-sized farm-house, which, in + consequence of its conspicuous situation, was a prominent and, we may add, + a graceful object in the landscape of which it formed a part. The spot + whereon it stood was a swelling natural terrace, the soil of which was + heavier and richer than that of the adjoining lands. On each side of the + house stood a clump of old beeches, the only survivors of that species + then remaining in the country. These beeches extended behind the house in + a land of angle, with opening, enough at their termination to form a + vista, through which its white walls glistened with beautiful effect in + the calm splendor of a summer evening. Above the mound on which it stood, + rose two steep hills, overgrown with furze and fern, except on their tops, + which were clothed with purple heath; they were also covered with patches + of broom, and studded with gray rocks, which sometimes rose singly or in + larger masses, pointed or rounded into curious and fantastic shapes. + Exactly between these hills the sun went down during the month of June, + and nothing could be in finer relief than the rocky and picturesque + outlines of their sides, as crowned with thorns and clumps of wild ash, + they appeared to overhang the valley whose green foliage was gilded by the + sun-beams, which lit up the scene into radiant beauty. The bottom of this + natural chasm, which opened against the deep crimson of the evening sky, + was nearly upon a level with the house, and completely so with the beeches + that surrounded it. Brightly did the sinking sun fall upon their tops, + whilst the neat white house below, in their quiet shadow, sent up its + wreath of smoke among their branches, itself an emblem of contentment, + industry, and innocence. It was, in fact, a lovely situation; perhaps the + brighter to me, that its remembrance is associated with days of happiness + and freedom from the cares of a world, which, like a distant mountain, + darkens as we approach it, and only exhausts us in struggling to climb its + rugged and barren paths. + </p> + <p> + There was to the south-west of this house another little hazel glen, that + ended in a precipice formed, by a single rock some thirty feet, high, over + which tumbled a crystal cascade into a basin worn in its hard bed below. + From this basin the stream murmured away through the copse-wood, until it + joined a larger rivulet that passed, with many a winding, through a fine + extent of meadows adjoining it. Across the foot of this glen, and past the + door of the house we have described, ran a bridle road, from time + immemorial; on which, as the traveller ascended it towards the house, he + appeared to track his way in blood, for a chalybeate spa arose at its + head, oozing out of the earth, and spread itself in a crimson stream over + the path in every spot whereon a foot-mark could be made. From this + circumstance it was called Tubber Derg, or the Red Well. In the meadow + where the glen terminated, was another spring of delicious crystal; and + clearly do I remember the ever-beaten pathway that led to it through the + grass, and up the green field which rose in a gentle slope to the + happy-looking house of Owen M'Carthy, for so was the man called who + resided under its peaceful roof. + </p> + <p> + I will not crave your pardon, gentle reader, for dwelling at such length + upon a scene so clear to my heart as this, because I write not now so much + for your gratification as my own. Many an eve of gentle May have I pulled + the Maygowans which grew about that well, and over that smooth meadow. + </p> + <p> + Often have I raised my voice to its shrillest pitch, that I might hear its + echoes rebounding in the bottom of the green and still glen, where + silence, so to speak, was deepened by the continuous murmur of the cascade + above; and when the cuckoo uttered her first note from among the hawthorns + on its side, with what trembling anxiety did I, an urchin of some eight or + nine years, look under my right foot for the white hair, whose charm was + such, that by keeping it about me the first female name I should hear was + destined, I believed in my soul, to be that of my future wife.* Sweet was + the song of the thrush, and mellow the whistle of the blackbird, as they + rose in the stillness of evening over the “hirken shaws” and green dells + of this secluded spot of rural beauty. Far, too, could the rich voice of + Owen M'Carthy be heard along the hills and meadows, as, with a little + chubby urchin at his knee, and another in his arms, he sat on a bench + beside his own door, singing the “Trouglia”. in his native Irish; whilst + Kathleen his wife, with her two maids, each crooning a low song, sat + before the door milking the cows, whose sweet breath mingled its perfume + with the warm breeze of evening. + </p> + <p> + Owen M'Carthy was descended from a long-line of honest ancestors, whose + names had never, within the memory of man, been tarnished by the + commission of a mean or disreputable action. They were always a + kind-hearted family, but stern and proud in the common intercourse of + life. They believed; themselves to be, and probably were, a branch of the + MacCarthy More stock; and, although only the possessors of a small farm, + it was singular to observe the effect which this conviction produced upon + their bearing and manners. To it might, perhaps, be attributed the high + and stoical integrity for which they were remarkable. This severity, + however, was no proof that they wanted feeling, or were insensible to the + misery and sorrows of others: in all the little cares and perplexities + that chequered the peaceful neighborhood in which they lived, they were + ever the first to console, or, if necessary, to support a distressed + neighbor with the means which God had placed in their possession; for, + being industrious, they were seldom poor. Their words were few, but + sincere, and generally promised less than the honest hearts that dictated + them intended to perform. There is in some persons a hereditary feeling of + just principle, the result neither of education nor of a clear moral + sense, but rather a kind of instinctive honesty which descends, like a + constitutional bias, from father to son, pervading every member of the + family. It is difficult to define this, or to assign its due position in + the scale of human virtues. It exists in the midst of the grossest + ignorance, and influences the character in the absence of better + principles. Such was the impress which marked so strongly the family of + which I speak. No one would ever think of imputing a dishonest act to the + M'Carthys; nor would any person acquainted with them, hesitate for a + moment to consider their word as good as the bond of another. I do not + mean to say, however, that their motives of action were not higher than + this instinctive honesty; far from it: but I say, that they possessed it + in addition to a strong feeling of family pride, and a correct knowledge + of their moral duties. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Such is the superstition; and, as I can tell, + faithfully is it believed. +</pre> + <p> + I can only take up Owen M'Carthy at that part of the past to which my + memory extends. He was then a tall, fine-looking young man; silent, but + kind. One of the earliest events within my recollection is his wedding; + after that the glimpse of his state and circumstances are imperfect; but + as I grew up, they became more connected, and I am able to remember him + the father of four children; an industrious, inoffensive small farmer, + beloved, respected, and honored. No man could rise, be it ever so early, + who would not find Owen up before him; no man could anticipate him in an + early crop, and if a widow or a sick acquaintance were unable to get in + their harvest, Owen was certain to collect the neighbors to assist them; + to be the first there himself, with quiet benevolence, encouraging them to + a zealous performance of the friendly task in which they were engaged. + </p> + <p> + It was, I believe, soon after his marriage, that the lease of the farm + held by him expired. Until that time he had been able to live with perfect + independence; but even the enormous rise of one pound per acre, though it + deprived him in a great degree of his usual comforts, did not sink him + below the bare necessaries of life. For some years after that he could + still serve a deserving neighbor; and never was the hand of Owen M'Carthy + held back from the wants and distresses of those whom he knew to be + honest. + </p> + <p> + I remember once an occasion upon which a widow Murray applied to him for a + loan of five pounds, to prevent her two cows from being auctioned for a + half year's rent, of which she only wanted that sum. Owen sat at dinner + with his family when she entered the house in tears, and, as well as her + agitation of mind permitted, gave him a detailed account of her + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “The blessin' o' God be upon all here,” said she, on entering. + </p> + <p> + “The double o' that to you, Rosha,” replied Owen's wife: “won't you sit in + an' be atin'?—here's a sate beside Nanny; come over, Rosha.” + </p> + <p> + Owen only nodded to her, and continued to eat his dinner, as if he felt no + interest in her distress. Rosha sat down at a distance, and with the + corner of a red handkerchief to her eyes, shed tears in that bitterness of + feeling which marks the helplessness of honest industry under the pressure + of calamity. + </p> + <p> + “In the name o' goodness, Rosha,” said Mrs. M'Carthy, “what ails you, + asthore? Sure Jimmy—God spare him to you—wouldn't be dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Glory be to God! no, avourneen machree. Och, och! but it 'ud be the black + sight, an' the black day, that 'ud see my brave, boy, the staff of our + support, an' the bread of our mouth, taken away from us!—No, no, + Kathleen dear, it's not that bad wid me yet. I hope we'll never live to + see his manly head laid down before us. 'Twas his own manliness, indeed, + brought it an him—backin' the sack when he was bringin' home our + last <i>meldhre</i> * from the mill; for you see he should do it, the + crathur, to show his strinth, an' the sack, when he got it an was too + heavy for him, an' hurted the small of his back; for his bones, you see, + are too young, an' hadn't time to fill up yet. No, avourneen. Glory be to + God! he's gettin' betther wid me!” and the poor creature's eyes glistened + with delight through her tears and the darkness of her affliction. + </p> + <p> + Without saying a word, Owen, when she finished the eulogium on her son, + rose, and taking her forcibly by the shoulder, set her down at the table, + on which a large potful of potatoes had been spread out, with a circle in + the middle for a dish of rashers and eggs, into which dish every right + hand of those about it was thrust, with a quickness that clearly + illustrated the principle of competition as a stimulus to action. + </p> + <p> + “Spare your breath,” said Owen, placing her rather roughly upon the seat, + “an' take share of what's goin': when all's cleared off we'll hear you, + but the sorra word till then.” + </p> + <p> + “Musha, Owen,” said the poor woman, “you're the same man still; sure we + all know your ways; I'll strive, avourneen, to ate—I'll strive, + asthore—to plase you, an' the Lord bless you an' yours, an' may you + never be as I an' my fatherless childhre are this sorrowful day!” and she + accompanied her words by a flood of tears. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Meldhre—whatever quantity of grain is brought to the + mill to be ground on one occasion. +</pre> + <p> + Owen, without evincing the slightest sympathy, withdrew himself from the + table. Not a muscle of his face was moved; but as the cat came about his + feet at the time, he put his foot under her, and flung her as easily as + possible to the lower end of the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, what harm did the crathur do,” asked his wife, “that you'd kick + her for, that way? an' why but you ate out your dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm done,” he replied, “but that's no rason that Rosha, an' you, an' thim + boys that has the work afore them, shouldn't finish your male's mate.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Rosha thought that by his withdrawing he had already suspected the + object of her visit, and of course concluded that her chance of succeeding + was very slender. + </p> + <p> + The wife, who guessed what she wanted, as well as the nature of her + suspicion, being herself as affectionate and obliging as Owen, reverted to + the subject, in order to give her an opportunity of proceeding. + </p> + <p> + “Somethin' bitther an' out o' the common coorse, is a throuble to you, + Rosha,” said she, “or you wouldn't be in the state you're in. The Lord + look down on you this day, you poor crathur—widout the father of + your childhre to stand up for you, an' your only other depindance laid on + the broad of his back, all as one as a cripple; but no matther, Rosha; + trust to Him that can be a husband to you an' a father to your orphans—trust + to Him, an' his blessed mother in heaven, this day, an' never fear but + they'll rise up a frind for you. Musha, Owen, ate your dinner as you ought + to do, wid your capers! How can you take a spade in your hand upon that + morsel?” + </p> + <p> + “Finish your own,” said her husband, “an' never heed me; jist let me + alone. Don't you see that if I wanted it, I'd ate it, an' what more would + you have about!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, acushla, it's your own loss, sure, of a sartinty. An' Rosha, + whisper, ahagur, what can Owen or I do for you? Throth, it would be a bad + day we'd see you at a <i>deshort</i> * for a friend, for you never wor + nothin' else nor a civil, oblagin' neighbor yourself; an' him that's gone + before—the Lord make his bed in heaven this day—was as good a + warrant as ever broke bread, to sarve a friend, if it was at the hour of + midnight.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * That is at a loss; or more properly speaking, taken + short, which it means. +</pre> + <p> + “Ah! when I had him!” exclaimed the distracted widow, “I never had + occasion to trouble aither friend or neighbor; but he s gone an' now it's + otherwise wid me—glory be to God for all his mercies—a wurrah + dheelish! Why, thin, since I must spake, an' has no other frind to go to—but + somehow I doubt Owen looks dark upon me—sure I'd put my hand to a + stamp, if my word wouldn't do for it, an' sign the blessed crass that + saved us, for the payment of it; or I'd give it to him in oats, for I hear + you want some, Owen—Phatie oates it is, an' a betther shouldhered or + fuller-lookin' grain never went undher a harrow—indeed it's it + that's the beauty, all out, if it's good seed you want.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it for, woman alive?” inquired Owen, as he kicked a three-legged + stool out of his way.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it for, is it? Och, Owen darlin', sure my two brave cows is + lavin' me. Owen M'Murt, the driver, is over wid me beyant, an' has them + ready to set off wid. I reared them both, the two of them, wid my own + hands; <i>Cheehoney</i>, that knows my voice, an' would come to me from + the fardest corner o' the field, an' nothin' will we have—nothin' + will my poor sick boy have—but the black wather, or the dhry salt; + besides the butther of them being lost to us for rent, or a small taste of + it, of an odd time, for poor Jimmy. Owen, next to God, I have no friend to + depind upon but yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “Me!” said Owen, as if astonished. “Phoo, that's quare enough! Now do you + think, Rosha,—hut, hut, woman alive! Come, boys, you're all done; + out wid you to your spades, an' finish that <i>meerin</i> (* a marsh + ditch, a boundary) before night. Me!—hut, tut!” + </p> + <p> + “I have it all but five pounds, Owen, an' for the sake of him that's in + his grave—an' that, maybe, is able to put up his prayer for you”— + </p> + <p> + “An' what would you want me to do, Rosha? Fitther for you to sit down an' + finish your dinner, when it's before you. I'm goin' to get an ould glove + that's somewhere about this chist, for I must weed out that bit of oats + before night, wid a blessin',” and, as he spoke he passed into another + room, as if he had altogether forgotten her solicitation, and in a few + minutes returned. + </p> + <p> + “Owen, avick!—an' the blessin' of the fatherless be upon you, sure, + an' many a one o' them you have, any how, Owen!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Rosha—well?” + </p> + <p> + “Och, och, Owen, it's low days wid me to be depindin' upon the sthranger? + little thim that reared me ever thought it 'ud come to this. You know I'm + a dacent father's child, an' I have stooped to you, Owen M'Carthy—what + I'd scorn to do to any other but yourself—poor an' friendless as I + stand here before you. Let them take the cows, thin, from my childhre; but + the father of the fatherless will support thim an' me. Och, but it's well + for the O'Donohoes that their landlord lives at home among themselves, for + may the heavens look down on me, I wouldn't know where to find mine, if + one sight of him 'ud save me an' my childre from the grave! The Agent + even, he lives in Dublin, an' how could I lave my sick boy, an' small + girshas by themselves, to go a hundre miles, an' maybe not see him afther + all. Little hopes I'd have from him, even if I did; he's paid for + gatherin' in his rents; but it's well known he wants the touch of nathur + for the sufferins of the poor, an' of them that's honest in their + intintions.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go over wid you, Rosha, if that will be of any use,” replied Owen, + composedly; “come, I'll go an' spake to Frank M'Murt.'' + </p> + <p> + “The sorra blame I blame him, Owen,” replied Rosha, “his bread's depindin' + upon the likes of sich doins, an' he can't get over it; but a word from + you, Owen, will save me, for who ever refused to take the word of a + M'Carthy?” + </p> + <p> + When Owen and the widow arrived at the house of the latter, they found the + situation of the bailiff laughable in the extreme. Her eldest son, who had + been confined to his bed by a hurt received in his back, was up, and had + got the unfortunate driver, who was rather old, wedged in between the + dresser and the wall, where his cracked voice—for he was asthmatic—was + raised to the highest pitch, calling for assistance. Beside him was a + large tub half-filled with water, into which the little ones were emptying + small jugs, carried at the top of their speed from a puddle before the + door. In the meantime, Jemmy was tugging at the bailiff with all his + strength—fortunately for that personage, it was but little—with + the most sincere intention of inverting him into the tub which contained + as much muddy water as would have been sufficient to make him a subject + for the deliberation of a coroner and twelve honest men. Nothing could be + more conscientiously attempted than the task which Jemmy had proposed to + execute: every tug brought out his utmost strength, and when he failed in + pulling down the bailiff, he compensated himself for his want of success + by cuffing his ribs, and peeling his shins by hard kicks; whilst from + those open points which the driver's grapple with his man naturally + exposed, were inflicted on him by the rejoicing urchins numberless punches + of tongs, potato-washers, and sticks whose points were from time to time + hastily thrust into the coals, that they might more effectually either + blind or disable him in some other manner. + </p> + <p> + As one of the little ones ran out to fill his jug, he spied his mother and + Owen approaching, on which, with the empty vessel in his hand, he flew + towards them, his little features distorted by glee and ferocity, wildly + mixed up together. + </p> + <p> + “Oh mudher, mudher—ha, ha, ha!—don't come in yet; don't come + in, Owen, till Jimmy un' huz, an' the Denisses, gets the bailie drownded. + We'll soon have the <i>bot</i> (* tub) full; but Paddy an' Jack Denis have + the eyes a'most pucked out of him; an' Katty's takin' the rapin' hook + from, behind the <i>cuppet</i>, to get it about his neck.” + </p> + <p> + Owen and the widow entered with all haste, precisely at the moment when + Frank's head was dipped, for the first time, into the vessel. + </p> + <p> + “Is it goin' to murdher him ye are?” said Owen, as he seized Jemmy with a + grasp that transferred him to the opposite end of the house; “hould back + ye pack of young divils, an' let the man up. What did he come to do but + his duty? I tell you, Jimmy, if you wor at yourself, an' in full strinth, + that you'd have the man's blood on you where you stand, and would suffer + as you ought to do for it.” + </p> + <p> + “There, let me,” replied the lad, his eyes glowing and his veins swollen + with passion; “I don't care if I did. It would be no sin, an' no disgrace, + to hang for the like of him; dacenter to do that, than stale a creel of + turf, or a wisp of straw, 'tanny rate.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime the bailiff had raised his head out of the water, and + presented a visage which it was impossible to view with gravity. The + widow's anxiety prevented her from seeing it in a ludicrous light; but + Owen's severe face assumed a grave smile, as the man shook himself and + attempted to comprehend the nature of his situation. The young urchins, + who had fallen back at the appearance of Owen and the widow, now burst + into a peal of mirth, in which, however, Jemmy, whose fiercer passions had + been roused, did not join. + </p> + <p> + “Frank M'Murt,” said the widow, “I take the mother of heaven to witness, + that it vexes my heart to see you get sich thratement in my place; an' I + wouldn't for the best cow I have that sich a <i>brieuliagh</i> (* + squabble) happened. <i>Dher charp agusmanim</i>, (** by my soul and body) + Jimmy, but I'll make you suffer for drawin' down this upon my head, and me + had enough over it afore.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” replied Jemmy; “whoever comes to take our property from + us, an' us willin' to work will suffer for it. Do you think I'd see thim + crathurs at their dhry phatie, an' our cows standin' in a pound for no + rason? No; high hangin' to me, but I'll split to the skull the first man + that takes them; an' all I'm sorry for is, that it's not the vagabone + Landlord himself that's near me. That's our thanks for paying many a good + pound, in honesty and dacency, to him an' his; lavin' us to a schamin' + agent, an' not even to that same, but to his undher-strap-pers, that's + robbin' us on both sides between them. May hard fortune attind him, for a + landlord! You may tell him this, Frank,—that his wisest plan is to + keep clear of the counthry. Sure, it's a gambler he is, they say; an' we + must be harrished an' racked to support his villany! But wait a bit; maybe + there's a good time comin', when we'll pay our money to thim that won't be + too proud to hear our complaints wid their own ears, an' who won't turn us + over to a divil's limb of an agent. He had need, anyhow, to get his coffin + sooner nor he thinks. What signifies hangin' in a good cause?” said he, as + the tears of keen indignation burst from his glowing eyes. “It's a dacent + death, an' a happy death, when it's for the right,” he added—for his + mind was evidently fixed upon the contemplation of those means of redress, + which the habits of the country, and the prejudices of the people, present + to them in the first moments of passion. + </p> + <p> + “It's well that Frank's one of ourselves,” replied Owen, coolly, + “otherwise, Jemmy, you said words that would lay you up by the heels. As + for you, Frank, you must look over this. The boy's the son of dacent poor + parents, an' it's a new thing for him to see the cows druv from the place. + The poor fellow's vexed, too, that he has been so long laid up wid a sore + back; an' so you see one thing or another has put him through other. Jimmy + is warm-hearted afther all, an' will be sorry for it when he cools, an' + renumbers that you wor only doin' your duty.” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do about the cows? Sure, I can't go back widout either + thim or the rint?” said Frank, with a look of fear and trembling at Jemmy. + </p> + <p> + “The cows!” said another of the widow's sons who then came in; “why, you + dirty spalpeen of a rip, you may whistle on the wrong side o' your mouth + for them. I druv them off of the estate; an' now take them, if you dar! + It's conthrairy to law,” said the urchin; “an' if you'd touch them, I'd + make my mudher sarve you wid a <i>lattitat</i> or <i>fiery-flashes</i>.” + </p> + <p> + This was a triumph to the youngsters, who, began to shake their little + fists at him, and to exclaim in a chorus—“Ha, you dirty rip! wait + till we get you out o' the house, an' if we don't put you from ever + drivin'! Why, but you work like another!—ha, you'll get it!”—and + every little fist was shook in vengeance at him. + </p> + <p> + “Whist wid ye,” said Jemmy to the little ones; “let him alone, he got + enough. There's the cows for you; an keen may the curse o' the widow an' + orphans light upon you, and upon them that sent you, from first to last!—an' + that's the best we wish you!” + </p> + <p> + “Frank,” said Owen to the bailiff, “is there any one in the town below + that will take the rint, an' give a resate for it? Do you think, man, that + the neighbors of an honest, industrious woman 'ud see the cattle taken out + of her byre for a thrifle? Hut tut! no, man alive—no sich thing! + There's not a man in the parish, wid manes to do it, would see them taken + away to be canted, at only about a fourth part of their value. Hut, tut,—no!” + </p> + <p> + As the sterling fellow spoke, the cheeks of the widow were suffused with + tears, and her son Jemmy's hollow eyes once more kindled, but with a far + different expression from that which but a few minutes before flashed from + them. + </p> + <p> + “Owen,” said he, and utterance nearly failed him: “Owen, if I was well it + wouldn't be as it is wid us; but—no, indeed it would not; but—may + God bless you for this! Owen, never fear but you'll be paid; may God bless + you, Owen!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the hand of his humble benefactor was warmly grasped in his. A + tear fell upon it: for with one of those quick and fervid transitions of + feeling so peculiar to the people, he now felt a strong, generous emotion + of gratitude, mingled, perhaps, with a sense of wounded pride, on finding + the poverty of their little family so openly exposed. + </p> + <p> + “Hut, tut, Jimmy, avick,” said Owen, who understood his feelings; “phoo, + man alive! hut—hem!—why, sure it's nothin' at all, at all; + anybody would do it—only a bare five an' twenty shillins [it was + five pound]: any neighbor—Mick Cassidy, Jack Moran, or Pether + M'Cullagh, would do it.—Come, Frank, step out; the money's to the + fore. Rosha, put your cloak about you, and let us go down to the agint, or + clerk, or whatsomever he is—sure, that makes no maxin anyhow;—I + suppose he has power to give a resate. Jemmy, go to bed again, you're + pale, poor bouchal; and, childhre, ye crathurs ye, the cows won't be taken + from ye this bout.—Come, in the name of God, let us go, and + see-everything rightified at once—hut, tut—come.” + </p> + <p> + Many similar details of Owen M'Carthy's useful life could be given, in + which he bore an equally benevolent and Christian part. Poor fellow! he + was, ere long, brought low; but, to the credit of our peasantry, much as + is said about their barbarity, he was treated, when helpless, with + gratitude, pity, and kindness. + </p> + <p> + Until the peace of 1814, Owen's regular and systematic industry enabled + him to struggle successfully against a weighty rent and sudden depression + in the price of agricultural produce; that is, he was able, by the + unremitting toil of a man remarkable alike for an unbending spirit and a + vigorous frame of body, to pay his rent with tolerable regularity. It is + true, a change began to be visible in his personal appearance, in his + farm, in the dress of his children, and in the economy of his household. + Improvements, which adequate capital would have enabled, him to effect, + were left either altogether unattempted, or in an imperfect state, + resembling neglect, though, in reality, the result of poverty. His dress + at mass, and in fairs and markets, had, by degrees, lost that air of + comfort and warmth which bespeak the independent farmer. The evidences of + embarrassment began to disclose themselves in many small points—inconsiderable, + it is true, but not the less significant. His house, in the progress of + his declining circumstances,ceased to be annually ornamented by a new coat + of whitewash; it soon assumed a faded and yellowish hue, and sparkled not + in the setting sun as in the days of Owen's prosperity. It had, in fact, a + wasted, unthriving look, like its master. The thatch became black and + rotten upon its roof; the chimneys sloped to opposite points; the windows + were less neat, and ultimately, when broken, were patched with a couple of + leaves from the children's blotted copy-books. His out-houses also began + to fail. The neatness of his little farm-yard, and the cleanliness which + marked so conspicuously the space fronting his dwelling-house, disappeared + in the course of time. Filth began to accumulate where no filth had been; + his garden was not now planted so early, nor with such taste and neatness + as before; his crops were later, and less abundant; his haggarts neither + so full nor so trim as they were wont to be, nor his ditches and + enclosures kept in such good repair. His cars, ploughs, and other farming + implements, instead of being put under cover, were left exposed to the + influence of wind and weather, where they soon became crazy and useless. + </p> + <p> + Such, however, were only the slighter symptoms of his bootless struggle + against the general embarrassment into which the agricultural interests + were, year after year, so unhappily sinking. + </p> + <p> + Had the tendency to general distress among the class to which he belonged + become stationary, Owen would have continued by toil and incessant + exertion to maintain his ground; but, unfortunately, there was no point at + which the national depression could then stop. Year after year produced + deeper, more extensive, and more complicated misery; and when he hoped + that every succeeding season would bring an improvement in the market, he + was destined to experience not merely a fresh disappointment, but an + unexpected depreciation in the price of his corn, butter, and other + disposable commodities. + </p> + <p> + When a nation is reduced to such a state, no eye but that of God himself + can see the appalling wretchedness to which a year of disease and scarcity + strikes down the poor and working classes. + </p> + <p> + Owen, after a long and noble contest for nearly three years, sank, at + length, under the united calamities of disease and scarcity. The father of + the family was laid low upon the bed of sickness, and those of his little + ones who escaped it were almost consumed by famine. This two-fold shock + sealed his ruin; his honest heart was crushed—his hardy frame shorn + of its strength, and he to whom every neighbor fled as to a friend, now + required friendship at a moment when the widespread poverty of the country + rendered its assistance hopeless. + </p> + <p> + On rising from his bed of sickness, the prospect before him required his + utmost fortitude to bear. He was now wasted in energy both of mind and + body, reduced to utter poverty, with a large family of children, too young + to assist him, without means of retrieving his circumstances, his wife and + himself gaunt skeletons, his farm neglected, his house wrecked, and his + offices falling to ruin, yet every day bringing the half-year's term + nearer! Oh, ye who riot on the miseries of such men—ye who roll + round the easy circle of fashionable life, think upon this picture! To + vile and heartless landlords, who see not, hear not, know not those to + whose heart-breaking toil ye owe the only merit ye possess—that of + rank in society—come and contemplate this virtuous man, as + unfriended, unassisted, and uncheered by those who are bound by a strong + moral duty to protect and aid him, he looks shuddering into the dark, + cheerless future! Is it to be wondered at that he, and such as he, should, + in the misery of his despair, join the nightly meetings, be lured to + associate himself with the incendiary, or seduced to grasp, in the stupid + apathy of wretchedness, the weapon of the murderer? By neglecting the + people; by draining them, with merciless rapacity, of the means of life; + by goading them on under a cruel system of rack rents, ye become not their + natural benefactors, but curses and scourges, nearly as much in reality as + ye are in their opinion. + </p> + <p> + When Owen rose, he was driven by hunger, direct and immediate, to sell his + best cow; and having purchased some oatmeal at an enormous price, from a + well-known devotee in the parish, who hoarded up this commodity for a + “dear summer,” he laid his plans for the future, with as much judgment as + any man could display. One morning after breakfast he addressed his wife + as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen, mavourneen, I want to consult wid you about what we ought to + do; things are low wid us, asthore; and except our heavenly Father puts it + into the heart of them I'm goin' to mention, I don't know what well do, + nor what'll become of these poor crathurs that's naked and hungry about + us. God pity them, they don't know—and maybe that same's some + comfort—the hardships that's before them. Poor crathurs! see how + quiet and sorrowful they sit about their little play, passin' the time for + themselves as well as they can! Alley, acushla machree, come over to me. + Your hair is bright and fair, Alley, and curls so purtily that the finest + lady in the land might envy it; but, acushla, your color's gone, your + little hands are wasted away, too; that sickness was hard and sore upon + you, a <i>colleen machree</i> (* girl of my heart) and he that 'ud spend + his heart's blood for you, darlin', can do nothin' to help you!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the child as he spoke, and a slight motion in the muscles of + his face was barely preceptible, but it passed away; and, after kissing + her, he proceeded: + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ye crathurs—you and I, Kathleen, could earn our bread for + ourselves yet, but these can't do it. This last stroke, darlin', has laid + us at the door of both poverty and sickness, but blessed be the mother of + heaven for it, they are all left wid us; and sure that's a blessin' we've + to be thankful for—glory be to God!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, poor things, it's well to have them spared, Owen dear; sure I'd + rather a thousand times beg from door to door, and have my childher to + look at, than be in comfort widout them.” + </p> + <p> + “Beg: that 'ud go hard wid me, Kathleen. I'd work—I'd live on next + to nothing all the year round; but to see the crathurs that wor dacently + bred up brought to that, I couldn't bear it, Kathleen—'twould break + the heart widin in me. Poor as they are, they have the blood of kings in + their veins; and besides, to see a M'Carthy beggin' his bread in the + country where his name was once great—The M'Carthy More, that was + their title-no, acushla, I love them as I do the blood in my own veins; + but I'd rather see them in the arms of God in heaven, laid down dacently + with their little sorrowful faces washed, and their little bodies + stretched out purtily before my eyes—I would—in the grave-yard + there beyant, where all belonging to me lie, than have it cast up to them, + or have it said, that ever a M'Carthy was seen beggin' on the highway.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Owen, can you strike out no plan for us that 'ud put us in the way + of comin' round agin? These poor ones, if we could hould out for two or + three year, would soon be able to help us.” + </p> + <p> + “They would—they would. I'm thinkin' this day or two of a plan: but + I'm doubtful whether it 'ud come to anything.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, acushla? Sure we can't be worse nor we are, any way.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' to go to Dublin. I'm tould that the landlord's come home from + France, and that he's there now; and if I didn't see him, sure I could see + the agent. Now, Kathleen, my intintion 'ud be to lay our case before the + head landlord himself, in hopes he might hould back his hand, and spare us + for a while. If I had a line from the agent, or a scrape of a pen, that I + could show at home to some of the nabors, who knows but I could borry what + 'ud set us up agin! I think many of them 'ud be sorry to see me turned + out; eh, Kathleen?” + </p> + <p> + The Irish are an imaginative people; indeed, too much so for either their + individual or national happiness. And it is this and superstition, which + also depends much upon imagination, that makes them so easily influenced + by those extravagant dreams that are held out to them by persons who + understand their character. + </p> + <p> + When Kathleen heard the plan on which Owen founded his expectations of + assistance, her dark melancholy eye flashed with a portion of its former + fire; a transient vivacity lit up her sickly features, and she turned a + smile of hope and affection upon her children, then upon Owen. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, thin, who knows, indeed!—who knows but he might do something + for us? And maybe we might be as well as ever yet! May the Lord put it + into his heart, this day! I declare, ay!—maybe it was God put it + into your heart, Owen!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll set off,” replied her husband, who was a man of decision; “I'll set + off on other morrow mornin'; and as nobody knows anything about it, so let + there not be a word said upon the subject, good or bad. If I have success, + well and good; but if not, why, nobody need be the wiser.” + </p> + <p> + The heart-broken wife evinced, for the remainder of the day, a lightness + of spirits which she had not felt for many a month before. Even Owen was + less depressed than usual, and employed himself in making such + arrangements as he knew would occasion his family to feel the + inconvenience of his absence less acutely. But as the hour of his + departure drew nigh, a sorrowful feeling of affection rising into greater + strength and tenderness threw a melancholy gloom around his hearth. + According to their simple view of distance, a journey to Dublin was a + serious undertaking, and to them it was such. Owen was in weak health, + just risen out of illness, and what was more trying than any other + consideration was, that since their marriage they had never been separated + before. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of his departure, he was up before daybreak, and so were + his wife and children, for the latter had heard the conversation already + detailed between them, and, with their simple-minded parents, enjoyed the + gleam of hope which it presented; but this soon changed—when he was + preparing to go, an indefinite sense of fear, and a more vivid clinging of + affection marked their feelings. He himself partook of this, and was + silent, depressed, and less ardent than when the speculation first + presented itself to his mind. His resolution, however, was taken, and, + should he fail, no blame at a future time could be attached to himself. It + was the last effort; and to neglect it, he thought, would have been to + neglect his duty. When breakfast was ready, they all sat down in silence; + the hour was yet early, and a rushlight was placed in a wooden candlestick + that stood beside them to afford light. There was something solemn and + touching in the group as they sat in dim relief, every face marked by the + traces of sickness, want, sorrow, and affection. The father attempted to + eat, but could not; Kathleen sat at the meal, but could taste nothing; the + children ate, for hunger at the moment was predominant over every other + sensation. At length it was over, and Owen rose to depart; he stood for a + minute on the floor, and seemed to take a survey of his cold, cheerless + house, and then of his family; he cleared his throat several times, but + did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen,” said he, at length, “in the name of God I'll go; and may his + blessin' be about you, asthore machree, and guard you and these darlins + till I come back to yez.” + </p> + <p> + Kathleen's faithful heart could bear no more; she laid herself on his + bosom—clung to his neck, and, as the parting kiss was given, she + wept aloud, and Owen's tears fell silently down his worn cheeks. The + children crowded about them in loud wailings, and the grief of this + virtuous and afflicted family was of that profound description, which is + ever the companion, in such scenes, of pure and genuine love. + </p> + <p> + “Owen!” she exclaimed; “Owen, <i>a-suilish mahuil agus machree!</i> (* + light of my eyes and of my heart) I doubt we wor wrong in thinkin' of this + journey. How can you, mavourneen, walk all the way to Dublin, and you so + worn and weakly with that sickness, and the bad feedin' both before and + since? Och, give it up, achree, and stay wid us, let what will happen. + You're not able for sich a journey, indeed you're not. Stay wid me and the + childher, Owen; sure we'd be so lonesome widout you—will you, agrah? + and the Lord will do for us some other way, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + Owen pressed his faithful wife to his heart, and kissed her chaste lips + with a tenderness which the heartless votaries of fashionable life can + never know. + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen, asthore,” he replied, in those terms of endearment which flow + so tenderly through the language of the people; “sure whin I remimber your + fair young face—your yellow hair, and the light that was in your + eyes, acushla machree—but that's gone long ago—och, don't ax + me to stop. Isn't your lightsome laugh, whin you wor young, in my ears? + and your step that 'ud not bend the flower of the field—Kathleen, I + can't, indeed I can't, bear to think of what you wor, nor of what you are + now, when in the coorse of age and natur, but a small change ought to be + upon you! Sure I ought to make every struggle to take you and these + sorrowful crathurs out of the state you're in.” + </p> + <p> + The children flocked about them, and joined their entreaties to those of + their mother. “Father, don't lave us—we'll be lonesome if you go, + and if my mother 'ud get unwell, who'd be to take care of her? Father, + don't lave your own 'weeny crathurs' (a pet name he had for them)—maybe + the meal 'ud be eat out before you'd come back; or maybe something 'ud + happen you in that strange place.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, there's truth in what they say, Owen,” said, the wife; “do be + said by your own Kathleen for this time, and don't take sich a long + journey upon you. Afther all, maybe, you wouldn't see him—sure the + nabors will help us, if you could only humble yourself to ax them!” + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen,” said Owen, “when this is past you'll be glad I went—indeed + you will; sure it's only the tindher feelin' of your hearts, darlins. Who + knows what the landlord may do when I see himself, and show him these + resates—every penny paid him by our own family. Let me go, acushla; + it does cut me to the heart to lave yez the way yez are in, even for a + while; but it's far worse to see your poor wasted faces, widout havin' it + in my power to do anything for yez.” + </p> + <p> + He then kissed them again, one by one; and pressing the affectionate + partner of his sorrows to his breaking heart, he bade God bless them, and + set out in the twilight of a bitter March morning. He had not gone many + yards from the door when little Alley ran after him in tears; he felt her + hand upon the skirts of his coat, which, she plucked with a smile of + affection that neither tears nor sorrow could repress. “Father, kiss me + again,” said she. He stooped down, and kissed her tenderly. The child then + ascended a green ditch, and Owen, as he looked back, saw her standing upon + it; her fair tresses were tossed by the blast about her face, as with + straining eyes she watched him receding from her view. Kathleen and the + other children stood at the door, and also with deep sorrow watched his + form, until the angle of the bridle-road rendered him no longer visible; + after which they returned slowly to the fire and wept bitterly. + </p> + <p> + We believe no men are capable of bearing greater toil or privation than + the Irish. Owen's viaticum was only two or three oaten cakes tied in a + little handkerchief, and a few shillings in silver to pay for his bed. + With this small stock of food and money, an oaken stick in his hand, and + his wife's kerchief tied about his waist, he undertook a journey of one + hundred and ten miles, in quest of a landlord who, so far from being + acquainted with the distresses of his tenantry, scarcely knew even their + names, and not one of them in person. + </p> + <p> + Our scene now changes to the metropolis. One evening, about half past six + o'clock, a toil-worn man turned his steps to a splendid! mansion in + Mountjoy Square; his appearance was drooping, fatigued, and feeble. As he + went along, he examined the numbers on the respective doors, until he + reached a certain one—before which he stopped for a moment; he then + stepped out upon the street, and looked through the windows, as if willing + to ascertain whether there was any chance of his object being attained. + Whilst in this situation a carriage rolled rapidly up, and stopped with a + sudden check that nearly threw back the horses on their haunches. In an + instant the thundering knock of the servant intimated the arrival of some + person of rank; the hall door was opened, and Owen, availing himself of + that opportunity, entered the hall. Such a visitor, however, was too + remarkable to escape notice. The hand of the menial was rudely placed + against his breast; and, as the usual impertinent interrogatories were put + to him, the pampered ruffian kept pushing him back, until the afflicted + man stood upon the upper step leading to the door. + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of God, let me spake but two words to him. I'm his tenant; + and I know he's too much of a jintleman to turn away a man that has lived + upon his honor's estate, father and son, for upwards of three hundred + years. My name's Owen ———” + </p> + <p> + “You can't see him, my good fellow, at this hour. Go to Mr. M———, + his Agent: we have company to dinner. He never speaks to a tenant on + business; his Agent manages all that. Please, leave the way, here's more + company.” + </p> + <p> + As he uttered the last word, he pushed Owen back; who, forgetting that the + stairs were behind him, fell,—received a severe cut, and was so + completely stunned, that he lay senseless and bleeding. Another carriage + drove up, as the fellow now much alarmed, attempted to raise him from the + steps; and, by order of the gentleman who came in it, he was brought into + the hall. The circumstance now made some noise. It was whispered about, + that one of Mr. S———'s tenants, a drunken fellow from + the country, wanted to break in forcibly to see him; but then it was also + asserted, that his skull was broken, and that he lay dead in the hall. + Several of the gentlemen above stairs, on hearing that a man had been + killed, immediately assembled about him, and, by the means of + restoratives, he soon recovered, though the blood streamed copiously from + the wound in the back of his head. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, my good man?” said Mr. S———. + </p> + <p> + Owen looked about him rather vacantly; but soon collected himself, and + implied in a mournful and touching tone of voice—“I'm one of your + honor's tenants from Tubber Derg; my name is Owen M'Carthy, your honor—that + is, if you be Mr. S———.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, what brought you to town, M'Carthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to make an humble appale to your honor's feelins, in regard to + my bit of farm. I, and my poor family, your honor, have been broken down + by hard times and the sickness of the sason—God knows how they axe.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to speak to me about that, my good man, you must know I refer + all these matters to my Agent. Go to him—he knows them best; and + whatever is right and proper to be done for you, he will do it. Sinclair, + give him a crown, and send him to the ——— Dispensary, to + get his head dressed, I say, Carthy, go to my Agent; he knows whether your + claim is just or not, and will attend to it accordingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Plase, your honor, I've been wid him, and he says he can do nothin' + whatsomever for me. I went two or three times, and couldn't see him, he + was so busy; and, when I did get a word or two wid him, he tould me there + was more offered for my land than I'm payin'; and that if I did not pay + up, I must be put out, God help me!” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you, Carthy, I never interfere between him and my tenants.” + </p> + <p> + “Och, indeed! and it would be well, both for your honor's tenants and + yourself, if you did, sir. Your honor ought to know, sir, more about us, + and how we're thrated. I'm an honest man, sir, and I tell you so for your + good.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, sir,” said the Agent, stepping forward, for he had arrived a + few minutes before, and heard the last observation of M'Carthy—“pray + how are they treated, you that know so well, and are so honest a man?—As + for honesty, you might have referred to me for that, I think,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. M———,” said Owen, “we're thrated very badly. Sir, + you needn't look at me, for I'm not afeerd to spake the thruth; no + bullyin', sir, will make me say anything in your favor that you don't + desarve. You've broken the half of them by severity; you've turned the + tenants aginst yourself and his honor here; and I tell you now, though + you're to the fore, that, in the coorse of a short time, there'll be bad + work upon the estate, except his honor, here, looks into his own affairs, + and hears the complaints of the people. Look at these resates, your honor; + they'll show you, sir,—” + </p> + <p> + “Carthy, I can hear no such language against the gentleman to whom I + entrust the management of my property; of course, I refer the matter + solely to him. I can do nothing in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen, avourneen!” claimed the poor man, as he looked up despairingly + to heaven; “and ye, poor darlins of my heart! is this the news I'm to have + for yez whin I go home?—As you hope for mercy, sir, don't turn away + your ear from my petition, that I'd humbly make to yourself. Cowld, and + hunger, and hardship, are at home before me, yer honor. If you'd be plased + to look at these resates, you'd see that I always paid my rint; and 'twas + sickness and the hard times—” + </p> + <p> + “And your own honesty, industry, and good conduct,” said the Agent, giving + a dark and malignant sneer at him. “Carthy, it shall be my business to see + that you do not spread a bad spirit through the tenantry much longer.—Sir, + you have heard the fellow's admission. It is an implied threat he will + give us much serious trouble. There is not such another incendiary on your + property—not one, upon my honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said a servant, “dinner is on the table.” + </p> + <p> + “Sinclair,” said his landlord, “give him another crown, and tell him to + trouble me no more.” Saying; which, he and the Agent went up to the + drawing-room, and, in a moment, Owen saw a large party sweep down stairs, + full of glee and vivacity, by whom both himself and his distresses were as + completely forgotten as if they had never existed. + </p> + <p> + He now slowly departed, and knew not whether the house-steward had given + him money or not until he felt it in his hand. A cold, sorrowful weight + lay upon his heart; the din of the town deadened his affliction into a + stupor; but an overwhelming sense of his disappointment, and a conviction + of the Agent's diabolical falsehood, entered like barbed arrows into his + heart. + </p> + <p> + On leaving the steps, he looked up to heaven in the distraction of his + agonizing thoughts; the clouds were black and lowering—the wind + stormy—and, as it carried them on its dark wing along the sky, he + wished, if it were the will of God, that his head lay in the quiet + grave-yard where the ashes of his forefathers reposed in peace. But he + again remembered his Kathleen and their children; and the large tears of + anguish, deep and bitter, rolled slowly down his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + We will not trace him into an hospital, whither the wound on his head + occasioned him to be sent, but simply state, that, on the second week + after this, a man, with his head bound in a handkerchief, lame, bent, and + evidently laboring under a severe illness or great affliction, might be + seen toiling slowly up the little hill that commanded a view of Tubber + Derg. On reaching the top he sat down to rest for a few minutes, but his + eye was eagerly turned to the house which contained all that was dear to + him on this earth. The sun was setting, and shone, with half his disk + visible, in that dim and cheerless splendor which produces almost in every + temperament a feeling of melancholy. His house which, in happier days, + formed so beautiful and conspicuous an object in the view, was now, from + the darkness of its walls, scarcely discernible. The position of the sun, + too, rendered it more difficult to be seen; and Owen, for it was he, + shaded his eyes with his hand, to survey it more distinctly. Many a + harrowing thought and remembrance passed through his mind, as his eye + traced its dim outline in the fading-light'. He had done his duty—he + had gone to the fountain-head, with a hope that his simple story of + affliction might be heard; but all was fruitless: the only gleam, of hope + that opened upon their misery had now passed into darkness and despair for + ever. He pressed his aching forehead with distraction as he thought of + this; then clasped his hands bitterly, and groaned aloud. + </p> + <p> + At length he rose, and proceeded with great difficulty, for the short rest + had stiffened his weak and fatigued joints. As he approached home his + heart sank; and as he ascended the blood-red stream which covered the + bridle-way that led to his house, what with fatigue and affliction, his + agitation weakened him so much that, he stopped, and leaned on his staff + several times, that he might take breath. + </p> + <p> + “It's too dark, maybe, for them to see me, or poor Kathleen would send the + darlins to give me the <i>she dha veha</i> (* the welcome). Kathleen, + avourneen machree! how my heart beats wid longin' to see you, asthore, and + to see the weeny crathurs—glory be to Him that has left them to me—praise + and glory to His name!” + </p> + <p> + He was now within a few perches of thy door; but a sudden misgiving shot + across his heart when he saw it shut, and no appearance of smoke from the + chimney, nor of stir or life about the house. He advanced— + </p> + <p> + “Mother of glory, what's this!—But, wait, let me rap agin. Kathleen, + Kathleen!—are you widin, avourneen? Owen—Alley—arn't ye + widin, childhre? Alley, sure I'm come back to you all!” and he rapped more + loudly than before. A dark breeze swept through the bushes as he spoke, + but no voice nor sound proceeded from the house;—all was still as + death within. “Alley!” he called once more to his little favorite; “I'm + come home wid something for you, asthore! I didn't forget you, alanna!—I + brought it from Dublin, all the way. Alley!” but the gloomy murmur of the + blast was the only reply. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the most intense of all that he knew as misery was that which he + then felt; but this state of suspense was soon terminated by the + appearance of a neighbor who was passing. + </p> + <p> + “Why, thin, Owen, but yer welcome home agin, my poor fellow; and I'm sorry + that I haven't betther news for you, and so are all of us.” + </p> + <p> + He whom he addressed had almost lost the power of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Frank,” said he, and he wrung his hand, “What—what? was death among + them? For the sake of heaven, spake!” + </p> + <p> + The severe pressure which he received in return ran like a shoot, of + paralysis to his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Owen, you must be a man; every one pities yez, and may the Almighty pity + and support yez! She is, indeed, Owen, gone; the weeny fair-haired child, + your favorite Alley, is gone. Yestherday she was berrid; and dacently the + nabors attinded the place, and sent in, as far as they had it, both mate + and dhrink to Kathleen and the other ones. Now, Owen, you've heard it; + trust in God, an' be a man.” + </p> + <p> + A deep and convulsive throe shook him to the heart. “Gone!—the + fair-haired one!—Alley!—Alley!—the pride of both our + hearts; the sweet, the quiet, and the sorrowful child, that seldom played + wid the rest, but kept wid mys—! Oh, my darlin', my darlin'! gone + from my eyes for ever!—God of glory; won't you support me this night + of sorrow and misery!” + </p> + <p> + With a sudden yet profound sense of humility, he dropped on his knees at + the threshold, and, as the tears rolled down his convulsed cheeks, + exclaimed, in a burst of sublime piety, not at all uncommon among our + peasantry—“I thank you, O my God! I thank you, an' I put myself an' + my weeny ones, my <i>pastchee boght</i> (* my poor children) into your + hands. I thank you, O God, for what has happened! Keep me up and support + me—och, I want it! You loved the weeny one, and you took her; she + was the light of my eyes, and the pulse of my broken heart, but you took + her, blessed Father of heaven! an' we can't be angry wid you for so doin'! + Still if you had spared her—if—if—O, blessed Father, my + heart was in the very one you took—but I thank you, O God! May she + rest in pace, now and for ever, Amin!” + </p> + <p> + He then rose up, and slowly wiping the tears from his eyes, departed. + </p> + <p> + “Let me hould your arm, Frank, dear,” said he, “I'm weak and tired wid a + long journey. Och, an' can it be that she's gone—the fair-haired + colleen! When I was lavin' home, an' had kissed them all—'twas the + first time we ever parted, Kathleen and I, since our marriage—the + blessed child came over an' held up her mouth, sayin', 'Kiss me agin, + father;' an' this was afther herself an' all of them had kissed me afore. + But, och! oh! blessed Mother! Frank, where's my Kathleen and the rest?—and + why are they out of their own poor place?” + </p> + <p> + “Owen, I tould you awhile agone, that you must be a man. I gave you the + worst news first, an' what's to come doesn't signify much. It was too + dear; for if any man could live upon it you could:—you have neither + house nor home, Owen, nor land. An ordher came from the Agint; your last + cow was taken, so was all you had in the world—hem—barrin' a + thrifle. No,—bad manners to it! no,—you're not widout a home + anyway. The family's in my barn, brave and comfortable, compared to what + your own house was, that let in the wather through the roof like a sieve; + and, while the same barn's to the fore, never say you want a home.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Frank, for that goodness to them and me; if you're not + rewarded for it here you will in a betther place. Och, I long to see + Kathleen and the childher! But I'm fairly broken down, Frank, and hardly + able to mark the ground; and, indeed, no wondher, if you knew but all: + still, let God's will be done! Poor Kathleen, I must bear up afore her, or + she'll break her heart; for I know how she loved the golden-haired darlin' + that's gone from us. Och, and how did she go, Frank, for I left her + betther?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the poor girsha took a relapse, and wasn't strong enough to bear up + aginst the last attack; but it's one comfort that you know she's happy.” + </p> + <p> + Owen stood for a moment, and, looking solemnly in his neighbor's face, + exclaimed, in a deep and exhausted voice, “Frank!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you goin' to say, Owen?” + </p> + <p> + “The heart widin me's broke—broke!” + </p> + <p> + The large tears rolled down his weather-beaten cheeks, and he proceeded in + silence to the house of his friend. There was, however, a feeling of + sorrow in his words and manner which Frank could not withstand. He grasped + Owen's hand, and, in a low and broken voice, simply said—“Keep your + spirits up—keep them up.” + </p> + <p> + When they came to the barn in which his helpless family had taken up their + temporary residence, Owen stood for a moment to collect himself; but he + was nervous, and trembled with repressed emotion. They then entered; and + Kathleen, on seeing her beloved and affectionate husband, threw herself on + his bosom, and for some time felt neither joy nor sorrow—she had + swooned. The poor man embraced her with a tenderness at once mournful and + deep. The children, on seeing their father safely returned, forgot their + recent grief, and clung about him with gladness and delight. In the + meantime Kathleen recovered, and Owen for many minutes could not check the + loud and clamorous grief, now revived by the presence of her husband, with + which the heart-broken and emaciated mother deplored her departed child; + and Owen himself, on once more looking among the little ones, on seeing + her little frock hanging up, and her stool vacant by the fire—on + missing her voice and her blue laughing eyes—and remembering the + affectionate manner in which, as with a presentiment of death, she held up + her little mouth and offered him the last kiss—he slowly pulled the + toys and cakes he had purchased for her out of his pocket, surveyed them + for a moment, and then, putting his hands on his face, bent his head upon + his bosom, and wept with the vehement outpouring of a father's sorrow. + </p> + <p> + The reader perceives that he was a meek man; that his passions were not + dark nor violent; he bore no revenge to those who neglected or injured + him, and in this he differed from too many of his countrymen. No; his + spirit was broken down with sorrow, and had not room for the fiercer and + more destructive passions. His case excited general pity. Whatever his + neighbors could, do to soothe him and alleviate his affliction was done. + His farm was not taken; for fearful threats were held out against those + who might venture to occupy it. In these threats he had nothing to do; on + the contrary, he strongly deprecated them. Their existence, however, was + deemed by the Agent sufficient to justify him in his callous and malignant + severity towards him. + </p> + <p> + We did not write this story for effect. Our object was to relate facts + that occurred. In Ireland, there is much blame justly attached to + landlords, for their neglect and severity, in such depressed times, + towards their tenants: there is also much that is not only indefensible + but atrocious on the part of the tenants. But can the landed proprietors + of Ireland plead ignorance or want of education for their neglect and + rapacity, whilst the crimes of the tenants, on the contrary, may in + general be ascribed to both? He who lives—as, perhaps, his + forefathers have done—upon any man's property, and fails from + unavoidable calamity, has as just and clear a light to assistance from the + landlord as if the amount of that aid were a bonded debt. Common policy, + common sense, and common justice, should induce the Irish landlords to + lower their rents according to the market for agricultural produce, + otherwise poverty, famine, crime, and vague political speculations, + founded upon idle hopes of a general transfer of property, will spread + over and convulse the kingdom. Any man who looks into our poverty may see + that our landlords ought to reduce their rents to a standard suitable to + the times and to the ability of the tenant. + </p> + <p> + But to return. Owen, for another year, struggled on for his family, + without success; his firm spirit was broken; employment he could not get, + and even had it been regular, he would have found it impracticable to + support his helpless wife and children by his labor. The next year + unhappily was also one of sickness and of want; the country was not only a + wide waste of poverty, but overspread with typhus fever. One Saturday + night he and the family found themselves without food; they had not tasted + a morsel for twenty-four hours. There were murmuring and tears and, + finally, a low conversation among them, as if they held a conference upon + some subject which filled them with both grief and satisfaction. In this + alternation of feeling did they pass the time until the sharp gnawing of + hunger was relieved by sleep. A keen December wind blew with a bitter + blast on the following morning; the rain was borne along upon it with + violence, and the cold was chill and piercing. Owen, his wife, and their + six children, issued at day-break out of the barn in which, ever since + their removal from Tubber Derg, they had lived until then; their miserable + fragments of bed-clothes were tied in a bundle to keep them dry; their + pace was slow, need we say sorrowful; all were in tears. Owen and Kathleen + went first, with a child upon the back, and another in the hand, of each. + Their route lay by their former dwelling, the door of which was open, for + it had not been inhabited. On passing it they stood a moment; then with a + simultaneous impulse both approached—entered—and took one last + look of a spot to which their hearts clung with enduring attachment. They + then returned; and as they passed, Owen put forth his hand, picked a few + small pebbles out of the wall, and put them in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell!” said he, “and may the blessing of God rest upon you! We now + lave you for ever! We're goin' at last to beg our bread through the world + wide, where none will know the happy days we passed widin your walls! We + must lave you; but glory be to the Almighty, we are goin' wid a clear + conscience; we took no revenge into our own hands, but left everything to + God above us. We are poor, but there is neither blood, nor murder, nor + dishonesty upon our heads. Don't cry, Kathleen—don't cry, childher; + there is still a good god above who can and may do something for us yet, + glory be to his holy name!” + </p> + <p> + He then passed on with his family, which, including himself, made in all, + eight paupers, being an additional burden upon the country, which might + easily have been avoided. His land was about two years waste, and when it + was ultimately taken, the house was a ruin, and the money allowed by the + landlord for building a new one, together with the loss of two years' + rent, would if humanely directed, have enabled Owen M'Carthy to remain a + solvent tenant. + </p> + <p> + When an Irish peasant is reduced to pauperism, he seldom commences the + melancholy task of soliciting alms in his native place. The trial is + always a severe one, and he is anxious to hide his shame and misery from + the eyes of those who know him. This is one reason why some system of poor + laws should be introduced into the country. Paupers of this description + become a burden upon strangers, whilst those who are capable of entering + with friendly sympathy into their misfortunes have no opportunity of + assisting them. Indeed this shame of seeking alms from those who have + known the mendicant in better days, is a proof that the absence of poor + laws takes away from the poorer classes one of the strongest incitements + to industry; for instance, if every Pauper in Ireland were confined to his + own parish, and compelled to beg from his acquaintances, the sense of + shame alone would, by stirring them up to greater industry, reduce the + number of mendicants one-half. There is a strong spirit of family pride in + Ireland, which would be sufficient to make many poor, of both sexes, exert + themselves to the uttermost rather than cast a stain upon their name, or + bring a blush to the face of their relations. But now it is not so: the + mendicant sets out to beg, and in most instances commences his new mode of + life in some distant part of the country, where his name and family are + not known. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, it is astonishing how any man can, for a moment, hesitate to form + his opinion upon the subject of poor laws. The English and Scotch gentry + know something about the middle and lower classes of their respective + countries, and of course they have a fixed system of provision for the + poor in each. The ignorance of the Irish gentry, upon almost every subject + connected with the real good of the people, is only in keeping with their + ignorance of the people themselves. It is to be feared, however, that + their disinclination to introduce poor laws arises less from actual + ignorance, than from an illiberal selfishness. The facts of the case are + these: In Ireland the whole support of the inconceivable multitude of + paupers, who swarm like locusts over the surface of the country, rests + upon the middle and lower classes, or rather upon the latter, for there is + scarcely such a thing in this unhappy country as a middle class. In not + one out of a thousand instances do the gentry contribute to the mendicant + poor. In the first place, a vast proportion of our landlords are + absentees, who squander upon their own pleasures or vices, in the + theatres, saloons, or gaming-houses of France, or in the softer + profligacies of Italy, that which ought to return in some shape to stand + in the place of duties so shamefully neglected. These persons contribute + nothing to the poor, except the various evils which their absence entails + upon them. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, the resident gentry never in any case assist a beggar, + even in the remote parts of the country, where there are no Mendicity + Institutions. Nor do the beggars ever think of applying to them. They know + that his honor's dogs would be slipped at them; or that the whip might be + laid, perhaps, to the shoulders of a broken-hearted father, with his brood + of helpless children wanting food; perhaps, upon the emaciated person of a + miserable widow, who begs for her orphans, only because the hands that + supported, and would have defended both her and them, are mouldered into + dust. + </p> + <p> + Upon the middle and lower classes, therefore, comes directly the heavy + burden of supporting the great mass of pauperism that presses upon + Ireland. It is certain that the Irish landlords know this, and that they + are reluctant to see any law enacted which might make the performance of + their duties to the poor compulsory. This, indeed, is natural in men who + have so inhumanly neglected them. + </p> + <p> + But what must the state of a country be where those who are on the way to + pauperism themselves are exclusively burdened with the support of the + vagrant poor? It is like putting additional weight on a man already + sinking under the burden he bears. The landlords suppose, that because the + maintenance of the idle who are able, and of the aged and infirm who are + not able to work, comes upon the renters of land, they themselves are + exempted from their support. This, if true, is as bitter a stigma upon + their humanity as upon their sense of justice: but it is not true. Though + the cost of supporting such an incredible number of the idle and helpless + does, in the first place, fall upon the tenant, yet, by diminishing his + means, and by often compelling him to purchase, towards the end of the + season, a portion of food equal to that which he has given away in + charity, it certainly becomes ultimately a clear deduction from the + landlord's rent. In either case it is a deduction, but in the latter it is + often doubly so; inasmuch as the poor tenants must frequently pay, at the + close of a season, double, perhaps treble, the price which provision + brought at the beginning of it. + </p> + <p> + Any person conversant with the Irish people must frequently have heard + such dialogues as the following, during the application of a beggar for + alms:— + </p> + <p> + Mendicant.—“We're axin your charity for God's sake!” + </p> + <p> + Poor Tenant.—“Why thin for His sake you would get it, poor crathur, + if we had it; but it's not for you widin the four corners of the house. It + 'ud be well for us if we had now all we gave away in charity durin' the + Whole year; we wouldn't have to be buyin' for ourselves at three prices. + Why don't you go up to the Big House? They're rich and can afford it.” + </p> + <p> + Mendicant, with a shrug, which sets all his coats and bags in motion—“Och! + och! The Big House, inagh! Musha, do you want me an' the childhre here, to + be torn to pieces wid the dogs? or lashed wid a whip by one o' the + sarvints? No, no, avourneen!” (with a hopeless shake of the head.) “That + 'ud be a blue look-up, like a clear evenin'.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Tenant.—“Then, indeed, we haven't it to help you, now, poor + man. We're buyin' ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Mendicant.—“Thin, throth, that's lucky, so it is! I've as purty a + grain o' male here, as you'd wish to thicken wather wid, that I sthruv to + get together, in hopes to be able to buy a quarther o' tobaccy, along wid + a pair o' new bades an' scapular for myself. I'm suspicious that there's + about a stone ov it, altogether. You can have it anunder the market price, + for I'm frettin' at not havin' the scapular an me. Sure the Lord will sind + me an' the childhre a bit an' sup some way else—glory to his name!—beside + a lock of praties in the corner o' the bag here, that'll do us for this + day, any way.” + </p> + <p> + The bargain is immediately struck, and the poor tenant is glad to + purchase, even from a beggar, his stone of meal, in consequence of getting + it a few pence under market price. Such scenes as this, which are of + frequent occurrence in the country parts of Ireland, need no comment. + </p> + <p> + This, certainly, is not a state of things which should be permitted to + exist. Every man ought to be compelled to support the poor of his native + parish according to his means. It is an indelible disgrace to the + legislature so long to have neglected the paupers of Ireland. Is it to bo + thought of with common patience that a person rolling in wealth shall feed + upon his turtle, his venison, and his costly luxuries of every + description, for which he will not scruple to pay the highest price—that + this heartless and selfish man, whether he reside at home or abroad, shall + thus unconscionably pamper himself with viands purchased by the toil of + the people, and yet not contribute to assist them, when poverty, sickness, + or age, throws them upon the scanty support of casual charity? + </p> + <p> + Shall this man be permitted to batten in luxury in a foreign land, or at + home; to whip our paupers from his carriage; or hunt them, like beasts of + prey, from his grounds, whilst the lower classes—the gradually + decaying poor—are compelled to groan under the burden of their + support, in addition to their other burdens? Surely it is not a question + which admits of argument. This subject has been darkened and made + difficult by fine-spun and unintelligible theories, when the only + knowledge necessary to understand it may be gained by spending a few weeks + in some poor village in the interior of the country. As for Parliamentary + Committees upon this or any other subject, they are, with reverence be it + spoken, thoroughly contemptible. They will summon and examine witnesses + who, for the most part, know little about the habits or distresses of the + poor; public money will be wasted in defraying their expenses and in + printing reports; resolutions will be passed; something will be said about + it in the House of Commons; and, in a few weeks, after resolving and + re-resolving, it is as little thought of, as if it had never been the + subject of investigation. In the meantime the evil proceeds—becomes + more inveterate—eats into the already declining prosperity of the + country—whilst those who suffer under it have the consolation of + knowing that a Parliamentary Committee sat longer upon it than so many + geese upon their eggs, but hatched nothing. Two circumstances, connected + with pauperism in Ireland, are worthy of notice. The first is this—the + Roman Catholics, who certainly constitute the bulk of the population, feel + themselves called upon, from the peculiar tenets of their religion, to + exercise indiscriminate charity largely to the begging poor. They act + under the impression that eleemosynary good works possess the power of + cancelling sin to an extent almost incredible. Many of their religious + legends are founded upon this view of the case; and the reader will find + an appropriate one in the Priest's sermon, as given in our tale of the + “Poor Scholar.” That legend is one which the author has many a time heard + from the lips of the people, by whom it was implicitly believed. A man who + may have committed a murder overnight, will the next day endeavor to wipe + away his guilt by alms given for the purpose of getting the benefit of + “the poor man's prayer.” The principle of assisting our distressed + fellow-creatures, when rationally exercised, is one of the best in + society; but here it becomes entangled with error, superstition, and even + with crime—acts as a bounty upon imposture, and in some degree + predisposes to guilt, from an erroneous belief that sin may be cancelled + by alms and the prayers of mendicant impostors. The second point, in + connection with pauperism, is the immoral influence that I proceeds from + the relation in which the begging poor in Ireland stand towards the class + by whom they are supported. These, as we have already said, are the + poorest, least educated, and consequently the most ignorant description of + the people. They are also the most numerous. There have been for + centuries, probably since the Reformation itself, certain opinions + floating among the lower classes in Ireland, all tending to prepare them + for some great change in their favor, arising from the discomfiture of + heresy, the overthrow of their enemies, and the exaltation of themselves + and their religion. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had the public mind subsided after the Rebellion of Ninety-eight, + when the success of Buonaparte directed the eyes and the hopes of the + Irish people towards him, as the person designed to be their deliverer. + Many a fine fiction has the author of this work heard about that great + man's escapes, concerning the bullets that conveniently turned aside from + his person, and the sabres that civilly declined to cut him down. Many + prophecies too were related, in which the glory of this country under his + reign was touched off in the happiest colors. Pastorini also gave such + notions an impulse. Eighteen twenty-five was to be the year of their + deliverance: George the Fourth was never to fill the British throne; and + the mill of Lowth was to be turned three times with human blood. “The + miller with the two thumbs was then living,” said the mendicants, for they + were the principal propagators of these opinions, and the great expounders + of their own prophecies; so that of course there could be no further doubt + upon the subject. Several of them had seen him, a red-haired man with + broad shoulders, stout legs, exactly such as a miller ought to have, and + two thumbs on his right hand; all precisely as the prophecy had stated. + Then there was <i>Beal-derg</i>, and several others of the fierce old + Milesian chiefs, who along with their armies lay in an enchanted sleep, + all ready to awake and take a part in the delivery of the country. “Sure + such a man,” and they would name one in the time of the mendicant's + grandfather, “was once going to a fair to sell a horse—well and + good; the time was the dawn of morning, a little before daylight: he met a + man who undertook to purchase his horse; they agreed upon the price, and + the seller of him followed the buyer into a Bath, where he found a range + of horses, each with an armed soldier asleep by his side, ready to spring + upon him if awoke. The purchaser cautioned the owner of the horse as they + were about to enter the subterraneous dwelling, against touching either + horse or man; but the countryman happening to stumble, inadvertently laid + his hand, upon a sleeping soldier, who immediately leaped up, drew his + sword, and asked, 'Wuil anam inh?' 'Is the time in it? Is the time + arrived?' To which the horse-dealer of the Bath replied, '<i>Ha niel. Gho + dhee collhow areesht</i>.' 'No: go to sleep again.' Upon this the soldier + immediately sank down in his former position, and unbroken sleep reigned + throughout the cave.” The influence on the warm imaginations of an + ignorant people, of such fictions concocted by vagrant mendicants, is very + pernicious. They fill their minds with the most palpable absurdities, and, + what is worse, with opinions, which, besides being injurious to those who + receive them, in every instance insure for those who propagate them a + cordial and kind reception. + </p> + <p> + These mendicants consequently pander, for their own selfish ends, to the + prejudices of the ignorant, which they nourish and draw out in a manner + that has in no slight degree been subversive of the peace of the country. + Scarcely any political circumstance occurs which they do not immediately + seize upon and twist to their own purposes, or, in other words, to the + opinions of those from whom they derive their support. When our present + police first appeared in their uniforms and black belts, another prophecy, + forsooth, was fulfilled. Immediately before the downfall of heresy, a body + of “Black Militia” was to appear; the police, then, are the black militia, + and the people consider themselves another step nearer the consummation of + their vague speculations. + </p> + <p> + In the year Ninety-eight, the Irish mendicants were active agents, clever + spies, and expert messengers on the part of the people; and to this day + they carry falsehood, and the materials of outrage in its worst shape, + into the bosom of peaceable families, who would, otherwise, never become + connected with a system which is calculated to bring ruin and destruction + upon those who permit themselves to join it. + </p> + <p> + This evil, and it is no trifling one, would, by the introduction of + poor-laws, be utterly abolished, the people would not only be more easily + improved, but education, when received, would not be corrupted by the + infusion into it of such ingredients as the above. In many other points of + view, the confirmed and hackneyed mendicants of Ireland are a great evil + to the morals of the people. We could easily detail them, but such not + being our object at present, we will now dismiss the subject of poor-laws, + and resume our narrative. + </p> + <p> + Far—far different from this description of impostors, were Owen + M'Carthy and his family. Their misfortunes were not the consequences of + negligence or misconduct on their own part. They struggled long but + unavailingly against high rents and low markets; against neglect on the + part of the landlord and his agent; against sickness, famine, and death. + They had no alternative but to beg or starve. Owen was willing to work, + but he could not procure employment: and provided he could, the miserable + sum of sixpence a day, when food was scarce and dear, would not support + him, his wife, and six little ones. He became a pauper, therefore, only to + avoid starvation. + </p> + <p> + Heavy and black was his heart, to use the strong expression of the people, + on the bitter morning when he set out to encounter the dismal task of + seeking alms, in order to keep life in himself and his family. The plan + was devised on the preceding night, but to no mortal, except his wife, was + it communicated. The honest pride of a man whose mind was above committing + a mean action, would not permit him to reveal what he considered the first + stain that ever was known to rest upon the name of M'Carthy; he therefore + sallied out under the beating of the storm, and proceeded, without caring + much whither he went, until he got considerably beyond the bounds of his + own parish. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime hunger pressed deeply upon him and them. The day had no + appearance of clearing up; the heavy rain and sleet beat into their thin, + worn garments, and the clamor of his children for food began to grow more + and more importunate. They came to the shelter of a hedge which inclosed + on one side a remote and broken road, along which, in order to avoid the + risk of being recognized, they had preferred travelling. Owen stood here + for a few minutes to consult with his wife, as to where and when they + should “make a beginning;” but on looking round, he found her in tears. + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen, asthore,” said he, “I can't bid you not to cry; bear up, + acushla machree; bear up: sure, as I said when we came out this mornin', + there's a good God above us, that can still turn over the good lafe for + us, if we put our hopes in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Owen,” said his sinking wife, “it's not altogether bekase we're brought + to this that I'm cryin'; no, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Thin what ails you, Kathleen darlin'?” + </p> + <p> + The wife hesitated, and evaded the question for some time; but at length, + upon his pressing her for an answer, with a fresh gush of sorrow, she + replied, + </p> + <p> + “Owen, since you must know—och, may God pity us!—since you + must know, it's wid hunger—wid hunger! I kept, unknownst, a little + bit of bread to give the childhre this mornin', and that was part of it I + gave you yesterday early—I'm near two days fastin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen! Kathleen! Och! sure I know your worth, avillish. You were too + good a wife, an' too good a mother, a'most! God forgive me, Kathleen! I + fretted about beginnin', dear; but as my Heavenly Father's above me, I'm + now happier to beg wid you by my side, nor if I war in the best house of + the province widout you! Hould up, avour-neen, for a while. Come on, + childhre, darlins, an' the first house we meet we'll ax their char—, + their assistance. Come on, darlins, and all of yees. Why my heart's asier, + so it is. Sure we have your mother, childhre, safe wid us, an' what + signifies anything so long as she's left to us?” + </p> + <p> + He then raised his wife tenderly, for she had been compelled to sit from + weakness, and they bent their steps to a decent farmhouse that stood a few + perches off the road, about a quarter of a mile before them. + </p> + <p> + As they approached the door, the husband hesitated a moment; his face got + paler than usual, and his lip quivered, as he said—“Kathleen—” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you're goin' to say, Owen. No, acushla, you won't; I'll ax it + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said Owen, with difficulty; “I can't do it; but I'll overcome my + pride afore long, I hope. It's thryin' to me, Kathleen, an' you know it is—for + you know how little I ever expected to be brought to this.” + </p> + <p> + “Husht, avillish! We'll thry, then, in the name o' God.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, the children, herself, and her husband entered, to beg, for + the first time in their lives, a morsel of food. Yes! timidly—with a + blush, of shame, red even to crimson, upon the pallid features of Kathleen—with + grief acute and piercing—they entered the house together. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes they stood and spoke not. The unhappy woman, unaccustomed + to the language of supplication, scarcely knew in what terms to crave + assistance. Owen himself stood back, uncovered, his fine, but much changed + features overcast with an expression of deep affliction. Kathleen cast a + single glance, at him, as if for encouragement. Their eyes met; she saw + the upright man—the last remnant of the M'Carthy—himself once + the friend of the poor, of the unhappy, of the afflicted—standing + crushed and broken down by misfortunes which he had not deserved, waiting + with patience for a morsel of charity. Owen, too, had his remembrances. He + recollected the days when he sought and gained the pure and fond + affections of his Kathleen: when beauty, and youth, and innocence + encircled her with their light and their grace, as she spoke or moved; he + saw her a happy wife and mother in her own home, kind and benevolent to + all who required her good word or her good office, and remembered the + sweetness of her light-hearted song; but now she was homeless. He + remembered, too, how she used to plead with himself for the afflicted. It + was but a moment; yet when their eyes met, that moment was crowded by + recollections that flashed across their minds with a keen, sense of a lot + so bitter and wretched as theirs. Kathleen could not speak, although she + tried; her sobs denied her utterance; and Owen involuntarily sat upon a + chair, and covered his face with his hand. + </p> + <p> + To an observing eye it is never difficult to detect the cant of imposture, + or to perceive distress when it is real. The good woman of the house, as + is usual in Ireland, was in the act of approaching them, unsolicited, with + a double handful of meal—that is what the Scotch and northern Irish + call a goivpen, or as much as both hands locked together can contain—when, + noticing their distress, she paused a moment, eyed them more closely, and + exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “What's this? Why there's something wrong wid you, good people! But first + an' foremost take this, in the name an' honor of God.” + </p> + <p> + “May the blessin' of the same <i>Man</i>* rest upon yees!” replied + Kathleen. “This is a sorrowful thrial to us; for it's our first day to be + upon the world; an' this is the first help of the kind we ever axed for, + or ever got; an' indeed now I find we haven't even a place to carry it in. + I've no—b—b—cloth, or anything to hould it.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * God is sometimes thus termed in Ireland. By “Man” + here is meant person or being. He is also called the + “Man above;” although this must have been intended for, + and often is applied to, Christ only. +</pre> + <p> + “Your first, is it?” said the good woman. “Your first! May the marciful + queen o' heaven look down upon yees, but it's a bitther day yees war + driven out in! Sit down, there, you poor crathur. God pity you, I pray + this day, for you have a heart-broken look! Sit down awhile, near the + fire, you an' the childre! Come over, darlins, an' warm yourselves. Och, + oh! but it's a thousand pities to see sich fine childre—handsome an' + good lookin' even as they are, brought to this! Come over, good man; get + near the fire, for you're wet an' could all of ye. Brian, ludher them two + lazy thieves o' dogs out o' that. <i>Eiree suas, a wadhee bradagh, agus go + mah a shin!</i>—be off wid yez, ye lazy divils, that's not worth + your feedin'! Come over, honest man.” Owen and his family were placed near + the fire; the poor man's heart was full, and he sighed heavily. + </p> + <p> + “May He that is plased to thry us,” he exclaimed, “reward you for this! We + are,” he continued, “a poor an' a sufferin' family; but it's the will of + God that we should be so; an' sure we can't complain widout committin' + sin. All we ax now, is, that it may be plasin' to him that brought us low, + to enable us to bear up undher our thrials. We would take it to our choice + to beg an' be honest, sooner, nor to be wealthy, an' wicked! We have our + failings, an' our sins, God help us; but still there's nothin' dark or + heavy on our consciences. Glory be to the name o' God for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, I believe you,” replied the farmer's wife; “there's thruth an' + honesty in your face; one may easily see the remains of dacency about you + all. Musha, throw your little things aside, an' stay where ye are today: + you can't bring out the childre under the teem of rain an' sleet that's in + it. Wurrah dheelish, but it's the bitther day all out! Faix, Paddy will + get a dhrookin, so he will, at that weary fair wid the stirks, poor + bouchal—a son of ours that's gone to Bally-boulteen to sell some + cattle, an' he'll not be worth three hapuns afore he comes back. I hope + he'll have sinse to go into some house, when he's done, an' dhry himself + well, anyhow, besides takin' somethin' to keep out the could. Put by your + things, an' don't, think of goin' out sich a day.” + </p> + <p> + “We thank you,” replied Owen. “Indeed we're glad to stay undher your roof; + for poor things, they're badly able to thravel sich a day—these + childre.” + </p> + <p> + “Musha, ye ate no breakfast, maybe?” Owen and his family were silent. The + children looked wistfully at their parents, anxious that they should + confirm what the good woman surmised; the father looked again at his + famished brood and his sinking wife, and nature overcame him. + </p> + <p> + “Food did not crass our lips this day,” replied Owen; “an' I may say + hardly anything yestherday.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, blessed mother! Here, Katty Murray, drop scrubbin' that dresser, an' + put down, the midlin' pot for stirabout. Be livin' <i>manim an diouol</i>, + woman alive, handle yourself; you might a had it boilin' by this. God + presarve us!—to be two days widout atin! Be the crass, Katty, if + you're not alive, I'll give you a douse o' the churnstaff that'll bring + the fire to your eyes! Do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “I do hear you, an' did often feel you, too, for fraid hearin' wouldn't + do. You think there's no places in the world but your own, I b'lieve. + Faix, indeed! it's well come up wid us, to be randied about wid no less a + switch than a churnstaff!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it givin' back talk, you are? Bad end to me, if you look crucked but + I'll lave you a mark to remimber me by. What woman 'ud put up wid you but + myself, you shkamin flipe? It wasn't to give me your bad tongue I hired + you, but to do your business; and be the crass above us, if you turn your + tongue on me agin, I'll give you the weight o' the churnstaff. Is it + bekase they're poor people that it plased God to bring to this, that you + turn up your nose at doin' anything to sarve them? There's not wather + enough there, I say—put in more what signifies all the stirabout + that 'ud make? Put plinty in: it's betther always to have too much than + too little. Faix, I tell you, you'll want a male's meat an' a night's + lodgin' afore you die, if you don't mend your manners.” + </p> + <p> + “Och, musha, the poor girl is doin' her best,” observed Kathleen; “an' I'm + sure she wouldn't be guilty of usin' pride to the likes of us, or to any + one that the Lord has laid his hand upon.” + </p> + <p> + “She had betther not, while I'm to the fore,” said her mistress. “What is + she herself? Sure if it was a sin to be poor, God help the world. No; it's + neither a sin nor a shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks be to God, no,” said Owen: “it's neither the one nor the other. So + long as we keep a fair name, an' a clear conscience, we can't ever say + that our case is hard.” + </p> + <p> + After some further conversation, a comfortable breakfast was prepared for + them, of which they partook with an appetite sharpened by their long + abstinence from food. Their stay here was particularly fortunate, for as + they were certain of a cordial welcome, and an abundance of that which + they much wanted—wholesome food—the pressure of immediate + distress was removed. They had time to think more accurately upon the + little preparations for misery which were necessary, and, as the day's + leisure was at their disposal, Kathleen's needle and scissors were + industriously plied in mending the tattered clothes of her husband and her + children, in order to meet the inclemency of the weather. + </p> + <p> + On the following morning, after another abundant breakfast, and + substantial marks of kindness from their entertainers, they prepared to + resume their new and melancholy mode of life. As they were about to + depart, the farmer's wife addressed them in the following terms—the + farmer himself, by the way, being but the shadow of his worthy partner in + life— + </p> + <p> + Wife—“Now, good people, you're takin' the world on your heads—” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“Ay, good people, you're takin' the world on your heads—” + </p> + <p> + Wife—“Hould your tongue, Brian, an' suck your dhudeen. It's me + that's spakin' to them, so none of your palaver, if you plase, till I'm + done, an' then you may prache till Tib's Eve, an' that's neither before + Christmas nor afther it.” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“Sure I'm sayin' nothin', Elveen, barrin' houldin' my tongue, + a shuchar” (* my sugar). + </p> + <p> + Wife—“Your takin' the world on yez, an' God knows 'tis a heavy load + to carry, poor crathurs.” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“A heavy load, poor crathurs! God he knows it's that.” + </p> + <p> + Wife—“Brian! <i>Gluntho ma?</i>—did you hear me? You'll be + puttin' in your gab, an' me spakin'? How-an-iver, as I was sayin', our + house was the first ye came to, an' they say there's a great blessin' to + thim that gives, the first charity to a poor man or woman settin' out to + look for their bit.” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“Throgs, ay! Whin they set out; to look for their bit.” + </p> + <p> + Wife—“By the crass, Brian, you'd vex a saint. What have you to say + in it, you <i>pittiogue</i>?* Hould your whisht now, an' suck your + dhudeen, I say; sure I allow you a quarther o' tobaccy a week, an' what + right have you to be puttin' in your gosther when other people's spakin'?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Untranslatable—but means a womanly man a poor, + effeminate creature. +</pre> + <p> + Farmer—“Go an.” + </p> + <p> + Wife—“So, you see, the long an' the short of it is that whenever you + happen to be in this side of the counthry, always come to us. You know the + ould sayin'—when the poor man comes he brings a blessin', an' when + he goes he carries away a curse. You have as much, meal as will last yez a + day or two; an' God he sees you're heartily welcome to all ye got?” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“God he sees you're heartily welcome—” + </p> + <p> + Wife—“<i>Chorp an diouol</i>, Brian, hould your tongue, Or I'll turn + you out o' the kitchen. One can't hear their own ears for you, you poor + squakin' dhrone. By the crass, I'll—eh? Will you whisht, now?” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“Go an. Amn't I dhrawin' my pipe?” + </p> + <p> + Wife—“Well dhraw it; but don't dhraw me down upon you, barrin—. + Do you hear me? an' the sthrange people to the fore, too! Well, the Lord + be wid yez, an' bless yez! But afore yez go, jist lave your blessin' wid + us; for it's a good thing to have the blessin' of the poor?” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord bless you, an yours!” said Owen, fervently. “May you and them + never—oh, may you never—never suffer what we've suffered; nor + know what it is to want a male's mate, or a night's lodgin'!” + </p> + <p> + “Amin!” exclaimed Kathleen; “may the world flow upon you! for your good, + kind heart desarves it.” + </p> + <p> + Farmer—“An' whisper; I wish you'd offer up a prayer for the rulin' + o' the tongue. The Lord might hear you, but there's no great hopes that + ever he'll hear me; though I've prayed for it almost ever since I was + married, night an' day, winther and summer; but no use, she's as bad as + ever.” + </p> + <p> + This was said in a kind of friendly insinuating undertone to Owen; who, on + hearing it, simply nodded his head, but made no other reply. + </p> + <p> + They then recommenced their journey, after having once more blessed, and + been invited by their charitable entertainers, who made them promise never + to pass their house without stopping a night with them. + </p> + <p> + It is not our intention to trace Owen M'Carthy and his wife through all + the variety which a wandering pauper's life affords. He never could + reconcile himself to the habits of a mendicant. His honest pride and + integrity of heart raised him above it: neither did he sink into the whine + and cant of imposture, nor the slang of knavery. No; there was a touch of + manly sorrow about him, which neither time, nor familiarity with his + degraded mode of life, could take away from him. His usual observation to + his wife, and he never made it without a pang of intense bitterness, was—“Kathleen, + dar-lin', it's thrue we have enough to ate an' to dhrink; but we have no + home—no home!” to a man like him it was a thought of surpassing + bitterness, indeed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Kathleen,” he would observe, “if we had but the poorest shed that + could be built, provided it was our own, wouldn't we be happy? The bread + we ate, avourneen, doesn't do us good. We don't work for it; it's the + bread of shame and idleness: and yet it's Owen M'Carthy that ates it! But, + avourneen, that's past; an' we'll never see our own home, or our own + hearth agin. That's what's cuttin' into my heart, Kathleen. Never!—never!” + </p> + <p> + Many a trial, too, of another kind, was his patience called upon to + sustain; particularly from the wealthy and the more elevated in life, when + his inexperiences as a mendicant led him to solicit their assistance. + </p> + <p> + “Begone, sirrah, off my grounds!” one would say. “Why don't you work, you + sturdy impostor,” another would exclaim, “rather than stroll about so + lazily, training your brats to the gallows?” + </p> + <p> + “You should be taken up, fellow, as a vagrant,” a third would observe; + “and if I ever catch you coming up my avenue again, depend upon it, I will + slip my dogs at you and your idle spawn.” + </p> + <p> + Owen, on these occasions, turned away in silence; he did not curse them; + but the pangs of his honest heart went before Him who will, sooner or + later, visit upon the heads of such men their cruel spurning and neglect + of the poor. + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen,” he observed to his wife, one day, about a, year or more after + they had begun to beg; “Kathleen, I have been turnin' it in my mind, that + some of these childhre might sthrive to earn their bit an' sup, an' their + little coverin' of clo'es, poor things. We might put them to herd cows in + the summer, an' the girshas to somethin' else in the farmers' house. What + do you think, asthore?” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake do, Owen; sure my heart's crushed to see them—my own + childhre, that I could lay down my life for—beggin' from door to + door. Och, do something for them that way, Owen, an' you'll relieve the + heart that loves them. It's a sore sight to a mother's eye, Owen, to see + her childhre beggin' their morsel.” + </p> + <p> + “It is darlin'—it is; we'll hire out the three eldest—Brian, + an' Owen, an' Pether, to herd cows; an' we may get Peggy into some + farmer's house to do loose jobs an' run of messages. Then we'd have only + little Kathleen an' poor Ned along wid us. I'll try any way, an' if I can + get them places, who knows what may happen? I have a plan in my head that + I'll tell you, thin.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, what is it, Owen, jewel. Sure if I know it, maybe when I'm + sorrowful, that thinkin' of it, an' lookin' forrid to it will make me + happier. An' I'm sure, acushla, you would like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But maybe, Kathleen, if it wouldn't come to pass, that the disappointment + 'ud be heavy on you?” + </p> + <p> + “How could it, Owen? Sure we can't be worse nor we are, whatever happens?” + </p> + <p> + “Thrue enough, indeed, I forgot that; an' yet we might, Kathleen. Sure + we'd be worse, if we or the childhre had bad health.” + </p> + <p> + “God forgive me thin, for what I said! We might be worse. Well, but what + is the plan, Owen?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, when we got the childhre places, I'll sthrive to take a little + house, an' work as a cottar. Then, Kathleen, we'd have a home of our own. + I'd work from light to light; I'd work before hours an' afther hours; ay, + nine days in the week, or we'd be comfortable in our own little home. We + might be poor, Kathleen, I know that, an' hard pressed too; but then, as I + said, we'd have our own home, an' our own hearth; our morsel, if it 'ud be + homely, would be sweet, for it would be the fruits of our own labor.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Owen, do you think you could manage to get that?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, acushla, till we get the childhre settled. Then I'll thry the other + plan, for it's good to thry anything that could take us out of this + disgraceful life.” + </p> + <p> + This humble speculation was a source of great comfort to them. Many a time + have they forgotten their sorrows in contemplating the simple picture of + their happy little cottage. Kathleen, in particular, drew with all the + vivid coloring of a tender mother, and an affectionate wife, the various + sources of comfort and contentment to be found even in a cabin, whose + inmates are blessed with a love of independence, industry, and mutual + affection. + </p> + <p> + Owen, in pursuance of his intention, did not neglect, when the proper + season arrived, to place out his eldest children among the farmers. The + reader need not be told that there was that about him which gained + respect. He had, therefore, little trouble in obtaining his wishes on this + point, and to his great satisfaction, he saw three of them hired out to + earn their own support. + </p> + <p> + It was now a matter of some difficulty for him to take a cabin and get + employment. They had not a single article of furniture, and neither bed + nor bedding, with the exception of blankets almost worn past use. He was + resolved, however, to give up, at all risks, the life of a mendicant. For + this purpose, he and the wife agreed to adopt a plan quite usual in + Ireland, under circumstances somewhat different from his: this was, that + Kathleen should continue to beg for their support, until the first + half-year of their children's service should expire; and in the meantime, + that he, if possible, should secure employment for himself. By this means, + his earnings and that of his children might remain untouched, so that in + half a year he calculated upon being able to furnish a cabin, and proceed, + as a cotter, to work for, and support his young children and his wife, who + determined, on her part, not to be idle any more than her husband. As the + plan was a likely one, and as Owen was bent on earning his bread, rather + than be a burthen to others, it is unnecessary to say that it succeeded. + In less than a year he found himself once more in a home, and the force of + what he felt on sitting, for the first time since his pauperism, at his + own hearth, may easily be conceived by the reader. For some years after + this, Owen got on slowly enough; his wages as a daily laborer being so + miserable, that it required him to exert every nerve to keep the house + over their head. What, however, will not carefulness and a virtuous + determination, joined to indefatigable industry, do? + </p> + <p> + After some time, backed as he was by his wife, and even by his youngest + children, he, found himself beginning to improve. In the mornings and + evenings he cultivated his garden and his rood of potato-ground. He also + collected with a wheelbarrow, which he borrowed, from an acquaintance, + compost from the neighboring road; scoured an old drain before his door; + dug rich earth, and tossed, it into the pool of rotten water beside the + house, and in fact adopted several other modes of collecting manure. By + this means he had, each spring, a large portion of rich stuff on which to + plant his potatoes. His landlord permitted him to spread this for planting + upon his land; and Owen, ere long, instead of a rood, was able to plant + half an acre, and ultimately, an acre of potatoes. The produce of this, + being more than sufficient for the consumption of his family, he sold the + surplus, and with the money gained by the sale was enabled to sow half an + acre of oats, of which, when made into meal, he disposed of the greater + share. + </p> + <p> + Industry is capital; for even when unaided by capital it creates it; + whereas, idleness with capital produces only poverty and ruin. Owen, after + selling his meal and as much potatoes as he could spare, found himself + able to purchase a cow. Here was the means of making more manure; he had + his cow, and he had also straw enough for her provender during the winter. + The cow by affording milk to his family, enabled them to live more + cheaply; her butter they sold, and this, in addition to his surplus meal + and potatoes every year, soon made him feel that he had a few guineas to + spare. He now bethought him of another mode of helping himself forward in + the world: after buying the best “slip” of a pig he could find, a sty was + built for her, and ere long he saw a fine litter of young pigs within a + snug shed. These he reared until they were about two months old, when he + sold them, and found that he had considerably gained by the transaction. + This, department, however, was under the management of Kathleen, whose + life was one of incessant activity and employment. Owen's children, during + the period of his struggles and improvements, were, by his advice, + multiplying their little capital as fast as himself. The two boys, who had + now shot up into the stature of young men, were at work as laboring + servants in the neighborhood. The daughters were also engaged as servants + with the adjoining farmers. The boys bought each a pair of two-year old + heifers, and the daughter one. These they sent to graze up in the + mountains at a trifling charge, for the first year or two: when they + became springers, they put them to rich infield grass for a few months, + until they got a marketable appearance, after which their father brought + them to the neighboring fairs, where they usually sold to great advantage, + in consequence of the small outlay required in rearing them. + </p> + <p> + In fact, the principle of industry ran through the family. There was none + of them idle; none of them a burthen or a check upon the profits made by + the laborer. On the contrary, “they laid their shoulders together,” as the + phrase is, and proved to the world, that when the proper disposition is + followed up by suitable energy and perseverance, it must generally reward + him who possesses it. + </p> + <p> + It is certainly true that Owen's situation in life now was essentially + different from that which it had been during the latter years of his + struggles an a farmer. It was much more favorable, and far better + calculated to develop successful exertion. If there be a class of men + deserving public sympathy, it is that of the small farmers of Ireland. + Their circumstances are fraught with all that is calculated to depress and + ruin them; rents far above their ability, increasing poverty, and bad + markets. The land which, during the last war, might have enabled the + renter to pay three pounds per acre, and yet still maintain himself with + tolerable comfort, could not now pay more than one pound, or, at the most, + one pound ten; and yet, such is the infatuation of landlords, that, in + most instances, the terms of leases taken out then are rigorously exacted. + Neither can the remission of yearly arrears be said to strike at the root + of the evils under which they suffer. The fact of the disproportionate + rent hanging over them is a disheartening circumstance, that paralyzes + their exertion, and sinks their spirits. If a landlord remit the rent for + one term, he deals more harshly with the tenant at the next; whatever + surplus, if any, his former indulgence leaves in the tenant's hands, + instead of being expended upon his property as capital, and being + permitted to lay the foundation of hope and prosperity, is drawn from him, + at next term, and the poor, struggling tenant is thrown back into as much + distress, embarrassment, and despondency as ever. There are, I believe, + few tenants in Ireland of the class I allude to, who are not from one gale + to three in arrear. Now, how can it be expected that such men will labor + with spirit and earnestness to raise crops which they may never reap? + crops which the landlord may seize upon to secure as much of his rent as + he can. + </p> + <p> + I have known a case in which the arrears were not only remitted, but the + rent lowered to a reasonable standard, such as, considering the markets, + could be paid. And what was the consequence? The tenant who was looked + upon as a negligent man, from whom scarcely any rent could be got, took + courage, worked his farm with a spirit and success which he had not + evinced before; and ere long was in a capacity to pay his gales to the + very day; so that the judicious and humane landlord was finally a gainer + by his own excellent economy. This was an experiment, and it succeeded + beyond expectation. + </p> + <p> + Owen M'Carthy did not work with more zeal and ability as an humble cotter + than he did when a farmer; but the tide was against him as a landholder, + and instead of having advanced, he actually lost ground until he became a + pauper. No doubt the peculiarly unfavorable run of two hard seasons, + darkened by sickness and famine, were formidable obstacles to him; but he + must eventually have failed, even had they not occurred. They accelerated + his downfall, but did not cause it. + </p> + <p> + The Irish people, though poor, are exceedingly anxious to be independent. + Their highest ambition is to hold a farm. So strong is this principle in + them, that they will, without a single penny of capital, or any visible + means to rely on, without consideration or forethought, come forward and + offer a rent which, if they reflected only for a moment, they must feel to + be unreasonably high. This, indeed, is a great evil in Ireland. But what, + in the meantime, must we think of those imprudent landlords, and their + more imprudent agents, who let their land to such persons, without proper + inquiry into their means, knowledge of agriculture, and general character + as moral and industrious men? A farm of land is to be let; it is + advertised through the parish; application is to be made before such a + day, to so and so. The day arrives, the agent or the land-steward looks + over the proposals, and after singling out the highest, bidder, declares + him tenant, as a matter of course. Now, perhaps, this said tenant does not + possess a shilling in the world, nor a shilling's worth. Most likely he is + a new-married man, with nothing but his wife's bed and bedding, his + wedding-suit, and his blackthorn cudgel, which we may suppose him to keep + in reserve for the bailiff. However, he commences his farm; and then + follow the shiftings, the scramblings, and the fruitless struggles to + succeed, where success is impossible. His farm is not half tilled; his + crops are miserable; the gale-day has already passed; yet, he can pay + nothing until he takes it out of the land. Perhaps he runs away—makes + a moonlight flitting—and, by the aid of his friends, succeeds in + bringing the crop with him. The landlord, or agent, declares he is a + knave; forgetting that the man had no other alternative, and that they + were the greater knaves and fools too, for encouraging him to undertake a + task that was beyond his strength. + </p> + <p> + In calamity we are anxious to derive support from the sympathy of our + friends; in our success, we are eager to communicate to them the power of + participating in our happiness. When Owen once more found himself + independent and safe, he longed to realize two plans on which he had for + some time before been seriously thinking. The first was to visit his + former neighbors, that they might at length know that Owen McCarthy's + station in the world was such as became his character. The second was, if + possible, to take a farm in his native parish, that he might close his + days among the companions of his youth, and the friends of his maturer + years. He had, also, another motive; there lay the burying-place of the + M'Carthys, in which slept the mouldering dust of his own “golden-haired” + Alley. With them—in his daughter's grave—he intended to sleep + his long sleep. Affection for the dead is the memory of the heart. In no + other graveyard could he reconcile it to himself to be buried; to it had + all his forefathers been gathered; and though calamity had separated him + from the scenes where they had passed through existence, yet he was + resolved that death should not deprive him of its last melancholy + consolation;—that of reposing with all that remained of the + “departed,” who had loved him, and whom he had loved. He believed, that to + neglect this, would be to abandon a sacred duty, and felt sorrow at the + thought of being like an absent guest from the assembly of his own dead; + for there is a principle of undying hope in the heart, that carries, with + bold and beautiful imagery, the realities of life into the silent recesses + of death itself. + </p> + <p> + Having formed the resolution of visiting his old friends at Tubber Derg, + he communicated it to Kathleen and his family; Ids wife received the + intelligence with undisguised delight. + </p> + <p> + “Owen,” she replied, “indeed I'm glad you mintioned it. Many a time the + thoughts of our place, an' the people about it, comes over me. I know, + Owen, it'll go to your heart to see it; but still, avourneen, you'd like, + too, to see the ould faces an' the warm hearts of them that pitied us, an' + helped us, as well as they could, whin we war broken down.” + </p> + <p> + “I would, Kathleen; but I'm not going merely to see thim an' the place. I + intind, if I can, to take a bit of land somewhere near Tubber Derg. I'm + unasy in my mind, for 'fraid I'd not sleep in the grave-yard where all + belongin' to me lie.” + </p> + <p> + A chord of the mother's heart was touched; and in a moment the memory of + their beloved child brought the tears to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Owen, avourneen, I have one requist to ax of you, an' I'm sure you won't + refuse it to me; if I die afore you, let me be buried wid Alley. Who has a + right to sleep so near her as her own mother?” + </p> + <p> + “The child's in my heart still,” said Owen, suppressing his emotion; + “thinkin' of the unfortunate mornin' I wint to Dublin, brings her back to + me. I see her standin', wid her fair pale face—pale—oh, my + God!—wid hunger an' sickness—her little thin clo'es, an' her + goolden hair, tossed about by the dark blast—the tears in her eyes, + an' the smile, that she once had, on her face—houldin' up her mouth, + an' sayin' 'Kiss me agin, father;' as if she knew, somehow, that I'd never + see her, nor her me, any more. An' whin I looked back, as I was turnin' + the corner, there she stood, strainin' her eyes after her father, that she + was then takin' the last sight of until the judgment-day.” + </p> + <p> + His voice here became broken, and he sat in silence for a few minutes. + </p> + <p> + “It's sthrange,” he added, with more firmness, “how she's so often in my + mind!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Owen, dear,” replied Kathleen, “sure it was the will of God that she + should lave us. She's now a bright angel in heaven, an' I dunna if it's + right—indeed, I doubt it's sinful for us to think so much about her. + Who knows but her innocent spirit is makin' inthercession for us all, + before the blessed Mother o' God! Who knows but it was her that got us the + good fortune that flowed in upon us, an' that made our strugglin' an' our + laborin' turn out so lucky.” + </p> + <p> + The idea of being lucky or unlucky is, in Ireland, an enemy to industry. + It is certainly better that the people should believe success in life to + be, as it is, the result of virtuous exertion, than of contingent + circumstances, over which they themselves have no control. Still there was + something beautiful in the superstition of Kathleen's affections; + something that touched the heart and its! dearest associations. + </p> + <p> + “It's very true, Kathleen,” replied her husband; “but God is ever ready to + help them that keeps an honest heart, an' do everything in their power to + live creditably. They may fail for a time, or he may thry them for awhile, + but sooner or later good, intintions and honest labor will be rewarded. + Look at ourselves—blessed be his name!” + </p> + <p> + “But whin do you mane to go to Tubber Derg, Owen!” + </p> + <p> + “In the beginnin' of the next week. An', Kathleen, ahagur, if you remimber + the bitther mornin' we came upon the world—but we'll not be spakin' + of that now. I don't like to think of it. Some other time, maybe, when + we're settled among our ould friends, I'll mintion it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the Lord bliss your endayvors, anyhow! Och, Owen, do thry an' get + us a snug farm somewhere near them. But you didn't answer me about Alley, + Owen?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you must have your wish, Kathleen, although I intended to keep that + place for myself. Still we can sleep one on aich side of her; an' that may + be aisily done, for our buryin'-ground is large: so set your mind at rest + on that head. I hope God won't call us till we see our childhre settled + dacently in the world. But sure, at all evints, let his blessed will be + done!” + </p> + <p> + “Amin! amin! It's not right of any one to keep their hearts fixed too much + upon the world; nor even, they say, upon one's own childhre.” + </p> + <p> + “People may love their childhre as much as they plase, Kathleen, if they + don't let their <i>grah</i> for them spoil the crathurs, by givin' them + their own will, till they become headstrong an' overbearin'. Now, let my + linen be as white as a bone before Monday, plase goodness; I hope, by that + time, that Jack Dogherty will have my new clo'es made; for I intind to go + as dacent as ever they seen me in my best days.” + </p> + <p> + “An' so you will, too, avillish. Throth, Owen, it's you that'll be the + proud man, steppin' in to them in all your grandeur! Ha, ha, ha! The + spirit o' the M'Carthys is in you still, Owen.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha! It is, darlin'; it is, indeed; an' I'd be sarry it wasn't. I + long to see poor Widow Murray. I dunna is her son, Jemmy, married. Who + knows, afther all we suffered, but I might be able to help her yet?—that + is, if she stands in need of it. But, I suppose, her childhre's grown up + now, an' able to assist her. Now, Kathleen, mind Monday next; an' have + everything ready. I'll stay away a week or so, at the most, an' afther + that I'll have news for you about all o' them.” + </p> + <p> + When Monday morning arrived, Owen found himself ready to set out for + Tubber Derg. The tailor had not disappointed him; and Kathleen, to do her + justice, took care that the proofs of her good housewifery should be + apparent in the whiteness of his linen. After breakfast, he dressed + himself in all his finery; and it would be difficult to say whether the + harmless vanity that peeped out occasionally from his simplicity of + character, or the open and undisguised triumph of his faithful wife, whose + eye rested on him with pride and affection, was most calculated to produce + a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Kathleen,” said he, when preparing for his immediate departure, + “I'm, thinkin' of what they'll say, when they see, me so smooth an' + warm-lookin'. I'll engage they'll be axin' one another, 'Musha, how, did + Owen M'Carthy get an, at all, to be so well to do in the world, as he + appears to be, afther failin' on his ould farm?'” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but Owen, you know how to manage them.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, I do that. But there is one thing they'll never get out o' me, + any way.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't tell that to any o' them, Owen?” + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen, if I thought they only suspected it, I'd never show my face in + Tubber Derg agin. I think I could bear to be—an' yet it 'ud be a + hard struggle with me too—but I think I could bear to be buried + among black strangers, rather than it should be said, over my grave, among + my own, 'there's where Owen M'Carthy lies—who was the only man, of + his name, that ever begged his morsel on the king's highway. There he + lies, the descendant of the great M'Carthy Mores, an' yet he was a + beggar.' I know, Kathleen achora, it's neither a sin nor a shame to ax + one's bit from our fellow-creatures, whin, fairly brought to it, widout + any fault of our own; but still I feel something in me, that can't bear to + think of it widout shame an' heaviness of heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's one comfort, that nobody knows it but ourselves. The poor + childhre, for their own sakes, won't ever breathe it; so that it's likely + the sacret 'll be berrid wid us.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, acushla. Does this coat sit asy atween the shouldhers? I feel + it catch me a little.” + </p> + <p> + “The sorra nicer. There; it was only your waistcoat that was turned down + in the collar. Here—hould your arm. There now—it wanted to be + pulled down a little at the cuffs. Owen, it's a beauty; an' I think I have + good right to be proud of it, for it's every thread my own spinnin'.” + </p> + <p> + “How do I look in it, Kathleen? Tell me thruth, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, you're twenty years younger; the never a day less.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I needn't be ashamed to go afore my ould friends in it, any way. + Now bring me my staff, from undher the bed above; an', in the name o' God, + I'll set out.” + </p> + <p> + “Which o' them, Owen? Is it the oak or the blackthorn?” + </p> + <p> + “The oak, acushla. Oh, no; not the blackthorn. It's it that I brought to + Dublin wid me, the unlucky thief, an' that I had while we wor a shaughran. + Divil a one o' me but 'ud blush in the face, if I brought it even in my + hand afore them. The oak, ahagur; the oak. You'll get it atween the foot + o' the bed an' the wall.” + </p> + <p> + When Kathleen placed the staff in his hand, he took off his hat and + blessed himself, then put it on, looked at his wife, and said—“Now + darlin', in the name o' God, I'll go. Husht, avillish machree, don't be + cryin'; sure I'll be back to you in a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Och! I can't help it, Owen. Sure this is the second time you wor ever + away from me more nor a day; an' I'm thinkin' of what happened both to you + an' me, the first time you wint. Owen, acushla, I feel that if anything + happened you, I'd break my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, what 'ud happen me, darlin', wid God to protect me? Now, God be + wid you, Kathleen dheelish, till I come back to you wid good news, I hope. + I'm not goin' in sickness an' misery, as I wint afore, to see a man that + wouldn't hear my appale to him; an' I'm lavin' you comfortable, agrah, an' + wantin' for nothin'. Sure it's only about five-an'-twenty miles from this—a + mere step. The good God bless an' take care of you, my darlin' wife, till + I come home to you!” + </p> + <p> + He kissed the tears that streamed from her eyes; and, hemming several + times, pressed her hand, his face rather averted, then grasped his staff, + and commenced his journey. + </p> + <p> + Scenes like this were important events to our humble couple. Life, when + untainted by the crimes and artificial manners which destroy its purity, + is a beautiful thing to contemplate among the virtuous poor; and, where + the current of affection runs deep and smooth, the slightest incident will + agitate it. So it was with Owen M'Carthy and his wife. Simplicity, truth, + and affection, constituted their character. In them there was no + complication of incongruous elements. The order of their virtues was not + broken, nor the purity of their affections violated, by the anomalous + blending together of opposing principles, such as are to be found in those + who are involuntarily contaminated by the corruption of human society. + </p> + <p> + Owen had not gone far, when Kathleen called to him: “Owen, ahagur—stand, + darlin'; but don't come back a step, for fraid o' bad luck.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * When an Irish peasant sets out on a journey, or to + transact business in fair or market, he will not, if + possible, turn back. It is considered unlucky: as it is + also to be crossed by a hare, or met by a red-haired + woman. +</pre> + <p> + “Did I forget anything, Kathleen?” he inquired. “Let me see; no; sure I + have my beads an' my tobaccy box, an' my two clane shirts an' handkerchers + in the bundle. What is it, acushla?” + </p> + <p> + “I needn't be axin' you, for I know you wouldn't forget it; but for 'fraid + you might—Owen, whin you're at Tubber Derg, go to little Alley's + grave, an' look at it; an' bring me back word how it appears. You might + get it cleaned up, if there's weeds or anything growin' upon it; an' Owen, + would you bring me a bit o' the clay, tied up in your pocket. Whin you're + there, spake to her; tell her it was the lovin' mother that bid you, an' + say anything that you think might keep her asy, an' give her pleasure. + Tell her we're not now as we wor whin she was wid us; that we don't feel + hunger, nor cowld, nor want; an' that nothin' is a throuble to us, barrin' + that we miss her—ay, even yet—<i>a suillish machree</i> (* + light of my heart), that she was—that we miss her fair face an' + goolden hair from among us. Tell her this; an' tell her it was the lovin' + mother that said it, an' that sint the message to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it all, Kathleen; I'll do it all—all, An' now go in, + darlin', an' don't be frettin'. Maybe we'll soon be near her, plase God, + where we can see the place she sleeps in, often.” + </p> + <p> + They then separated again; and Owen, considerably affected by the maternal + tenderness of his wife, proceeded on his journey. He had not, actually, + even at the period of his leaving home, been able to determine on what + particular friend he should first call. That his welcome would be + hospitable, nay, enthusiastically so, he was certain. In the meantime he + vigorously pursued his journey; and partook neither of refreshment nor + rest, until he arrived, a little after dusk, at a turn of the well-known + road, which, had it been daylight, would have opened to him a view of + Tubber Derg. He looked towards the beeches, however, under which it stood; + but to gain a sight of it was impossible. His road now lying a little to + the right, he turned to the house of his sterling friend, Frank Farrell, + who had given him and his family shelter and support, when he was driven, + without remorse, from his own holding. In a short time he reached Frank's + residence, and felt a glow of sincere satisfaction at finding the same air + of comfort and warmth about it as formerly. Through the kitchen window he + saw the strong light of the blazing fire and heard, ere he presented + himself, the loud hearty laugh of his friend's wife, precisely as light + and animated as it had been fifteen years before. + </p> + <p> + Owen lifted the latch and entered, with that fluttering of the pulse which + every man feels on meeting with a friend, after an interval of many years. + </p> + <p> + “Musha, good people, can ye tell me is Frank Farrell at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, thin, he's not jist widin now, but he'll be here in no time + entirely,” replied one of his daughters. “Won't you sit down, honest man, + an' we'll sind for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm thankful to you,” said Owen. “I'll sit, sure enough, till he comes + in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why thin!—eh! it must—it can be no other!” exclaimed + Farrell's wife, bringing! over a candle and looking Owen earnestly in the + face; “sure I'd know that voice all the world over! Why, thin, marciful + Father—Owen M'Carthy,—Owen M'Carthy, is it your four quarthers + that's livin' an' well? Queen o' heaven, Owen M'Carthy darlin', you're + welcome!” the word was here interrupted by a hearty kiss from the kind + housewife;—welcome a thousand an' a thousand times! <i>Vick ne + hoiah!</i> Owen dear, an' are you livin' at all? An' Kathleen, Owen, an' + the childhre, an' all of yez—an' how are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, we're livin' an' well, Bridget; never was betther, thanks be to + God an' you, in our lives.” + </p> + <p> + Owen was now surrounded by such of Farrell's children as were old enough + to remember him; every one of whom he shook hands with, and kissed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, thin, the Lord save my sowl, Bridget,” said he, “are these the + little bouchaleens an' colleens that were runnin' about my feet whin I was + here afore? Well, to be sure! How they do shoot up! An' is this Atty?” + </p> + <p> + “No: but this is Atty, Owen; faix, Brian outgrew him; an' here's Mary, an' + this is Bridget Oge.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!—well! But where did these two; young shoots come from? this + boy an' the colleen here? They worn't to the fore, in my time, Bridget.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Owen, called afther yourself,—an' this is Kathleen. I + needn't tell you who she was called afther.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Gutsho, alanna? thurm pogue?</i>—come here, child, and kiss me,” + said Owen to his little namesake; “an' sure I can't forget the little + woman here; <i>gutsho, a colleen</i>, and kiss: me too.” + </p> + <p> + Owen took her on his knee, and kissed her twice. + </p> + <p> + “Och, but poor Kathleen,” said he, “will be the proud woman of this, when + she hears it; in throth she will be that.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah! what's comin' over me!” said Mrs. Farrell. “Brian, run up to Micky + Lowrie's for your father, An' see, Brian, don't say who's wantin' him, + till we give him a start. Mary, come here, acushla,” she added to her + eldest daughter in a whisper—“take these two bottles an' fly up to + Peggy Finigan's for the full o' them o' whiskey. Now be back before you're + there, or if you don't, that I mightn't, but you'll see what you'll get. + Fly, aroon, an' don't let the grass grow undher your feet. An' Owen, + darlin'—but first sit over to the fire:—here get over to this + side, it's the snuggest;—arrah, Owen—an' sure I dunna what to + ax you first. You're all well? all to the fore?” + </p> + <p> + “All well, Bridget, an' thanks be to heaven, all to the fore.” + </p> + <p> + “Glory be to God! Throth it warms my heart to hear it. An' the childre's + all up finely, boys an' girls?” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, they are, Bridget, as good-lookin' a family o' childre as you'd + wish to see. An' what is betther, they're as good as they're + good-lookin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, they couldn't but be that, if they tuck at all afther their + father an' mother. Bridget, aroon, rub the pan betther—an' lay the + knife down, I'll cut the bacon myself, but go an' get a dozen o' the + freshest eggs;—an' Kathleen, Owen, how does poor Kathleen look? Does + she stand it as well as yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “As young as ever you seen her. God help her!—a thousand degrees + betther nor whin you seen her last.” + </p> + <p> + “An' well to do, Owen?—now tell the truth? Och, musha, I forget who + I'm spakin' to, or I wouldn't disremimber the ould sayin' that's abroad + this many a year:—'who ever knew a M'Carthy of Tubber Derg to tell a + lie, break his word, or refuse to help a friend in distress.' But, Owen, + you're well to do in' the world?” + </p> + <p> + “We're as well, Bridget, or may be betther, nor you ever knew us, except, + indeed, afore the ould lase was run out wid us.” + </p> + <p> + “God be praised again? Musha, turn round a little, Owen, for 'fraid Frank + 'ud get too clear a sight of your face at first. Arrah, do you think he'll + know you? Och, to be sure he will; I needn't ax. Your voice would tell + upon you, any day.” + </p> + <p> + “Know me! Indeed Frank 'ud know my shadow. He'll know me wid half a look.” + </p> + <p> + And Owen was right, for quickly did the eye of his old friend recognize + him, despite of the little plot that was laid to try his penetration. To + describe their interview would be to repeat the scene we have already + attempted to depict between Owen and Mrs. Farrell. No sooner were the + rites of hospitality performed, than the tide of conversation began to + flow with greater freedom. Owen ascertained one important fact, which we + will here mention, because it produces, in a great degree, the want of + anything like an independent class of yeomanry in the country. On + inquiring after his old acquaintances, he discovered that a great many of + them, owing to high rents, had emigrated to America. They belonged to that + class of independent farmers, who, after the expiration of their old + leases, finding the little capital they had saved beginning to diminish, + in consequence of rents which they could not pay, deemed it more prudent, + while anything remained in their hands, to seek a country where capital + and industry might be made available. Thus did the landlords, by their + mismanagement and neglect, absolutely drive off their estates, the only + men, who, if properly encouraged, were capable of becoming the strength + and pride of the country. It is this system, joined to the curse of + middlemen and sub-letting, which has left the country without any third + grade of decent, substantial yoemen, who might stand as a bond of peace + between the highest and the lowest classes. It is this which has split the + kingdom into two divisions, constituting the extreme ends of society—the + wealthy and the wretched, If this third class existed, Ireland would + neither be so political nor discontented as she is; but, on the contrary, + more remarkable for peace and industry. At present, the lower classes, + being too poor, are easily excited by those who promise them a better + order of things than that which exists. These theorists step into the + exercise of that legitimate influence which the landed proprietors have + lost by their neglect. There is no middle class in the country, who can + turn round to them and say, “Our circumstances are easy, we want nothing; + carry your promises to the poor, for that which you hold forth to their + hopes, we enjoy in reality.” The poor soldier, who, because he was + wretched, volunteered to go on the forlorn hope, made a fortune; but when + asked if he would go on a second enterprise of a similar kind, shrewdly + replied, “General, I am now an independent man; send some poor devil on + your forlorn hope who wants to make a fortune.” + </p> + <p> + Owen now heard anecdotes and narratives of all occurrences, whether + interesting or strange, that had taken place during his abscence. Among + others, was the death of his former landlord, and the removal of the agent + who had driven him to beggary. Tubber Derg, he found, was then the + property of a humane and considerate man, who employed a judicious and + benevolent gentleman to manage it. + </p> + <p> + “One thing, I can tell you,” said Frank; “it was but a short time in the + new agent's hands, when the dacent farmers stopped goin' to America.” + </p> + <p> + “But Frank,” said Owen, and he sighed on putting the question, “who is in + Tubber Derg, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, thin, a son of ould Rousin' Redhead's of Tullyvernon—young Con + Roe, or the Ace o' Hearts—for he was called both by the youngsters—if + you remimber him. His head's as red an' double as big, even, as his + father's was, an' you know that no hat would fit ould Con, until he sent + his measure to Jemmy Lamb, the hatter. Dick Nugent put it out on him, that + Jemmy always made Rousin' Red-head's hat, either upon the half-bushel pot + or a five-gallon keg of whiskey. 'Talkin' of the keg,' says Dick, 'for the + matther o' that,' says he, 'divil a much differ the hat will persave; for + the one'—meanin' ould Con's head, who was a hard dhrinker—' + the one,' says Con, 'is as much a keg as the other—ha! ha! ha!' Dick + met Rousin' Redhead another day: 'Arrah, Con,' says he, 'why do you get + your hats made upon a pot, man alive? Sure that's the rason that you're so + fond o' poteen.' A quare mad crathur was Dick, an' would go forty miles + for a fight. Poor fellow, he got his skull broke in a scrimmage betwixt + the Redmonds and the O'Hanlons; an' his last words were, 'Bad luck to you, + Redmond—O'Hanlon, I never thought you, above all men dead and gone, + would be the death o' me.' Poor fellow! he was for pacifyin' them, for a + wondher, but instead o' that he got pacified himself.” + </p> + <p> + “An' how is young Con doin', Frank?” + </p> + <p> + “Hut, divil a much time he has to do aither well or ill, yit. There was + four tenants on Tubber Derg since you left it, an' he's the fifth. It's + hard to say how he'll do; but I believe he's the best o' thim, for so far. + That may be owin' to the landlord. The rent's let down to him; an' I think + he'll be able to take bread, an' good bread too, out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “God send, poor man!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Owen, would you like to go back to it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that. I love the place, but I suffered too much in it. No; + but I'll tell you, Frank, if there was e'er a snug farm near it that I + could get rasonable, I'd take it.” + </p> + <p> + Frank slapped his knee exultingly. “Ma chuirp!—do you say so, Owen?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Thin upon my song, thats the luckiest thing I ever knew. There's, this + blessed minute, a farm o' sixteen acres, that the Lacys is lavin'—goin' + to America—an' it's to be set. They'll go the week afther next, an' + the house needn't be cowld, for you can come to it the very day afther + they Live it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Owen, “I'm glad of that. Will you come wid me to-morrow, an' + we'll see about it?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I will; an' what's betther, too; the Agint is a son of ould + Misther Rogerson's, a man that knows you, an' the history o' them you came + from, well. An', another thing, Owen! I tell you, whin it's abroad that + you want to take the farm, there's not a man in the parish will bid agin + you. You may know that yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, indeed, they would rather sarve me than otherwise,” replied + Owen; “an', in the name o' God, we'll see what can be done. Misther + Rogerson, himself, 'ud spake to his son for me; so that I'll be sure of + his intherest. Arrah, Frank, how is an ould friend o' mine, that I have a + great regard for—poor Widow Murray?” + </p> + <p> + “Widow Murray. Poor woman, she's happy.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mane she's dead?” + </p> + <p> + “She's dead, Owen, and happy, I trust, in the Saviour. She died last + spring was a two years.” + </p> + <p> + “God be good to her sowl! An' are the childhre in her place still? It's + she that was the dacent woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, they are; an' sorrow a betther doin' family in the parish than + they are. It's they that'll be glad to see you, Owen. Many a time I seen + their poor mother, heavens be her bed, lettin' down the tears, whin she + used to be spakin' of you, or mintion how often you sarved her; + espeshially, about some way or other that you privinted her cows from + bein' canted for the rint. She's dead now, an' God he knows, an honest + hard-workin' woman she ever was.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, Frank, isn't it a wondher to think how the people dhrop off! + There's Widow Murray, one o' my ouldest frinds, an' Pether M'Mahon, an' + Barny Lorinan—not to forget pleasant Rousin' Red-head—all + taken away! Well!—Well! Sure it's the will o' God! We can't be here + always.” + </p> + <p> + After much conversation; enlivened by the bottle, though but sparingly + used on the part of Owen, the hour of rest arrived, when the family + separated for the night. + </p> + <p> + The gray dawn of a calm, beautiful summer's morning found Owen up and + abroad, long before the family of honest Frank had risen. When dressing + himself, with an intention of taking an early walk, he was asked by his + friend why he stirred so soon, or if he—his host—should + accompany him. “No,” replied Owen; “lie still; jist let me look over the + counthry while it's asleep. When I'm musin' this a-way I don't like + anybody to be along wid me. I have a place to go an' see, too—an' a + message—a tendher message, from poor Kathleen, to deliver, that I + wouldn't wish a second person to hear. Sleep, Frank. I'll jist crush the + head o' my pipe agin' one o' the half-burned turf that the fire was raked + wid, an' walk out for an hour or two. Afther our breakfast we'll go-an' + look about this new farm.” + </p> + <p> + He sallied out as he spoke, and closed the door after him in that quiet, + thoughtful way for which he was ever remarkable. The season was midsummer, + and the morning wanted at least an hour of sunrise. Owen ascended a little + knoll, above Frank's house, on which he stood and surveyed the surrounding + country with a pleasing but melancholy interest. As his eye rested on + Tubber Derg, he felt the difference strongly between the imperishable + glories of nature's works, and those which are executed by man. His house + he would not have known, except by its site. It was not, in fact, the same + house, but another which had been built in its stead. This disappointed + and vexed him. An object on which his affections had been placed was + removed. A rude stone house stood before him, rough and unplastered; + against each end of which was built a stable-and a cow-house, sloping down + from the gables to low doors at booh sides; adjoining these rose two + mounds of filth, large enough to be easily distinguished from the knoll on + which he stood. He sighed as he contrasted it with the neat and beautiful + farm-house, which shone there in his happy days, white as a lily, beneath + the covering of the lofty beeches. There was no air of comfort, neatness, + or independence, about it; on the contrary, everything betrayed the + evidence of struggle and difficulty, joined, probably, to want both of + skill and of capital. He was disappointed, and turned his gaze upon the + general aspect of the country, and the houses in which either his old + acquaintances or their children lived. The features of the landscape were, + certainly, the same; but even here was a change for the worse. The warmth + of coloring which wealth and independence give to the appearance of a + cultivated country, was gone. Decay and coldness seemed to brood upon + everything, he saw. The houses, the farm-yards, the ditches, and + enclosures, were all marked by the blasting proofs of national decline. + Some exceptions there were to this disheartening prospect, but they were + only sufficient to render the torn and ragged evidences of poverty, and + its attendant—carelessness—more conspicuous. He left the + knoll, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and putting it into his + waistcoat pocket, ascended a larger hill, which led to the grave-yard, + where his child lay buried. On his way to this hill, which stood about + half a mile distant, he passed a few houses of an humble description, with + whose inhabitants he had been well acquainted. Some of these stood nearly + as he remembered them; but others were roofless, with their dark mud + gables either fallen in or partially broken down. He surveyed their + smoke-colored walls with sorrow; and looked, with a sense of the transient + character of all man's works upon the chickweed, docks, and nettles, which + had shot up so rankly on the spot where many a chequered scene of joy and + sorrow had flitted over the circumscribed circle of humble life, ere the + annihilating wing of ruin swept away them and their habitations. + </p> + <p> + When he had ascended the hill, his eye took a wider range. The more + distant and picturesque part of the country lay before him. “Ay!” said he + in a soliloquy, “Lord bless us, how sthrange is this world!—an' what + poor crathurs are men! There's the dark mountains, the hills, the rivers, + an' the green glens, all the same; an' nothin' else a'most but's changed! + The very song of that blackbird, in the thorn-bushes an' hazels below me, + is like the voice of an ould friend to my ears. Och, indeed, hardly that, + for even the voice of man changes; but that song is the same as I heard it + for the best part o' my life. That mornin' star, too, is the same bright + crathur up there that it ever was! God help us! Hardly any thing changes + but man, an' he seems to think that he can never change; if one is to + judge by his thoughtlessness, folly, an' wickedness!” + </p> + <p> + A smaller hill, around the base of which went the same imperfect road that + crossed the glen of Tubber Derg, prevented him from seeing the grave-yard + to which he was about to extend his walk. To this road he directed his + steps. On reaching it he looked, still with a strong memory of former + times, to the glen in which his children, himself, and his ancestors had + all, during their day, played in the happy thoughtlessness of childhood + and youth. But the dark and ragged house jarred upon his feelings. He + turned from it with pain, and his eye rested upon the still green valley + with evident relief. He thought of his “buried flower”—“his-golden-haired + darlin',” as he used to call her—and almost fancied that he saw her + once more wandering waywardly through its tangled mazes, gathering + berries, or strolling along the green meadow, with a garland of gowans + about her neck. Imagination, indeed, cannot heighten the image of the dead + whom we love; but even if it could, there was no standard of ideal beauty + in her father's mind beyond that of her own. She had been beautiful; but + her beauty was pensive: a fair yet melancholy child; for the charm that + ever encompassed her was one of sorrow and tenderness. Had she been + volatile and mirthful, as children usually are, he would not have carried + so far into his future life the love of her which he cherished. Another + reason why he still loved her strongly, was a consciousness that her death + had been occasioned by distress and misery; for, as he said, when looking + upon the scenes of her brief but melancholy existence—“Avour-neen + machree, I remimber to see you pickin' the berries; but asthore—asthore—it + wasn't for play you did it. It was to keep away the cuttin' of hunger from + your heart! Of all our childhre every one said that you wor the M'Carthy—never + sayin' much, but the heart in you ever full of goodness and affection. God + help me, I'm glad—an', now, that I'm comin' near it—loth to + see her grave.” + </p> + <p> + He had now reached the verge of the graveyard. Its fine old ruin stood + there as usual, but not altogether without the symptoms of change. Some + persons had, for the purposes of building, thrown down one of its most + picturesque walls. Still its ruins clothed with ivy, its mullions + moss-covered, its gothic arches and tracery, gray with age, were the same + in appearance as he had ever seen them. + </p> + <p> + On entering this silent palace of Death, he reverently uncovered his head, + blessed himself, and, with feelings deeply agitated, sought the grave of + his beloved child. He approached it; but a sudden transition from sorrow + to indignation took place in his mind, even before he reached the spot on + which she lay. “Sacred Mother!” he exclaimed, “who has dared to bury in + our ground? Who has—what villain has attimpted to come in upon the + M'Carthys—upon the M'Carthy Mores, of Tubber Derg? Who could—had + I no friend to prev—eh? Sacred Mother, what's this? Father of heaven + forgive me! Forgive me, sweet Saviour, for this bad feelin' I got into! + Who—who—could raise a head-stone over the darlin' o' my heart, + widout one of us knowin' it! Who—who could do it? But let me see if + I can make it out. Oh, who could do this blessed thing, for the poor an' + the sorrowful?” He began, and with difficulty read as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “Here lies the body of Alice M'Carthy, the beloved daughter of Owen and + Kathleen M'Carthy, aged nine years. She was descended from the M'Carthy + Mores. + </p> + <p> + “Requiescat in pace. + </p> + <p> + “This head-stone was raised over her by widow Murray, and her son, James + Murray, out of grateful respect for Owen and Kathleen M'Carthy, who never + suffered the widow and orphan, or a distressed neighbor, to crave + assistance from them in vain, until it pleased God to visit them with + affliction.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to you, my Saviour!” said Owen, dropping on his knees over the + grave,—“thanks an' praise be to your holy name, that in the middle + of my poverty—of all my poverty—I was not forgotten! nor my + darlin' child let to lie widout honor in the grave of her family! Make me + worthy, blessed Heaven, of what is written down upon me here! An' if the + departed spirit of her that honored the dust of my buried daughter is + unhappy, oh, let her be relieved, an' let this act be remimbered to her! + Bless her son, too, gracious Father, an' all belonging to her on this + earth! an', if it be your holy will, let them never know distress, or + poverty, or wickedness?” + </p> + <p> + He then offered up a Pater Noster for the repose of his child's soul, and + another for the kind-hearted and grateful widow Murray, after which he + stood to examine the grave with greater accuracy. + </p> + <p> + There was, in fact, no grave visible. The little mound, under which lay + what was once such a touching image of innocence, beauty, and feeling, had + sunk down to the level of the earth about it. He regretted this, inasmuch + as it took away, he thought, part of her individuality. Still he knew it + was the spot wherein she had been buried, and with much of that vivid + feeling, and strong figurative language, inseparable from the habits of + thought and language of the old Irish families, he delivered the mother's + message to the inanimate dust of her once beautiful and heart-loved child. + He spoke in a broken voice, for even the mention of her name aloud, over + the clay that contained her, struck with a fresh burst of sorrow upon his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Alley,” he exclaimed in Irish, “Alley, <i>nhien machree</i>, your father + that loved you more nor he loved any other human crathur, brings a message + to you from the mother of your heart, avourneen! She bid me call to see + the spot where you're lyin', my buried flower, an' to tell you that we're + not now, thanks be to God, as we wor whin you lived wid us. We are well to + do now, <i>acushla oge machree</i>, an' not in hunger, an' sickness, an' + misery, as we wor whin you suffered them all! You will love to hear this, + pulse of our hearts, an' to know that, through all we suffered—an' + bittherly we did suffer since you departed—we never let you out of + our memory. No, <i>asthore villish</i>, we thought of you, an' cried + afther our poor dead flower, many an' many's the time. An' she bid me tell + you, darlin' of my heart, that we feel: nothin' now so much as that you + are not wid us to share our comfort an' our happiness. Oh, what wouldn't + the mother give to have you back wid her; but it can't be—an' what + wouldn't I give to have you before my eyes agin, in health an' in life—but + it can't be. The lovin' mother sent this message to you, Alley. Take it + from her; she bid me tell you that we are well an' happy; our name is + pure, and, like yourself, widout spot or stain. Won't you pray for us + before God, an' get him an' his blessed Mother to look on us wid favor an' + compassion? Farewell, Alley asthore! May you slelp in peace, an' rest on + the breast of your great Father in Heaven, until we all meet in happiness + together. It's your father that's spakin' to you, our lost flower; an' the + hand that often smoothed your goolden head is now upon your grave.” + </p> + <p> + He wiped his eyes as he concluded, and after lifting a little of the clay + from her grave, he tied it carefully up, and put it into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + Having left the grave-yard, he retraced his steps towards Frank Farrell's + house. The sun had now risen, and as Owen ascended the larger of the two + hills which we have mentioned, he stood again to view the scene that + stretched beneath him. About an hour before all was still, the whole + country lay motionless, as if the land had been a land of the dead. The + mountains, in the distance, were covered with the thin mists of morning; + the milder and richer parts of the landscape had appeared in that dim gray + distinctness which gives to distant objects such a clear outline. With the + exception of the blackbird's song, every thing seemed as if stricken into + silence; there was not a breeze stirring; both animate and inanimate + nature reposed as if in a trance; the very trees appeared asleep, and + their leaves motionless, as if they had been of marble. But now the scene + was changed. The sun had flung his splendor upon the mountain-tops, from + which the mists were tumbling in broken fragments to the valleys between + them. A thousand birds poured their songs upon the ear; the breeze was up, + and the columns of smoke from the farm-houses and cottages played, as if + in frolic, in the air. A white haze was beginning to rise from the + meadows; early teams were afoot; and laborers going abroad to their + employment. The lakes in the distance shone like mirrors; and the clear + springs on the mountain-sides glittered in the sun, like gems on which the + eye could scarcely rest. Life, and light, and motion, appear to be + inseparable. The dew of morning lay upon nature like a brilliant veil, + realizing the beautiful image of Horace, as applied to woman: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vultus nimium lubricus aspici. +</pre> + <p> + By-and-by the songs of the early workmen were heard; nature had awoke, and + Owen, whose heart was strongly, though unconsciously, alive to the + influence of natural religion, participated in the general elevation of + the hour, and sought with freshened spirits the house of his entertainer. + </p> + <p> + As he entered this hospitable roof, the early industry of his friend's + wife presented him with a well-swept hearth and a pleasant fire, before + which had been placed the identical chair that they had appropriated to + his own use. Frank was enjoying “a blast o' the pipe,” after having risen; + to which luxury the return of Owen gave additional zest and placidity. In + fact, Owen's presence communicated a holiday spirit to the family; a + spirit, too, which declined not for a moment during the period of his + visit. + </p> + <p> + “Frank,” said Owen, “to tell you the thruth, I'm not half plased wid you + this mornin'. I think you didn't thrate me as I ought to expect to be + thrated.” + </p> + <p> + “Musha, Owen M'Carthy, how is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you said nothin' about widow Murray raisin' a head-stone over our + child. You kept me in the dark there, Frank, an' sich a start I never got + as I did this mornin', in the grave-yard beyant.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my sowl, Owen, it wasn't my fau't, nor any of our fau'ts; for, to + tell you the thruth, we had so much to think and discoorse of last night, + that it never sthruck me, good or bad. Indeed it was Bridget that put it + first in my head, afther you wint out, an' thin it was too late. Ay, poor + woman, the dacent strain was ever in her, the heaven's be her bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank, if any one of her family was to abuse me till the dogs wouldn't + lick my blood, I'd only give them back good for evil afther that. Oh, + Frank, that goes to my heart! To put a head-stone over my weeny + goolden-haired darlin', for the sake of the little thrifles I sarved thim + in! Well! may none belongin' to her ever know poverty or hardship! but if + they do, an' that I have it——How-an'-iver, no matther. God + bless thim! God bless thim! Wait till Kathleen hears it!” + </p> + <p> + “An' the best of it was, Owen, that she never expected to see one of your + faces. But, Owen, you think too much about that child. Let us talk about + something else. You've seen Tubber Derg wanst more?” + </p> + <p> + “I did; an' I love it still, in spite of the state it's in.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it's different from what it was in your happy days. I was spakin' to + Bridget about the farm, an' she advises us to go, widout losin' a minute, + an' take it if we can.” + </p> + <p> + “It's near this place I'll die, Frank. I'd not rest in my grave if I + wasn't berrid among my own; so we'll take the farm if possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Bridget, hurry the breakfast, avourneen; an' in the name o' + goodness, we'll set out, an' clinch the business this very day.” + </p> + <p> + Owen, as we said, was prompt in following up his determinations. After + breakfast they saw the agent and his father, for both lived together. Old + Rogerson had been intimately acquainted with the M'Carthys, and, as Frank + had anticipated, used his influence with the agent in procuring for the + son of his old friend and acquaintance the farm which he sought. + </p> + <p> + “Jack,” said the old gentleman, “you don't probably know the history and + character of the Tubber Derg M'Carthys so well as I do. No man ever + required the written bond of a M'Carthy; and it was said of them, and is + said still, that the widow and orphan, the poor man or the stranger, never + sought their assistance in vain. I, myself, will go security, if + necessary, for Owen M'Carthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” replied Owen, “I'm thankful to you; I'm grateful to you. But I + wouldn't take the farm, or bid for it at all, unless I could bring forrid + enough to stock it as I wish, an' to lay in all that's wantin' to work it + well. It 'ud be useless for me to take it—to struggle a year or two—impoverish + the land—an' thin run away out of it. No, no; I have what'll put me + upon it wid dacency an' comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, since my father has taken such an interest in you, M'Carthy, you + must have the farm. We shall get leases prepared, and the business + completed in a few days; for I go to Dublin on this day week. Father, I + now remember the character of this family; and I remember, too, the + sympathy which was felt for one of them, who was harshly ejected about + seventeen or eighteen years ago, out of the lands on which his forefathers + had lived, I understand, for centuries.” + </p> + <p> + “I am that man, sir,” returned Owen. “It's too long a story to tell now; + but it was only out o' part of the lands, sir, that I was put. What I held + was but a poor patch compared to what the family held in my grandfather's + time. A great part of it went out of our hands at his death.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very kind of you, Misther Rogerson, to offer to go security for + him,” said Frank; “but if security was wantin, sir, Id not be willin' to + let anybody but myself back him. I'd go all I'm worth in the world—an' + by my sowl, double as much—for the same man.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, Frank, an' I thank you; but I could put security in Mr. + Rogerson's hands, here, if it was wanted. Good-mornin' an' thank you both, + gintleman. To tell yez the thruth,” he added, with a smile, “I long to be + among my ould friends—manin' the people, an' the hills, an' the + green fields of Tubber Derg—agin; an' thanks be to goodness, sure I + will soon.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, wherever Owen went, within the bounds of his native parish, his + name, to use a significant phrase of the people, was before him. His + arrival at Frank Farrel's was now generally known by all his + acquaintances, and the numbers who came to see him were almost beyond + belief. During the two or three successive days, he went among his old + “cronies;” and no sooner was his arrival at any particular house + intimated, than the neighbors all flocked to him. Scythes were left idle, + spades were stuck in the earth, and work neglected for the time being; all + crowded about him with a warm and friendly interest, not proceeding from + idle curiosity, but from affection and respect for the man. + </p> + <p> + The interview between him and widow Murray's children was affecting. Owen + felt deeply the delicate and touching manner in which they had evinced + their gratitude for the services he had rendered them; and young Murray + remembered with a strong gush of feeling, the distresses under which they + lay when Owen had assisted them. Their circumstances, owing to the + strenuous exertions of the widow's eldest son, soon afterwards improved; + and, in accordance with the sentiments of hearts naturally grateful, they + had taken that method of testifying what they felt. Indeed, so well had + Owen's unparalleled affection for his favorite child been known, that it + was the general opinion about Tubber Derg that her death had broken his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Owen, he's dead,” they used to say; “the death of his weeny one, + while he was away in Dublin, gave him the finishin' blow. It broke his + heart.” + </p> + <p> + Before the week was expired, Owen had the satisfaction of depositing the + lease of his new farm, held at a moderate rent, in the hands of Frank + Farrel; who, tying it up along with his own, secured it in the “black + chest.” Nothing remained now but to return home forthwith, and communicate + the intelligence to Kathleen. Frank had promised, as soon as the Lacy's + should vacate the house, to come with a long train of cars, and a number + of his neighbors, in order to transfer Owen's family and furniture to his + new dwelling. Everything therefore, had been arranged; and Owen had + nothing to do but hold himself in readiness for the welcome arrival of + Frank and his friends. + </p> + <p> + Owen, however, had no sense of enjoyment when not participated in by his + beloved Kathleen. If he felt sorrow, it was less as a personal feeling + than as a calamity to her. + </p> + <p> + If he experienced happiness, it was doubly sweet to him as reflected from + his' Kathleen. All this was mutual between them. Kathleen loved Owen + precisely as he loved Kathleen. Nor let our readers suppose that such + characters are not in humble life. It is in humble life, where the Springs + of feeling are not corrupted by dissimulation and evil knowledge, that the + purest, and tenderest, and strongest virtues are to be found. + </p> + <p> + As Owen approached his home, he could not avoid contrasting the + circumstances of his return now with those under which, almost + broken-hearted after his journey to Dublin, he presented himself to his + sorrowing and bereaved wife about eighteen years before. He raised his + hat, and thanked God for the success which had, since that period, + attended him, and, immediately after his silent thanksgiving, entered the + house. + </p> + <p> + His welcome, our readers may be assured, was tender and affectionate. The + whole family gathered about him, and, on his informing them that they were + once more about to reside on a farm adjoining to their beloved Tubber + Derg, Kathleen's countenance brightened, and the tear of delight gushed to + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “God be praised, Owen,” she exclaimed; “we will have the ould place afore + our eyes, an' what is betther, we will be near where Alley is lyin'. But + that's true, Owen,” she added, “did you give the light of our hearts the + mother's message?” + </p> + <p> + Owen paused, and his features were slightly overshadowed, but only by the + solemnity of the feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen,” said he, “I gave her your message; but, avourneen, have + sthrange news for you about Alley.” + </p> + <p> + “What, Owen? What is it, acushla? Tell me quick?” + </p> + <p> + “The blessed child was not neglected—no, but she was honored in our + absence. A head-stone was put over her, an' stands there purtily this + minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother of Glory, Owen!” + </p> + <p> + “It's thruth. Widow Murray an' her son Jemmy put it up, wid words upon it + that brought the tears to my eyes. Widow Murray is dead, but her + childher's doin' well. May God bless an' prosper them, an' make her + happy!” + </p> + <p> + The delighted mother's heart was not proof against the widow's gratitude, + expressed, as it had been, in a manner so affecting. She rocked herself to + and fro in silence, whilst the tears fell in showers down her cheeks. The + grief, however, which this affectionate couple felt for their child, was + not always such as the reader has perceived it to be. It was rather a + revival of emotions that had long slumbered, but never died; and the + associations arising from the journey to Tubber Derg, had thrown them + back, by the force of memory, almost to the period of her death. At times, + indeed, their imagination had conjured her up strongly, but the present + was an epoch in the history of their sorrow. + </p> + <p> + There is little more to be said. Sorrow was soon succeeded by cheerfulness + and the glow of expected pleasure, which is ever the more delightful, as + the pleasure is pure. In about a week their old neighbors, with their + carts and cars, arrived; and before the day was closed on which Owen + removed to his new residence, he found himself once more sitting at his + own hearth, among the friends of his youth, and the companions of his + maturer years. Ere the twelvemonth elapsed, he had his house perfectly + white, and as nearly resembling that of Tubber Derg in its better days as + possible. About two years ago we saw him one evening in the month of June, + as he sat on a bench beside the door, singing with a happy heart his + favorite song of “<i>Colleen dhas crootha na mo</i>.” It was about an hour + before sunset. The house stood on a gentle eminence, beneath which a sweep + of green meadow stretched away to the skirts of Tubber Derg. Around him + was a country naturally fertile, and, in spite of the national depression, + still beautiful to contemplate. Kathleen and two servant maids were + milking, and the whole family were assembled about the door. + </p> + <p> + “Well, childher,” said the father, “didn't I tell yez the bitther mornin' + we left Tubber Derg, not to cry or be disheartened—that there was a + 'good God above who might do somethin' for us yet?' I never did give up + may trust in Him, an' I never will. You see, afther all our little + troubles, He has wanst more brought us together, an' made us happy. Praise + an' glory to His name!” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him as he spoke. He had raised his eyes to heaven, and a gleam + of elevated devotion, perhaps worthy of being-called sublime, irradiated + his features. The sun, too, in setting, fell upon his broad temples and + iron-gray locks, with a light solemn and religious. The effect to me, who + knew his noble character, and all that he had suffered, was as if the eye + of God then rested upon the decline of a virtuous man's life with + approbation;—as if he had lifted up the glory of his countenance + upon him. Would that many of his thoughtless countrymen had been present! + They might have blushed for their crimes, and been content to sit and + learn wisdom at the feet of Owen M'Carthy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NEAL MALONE. + </h2> + <p> + There never was a greater souled or doughtier tailor than little Neal + Malone. Though but four feet; four in height, he paced the earth with the + courage and confidence of a giant; nay, one would have imagined that he + walked as if he feared the world itself was about to give way under him. + Lot none dare to say in future that a tailor is but the ninth part of a + man. That reproach has been gloriously taken away from the character of + the cross-legged corporation by Neal Malone. He has wiped it off like a + stain from the collar of a second-hand coat; he has pressed this wrinkle + out of the lying front of antiquity; he has drawn together this rent in + the respectability of his profession. No. By him who was breeches-maker to + the gods—that is, except, like Highlanders, they eschewed + inexpressibles—by him who cut Jupiter's frieze jocks for winter, and + eke by the bottom of his thimble, we swear, that Neal Malone was more than + the ninth part of a man! + </p> + <p> + Setting aside the Patagonians, we maintain that two-thirds of mortal + humanity were comprised in Neal; and, perhaps, we might venture to assert, + that two-thirds of Neal's humanity were equal to six-thirds of another + man's. It is right well known that Alexander the Great was a little man, + and we doubt whether, had Alexander the Great been bred to the tailoring + business, he would have exhibited so much of the hero as Neal Malone. Neal + was descended from a fighting family, who had signalized themselves in as + many battles as ever any single hero of antiquity fought. His father, his + grandfather, and his great grandfather, were all fighting men, and his + ancestors in general, up, probably, to Con of the Hundred Battles himself. + No wonder, therefore, that Neal's blood should cry out against the + cowardice of his calling; no wonder that he should be an epitome of all + that was valorous and heroic in a peaceable man, for we neglected to + inform the reader that Neal, though “bearing no base mind,” never fought + any man in his own person. That, however, deducted nothing from his + courage. If he did not fight, it was simply because he found cowardice + universal. No man would engage him; his spirit blazed in vain; his thirst + for battle was doomed to remain unquenched, except by whiskey, and this + only increased it. In short, he could find no foe. He has often been known + to challenge the first cudgel-players and pugilists of the parish; to + provoke men of fourteen stone weight; and to bid mortal defiance to + faction heroes of all grades—but in vain. There was that in him + which told them that an encounter with Neal would strip them of their + laurels. Neal saw all this with a lofty indignation; he deplored the + degeneracy of the times, and thought it hard that the descendant of such a + fighting family should be doomed to pass through life peaceably, while so + many excellent rows and riots took place around him. It was a calamity to + see every man's head broken but his own; a dismal thing to observe his + neighbors go about with their bones in bandages, yet his untouched; and + his friends beat black and blue, whilst his own cuticle remained + undiscolored. + </p> + <p> + “Blur-an'-agers!” exclaimed Neal one day, when half-tipsy in the fair, “am + I never to get a bit of fightin'? Is there no cowardly spalpeen to stand + afore Neal Malone? Be this an' be that, I'm blue-mowlded for want of a + batin'! I'm disgracin' my relations by the life I'm ladin'! Will none o' + ye fight me aither for love, money, or whiskey—frind or inimy, an' + bad luck to ye? I don't care a traneen which, only out o' pure frindship, + let us have a morsel o' the rale kick-up, 'tany rate. Frind or inimy, I + say agin, if you regard me; sure that makes no differ, only let us have + the fight.” + </p> + <p> + This excellent heroism was all wasted; Neal could not find a single + adversary. Except he divided himself like Hotspur, and went to buffets, + one hand against the other, there was no chance of a fight; no person to + be found sufficiently magnanimous to encounter the tailor. On the + contrary, every one of his friends—or, in other words, every man in + the parish—was ready to support him. He was clapped on the back, + until his bones were nearly dislocated in his body; and his hand shaken, + until his arm lost its cunning at the needle for half a week afterwards. + This, to be sure, was a bitter business—a state of being past + endurance. Every man was his friend—no man was his enemy. A + desperate position for any person to find himself in, but doubly + calamitous to a martial tailor. + </p> + <p> + Many a dolorous complaint did Neal make upon the misfortune of having none + to wish him ill; and what rendered this hardship doubly oppressive, was + the unlucky fact that no exertions of his, however offensive, could + procure him a single foe. In vain did lie insult, abuse, and malign all + his acquaintances. In vain did he father upon them all the rascality and + villany he could think of; he lied against them with a force and + originality that would have made many a modern novelist blush for want of + invention—but all to no purpose. The world for once became + astonishingly Christian; it paid back all his efforts to excite its + resentment with the purest of charity; when Neal struck it on the one + cheek, it meekly turned unto him the other. It could scarcely be expected + that Neal would bear this. To have the whole world in friendship with a + man is beyond doubt rather an affliction. Not to have the face of a single + enemy to look upon, would decidedly be considered a deprivation of many + agreeable sensations by most people, as well as by Neal Malone. Let who + might sustain a loss, or experience a calamity, it was a matter of + indifference to Neal. They were only his friends, and he troubled neither + his head nor his heart about them. + </p> + <p> + Heaven help us! There is no man without his trials; and Neal, the reader + perceives, was not exempt from his. What did it avail him that he carried + a cudgel ready for all hostile contingencies? or knit his brows and shook + his kipjoeen at the fiercest of his fighting friends? The moment he + appeared, they softened into downright cordiality. His presence was the + signal of peace; for, notwithstanding his unconquerable propensity to + warfare, he went abroad as the genius of unanimity, though carrying in his + bosom the redoubtable disposition the a warrior; just as the sun, though + the source of light himself, is said to be dark enough at bottom. + </p> + <p> + It could not be expected that Neal, with whatever fortitude he might bear + his other afflictions, could bear such tranquillity like a hero. To say + that he bore it as one, would be to basely surrender his character; for + what hero ever bore a state, of tranquillity with courage? It affected his + cutting out! It produced what Burton calls “a windie melancholie,” which + was nothing else than an accumulation of courage that had no means of + escaping, if courage can without indignity be ever said to escape. He sat + uneasy on his lap-board. Instead of cutting out soberly, he nourished his + scissors as if he were heading a faction; he wasted much chalk by scoring + his cloth in wrong places, and even caught his hot goose without a holder. + These symptoms alarmed, his friends, who persuaded him to go to a doctor. + Neal went, to satisfy them; but he knew that no prescription could drive + the courage out of him—that he was too far gone in heroism to be + made a coward of by apothecary stuff. Nothing in the pharmacopoeia could + physic him into a pacific state. His disease was simply the want of an + enemy, and an unaccountable superabundance of friendship on the part of + his acquaintances. How could a doctor remedy this by a prescription? + Impossible. The doctor, indeed, recommended bloodletting; but to lose + blood in a peaceable manner was not only cowardly, but a bad cure for + courage. Neal declined it: he would lose no blood for any man until he + could not help it; which was giving the character of a hero at a single + touch. His blood was not to be thrown away in this manner; the only lancet + ever applied to his relations was the cudgel, and Neal scorned to abandon + the principles of his family. + </p> + <p> + His friends finding that he reserved his blood for more heroic purposes + than dastardly phlebotomy, knew not what to do with him. His perpetual + exclamation was, as we have already stated, “I'm blue-mowlded for want of + a batin'!” They did everything in their power to cheer him with the hope + of a drubbing; told him he lived in an excellent country for a man + afflicted with his malady; and promised, if it were at all possible, to + create him a private enemy or two, who, they hoped in heaven, might + trounce him to some purpose. + </p> + <p> + This sustained him for a while; but as day after day passed, and no + appearance of action presented itself, he could not choose but increase in + courage. His soul, like a sword-blade too long in the scabbard, was + beginning to get fuliginous by inactivity. He looked upon the point of his + own needle, and the bright edge of his scissors, with a bitter pang, when + he thought of the spirit rusting within him: he meditated fresh insults, + studied new plans, and hunted out cunning devices for provoking his + acquaintances to battle, until by degrees he began to confound his own + bram, and to commit more grievous oversights in his business than ever. + Sometimes he sent home to one person a coat, with the legs of a pair of + trousers attached to it for sleeves, and despatched to another the arms of + the aforesaid coat tacked together as a pair of trousers. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the coat was made to button behind instead of before, and he + frequently placed the pockets in the lower part of the skirts, as if he + had been in league with cut-purses. + </p> + <p> + This was a melancholy situation, and his friends pitied him accordingly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't bo cast down, Neal,” said they, “your friends feel for you, poor + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil carry my frinds,” replied Neal, “sure there's not one o' yez + frindly enough to be my inimy. Tare-an'-ounze! what'll I do? I'm + blue-rhowlded for want of a batin'!” + </p> + <p> + Seeing that their consolation was thrown away upon him, they resolved to + leave him to his fate; which they had no sooner done than Neal had + thoughts of taking to the <i>Skiomachia</i> as a last remedy. In this mood + he looked with considerable antipathy at his own shadow for several + nights; and it is not to be questioned, but that some hard battles would + have taken place between them, were it not for the cunning of the shadow, + which declined to fight him in any other position than with its back to + the wall. This occasioned him to pause, for the wall was a fearful + antagonist, inasmuch that it knew not when it was beaten; but there was + still an alternative left. He went to the garden one clear day about noon, + and hoped to have a bout with the shade, free from interruption. Both + approached, apparently eager for the combat, and resolved to conquer or + die, when a villanous cloud happening to intercept the light, gave the + shadow an opportunity of disappearing; and Neal found himself once more + without an opponent. + </p> + <p> + “It's aisy known,” said Neal, “you haven't the blood in you, or you'd come + up to the scratch like a man.” + </p> + <p> + He now saw that fate was against him, and that any further hostility + towards the shadow was only a tempting of Providence. He lost his health, + spirits, and everything but his courage. His countenance became pale and + peaceful looking; the bluster departed from him; his body shrunk up like a + withered parsnip. Thrice was he compelled to take in his clothes, and + thrice did he ascertain that much of his time would be necessarily spent + in pursuing his retreating person through the solitude of his almost + deserted garment. + </p> + <p> + God knows it is difficult to form a correct opinion upon a situation so + paradoxical as Neal's was. To be reduced to skin and bone by the downright + friendship of the world, was, as the sagacious reader will admit, next to + a miracle. We appeal to the conscience of any man who finds himself + without an enemy, whether he be not a greater skeleton than the tailor; we + will give him fifty guineas provided he can show a calf to his leg. We + know he could not; for the tailor had none, and that was because he had + not an enemy. No man in friendship with the world ever has calves to his + legs. To sum up all in a paradox of our own invention, for which we claim + the full credit of originality, we now assert, that more men have risen in + the world by the injury of their enemies, than have risen by the kindness + of their friends. You may take this, reader, in any sense; apply it to + hanging if you like, it is still immutably and immovably true. + </p> + <p> + One day Neal sat cross-legged, as tailors usually sit, in the act of + pressing a pair of breeches; his hands were placed, backs up, upon the + handle of his goose, and his chin rested upon the back of his hands. To + judge from his sorrowful complexion one would suppose that he sat rather + to be sketched as a picture of misery, or of heroism in distress, than for + the industrious purpose of pressing the seams of a garment. There was a + great deal of New Burlington-street pathos in his countenance; his face, + like the times, was rather out of joint; “the sun was just setting, and + his golden beams fell, with a saddened splendor, athwart the tailor's”——the + reader may fill up the picture. + </p> + <p> + In this position sat Neal, when Mr. O'Connor, the schoolmaster, whose + inexpressibles he was turning for the third time, entered the workshop. + Mr. O'Connor, himself, was as finished a picture of misery as the tailor. + There was a patient, subdued kind of expression in his face, which + indicated a very full-portion of calamity; his eye seemed charged with + affliction of the first water; on each side of his nose might be traced + two dry channels which, no doubt, were full enough while the tropical + rains of his countenance lasted. Altogether, to conclude from appearances, + it was a dead match in affliction between him and the tailor; both seemed + sad, fleshless, and unthriving. + </p> + <p> + “Misther O'Connor,” said the tailor, when the schoolmaster entered, “won't + you be pleased to sit down?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. O'Connor sat; and, after wiping his forehead, laid his hat upon the + lap-board, put his half handkerchief in his pocket, and looked upon the + tailor. The tailor, in return, looked upon Mr. O'Connor; but neither of + them spoke for some minutes. Neal, in fact, appeared to be wrapped up in + his own misery, and Mr. O'Connor in his; or, as we often have much + gratuitous sympathy for the distresses of our friends, we question but the + tailor was wrapped up in Mr. O'Connor's misery, and Mr. O'Connor in the + tailor's. + </p> + <p> + Mr. O'Connor at length said—“Neal, are my inexpressibles finished?” + </p> + <p> + “I am now pressin' your inexpressibles,” replied Neal; “but, be my sowl, + Mr. O'Connor, it's not your inexpressibles I'm thinkin' of. I'm not the + ninth part of what I was. I'd hardly make paddin' for a collar now.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you able to carry a staff still, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “I've a light hazel one that's handy,” said the tailor; “but where's the + use of carryin' it, whin I can get no one to fight wid. Sure I'm + disgracing my relations by the life I'm leadin'. I'll go to my grave + widout ever batin' a man, or bein' bate myself; that's the vexation. Divil + the row ever I was able to kick up in my life; so that I'm fairly + blue-mowlded for want of a batin'. But if you have patience——” + </p> + <p> + “Patience!” said Mr. O'Connor, with a shake of the head, that was + perfectly disastrous even to look at; “patience, did you say, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Neal, “an', be my sowl, if you deny that I said patience, I'll + break your head!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Neal,” returned the other, “I don't deny it—for though I am + teaching philosophy, knowledge, and mathematics, every day in my life, yet + I'm learning patience myself both night and day. No, Neal; I have + forgotten to deny anything. I have not been guilty of a contradiction, out + of my own school, for the last fourteen years. I once expressed the shadow + of a doubt about twelve years ago, but ever since I have abandoned even + doubting. That doubt was the last expiring effort at maintaining my + domestic authority—but I suffered for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Neal, “if you have patience, I'll tell you what afflicts me + from beginnin' to endin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I will have patience,” said Mr. O'Connor, and he accordingly heard a + dismal and indignant tale from the tailor. + </p> + <p> + “You have told me that fifty times over,” said Mr. O'Connor, after hearing + the story. “Your spirit is too martial for a pacific life. If you follow + my advice, I will teach you how to ripple the calm current of your + existence to some purpose. Marry a wife. For twenty-five years I have + given instructions in three branches, viz.—philosophy, knowledge, + and mathematics—I am also well versed in matrimony, and I declare + that, upon my misery, and by the contents of all my afflictions, it is my + solemn and melancholy opinion, that, if you marry a wife, you will, before + three months pass over your concatenated state, not have a single + complaint to make touching a superabundance of peace and tranquillity, or + a love of fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that any woman would make me afeard?” said the tailor, + deliberately rising up and getting his cudgel. “I'll thank you merely to + go over the words agin till I thrash you widin an inch o' your life. + That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said the schoolmaster, meekly, “I won't fight; I have been too + often subdued ever to presume on the hope of a single victory. My spirit + is long since evaporated: I am like one, of your own shreds, a mere + selvage. Do you not know how much my habiliments have shrunk in, even + within the last five years? Hear me, Neal; and venerate my words as if + they proceeded from the lips of a prophet. If you wish to taste the luxury + of being subdued—if you are, as you say, blue-moulded for want of a + beating, and sick at heart of a peaceful existence—why, marry a + wife. Neal, send my breeches home with all haste, for they are wanted, you + understand. Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. O'Connor, having thus expressed himself, departed, and Neal stood, + with the cudgel in his hand, looking at the door out of which he passed, + with an expression of fierceness, contempt, and reflection, strongly + blended on the ruins of his once heroic visage. + </p> + <p> + Many a man has happiness within his reach if he but knew it. The tailor + had been, hitherto, miserable because he pursued a wrong object. The + schoolmaster, however, suggested a train of thought upon which Neal now + fastened with all the ardor of a chivalrous temperament. Nay, he wondered + that the family spirit should have so completely seized upon the fighting + side of his heart, as to preclude all thoughts of matrimony; for he could + not but remember that his relations were as ready for marriage as for + fighting. To doubt this, would have been to throw a blot upon his own + escutcheon. He, therefore, very prudently asked himself, to whom, if he + did not marry, should he transmit his courage. He was a single man, and, + dying as such, he would be the sole depository of his own valor, which, + like Junius's secret, must perish with, him. If he could have left it, as + a legacy, to such of his friends as were most remarkable for cowardice, + why, the case would be altered; but this was impossible—and he had + now no other means of preserving it to posterity than by creating a + posterity to inherit it. He saw, too, that the world was likely to become + convulsed. Wars, as everybody knew, were certainly to break out; and would + it not be an excellent opportunity for being father to a colonel, or, + perhaps, a general, that might astonish the world. + </p> + <p> + The change visible in Neal, after the schoolmaster's last visit, + absolutely thunder-struck all who knew him. The clothes, which he had + rashly taken in to fit his shrivelled limbs, were once more let out. The + tailor expanded with a new spirit; his joints ceased to be supple, as in + the days of his valor; his eye became less fiery, but more brilliant. From + being martial, he got desperately gallant; but, somehow, he could not + afford to act the hero and lover both at the same time. This, perhaps, + would be too much to expect from a tailor. His policy was better. He + resolved to bring all his available energy to bear upon the charms of + whatever fair nymph he should select for the honor of matrimony; to waste + his spirit in fighting would, therefore, be a deduction from the single + purpose in view. + </p> + <p> + The transition from war to love is by no means so remarkable as we might + at first imagine. We quote Jack Falstaff in proof of this, or, if the + reader be disposed to reject our authority, then we quote Ancient Pistol + himself—both of whom we consider as the most finished specimens of + heroism that ever carried a safe skin. Acres would have been a hero had he + won gloves to prevent the courage from oozing out at his palms, or not + felt such an unlucky antipathy to the “snug lying in the Abbey;” and as + for Captain Bobadil, he never had an opportunity of putting his plan, for + vanquishing an army, into practice. We fear, indeed, that neither his + character, nor Ben Jonson's knowledge of human nature, is properly + understood; for it certainly could not be expected that a man, whose + spirit glowed to encounter a whole host, could, without tarnishing his + dignity, if closely pressed, condescend to fight an individual. But as + these remarks on courage may be felt by the reader as an invidious + introduction of a subject disagreeable to him, we beg to hush it for the + present and return to the tailor. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had Neal begun to feel an inclination to matrimony, than his + friends knew that his principles had veered, by the change now visible in + his person and deportment. They saw he had ratted from courage, and joined + love. Heretofore his life had been all winter, darkened by storm and + hurricane. The fiercer virtues had played the devil with him; every word + was thunder, every look lightning; but now all that had passed away;—before, + he was the Jortiter in re, at present he was the suaviter in modo. His + existence was perfect spring—beautifully vernal. All the amiable and + softer qualities began to bud about his heart; a genial warmth was + diffused over him; his soul got green within him; every day was serene; + and if a cloud happened to be come visible, there was a roguish rainbow + astride of it, on which sat a beautiful Iris that laughed down at him, and + seemed to say, “why the dickens, Neal, don't you marry a wife?” + </p> + <p> + Neal could not resist the afflatus which descended on him; an ethereal + light dwelled, he thought, upon the face of nature; the color of the + cloth, which he cut out from day to day, was to his enraptured eye like + the color of Cupid's wings—all purple; his visions were worth their + weight in gold; his dreams, a credit to the bed he slept on; and his + feelings, like blind puppies, young and alive to the milk of love and + kindness which they drew from his heart. Most of this delight escaped the + observation of the world, for Neal, like your true lover, became shy and + mysterious. It is difficult to say what he resembled; no dark lantern ever + had more light shut up within itself, than Neal had in his soul, although + his friends were not aware of it. They knew, indeed, that he had turned + his back upon valor; but beyond this their knowledge did not extend. + </p> + <p> + Neal was shrewd enough to know that what he felt must be love;—nothing + else could distend him with happiness, until his soul felt light and + bladder-like, but love. As an oyster opens, when expecting the tide, so + did his soul expand at the contemplation of matrimony. Labor ceased to be + a trouble to him; he sang and sewed from morning to night; his hot goose + no longer burned him, for his heart was as hot as his goose; the + vibrations of his head, at each successive stitch, were no longer sad and + melancholy. There was a buoyant shake of exultation in them which showed + that his soul was placid and happy within him. + </p> + <p> + Endless honor be to Neal Malone for the originality with which he managed + the tender sentiment! He did not, like your commonplace lovers, first + discover a pretty girl, and afterwards become enamored of her. No such + thing, he had the passion prepared beforehand—cut out and made up as + it were, ready for any girl whom it might fit. This was falling in love in + the abstract, and let no man condemn it without a trial; for many a + long-winded argument could be urged in its defence. It is always wrong to + commence business without capital, and Neal had a good stock to begin + with. All we beg is, that the reader will not confound it with Platonism, + which never marries; but he is at full liberty to call it Socratism, which + takes unto itself a wife, and suffers accordingly. + </p> + <p> + Let no one suppose that Neal forgot the schoolmaster's kindness, or failed + to be duly grateful for it. Mr. O'Connor was the first person whom he + consulted touching his passion. With a cheerful soul—he waited on + that melancholy and gentleman-like man, and in the very luxury of his + heart told him that he was in love. + </p> + <p> + “In love, Neal!” said the schoolmaster. “May I inquire with whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Wid nobody in particular, yet,” replied Neal; “but of late I'm got + divilish fond o' the girls in general.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you call that being in love, Neal?” said Mr. O'Connor. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what else would I call it?” returned the tailor. “Amn't I fond of + them?” + </p> + <p> + “Then it must be what is termed the Universal Passion, Neal,” observed Mr. + O'Connor, “although it is the first time I have seen such an illustration + of it as you present in your own person.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would advise me how to act,” said Neal; “I'm as happy as a + prince since I began to get fond o' them, an' to think of marriage.” + </p> + <p> + The schoolmaster shook his head again, and looked rather miserable. Neal + rubbed his hands with glee, and looked perfectly happy. The schoolmaster + shook his head again, and looked more miserable than before. Neal's + happiness also increased on the second rubbing. + </p> + <p> + Now, to tell the secret at once, Mr. O'Connor would not have appeared so + miserable, were it not for Neal's happiness; nor Neal so happy, were it + not for Mr. O'Connor's misery. It was all the result of contrast; but this + you will not understand unless you be deeply read in modern novels. + </p> + <p> + Mr. O'Connor, however, was a man of sense, who knew, upon this principle, + that the longer he continued to shake his head, the more miserable he must + become, and the more also would he increase Neal's happiness; but he had + no intention of increasing Neal's happiness at his own expense—for, + upon the same hypothesis, it would have been for Neal's interest had he + remained shaking his head there, and getting miserable until the day of + judgment. He consequently declined giving the third shake, for he thought + that plain conversation was, after all, more significant and forcible than + the most eloquent nod, however ably translated. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said he, “could you, by stretching your imagination, contrive to + rest contented with nursing your passion in solitude, and love the sex at + a distance?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I nurse and mind my business?” replied the tailor. I'll never + nurse so long as I'll have the wife; and as for imagination it depends + upon the grain of it, whether I can stretch it or not. I don't know that I + ever made a coat of it in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand me, Neal,” said the schoolmaster. “In recommending + marriage, I was only driving one evil out of you by introducing another. + Do you think that, if you abandoned all thoughts of a wife, you would get + heroic again?—that is, would you, take once more to the love of + fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no doubt but I would,” said the tailor: “If I miss the wife, + I'll kick up such a dust as never was seen in the parish, an' you're the + first man that I'll lick. But now that I'm in love,” he continued, “sure, + I ought to look out for the wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Neal,” said the schoolmaster, “you are tempting destiny: your + temerity be, with all its melancholy consequences, upon your own head.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the tailor, “it wasn't to hear you groaning to the tune of + 'Dhrimmind-hoo,' or 'The ould woman rockin' her cradle,' that I came; but + to know if you could help me in makin' out the wife. That's the + discoorse.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at me, Neal,” said the schoolmaster, solemnly; “I am at this moment, + and have been any time for the last fifteen years, a living caveto against + matrimony. I do not think that earth possesses such a luxury as a single + solitary life. Neal, the monks of old were happy men: they were all fat + and had double chins; and, Neal, I tell you, that all fat men are in + general happy. Care cannot come at them so readily as at a thin man; + before it gets through the strong outworks, of flesh and blood with which + they are surrounded, it becomes treacherous to its original purpose, joins + the cheerful spirits it meets in the system, and dances about the heart in + all the madness of mirth; just like a sincere ecclesiastic, who comes to + lecture a good fellow against drinking, but who forgets his lecture over + his cups, and is laid under the table with such success, that he either + never comes to finish his lecture, or comes often; to be laid under the + table, Look at me Neal, how wasted, fleshless, and miserable, I stand + before you. You know how my garments have shrunk in, and what a solid man + I was before marriage. Neal, pause, I beseech you: otherwise you stand a + strong chance of becoming a nonentity like myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what I become,” said the tailor; “I can't think that you'd + be so: unsonable as to expect that any of the Malones; should pass out of + the world widout either bein' bate or marrid. Have rason, Mr. O'Connor, + an' if you can help me to the wife, I promise to take in your coat the + next time—for nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Mr. O'Connor, “what-would you think of the butcher's + daughter, Biddy Neil? You have always had a thirst for blood, and here you + may have it gratified in an innocent manner, should you ever become + sanguinary again. 'Tis true, Neal, she is twice your size, and possesses + three times your strength; but for that very reason, Neal, marry her if + you can. Large animals are placid; and heaven preserve those bachelors, + whom I wish well, from a small wife: 'tis such who always wield the + sceptre of domestic life, and rule their husbands with a rod of iron.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, Mr. O'Connor,” replied the tailor, “she's the very girl I'm + in love wid, an' never fear, but I'll overcome her heart if I it can be + done by man. Now, step over the way to my house, an' we'll have a sup on + the head of it. Who's that calling?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Neal, I know the tones—there's a shrillness in them not to be + mistaken. Farewell! I must depart; you have heard the proverb, 'those who + are bound must obey.' Young Jack, I presume, is squalling, and I must + either nurse him, rock the cradle, or sing comic tunes for him, though + heaven knows with what a disastrous heart I often sing, 'Begone dull + care,' the 'Rakes of Newcastle,' or 'Peas upon a Trencher.' Neal, I say + again, pause before you take this leap in the dark. Pause, Neal, I entreat + you. Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + Neal, however, was gifted with the heart of an Irishman, and scorned + caution as the characteristic of a coward; he had, as it appeared, + abandoned all design of fighting, but the courage still adhered to him + even in making love. He consequently conducted the siege of Biddy Neil's + heart with a degree of skill and valor which would not have come amiss to + Marshal Gerald at the siege of Antwerp. Locke or Dugald Stewart, indeed, + had they been cognizant of the tailor's triumph, might have illustrated + the principle on which he succeeded—as to ourselves, we can only + conjecture it. Our own opinion is, that they were both animated with a + congenial spirit. Biddy was the very pink of pugnacity, and could throw in + a body blow, or plant a facer, with singular energy and science. Her + prowess hitherto had, we confess, been displayed only within the limited + range of domestic life; but should she ever find it necessary to exercise + it upon a larger scale, there was no doubt whatsoever, in the opinion of + her mother, brothers, and sisters, every one of whom she had successively + subdued, that she must undoubtedly distinguish herself. There was + certainly one difficulty which the tailor had not to encounter in the + progress of his courtship; the field was his own; he had not a rival to + dispute his claim. Neither was there any opposition given by her friends; + they were, on the contrary, all anxious for the match; and when the + arrangements were concluded, Neal felt his hand squeezed by them in + succession, with an expression more resembling condolence than joy. Neal, + however, had been bred to tailoring, and not to metaphysics; he could cut + out a coat very well, but we do not say that he could trace a principle—as + what tailor, except Jeremy Taylor, could? + </p> + <p> + There was nothing particular in the wedding. Mr. O'Connor was asked by + Neal to be present at it: but he shook his head, and told him that he had + not courage to attend it, or inclination to witness any man's sorrows but + his own. He met the wedding party by accident, and was heard to exclaim + with a sigh, as they flaunted past him in gay exuberance of spirits—“Ah, + poor Neal! he is going like one of her father's cattle to the shambles! + Woe is me for having suggested matrimony to the tailor! He will not + long-be under the necessity of saying that he 'is blue-moulded for want of + a beating.' The butcheress will fell him like a Kerry ox, and I may have + his blood to answer for, and his discomfiture to feel for, in addition to + my own miseries.” + </p> + <p> + On the evening of the wedding-day, about the hour of ten o'clock, Neal—whose + spirits were uncommonly exalted, for his heart luxuriated within him—danced + with his bride's maid; after the dance he sat beside her, and got eloquent + in praise of her beauty; and it is said, too, that he whispered to her, + and chucked her chin with considerable gallantry. The tete-a-tete + continued for some time without exciting particular attention, with one + exception; but that exception was worth a whole chapter of general rules. + Mrs. Malone rose up, then sat down again, and took off a glass of the + native; she got up a second time—all the wife rushed upon her heart—she + approached them, and in a fit of the most exquisite sensibility, knocked + the bride's maid down, and gave the tailor a kick of affecting pathos upon + the inexpressibles. The whole scene was a touching one on both sides. The + tailor was sent on all-fours to the floor; but Mrs. Malone took him + quietly up, put him under her arm as one would a lap dog, and with stately + step marched him away to the connubial, apartment, in which everything + remained very quiet for the rest of the night. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Mr. O'Connor presented himself to congratulate the tailor + on his happiness. Neal, as his friend shook hands with him, gave the + schoolmaster's fingers a slight squeeze, such as a man gives who would + gently entreat your sympathy. The schoolmaster looked at him, and thought + he shook his head. Of this, however, he could not be certain; for, as he + shook his own during the moment of observation, he concluded that it might + be a mere mistake of the eye, or perhaps the result of a mind predisposed + to be credulous on the subject of shaking heads. + </p> + <p> + We wish it were in our power to draw a veil, or curtain, or blind of some + description, over the remnant of the tailor's narrative that is to follow; + but as it is the duty of every faithful historian to give the secret + causes of appearances which the world in general do not understand, so we + think it but honest to go on, impartially and faithfully, without + shrinking from the responsibility that is frequently annexed to truth. + </p> + <p> + For the first three days after matrimony, Neal felt like a man who had + been translated to a new and more lively state of existence. He had + expected, and flattered himself, that, the moment this event should take + place, he would once more resume his heroism, and experience the pleasure + of a drubbing. This determination he kept a profound secret—nor was + it known until a future period, when he disclosed it to Mr. O'Connor. He + intended, therefore, that marriage should be nothing more than a mere + parenthesis in his life—a kind of asterisk, pointing, in a note at + the bottom, to this single exception in his general conduct—a <i>nota + bene</i> to the spirit of a martial man, intimating that he had been + peaceful only for a while. In truth, he was, during the influence of love + over him, and up to the very day of his marriage, secretly as blue-moulded + as ever for want of a beating. The heroic penchant lay snugly latent in + his heart, unchecked and unmodified. He flattered himself that he was + achieving a capital imposition upon the world at large—that he was + actually hoaxing mankind in general—and that such an excellent piece + of knavish tranquillity had never been perpetrated before his time. + </p> + <p> + On the first week after his marriage, there chanced to be a fair in the + next market-town. Neal, after breakfast, brought forward a bunch of + shillelahs, in order to select the best; the wife inquired the purpose of + the selection, and Neal declared that he was resolved to have a fight that + day, if it were to be had, he said, for love or money. “The thruth is,” he + exclaimed, strutting with fortitude about the house, “the thruth is, that + I've done the whole of yez—I'm as <i>blue-mowlded</i> as ever for + want of a batin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” said the wife. + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” said Neal, with vehemence; “I'll go if the whole parish was + to go to prevint me.” + </p> + <p> + In about another half-hour Neal sat down quietly to his business, instead + of going to the fair! + </p> + <p> + Much ingenious speculation might be indulged in, upon this abrupt + termination to the tailor's most formidable resolution; but, for our own + part, we will prefer going on with the narrative, leaving the reader at + liberty to solve the mystery as he pleases. In the mean time, we say this + much—let those who cannot make it out, carry it to their tailor; it + is a tailor's mystery, and no one has so good a right to understand it—except, + perhaps, a tailor's wife. + </p> + <p> + At the period of his matrimony, Neal had become as plump and as stout as + he ever was known to be in his plumpest and stoutest days. He and the + schoolmaster had been very intimate about this time; but we know not how + it happened that soon afterwards he felt a modest bridelike reluctance in + meeting with that afflicted gentleman. As the eve of his union approached, + he was in the habit, during the schoolmaster's visits to his workshop, of + alluding, in rather a sarcastic tone, considering the unthriving + appearance of his friend, to the increasing lustiness of his person. Nay, + he has often leaped up from his lap-board, and, in the strong spirit of + exultation, thrust out his leg in attestation of his assertion, slapping + it, moreover, with a loud laugh of triumph, that sounded like a knell to + the happiness of his emaciated acquaintance. The schoolmaster's + philosophy, however, unlike his flesh, never departed from him; his usual + observation was, “Neal, we are both receding from the same point; you + increase in flesh, whilst I, heaven help me, am fast diminishing.” + </p> + <p> + The tailor received these remarks with very boisterous mirth, whilst Mr. + O'Connor simply shook his head, and looked sadly upon his limbs, now + shrouded in a superfluity of garments, somewhat resembling a slender + thread of water in a shallow summer stream, nearly wasted away, and + surrounded by an unproportionate extent of channel. + </p> + <p> + The fourth month after the marriage arrived. Neal, one day, near its + close, began to dress himself in his best apparel. Even then, when + buttoning his waistcoat, he shook his head after the manner of Mr. + O'Connor, and made observations upon the great extent to which it + over-folded him. + </p> + <p> + Well, thought he, with a sigh—this waistcoat certainly did fit me to + a T: but it's wondherful to think how—cloth stretches. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said the wife, on perceiving him dressed, “where are you bound + for?” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, for life,” replied Neal, with a mitigated swagger; “and I'd as + soon, if it had been the will of Provid—” + </p> + <p> + He paused. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” asked the wife, a second time. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he answered, “only to the dance at Jemmy Connolly's; I'll be back + early.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” said the wife. “I'll go,” said Neal, “if the whole counthry + was to prevent me. Thunder an' lightnin,' woman, who am I?” he exclaimed, + in a loud but rather infirm voice; “arn't I Neal Malone, that never met a + man who'd fight him! Neal Malone, that was never beat by man! Why, + tare-an-ounze, woman! Whoo! I'll get enraged some time, an' play the + divil? Who's afeard, I say?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” added the wife a third time, giving Neal a significant look in + the face. + </p> + <p> + In about another half-hour, Neal sat down quietly to his business, instead + of going to the dance! + </p> + <p> + Neal now turned himself, like many a sage in similar circumstances, to + philosophy; that is to say—he began to shake his head upon + principle, after the manner of the schoolmaster. He would, indeed, have + preferred the bottle upon principle; but there was no getting at the + bottle, except through the wife; and it so happened that by the time it + reached him, there was little consolation left in it. Neal bore all in + silence; for silence, his friend had often told him, was a proof of + wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Soon after this, Neal, one evening, met Mr. O'Connor by chance upon a + plank which crossed a river. This plank was only a foot in breadth, so + that no two individuals could pass each other upon it. We cannot find + words in which to express the dismay of both, on finding that they + absolutely glided past one another without collision. + </p> + <p> + Both paused, and surveyed each other solemnly; but the astonishment was + all on the side of Mr. O'Connor. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said the schoolmaster, “by all the household gods, I conjure you + to speak, that I may be assured you live!” + </p> + <p> + The ghost of a blush crossed the churchyard visage of the tailor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he exclaimed, “why the devil did you tempt me to marry a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said his friend, “answer me in the most solemn manner possible—throw + into your countenance all the gravity you can assume; speak as if you were + under the hands of the hangman, with the rope about your neck, for the + question is, indeed, a trying-one which I am about to put. Are you still + 'blue-moulded for want of beating?'” + </p> + <p> + The tailor collected himself to make a reply; he put one leg out—the + very leg which he used to show in triumph to his friend; but, alas, how + dwindled! He opened his waistcoat, and lapped it round him, until he + looked like a weasel on its hind legs. He then raised himself up on his + tip toes, and, in an awful whisper, replied, “No!!! the devil a bit I'm + blue-mowlded for want of a batin.” + </p> + <p> + The schoolmaster shook his head in his own miserable manner; but, alas! he + soon perceived that the tailor was as great an adept at shaking the head + as himself. Nay, he saw that there was a calamitous refinement—a + delicacy of shake in the tailor's vibrations, which gave to his own nod a + very commonplace character. + </p> + <p> + The next day the tailor took in his clothes; and from time to time + continued to adjust them to the dimensions of his shrinking person. The + schoolmaster and he, whenever they could steal a moment, met and + sympathized together. Mr. O'Connor, however, bore up somewhat better than + Neal. The latter was subdued in heart and in spirit; thoroughly, + completely, and intensely vanquished. His features became sharpened by + misery, for a termagant wife is the whetstone on which all the calamities + of a hen-pecked husband are painted by the devil. He no longer strutted as + he was wont to do; he no longer carried a cudgel as if he wished to wage a + universal battle with mankind. He was now a married man.—Sneakingiy, + and with a cowardly crawl did he creep along as if every step brought him + nearer to the gallows. The schoolmaster's march of misery was far slower + than Neal's: the latter distanced him. Before three years passed, he had + shrunk up so much, that he could not walk abroad of a windy day without + carrying weights in his pockets to keep him firm on the earth, which he + once trod with the step of a giant. He again sought the schoolmaster, with + whom indeed he associated as much as possible. Here he felt certain of + receiving sympathy; nor was he disappointed. That worthy, but miserable, + man and Neal, often retired beyond the hearing of their respective wives, + and supported each other by every argument in their power. Often have they + been heard, in the dusk of evening, singing behind a remote hedge that + melancholy ditty, “Let us both be unhappy together;” which rose upon the + twilight breeze with a cautious quaver of sorrow truly heart-rending and + lugubrious. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Mr. O'Connor, on one of those occasions, “here is a book + which I recommend to your perusal; it is called 'The Afflicted Man's + Companion;' try if you cannot glean some consolation out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” said Neal, “I'm forever oblaged to you, but I don't want it. I've + had 'The Afflicted Man's Companion' too long, and divil an atom of + consolation I can get out of it. I have one o' them I tell you; but, be me + sowl, I'll not undhertake a pair o' them. The very name's enough for me.” + They then separated. + </p> + <p> + The tailor's <i>vis vitae</i> must have been powerful, or he would have + died. In two years more his friends could not distinguish him from his own + shadow; a circumstance which was of great inconvenience to him. Several + grasped at the hand of the shadow instead of his; and one man was near, + paying it five and sixpence for making a pair of smallclothes. Neal, it is + true, undeceived him with some trouble; but candidly admitted that he was + not able to carry home the money. It was difficult, indeed, for the poor + tailor to bear what he felt; it is true he bore it as long as he could; + but at length he became suicidal, and often had thoughts of “making his + own quietus with his bare bodkin.” After many deliberations and + afflictions, he ultimately made the attempt; but, alas! he found that the + blood of the Malones refused to flow upon so ignominious an occasion. So + he solved the phenomenon; although the truth was, that his blood was not + “i' the vein” for't; none was to be had. What then was to be done? He + resolved to get rid of life by some process; and the next that occurred to + him was hanging. In a solemn spirit he prepared a selvage, and suspended + himself from the rafter of his workshop; but here another disappintment + awaited him—he would not hang. Such was his want of gravity, that + his own weight proved insufficient to occasion his death by mere + suspension. His third attempt was at drowning, but he was too light to + sink; all the elements,—all his own energies joined themselves, he + thought, in a wicked conspiracy to save his life. Having thus tried every + avenue to destruction, and failed in all, he felt like a man doomed to + live for ever. Henceforward he shrunk and shrivelled by slow degrees, + until in the course of time he became so attenuated, that the grossness of + human vision could no longer reach him. + </p> + <p> + This, however, could not last always. Though still alive, he was, to all + intents and purposes, imperceptible. He could now only be heard; he was + reduced to a mere essence—the very echo of human existence, <i>vox + el praiterea nihil</i>. It is true the schoolmaster asserted that he + occasionally caught passing glimpses of him; but that was because he had + been himself nearly spiritualized by affliction, and his visual ray purged + in the furnace of domestic tribulation. By and by Neal's voice lessened, + got fainter and more indistinct, until at length nothing but a doubtful + murmur could be heard, which ultimately could scarcely be distinguished + from a ringing in the ears. + </p> + <p> + Such was the awful and mysterious fate of the tailor, who, as a hero, + could not of course die; he merely dissolved like an icicle, wasted into + immateriality, and finally melted away beyond the perception of mortal + sense. Mr. O'Connor is still living, and once more in the fulness of + perfect health and strength. His wife, however, we may as well hint, has + been dead more than two years. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ART MAGUIRE; + </h2> + <h3> + OR, THE BROKEN PLEDGE. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + In proposing to write a series of “Tales for the Irish People,” the author + feels perfectly conscious of the many difficulties by which he is + surrounded, and by which he may be still met in his endeavors to + accomplish that important task. In order, however, to make everything as + clear and intelligible as possible, he deems it necessary, in the first + place, to state what his object is in undertaking it: that object is + simply to improve their physical and social condition—generally; and + through the medium of vivid and striking, but unobjectionable narratives, + to inculcate such principles as may enable Irishmen to think more clearly, + reason more correctly, and act more earnestly upon the general duties, + which, from their position in life, they are called upon to perform. With + regard to those who feel apprehensive that anything calculated to injure + the doctrinal convictions of the Catholic people may be suffered to creep + into these Tales, the author has only to assure them—that such an + object comes within the scope neither of his plan or inclinations. It is + not his intention to make these productions the vehicles of Theology or + Polemics; but studiously to avoid anything and everything that even + approaches the sphere of clerical duty. His object, so far from that, is + the inculcation of general, not peculiar, principles—principles + which neither affect nor offend any creed, but which are claimed and + valued by all. In this way, by making amusement the handmaiden of + instruction, the author believes it possible to let into the cabin, the + farm-house, and even the landlord's drawing-room, a light by which each + and all of them may read many beneficial lessons—lessons that will, + it is hoped, abide with them, settle down in their hearts, and by giving + them a, clearer sense of their respective duties, aid in improving and + regenerating their condition. + </p> + <p> + To send to the poor man's fireside, through the medium of Tales that will + teach his heart and purify his affections, those simple lessons which may + enable him to understand his own value—that will generate + self-respect, independence, industry, love of truth, hatred of deceit and + falsehood, habits of cleanliness, order, and punctuality—together + with all those lesser virtues which help to create a proper sense of + personal and domestic comfort—to assist in working out these + healthful purposes is the Author's anxious wish—a task in which any + man may feel proud to engage. + </p> + <p> + Self-reliance, manly confidence in the effect of their own virtues, + respect for the virtues that ought to adorn rank, rather than for rank + itself, and a spurning of that vile servility which is only the hereditary + remnant of bygone oppression, will be taught the people in such a way as + to make them feel how far up in society a high moral condition can and + ought to place them. Nor is this all;—the darker page of Irish life + shall be laid open before them—in which they will be taught, by + examples that they can easily understand, the fearful details of misery, + destitution, banishment, and death, which the commission of a single crime + may draw down, not only upon the criminal himself, but upon those innocent + and beloved connections whom he actually punishes by his guilt. + </p> + <p> + It is, indeed, with fear and trembling that the Author undertakes such a + great and important task as this. If he fail, however, he may well say— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Quem si non tenuifc, tamon magnis excidit ausis</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Still he is willing to hope that, through the aid of truthful fiction, + operating upon the feelings of his countrymen, and on their knowledge of + peasant life, he may furnish them with such a pleasing Encyclopedia of + social duty—now lit up with their mirth, and again made tender with + their sorrow—as will force them to look upon him as a benefactor—to + forget his former errors—and to cherish his name with affection, + when he himself shall be freed forever from those cares and trials of life + which have hitherto been his portion. + </p> + <p> + In the following simple narrative of “The Broken Pledge,” it was his aim, + without leading his readers out of the plain paths of every-day life or + into the improbable creations of Romance, to detail the character of such + an individual as almost every man must have often seen and noticed within + the society by which he is surrounded. He trusts that the moral, as + regards both husband and wife, is wholesome and good, and calculated to + warn those who would follow in the footsteps of “Art Maguire.” + </p> + <p> + Dubin, July 4, 1845. + </p> + <p> + It has been often observed, and as frequently inculcated, through the + medium of both press and pulpit, that there is scarcely any human being + who, how striking soever his virtues, or how numerous his good qualities + may be, does not carry in his moral constitution some particular weakness + or failing, or perhaps vice, to which he is especially subject, and which + may, if not properly watched and restrained, exercise an injurious and + evil influence over his whole life. Neither have the admonitions of press + or pulpit ended in merely laying down this obvious and undeniable truth, + but, on the contrary, very properly proceeded to add, that one of the most + pressing duties of man is to examine his own heart, in order to ascertain + what this particular vice or failing in his case may be, in order that, + when discovered, suitable means be taken to remove or overcome it. + </p> + <p> + The man whose history we are about to detail for the reader's instruction, + was, especially during the latter years of his life, a touching, but + melancholy illustration of this indisputable truth; in other words, he + possessed the weakness or the vice, as the reader may consider it, and + found, when too late, that a yielding resolution, or, to use a phrase + perhaps better understood, a good intention, was but a feeble and + inefficient instrument with which to attempt its subjection. Having made + these few preliminary observations, as being suitable, in our opinion, to + the character of the incidents which follow, we proceed at once to + commence our narrative. + </p> + <p> + Arthur, or, as he was more familiarly called by the people, Art Maguire, + was the son of parents who felt and knew that they were descended from + higher and purer blood than could be boasted of by many of the families in + their neighborhood. Art's father was a small farmer, who held about ten + acres of land, and having a family of six children—three sons, and + as many daughters—he determined upon putting one or two of the + former to a trade, so soon as they should be sufficiently grown up for + that purpose. This, under his circumstances was a proper and provident + resolution to make. His farm was too small to be parceled out, as is too + frequently the case, into small miserable patches, upon each of which a + young and inconsiderate couple are contented to sit down, with the + prospect of rearing up and supporting a numerous family with wofully + inadequate means; for although it is generally a matter of certainty that + the families of these young persons will increase, yet it is a perfectly + well-known fact that the little holding will not, and the consequence is, + that families keep subdividing on the one hand, and increasing on the + other, until there is no more room left for them. Poverty then ensues, and + as poverty in such cases begets competition, and competition crime, so we + repeat that Condy Maguire's intention, as being one calculated to avoid + such a painful state of things, was a proof of his own good sense and + forethought. + </p> + <p> + Arthur's brother, Frank, was a boy not particularly remarkable for any + peculiar brilliancy of intellect, or any great vivacity of disposition. + When at school he was never in a quarrel, nor engaged in any of those wild + freaks which are sore annoyances to a village schoolmaster, and daring + outrages against his authority. He was consequently a favorite not only + with the master, but with all the sober, well-behaved boys of the school, + and many a time has Teague Rooney, with whom he was educated, exclaimed, + as he addressed him: + </p> + <p> + “Go to your sate, Frank abouchal; faith, although there are boys endowed + wid more brilliancy of intellect than has fallen to your lot, yet you are + the very youth who understands what is due to legitimate authority, at any + rate, an' that's no small gift in itself; go to your sate, sorrow taw will + go to your substratum this bout, for not having your lesson; for well I + know it wasn't idleness that prevented you, but the natural sobriety and + slowness of intellect you are gifted wid. If you are slow, however, you + are sure, and I'll pledge my reputaytion aginst that of the great + O'Flaherty himself, that you and your brinoge of a brother will both live + to give a beautiful illustration of the celebrated race between the hare + and the tortoise yet. Go to your sate wid impunity, and tell your dacent + mother I was inquiring for her.” + </p> + <p> + Such, indeed, was a tolerably correct view of Frank's character. He was + quiet, inoffensive, laborious, and punctual; though not very social or + communicative, yet he was both well-tempered and warm-hearted, points + which could not, without considerable opportunities of knowing him, be + readily perceived. Having undertaken the accomplishment of an object, he + permitted no circumstance to dishearten or deter him in working out his + purpose; if he said it, he did it; for his word was a sufficient guarantee + that he would; his integrity was consequently respected, and his + resolution, when he expressed it, was seldom disputed by his companions, + who knew that in general it was inflexible. After what we have said, it is + scarcely necessary to add that he was both courageous and humane. + </p> + <p> + These combinations of character frequently occur. Many a man not + remarkable for those qualities of the head that impress themselves most + strikingly upon the world, is nevertheless gifted with those excellent + principles of the heart which, although without much show, and scarcely + any noise, go to work out the most useful purposes of life. Arthur, on the + contrary, was a contrast to his brother, and a strong one, too, on many + points; his intellect was far superior to that of Frank's, but, on the + other hand, he by no means possessed his brother's steadiness or + resolution. We do not say, however, that he was remarkable for the want of + either, far from it; he could form a resolution, and work it out as well + as his brother, provided his course was left unobstructed: nay, more, he + could overcome difficulties many and varied, provided only that he was + left unassailed by, one solitary temptation—that of an easy and + good-humored vanity. He was conscious of his talents, and of his excellent + qualities, and being exceedingly vain, nothing gave him greater + gratification than to hear himself praised for possessing them—for + it is a fact, that every man who is vain of any particular gift, forgets + that he did not bestow that gift upon himself, and that instead of priding + himself upon the possession of it, he should only be humbly thankful to + the Being who endowed him with it. + </p> + <p> + Art was social, communicative, and, although possessing what might be + considered internal resources more numerous, and of a far higher order + than did his brother, yet, somehow, it was clear that he had not the same + self-dependence that marked the other. He always wanted, as it. were, + something to lean upon, although in truth he did not at all require it, + had he properly understood himself. The truth is, like thousands, he did + not begin to perceive, or check in time, those early tendencies that lead + a heart naturally indolent, but warm and generous, to the habit of relying + first, in small things, upon external sources and objects, instead of + seeking and finding within itself those materials for manly independence, + with which every heart is supplied, were its possessor only aware of the + fact, and properly instructed how to use them. + </p> + <p> + Art's enjoyments, for instance, were always of a social nature, and never + either solitary or useful in their tendencies; of this character was every + thing he engaged in. He would not make a ship of water flaggons by + himself, nor sail it by himself—he would not spin a top, nor trundle + a hoop without a companion—if sent upon a message, or to dig a + basket of potatoes in the field, he would rather purchase the society of a + companion with all the toys or playthings he possessed than do either + alone. His very lessons he would not get unless his brother Frank got his + along with him. The reader may thus perceive that he acquired no early + habit of self-restraint, no principle of either labor or enjoyment within, + himself, and of course could acquire none at all of self-reliance. A + social disposition in our amusements is not only proper, but natural, for + we believe it is pretty generally known, that he who altogether prefers + such amusements is found to be deficient in the best and most generous + principles of our nature. Every thing, however, has its limits and its + exceptions. Art, if sent to do a day's work alone, would either abandon it + entirely, and bear the brunt of his father's anger, or he would, as we + have said, purchase the companionship of some neighbor's son or child, + for, provided he had any one to whom he could talk, he cared not, and + having thus succeeded, he would finish it triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + In due time, however, his great prevailing weakness, vanity, became well + known to his family, who, already aware of his peculiar aversion to any + kind of employment that was not social, immediately seized upon it, and + instead of taking rational steps to remove it, they nursed it into + stronger life by pandering to it as a convenient means of regulating, + checking, or stimulating the whole habits of his life. His family were not + aware of the moral consequences which they were likely to produce by + conduct such as this, nor of the pains they were ignorantly taking to lay + the foundation of his future misfortune and misery. + </p> + <p> + “Art, my good boy, will you take your spade and clane out the remaindher + o' that drain, between the Hannigans and us,” said his father. + </p> + <p> + “Well, will Frank come?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure you know he can't; isn't he weedin' that bit of <i>blanther</i> in + Crackton's park, an' afther that sure he has to cut scraws on the + Pirl-hill for the new barn.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll help him if he helps me; isn't that fair? Let us join.” + </p> + <p> + “Hut, get out o' that, avourneen; go yourself; do what you're bid, Art.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it by myself? murdher alive, father, don't ax me; I'll give him my new + Cammon if he comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth you won't; the sorra hand I'd ever wish to see the same Cammon in + but your own; faix, it's you that can handle it in style. Well now, Art, + well becomes myself but I thought I could play a Cammon wid the face o' + clay wanst in my time, but may I never sin if ever I could match you at + it; oh, sorra taste o' your Cammon you must part wid; sure I'd rather + scower the drain myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Bedad I won't part wid it then.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather, I tell you, scower it myself—an' I will, too. Sure if I + renew the ould cough an me I'll thry the <i>Casharawan</i>, (* Dandelion) + that did me so much good the last time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's purty! Ha, ha, ha! you to go! Oh, ay, indeed—as if I'd + stand by an' let you. Not so bad as that comes to, either—no. Is the + spade an' shovel in the shed?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure they are. Throth, Art, you're worth the whole o' them—the + sorra lie in it. Well, go, avillish.” + </p> + <p> + This was this fine boy's weakness played upon by those who, it is true, + were not at all conscious of the injury they were inflicting upon him at + the time. He was certainly the pride of the family, and even while they + humored and increased this his predominant and most dangerous foible, we + are bound to say that they gratified their own affection as much as they + did his vanity. + </p> + <p> + His father's family consisted, as we have said, of three sons and three + daughters. The latter were the elder, and in point of age Art, as we have + said, was the youngest of them all. The education that he and his brothers + received was such as the time and the neglected state of the country + afforded them. They could all read and write tolerably well, and knew + something of arithmetic. This was a proof that their education had not + been neglected. And why should it? Were they not the descendants of the + great Maguires of Fermanagh? Why, the very consciousness of their blood + was felt as a proud and unanswerable argument against ignorance. The best + education, therefore, that could be procured by persons in their humble + sphere of life, they received. The eldest brother, whose name was Brian, + did not, as is too frequently the case with the eldest sons of small + farmers, receive so liberal a portion of instruction as Frank or Art. This + resulted from the condition and necessities of his father, who could not + spare him from his farm—and, indeed, it cost the worthy man many a + sore heart. At all events, time advanced, and the two younger brothers + were taken from school with a view of being apprenticed to some useful + trade. The character of each was pretty well in accordance with their + respective dispositions. Frank had no enemies, yet was he by no means so + popular as Art, who had many. The one possessed nothing to excite envy, + and never gave offence; the other, by the very superiority of his natural + powers, exultingly paraded, as they were, at the expense of dulness or + unsuccessful rivalry, created many vindictive maligners, who let no + opportunity pass of giving him behind his back the harsh word which they + durst not give him to his face. In spite of all this, his acknowledged + superiority, his generosity, his candor, and utter ignorance or hatred of + the low chicaneries of youthful cunning, joined to his open, intrepid, and + manly character, conspired to render him popular in an extraordinary + degree. Nay, his very failings added to this, and when the battle of his + character was fought, all the traditionary errors of moral life were + quoted in his favor. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay, the boy has his faults, and who has not; I'd be glad to know? If + he's lively, it's betther to be that, than a mosey, any day. His brother + Frank is a good boy, but sure divil a squig of spunk or spirits is in him, + an', my dear, you know the ould proverb, that a standin' pool always + stinks, while the runnin' strame is sweet and clear to the bottom. If he's + proud, he has a right to be proud, and why shouldn't he, seein' that it's + well known he could take up more larnin' than half the school.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but poor Frank's a harmless boy, and never gave offence to mortual, + which, by the same token, is more than can be said of Art the lad.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, we know all that; and maybe it 'ud be betther for himself if + he had a sharper spice of the dioual in him—but sure the poor boy + hasn't the brain for it. Offence! oh, the dickens may seize the offence + poor Frank will give to man or woman, barrin' he mends his manners, and + gats a little life into him—sure he was a year and a day in the Five + Common Rules, an' three blessed weeks gettin' the Multiplication Table.” + </p> + <p> + Such, in general, was the estimate formed of their respective characters, + by those who, of course, had an opportunity of knowing them best. Whether + the latter were right or wrong will appear in the sequel, but in the + meantime we must protest, even in this early stage of our narrative, + against those popular exhibitions of mistaken sympathy, which in early + life—the most dangerous period too—are felt and expressed for + those who, in association with weak points of character, give strong + indications of talent. This mistaken generosity is pernicious to the + individual, inasmuch as it confirms him in the very errors which he should + correct, and in the process of youthful reasoning, which is most selfish, + induces him not only to doubt the whisperings of his own conscience, but + to substitute in their stead the promptings of the silliest vanity. + </p> + <p> + Having thus given a rapid sketch of these two brothers in their schoolboy + life, we now come to that period at which their father thought proper to + apprentice them. The choice of the trade he left to their own natural + judgment, and as Frank was the eldest, he was allowed to choose first. He + immediately selected that of a carpenter, as being clean, respectable, and + within-doors; and, as he added— + </p> + <p> + “Where the wages is good—and then I'm tould that one can work afther + hours, if they wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the father, “now let us hear, Art; come, alanna, what + are you on for?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not take any trade,” replied Art. + </p> + <p> + “Not take any trade, Art! why, my goodness, sure you knew all along that + you war for a trade. Don't you know when you and Frank grow up, and, of + course, must take the world on your heads, that it isn't this strip of a + farm that you can depend on.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I think of,” said Frank; “one's not to begin the world wid + empty pockets, or, any way, widout some ground to put one's foot on.” + </p> + <p> + “The world!” rejoined Art; “why, what the sorra puts thoughts o' the world + into your head, Frank? Isn't it time enough for you or me to think o' the + world these ten years to come?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” replied Frank, “but when we come to join it isn't the time to begin + to think of it; don't you know what the ould saying says—<i>ha nha + la na guiha la na scuillaba</i>—it isn't on the windy day that you + are to look for your scollops.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * The proverb inculcates forethought and provision. + Scollop is an osier sharpened at both ends, by which + the thatch of a house is fastened down to the roof. Of + a windy day the thatch alone would be utterly useless, + if there were no scollops to keep it firm. +</pre> + <p> + “An' what 'ud prevent you, Art, from goin' to larn a trade?” asked his + father. + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather stay with you,” replied the affectionate boy; “I don't like to + leave you nor the family, to be goin' among strangers.” + </p> + <p> + The unexpected and touching nature of his motive, so different from what + was expected, went immediately to his father's heart. He looked at his + fine boy, and was silent for a minute, after which he wiped the moisture + from his eyes. Art, on seeing his father affected, became so himself, and + added— + </p> + <p> + “That's my only raison, father, for not goin'; I wouldn't like to lave you + an' them, if I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, acushla,” replied the father, while his eyes beamed on him with + tenderness and affection, “sure we wouldn't ax you to go, if we could any + way avoid it—it's for your own good we do it. Don't refuse to go, + Art; sure for my sake you won't?” + </p> + <p> + “I will go, then,” he replied; “I'll go for your sake, but I'll miss you + all.” + </p> + <p> + “An' we'll miss you, ahagur. God bless you, Art dear, it's jist like you. + Ay, will we in throth miss you; but, then, think what a brave fine thing + it'll be for you to have a grip of a dacent independent trade, that'll + keep your feet out o' the dirt while you live.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” repeated Art, “but as for the trade, I'll have none but + Frank's. I'll be a carpenter, for then he and I can be together.” + </p> + <p> + In addition to the affectionate motive which Art had mentioned to his + father—and which was a true one—as occasioning his reluctance + to learn a trade, there was another, equally strong and equally tender. In + the immediate neighborhood there lived a family named Murray, between whom + and the Maguires there subsisted a very kindly intimacy. Jemmy Murray was + in fact one of the wealthiest men in that part of the parish, as wealth + then was considered—that is to say, he farmed about forty acres, + which he held at a moderate rent, and as he was both industrious and + frugal, it was only a matter of consequence that he and his were well to + do in the world. It is not likely, however, that even a passing + acquaintance would ever have taken place between them, were it not for the + consideration of the blood which was known to flow in the veins of the + Fermanagh Maguires. Murray was a good deal touched with purse-pride—the + most offensive and contemptible description of pride in the world—and + would never have suffered an intimacy, were it not for the reason I have + alleged. It is true he was not a man of such stainless integrity as Condy + Maguire, because it was pretty well known that in the course of his life, + while accumulating money, he was said to have stooped to practices that + were, to say the least of them, highly discreditable. For instance, he + always held over his meal, until there came what is unfortunately both too + well known and too well felt in Ireland,—a dear year—a year of + hunger, starvation, and famine. For the same reason he held over his hay, + and indeed on passing his haggard you were certain to perceive three or + four immense stacks, bleached by the sun and rain of two or three seasons + into a tawny yellow. Go into his large kitchen or storehouse, and you saw + three or four immense deal chests filled with meal, which was reserved for + a season of scarcity—for, proud as Farmer Murray was, he did not + disdain to fatten upon human misery. Between these two families there was, + as we have said, an intimacy. It was wealth and worldly goods on the one + side; integrity and old blood on the other. Be this as it may, Farmer + Murray had a daughter, Margaret, the youngest of four, who was much about + the age of Arthur Maguire. Margaret was a girl whom it was almost + impossible to know and not to love. Though then but seventeen, her figure + was full, rich, and beautifully formed. Her abundant hair was black and + glossy as ebony, and her skin, which threw a lustre like ivory itself, had—not + the whiteness of snow—but a whiteness a thousand times more natural—a + whiteness that was fresh, radiant, and spotless. She was arch and full of + spirits, but her humor—for she possessed it in abundance—was + so artless, joyous, and innocent, that the heart was taken with it before + one had time for reflection. Added, however, to this charming vivacity of + temperament were many admirable virtues, and a fund of deep and fervent + feeling, which, even at that early period of her life, had made her name + beloved by every one in the parish, especially the poor and destitute. The + fact is, she was her father's favorite daughter, and he could deny her + nothing. The admirable girl was conscious of this, but instead of availing + herself of his affection for her in a way that many—nay, we may say, + most—would have done, for purposes of dress or vanity, she became an + interceding angel for the poor and destitute; and closely as Murray loved + money, yet it is due to him to say, that, on these occasions, she was + generally successful. Indeed, he was so far from being insensible to his + daughter's noble virtues, that he felt pride in reflecting that she + possessed them, and gave aid ten times from that feeling for once that he + did from a more exalted one. Such was Margaret Murray, and such, we are + happy to say—for we know it—are thousands of the peasant girls + of our country. + </p> + <p> + It was not to be wondered at, then, that in addition to the reluctance + which a heart naturally affectionate, like Art's, should feel on leaving + his relations for the first time, he should experience much secret sorrow + at being deprived of the society of this sweet and winning girl. + </p> + <p> + Matters now, however, were soon arranged, and the time, nay, the very day + for their departure was appointed. Art, though deeply smitten with the + charms of Margaret Murray, had never yet ventured to breathe to her a + syllable of love, being deterred naturally enough by the distance in point + of wealth which existed between the families. Not that this alone, + perhaps, would have prevented him from declaring his affection for her; + but, young as he was, he had not been left unimpressed by his father's + hereditary sense of the decent pride, strict honesty, and independent + spirit, which should always mark the conduct and feelings of any one + descended from the great Fermanagh Maguires. He might, therefore, probably + have spoken, but that his pride dreaded a repulse, and that he could not + bear to contemplate. This, joined to the natural diffidence of youth, + sufficiently accounts for his silence. + </p> + <p> + There lived, at the period of which we write, which is not a thousand + years ago, at a place called “the Corner House,” a celebrated carpenter + named Jack M'Carroll. He was unquestionably a first-rate mechanic, kept a + large establishment, and had ample and extensive business. To him had Art + and Frank been apprenticed, and, indeed, a better selection could not have + been made, for Jack was not only a good workman himself, but an excellent + employer, and an honest man. An arrangement had been entered into with a + neighboring farmer regarding their board and lodging, so that every thing + was settled very much to the satisfaction of all parties. + </p> + <p> + When the day of their departure had at length arrived, Art felt his + affections strongly divided, but without being diminished, between + Margaret Murray and his family; while Frank, who was calm and thoughtful, + addressed himself to the task of getting ready such luggage as they had + been provided with. + </p> + <p> + “Frank,” said Art, “don't you think we ought to go and bid farewell to a + few of our nearest neighbors before we lave home?” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the use of that?” asked Frank; “not a bit, Art; the best plan is + jist to bid our own people farewell, and slip away without noise or + nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “You may act as you plaise, Frank,” replied the other; “as for me, I'll + call on Jemmy Hanlon and Tom Connolly, at all events; but hould,” said he, + abruptly, “ought I to do that? Isn't it their business to come to us?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” replied Frank, “and so they would too, but that they think we + won't start till Thursday; for you know we didn't intend to go till then.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Art, “that's a horse of another color: I will call on them. + Wouldn't they think it heartless of us to go off widout seein' them? An' + besides, Frank, why should we steal away like thieves that had the hue and + cry at their heels? No, faith, as sure as we go at all, we'll go openly, + an' like men that have nothing to be afraid of.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” replied his brother, “have it your own way, so far as you're + consarned, as for me, I look upon it all as mere nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + It is seldom that honest and manly affection fails to meet its reward, be + the period soon or late. Had Art been guided by Frank's apparent + indifference—who, however, acted in this matter solely for the sake + of sparing his brother's feelings—he would have missed the + opportunity of being a party to an incident which influenced his future + life in all he ever afterwards enjoyed and suffered. He had gone, as he + said, to bid farewell to his neighbors, and was on his return home in + order to take his departure, when whom should he meet on her way to her + father's house, after having called at his father's “to see the girls,” as + she said, with a slight emphasis upon the word girls, but Margaret Murray. + </p> + <p> + As was natural, and as they had often done before under similar + circumstances, each paused on meeting, but somehow on this occasion there + was visible on both sides more restraint than either had ever yet shown. + At length, the preliminary chat having ceased, a silence ensued, which, + after a little time, was broken by Margaret, who, Art could perceive, + blushed deeply as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “So, Art, you and Frank are goin' to lave us.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not with my own consint I'm goin', Margaret,” he replied. As he + uttered the words he looked at her; their eyes met, but neither could + stand the glance of the other; they were instantly withdrawn. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not forget my friends, at all events,” said Art; “at least, there's + some o' them I won't, nor wouldn't either, if I was to get a million o' + money for doin' so.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret's face and neck, on hearing this, were in one glow of crimson, + and she kept her eyes still on the ground, but made no reply. At length + she raised them, and their glances met again; in that glance the + consciousness of his meaning was read by both, the secret was disclosed, + and their love told. + </p> + <p> + The place where they stood was in one of those exquisitely wild but + beautiful green country lanes that are mostly enclosed on each side by + thorn hedges, and have their sides bespangled with a profusion of delicate + and fragrant wild flowers, while the pathway, from the unfrequency of + feet, is generally covered with short daisy-gemmed grass, with the + exception of a trodden line in the middle that is made solely by + foot-passengers. Such was the sweet spot in which they stood at the moment + the last glance took place between them. + </p> + <p> + At length Margaret spoke, but why was it that her voice was such music to + him now? Musical and sweet it always was, and he had heard it a thousand + times before, but why, we ask, was it now so delicious to his ear, so + ecstatic to his heart? Ah, it was that sweet, entrancing little charm + which trembled up from her young and beating heart, through its softest + intonations; this low tremor it was that confirmed the tale which the + divine glance of that dark, but soft and mellow eye, had just told him. + But to proceed, at length she spoke— + </p> + <p> + “Arthur,” said the innocent girl, unconscious that she was about to do an + act for which many will condemn her, “before you go, and I know I will not + have an opportunity of seein' you again, will you accept of a keepsake + from me?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/pageAM994.jpg" + alt="Page Am994-- at Length Margaret Spoke " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Will I? oh, Margaret, Margaret!”—he gazed at her, but could not + proceed, his heart was too full. + </p> + <p> + “Take this,” said she, “and keep it for my sake.” + </p> + <p> + Ho took it out of her hand, he seized the hand itself, another glance, and + they sank into each other's arms, each trembling with an excess of + happiness. Margaret wept. This gush of rapture relieved and lightened + their young and innocent hearts, and Margaret having withdrawn herself + from his arms, they could now speak more freely. It is not our intention, + however, to detail their conversation, which may easily be conjectured by + our readers. On looking at the keepsake, Art found that it was a tress of + her rich and raven hair, which, we may add here, he tied about his heart + that day, and on that heart, or rather the dust of that heart, it lies on + this. + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate for Art that he followed! his brother's judgment in + selecting the same trade. Frank, we have said, notwithstanding his + coldness of manner, was by no means deficient in feeling or affection; he + possessed, however, the power of suppressing their external + manifestations, a circumstance which not unfrequently occasioned it to + happen that want of feeling was often imputed to him without any just + cause. At all events, he was a guide, a monitor, and a friend to his + brother, whom he most sincerely and affectionately loved; he kindly + pointed out to him his errors, matured his judgment by sound practical + advice: where it was necessary, he gave him the spur, and on other, + occasions held him in. Art was extremely well-tempered, as was Frank also, + so that it was impossible any two brothers could agree better, or live in + more harmony than they did. In truth, he had almost succeeded in opening + Art's eyes to the weak points in his character, especially to the + greatest, and most dangerous of all—his vanity, or insatiable + appetite for praise. They had not been long in M'Carroll's establishment + when the young man's foibles were soon seen through, and of course began + to be played upon; Frank, however, like a guardian angel, was always at + hand to advise or defend him, as the case might be, and as both, in a + physical contest, were able and willing to fight their own battles, we + need not say that in a short time their fellow-workmen ceased to play off + their pranks upon either of them. Everything forthwith passed very + smoothly; Art's love for Margaret Murray was like an apple of gold in his + heart, a secret treasure of which the world knew nothing; they saw each + other at least once a month, when their vows were renewed, and, surely, we + need not say, that their affection on each subsequent interview only + became more tender and enduring. + </p> + <p> + The period of Frank's and Art's apprenticeship had now nearly expired, and + it is not too much to say that their conduct reflected the highest credit + upon themselves. Three or four times, we believe, Art had been seduced, in + the absence of his brother, by the influence of bad company, to indulge in + drink, even to intoxication. This, during the greater part of a whole + apprenticeship, considering his temperament, and the almost daily + temptations by which he was beset, must be admitted on the whole to be a + very moderate amount of error in that respect. On the morning after his + last transgression, however, apprehending very naturally a strong + remonstrance from his brother, he addressed him as follows, in + anticipation of what he supposed Frank was about to say:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, Frank, I know you're goin' to scould me, and what is more, I know I + disarve all you could say to me; but there's one thing you don't know, an' + that is what I suffer for lettin' myself be made a fool of last night. + Afther the advices you have so often given me, and afther what my father + so often tould us to think of ourselves, and afther the solemn promises I + made to you—and that I broke, I feel as if I was nothin' more or + less than a disgrace to the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said the other, “I'm glad to hear you speak as you do; for it's a + proof that repentance is in your heart. I suppose I needn't say that it's + your intention not to be caught be these fellows again.” + </p> + <p> + “By the sacred—” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht,” said Frank, clapping his hand upon his mouth; “there's no use at + all in rash oaths, Art. If your mind is made up honestly and firmly in the + sight of God—and dependin' upon his assistance, that is enough + —and a great deal betther, too, than a rash oath made in a sudden + fit of repentance—ay, before you're properly recovered from your + liquor. Now say no more, only promise me you won't do the like, again.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank, listen to me—by all the—” + </p> + <p> + “Hould, Art,” replied Frank, stopping him again; “I tell you once more, + this rash swearin' is a bad sign—I'll hear no rash oaths; but listen + you to me; if your mind is made up against drinkin' this way again, jist + look me calmly and steadily in the face, and answer me simply by yes or + no. Now take your time, an' don't be in a hurry—be cool—be + calm—reflect upon what you're about to say; and whether it's your + solemn and serious intention to abide by it. My question 'll be very short + and very simple; your answer, as I said, will be merely yes or no. Will + you ever allow these fellows to make you drunk again? Yes or no, an' not + another word.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do,” said Frank; “now give me your hand, and a single word upon + what has passed you will never hear from me.” + </p> + <p> + In large manufactories, and in workshops similar to that in which the two + brothers were now serving their apprenticeship, almost every one knows + that the drunken and profligate entertain an unaccountable antipathy + against the moral and the sober. Art's last fit of intoxication was not + only a triumph over himself, but, what was still more, a triumph over his + brother, who had so often prevented him from falling into their snares and + joining in their brutal excesses. It so happened, however, that about this + precise period, Art had, unfortunately, contracted an intimacy with one of + the class I speak of, an adroit fellow with an oily tongue, vast powers of + flattery, and still greater powers of bearing liquor—for Frank could + observe, that notwithstanding all their potations, he never on any + occasion observed him affected by drink, a circumstance which raised him + in his estimation, because he considered that he was rather an obliging, + civil young fellow, who complied so far as to give these men his society, + but yet had sufficient firmness to resist the temptations to drink beyond + the bounds of moderation. The upshot of all this was, that Frank, not + entertaining any suspicion particularly injurious to Harte, for such was + his name, permitted his brother to associate with him much more frequently + than he would have done, had he even guessed at his real character. + </p> + <p> + One day, about a month after the conversation which we have just detailed + between the two brothers, the following conversation took place among that + class of the mechanics whom we shall term the profligates:— + </p> + <p> + “So he made a solemn promise, Harte, to <i>Drywig</i>”—this was a + nickname they had for Frank—“that he'd never smell liquor again.” + </p> + <p> + “A most solemnious promise,” said Harte ironically; “a most solemn and + solemnious promise; an' only that I know he's not a Methodist, I could + a'most mistake him for Paddy M'Mahon, the locality preacher, when he tould + me—” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy M'Mahon!” exclaimed Skinadre, the first speaker, a little thin + fellow, with white hair and red ferret eyes; “why, who the divil ever + heard of a Methodist Praicher of the name of Paddy M'Mahon?” + </p> + <p> + “It's aisy known,” observed a fellow named, or rather nicknamed, Jack + Slanty, in consequence of a deformity in his leg, that gave him the + appearance of leaning or slanting to the one side; “it's aisy known, + Skinadre, that you're not long in this part of the country, or you'd not + ax who Paddy M'Mahon is.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Slanty, never mind Paddy M'Mahon,” said another of them; “he + received the gift of grace in the shape of a purty Methodist wife and a + good fortune; ay, an' a sweet love-faist he had of it; he dropped the + Padereens over Solomon's Bridge, and tuck to the evenin' meetins—that's + enough for you to know; and now, Harte, about Maguire?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Harte, “if I'm not allowed to edge in a word, I had betther + cut.” + </p> + <p> + “A most solemn promise, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “A most solemn and solemnious promise, that was what I said; never again + by night or day, wet or dry, high or low, in or out, up or down, here or + there, to—to—get himself snimicated wid any liquorary fluid + whatsomever, be the same more or less, good, bad, or indifferent, hot or + could, thick or thin, black or white—” + </p> + <p> + “Have done, Harte; quit your cursed sniftherin', an' spake like a + Christian; do you think you can manage to circumsniffle him agin?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Harte, “or any man that ever trod on neat's leather—barrin' + one.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is that one?” + </p> + <p> + “That one, sir—that one—do you ax me who that one is?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you no ears? To be sure I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Skinadre, I'll tell you—I'll tell you, sarra,”—we ought + to add here, that Harte was a first-rate mimic, and was now doing a + drunken man,—“I'll tell you, sarra—that person was Nelson on + the top of the monument in Sackville street—no—no—I'm + wrong; I could make poor ould Horace drunk any time, an' often did—an' + many a turn-tumble he got off the monument at night, and the divil's own + throuble I had in gettin' him up on it before mornin', bekaise you all + know he'd be cashiered, or, any way, brought to coort martial for leavin' + his po-po-post.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if Nelson's not the man, who is?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Drywig's</i> his name,” replied Harte; “you all know one <i>Drywig</i>, + don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Quit your cursed stuff, Harte,” said a new speaker, named Garvey; “if you + think you can dose him, say so, and if not, let us have no more talk about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, an' it'll be a nice card to play,” replied Harte, resuming his + natural voice; “but at all events, if you will all drop into Garvey's + lodgins and mine, to-morrow evenin', you may find him there; but don't + blame me if I fail.” + </p> + <p> + “No one's goin' to blame you,” said Slanty, “an' the devil's own pity it + is that that blasted <i>Drywig</i> of a brother of his keeps him in + leadin' strings the way he does.” + </p> + <p> + “The way I'll do is this: I'll ask him up to look at the pattern of my new + waistcoat, an' wanst I get him in, all I have to do is to lay it on + thick.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt that,” said another, who had joined them; “when he came here + first, and for a long time afther, soapin' him might do; but I tell you + his eye's open—it's no go—he's wide awake now.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your orifice,” said Harte; “lave the thing to me; 'twas I did it + before, although he doesn't think so, an' it's I that will do it again, + although he doesn't think so. Haven't I been for the last mortal month + guardin' him aginst yez, you villains?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow evenin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, to-morrow evenin'; an' if we don't give him a gauliogue that'll make + him dance the circumbendibus widout music—never believe that my + name's any thing else than Tom Thin, that got thick upon spring wather. + Hello! there's the bell, boys, so mind what I tould yez; we'll give him a + farewell benefit, if it was only for the sake of poor <i>Drywig</i>. Ah, + poor <i>Drywig!</i> how will he live widout him? Ochone, ochone! ha, ha, + ha!” + </p> + <p> + Without at all suspecting the trap that had been set for him, Art attended + his business as usual, till towards evening, when Harte took an + opportunity, when he got him for a few minutes by himself, of speaking to + him apparently in a careless and indifferent way. + </p> + <p> + “Art, that's a nate patthern in your waistcoat; but any how, I dunna how + it is that you contrive to have every thing about you dacenter an' + jinteeler than another.” This, by the way, was true, both of him and his + brother. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, it's but middlin',” said Art; “it's now but a has-been:—when + it was at itself it wasn't so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Begad, it was lovely wanst; now; how do you account, Art, for bein' + supairior to us in all in—in every thing, I may say; ay, begad, in + every thing, and in all things, for that's a point every one allows.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Syl” (his name was Sylvester), “don't be comin' it soft over + me; how am I betther than any other?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're betther made, in the first place, than e'er a man among us; + in the next place, you're a betther workman;”—both these were true—“an', + in the third place, you're the best lookin' of the whole pack; an' now + deny these if you can:—eh, ha, ha, ha—my lad, I have you!” + </p> + <p> + An involuntary smile might be observed on Art's face at the last + observation, which also was true. + </p> + <p> + “Syl,” he replied, “behave yourself; what are you at now? I know you.” + </p> + <p> + “Know me!” exclaimed Syl; “why what do you know of me? Nothing that's bad + I hope, any way.” + </p> + <p> + “None of your palaver, at all events,” replied Art; “have you got any + tobaccy about you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sorra taste,” replied Harte, “nor had since mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have then,” said Art, pulling out a piece, and throwing it to him + with the air of a superior; “warm your gums wid that, for altho' I seldom + take a blast myself, I don't forget them that do.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, begorra,” said Harte, in an undertone that was designed to be heard, + “there's something in the ould blood still; thank you, Art, faix it's + yourself that hasn't your heart in a trifle, nor ever had. I bought a + waistcoat on Saturday last from Paddy M'Gartland, but I only tuck it on + the condition of your likin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “Me! ha, ha, ha, well, sure enough, Syl, you're the quarest fellow alive; + why, man, isn't it yourself you have to plaise, not me.” + </p> + <p> + “No matther for that, I'm not goin' to put my judgment in comparishment + wid yours, at any rate; an' Paddy M'Gartland himself said, 'Syl, my boy, + you know what you're about; if this patthern plaises Art Maguire, it'll + plaise anybody; see what it is,' says he, 'to have the fine high ould + blood in one's veins.' Begad he did; will you come up this evenin' about + seven o'clock, now, like a good fellow, an' pass your opinion for me? + Divil a dacent stitch I have, an' I want either it, or another, made up + before the ball night.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Country dances, or balls, in which the young men pay + from ten to fifteen pence for whiskey “to trate the + ladies.” We hope they will be abolished. +</pre> + <p> + “Well, upon my soundhers, Syl, I did not think you were such a fool; of + coorse I'll pass my opinion on it—about seven o'clock, you say.” + </p> + <p> + “About seven—thank you, Art; an' now listen;—sure the boys + intind to play off some prank upon you afore you lave us.” + </p> + <p> + “On me,” replied the other, reddening; “very well, Syl, let them do so; I + can bear a joke, or give a blow, as well as another; so divil may care, + such as they give, such as they'll get—only this, let there be no + attempt to make me drink whiskey, or else there may be harder hittin' than + some o' them 'ud like, an' I think they ought to know that by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “By jing, they surely ought; well, but can you spell mum?” + </p> + <p> + “M-u-m.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha, take care of yourself, an' don't forget seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Never fear.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank,” said Art, “I'm goin' up to Syl Harte's lodgin's to pass my + opinion on the patthern of a waistcoat for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Frank, “of coorse.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not stop long.” + </p> + <p> + “As long or short as you like, Art, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope, Frank, you don't imagine that there's any danger of drink?” + </p> + <p> + “Who, me—why should I, afther what passed? Didn't you give me your + word, and isn't your name Maguire? Not I.” + </p> + <p> + Art had seen, and approved of the pattern, and was chatting with Syl, when + a knock came to the room door in which they sat; Syl rose, and opening the + door, immediately closed it after him, and began in a low voice to + remonstrate with some persons outside. At length Art could hear the + subject of debate pretty well— + </p> + <p> + “Sorra foot yez will put inside the room this evenin', above all evenin's + in the year.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sure we know he won't drink. I wish to goodness we knew he had been + here; we wouldn't ax him to drink, bekase we know he wouldn't. + </p> + <p> + “No matther for that, sorrow foot yez'll put acrass the thrashel this + evenin'; now, I'll toll you what, Skinadre, I wouldn't this blessed + minute, for all I've earned these six months, that ye came this evenin';—I + have my raisons for it; Art Maguire is a boy that we have no right to + compare ourselves wid—you all know that.” + </p> + <p> + “We all know it, and there's nobody denyin' it; we haven't the blood in + our veins that he has, an' blood will show itself anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, boys, for his sake—an' I know you'd do any day for his + sake what you wouldn't, nor what you oughtn't, for mine—for his + sake, I say, go off wid yez, and bring your liquor somewhere else, or sure + wait till to-morrow evenin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of respect for Art Maguire we'll go; an' divil another boy in the + province we'd pay that respect to; good-evenin', Syl!” + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, boys,” said Art, coming to the door, “don't let me frighten you—come + in—I'd be very sorry to be the means of spoilin' sport, although I + can't drink myself; that wouldn't be generous—come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Augh,” said Skinadre, “by the livin' it's in him, an' I always knew it + was—the rale drop.” + </p> + <p> + “Boys,” said Harte, “go off wid yez out o' this, I say; divil a foot + you'll come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Arra go to—Jimmaiky; who cares about you, Syl, when we have Art's + liberty? Sure we didn't know the thing ourselves half an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Syl, man alive,” said Art, “let the poor fellows enjoy their + liquor, an', as I can't join yez, I'll take my hat an' be off.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it, an' bad luck to yez, how yez 'ud drive him away,” said Syl, + quite angry. + </p> + <p> + “Faix, if we disturb you, Art, we're off—that 'ud be too bad; yes, + Syl, you were right, it was very thoughtless of us: Art, we ax your + pardon, sorra one of us meant you any offence in life—come, boys.” + </p> + <p> + Art's generosity was thus fairly challenged, and he was not to be outdone— + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, boys,” said he; “sit down; I'll not go, if that'll plaise yez; sure + you'll neither eat me nor dhrink me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's jist one word you said, Slanty, that makes me submit to + it,” observed Harte, “an' that is, that it was accident your comin' at + all;” he here looked significantly at Art, as if to remind him of their + previous conversation on that day, and as he did it, his face gradually + assumed a complacent expression, as much as to say, it's now clear that + this cannot be the trap they designed for you, otherwise it wouldn't be + accidental. Art understood him, and returned a look which satisfied the + other that he did so. + </p> + <p> + As they warmed in their liquor, or pretended to get warm, many sly + attempts to entrap him were made, every one of which was openly and + indignantly opposed by Harte, who would not suffer them to offer him a + drop. + </p> + <p> + It is not our intention to dwell upon these matters: at present it is + sufficient to say, that after a considerable part of the evening had been + spent, Harte rose up, and called upon them all to fill their glasses— + </p> + <p> + “And,” he added, “as this is a toast that ought always to bring a full + glass to the mouth, and an empty one from it, I must take the liberty of + axin Art himself to fill a bumper.” + </p> + <p> + The latter looked at him with a good deal of real surprise, as the others + did with that which was of a very different description. + </p> + <p> + “Skinadre,” proceeded Harte, “will you hand over the cowld wather, for a + bumper it must be, if it was vitriol.” He then filled Art's glass with + water, and proceeded—“Stand up, boys, and be proud, as you have a + right to be; here's the health of Frank Maguire, and the ould blood of + Ireland!—hip, hip, hurra!” + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, boys,” said Art, whose heart was fired by this unexpected + compliment, paid to a brother whom he loved so well, and who, indeed, so + well, deserved his love; “aisy, boys,” he proceeded, “hand me the whiskey; + if it was to be my last, I'll never drink my brother's health in cowld + wather.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth an' you will this time,” said Harte, “undher this roof spirits + won't crass; your lips, an' you know for why.” + </p> + <p> + “I know but one thing,” replied Art, “that as you said yourself, if it was + vitriol, I'd dhrink it for the best brother that ever lived; I only + promised him that I wouldn't get dhrunk, an' sure, drinkin' a glass o' + whiskey, or three either, wouldn't make me dhrunk—so hand it here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art,” said Harte, “there's one man you can't blame for this, and + that is Syl Harte.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Syl, never—but now, boys, I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank Maguire's health! hip, hip, hurra!” + </p> + <p> + Thus was a fine, generous-minded, and affectionate young man—who + possessed all the candor and absence of suspicion which characterize truth—tempted + and triumphed over, partly through the very warmth of his own affections, + by a set of low, cunning profligates, who felt only anxious to drag him + down from the moral superiority which they felt he possessed. That he was + vain, and fond of praise, they knew, and our readers may also perceive + that it was that unfortunate vanity which gave them the first advantage + over him, by bringing him, through its influence, among them. Late that + night he was carried home on a door, in a state of unconscious + intoxication. + </p> + <p> + It is utterly beyond our power to describe the harrowing state of his + sensations on awakening the next morning. Abasement, repentance, remorse, + all combined as they were within him, fall far short of what he felt; he + was degraded in his own eyes, deprived of self-respect, and stripped of + every claim to the confidence of his brother, as he was to the well-known + character for integrity which had been until then inseparable from the + name. That, however, which pressed upon him with the most intense + bitterness was the appalling reflection that he could no longer depend + upon himself, nor put any trust in his own resolutions. Of what use was he + in the world without a will of his own, and the power of abiding by its + decisions? None; yet what was to be done? He could not live out of the + world, and wherever he went, its temptations would beset him. Then there + was his beloved Margaret Murray! was he to make her the wife of a common + drunkard? or did she suspect, when she pledged herself to him, that she + was giving away her heart and affections to a poor unmanly sot, who had + not sense or firmness to keep himself sober? He felt in a state between + distraction and despair, and putting his hands over his face, he wept + bitterly. To complete the picture, his veins still throbbed with the dry + fever that follows intoxication, his stomach was in a state of deadly + sickness and loathing, and his head felt exactly as if it would burst or + fly asunder. + </p> + <p> + Alas! had his natural character been properly understood and judiciously + managed; had he been early taught to understand and to control his own + obvious errors; had the necessity of self-reliance, firmness, and + independence been taught him; had his principles not been enfeebled by the + foolish praise of his family, nor his vanity inflated by their senseless + appeals to it—it is possible, nay, almost certain, that he would, + even at this stage of his life, have been completely free from the + failings which are beginning even now to undermine the whole strength of + his moral constitution. + </p> + <p> + Frank's interview with him on this occasion was short but significant— + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said he, “you know I never was a man of many words; and I'm not + goin' to turn over a new lafe now. To scould you is not my intention—nor + to listen to your promises. All I have to say is, that you have broken + your word, and disgraced your name. As for me, I can put neither + confidence nor trust in you any longer; neither will I.” + </p> + <p> + A single tear was visible on his cheek as he passed out of the room; and + when he did, Art's violent sobs were quite audible. Indeed, if truth must + be told, Frank's distress was nearly equal to his brother's. What, + however, was to be done? He was too ill to attend his business, a + circumstance which only heightened his distress; for he knew that + difficult as was the task of encountering his master, and those who would + only enjoy his remorse, still even that was less difficult to be borne + than the scourge of his own reflections. At length a thought occurred, + which appeared to give him some relief; that thought he felt was all that + now remained to him, for as it was clear that he could no longer depend on + himself, it was necessary that he should find something else on which to + depend. He accordingly sent an intimation to his master that he wished to + have a few minutes' conversation with him, if he could spare time; + M'Carroll accordingly came, and found him in a state which excited the + worthy man's compassion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art,” said he, “what is it you wish to speak to me about? I hear + you were drunk last night. Now I thought you had more sense than to let + these fellows put you into such a pickle. I have a fine, well-conducted + set of men in general; but there is among them a hardened, hackneyed crew, + who, because they are good workmen, don't care a curse about either you or + me, or anybody else. They're always sure of employment, if not here, at + least elsewhere, or, indeed, anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “But it wasn't their fault,” replied Art, “it was altogether my own; they + were opposed to my drinkin' at all, especially as they knew that I + promised Frank never to get drunk agin. It was when Syl Harte proposed + Frank's health, that I drank the whiskey in spite o' them.” + </p> + <p> + “Syl Harte,” said his master with a smile, “ay, I was thinkin' so; well, + no matter, Art, have strength and resolution not to do the like again.” + </p> + <p> + “But that's the curse, sir,” replied the young man, “I have neither the + one nor the other, and it's on that account I sent for you.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that, Art?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the other, “I am goin' to bind myself—I am goin' to + swear against it, and so to make short work of it, and for fraid any one + might prevent me”—he blessed himself, and proceeded—“I now, in + the presence of God, swear upon this blessed manwil (* Manual) that a drop + of spirituous drink, or liquor of any kind, won't cross my lips for the + next seven years, barrin' it may be necessary as medicine;” he then kissed + the book three times, blessed himself again, and sat down considerably + relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he added, “you may tell them what I've done; that's seven years' + freedom, thank God; for I wouldn't be the slave of whiskey—the + greatest of tyrants—for the wealth of Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but the worst of it is, Art,” replied his m ister, who was an + exceedingly shrewd man, “that whiskey makes a man his own tyrant and his + own slave, both at the same time, and that's more than the greatest tyrant + that ever lived did yet. As for yourself, you're not fit to work any this + day, so I think you ought to take a stretch across the country, and walk + off the consequence of your debauch with these fellows last night.” + </p> + <p> + Art now felt confidence and relief; he had obtained the very precise aid + of which he stood in need. The danger was now over, and a prop placed + under his own feeble resolution, on which he could depend with safety; + here there could be no tampering with temptation; the matter was clear, + explicit, and decisive: so far all was right, and, as we have said, his + conscience felt relieved of a weighty burden. + </p> + <p> + His brother, on hearing it from his own lips, said little, yet that little + was not to discourage him; he rather approved than otherwise, but avoided + expressing any very decided opinion on it, one way or the other. + </p> + <p> + “It's a pity,” said he, “that want of common resolution should drive a man + to take an oath; if you had tried your own strength, a little farther, + Art, who knows but you might a' gained a victory without it, and that + would be more creditable and manly than swearin'; still, the temptation to + drink is great to some people, and this prevents all possibility of + fallin' into it.” + </p> + <p> + Art, who, never having dealt in any thing disingenuous himself, was slow + to credit duplicity in others, did not once suspect that the profligates + had played him off this trick, rather to annoy the brother than himself. + It was, after all, nothing but the discreditable triumph of cunning and + debased minds, over the inexperience, or vanity, if you will, of one, who, + whatever his foibles might be, would himself scorn to take an ungenerous + advantage of confidence reposed in him in consequence of his good opinion + and friendly feeling. + </p> + <p> + The period of their apprenticeship, however, elapsed, and the day at + length arrived for their departure from the Corner House. Their master, + and, we may add, their friend, solicited them to stop with him still as + journeymen; but, as each had a different object in view, they declined it. + Art proposed to set up for himself, for it was indeed but natural that one + whose affections had been now so long engaged, should wish, with as little + delay as possible, to see himself possessed of a home to which he might + bring his betrothed wife. Frank had not trusted to chance, or relied + merely upon vague projects, like his brother; for, some time previous to + the close of his apprenticeship, he had been quietly negotiating the + formation of a partnership with a carpenter who wanted a steady man at the + helm. The man had capital himself, and was clever enough in his way, but + then he was illiterate, and utterly without method in conducting his + affairs; Frank was therefore the identical description of person he stood + in need of, and, as the integrity of his family was well known—that + integrity which they felt so anxious to preserve without speck—there + was of course little obstruction in the way of their coming to terms. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the day on which they left his establishment, M'Carroll + came into the workshop while they were about bidding farewell to their + companions, with whom they had lived—abating the three or four + pranks that were played off upon Art—on good and friendly terms, and + seeing that they were about to take their departure, he addressed them as + follows:— + </p> + <p> + “I need not say,” he proceeded, “that I regret you are leaving me; which I + do, for, without meaning any disrespect to those present, I am bound to + acknowledge that two better workmen, or two honester young men, were never + in my employment. Art, indeed is unsurpassed, considering his time, and + that he is only closing his apprenticeship: 'tis true, he has had good + opportunities—opportunities which, I am happy to say, he has never + neglected. I am in the habit, as you both know, of addressing a few words + of advice to my young men at the close of their apprenticeships, and when + they are entering upon the world as you are now. I will therefore lay down + a few simple rules for your guidance, and, perhaps, by following them, you + will find yourselves neither the worse nor the poorer men. + </p> + <p> + “Let the first principle then of your life, both as mechanics, and men, be + truth—truth in all you think, in all you say, and in all you do; if + this should fail to procure you the approbation of the world, it will not + fail to procure you your own, and, what is better, that of God. Let your + next principle be industry—honest, fair, legitimate industry, to + which you ought to annex punctuality—for industry without + punctuality is but half a virtue. Let your third great principle be + sobriety—strict and undeviating sobriety; a mechanic without + sobriety, so far from being a benefit or an ornament to society, as he + ought to be, is a curse and a disgrace to it; within the limits of + sobriety all the rational enjoyments of life are comprised, and without + them are to be found all those which desolate society with crime, + indigence, sickness, and death. In maintaining sobriety in the world, and + especially among persons of your own class, you will certainly have much + to contend with; remember that firmness of character, when acting upon + right feeling and good sense, will enable you to maintain and work out + every virtuous and laudable purpose which you propose to effect. Do not, + therefore, suffer yourselves to be shamed from sobriety, or, indeed, from + any other moral duty, by the force of ridicule; neither, on the other + hand, must you be seduced into it by flattery, or the transient + gratification of social enjoyment. I have, in fact, little further to add; + you are now about to become members of society, and to assume more + distinctly the duties which it imposes on you. Discharge them all + faithfully—do not break your words, but keep your promises, and + respect yourselves, remember that self-respect is a very different thing + from pride, or an empty overweening vanity—self-respect is, in fact, + altogether incompatible with them, as they are with it; like opposite + qualities, they cannot abide in the same individual. Let me impress it on + you, that these are the principles by which you must honorably succeed in + life, if you do succeed; while by neglecting them, you must assuredly + fail. 'Tis true, knavery and dishonesty are often successful, but it is by + the exercise of fraudulent practices, which I am certain you will never + think of carrying into the business of life—I consequently dismiss + this point altogether, as unsuitable to either of you. I have only to add, + now, that I hope most sincerely you will observe the few simple truths I + have laid down to you; and I trust, that ere many years pass, I may live + to see you both respectable, useful, and independent members of society. + Farewell, and may you be all we wish you!” + </p> + <p> + Whether this little code of useful doctrine was equally observed by both, + will appear in the course of our narrative. + </p> + <p> + About a month or so before the departure of Frank and Art from the Corner + House, Jemmy Murray and another man were one day in the beginning of May + strolling through one of his pasture-fields. His companion was a thin, + hard-visaged little fellow, with a triangular face, and dry bristly hair, + very much the color of, and nearly as prickly as, a withered furze bush; + both, indeed, were congenial spirits, for it is only necessary to say, + that he of the furze bush was another of those charital and generous + individuals whose great delight consisted, like his friend Murray, in + watching the seasons, and speculating upon the failure of the crops. He + had the reputation of being wealthy, and in fact was so; indeed, of the + two, those who had reason to know, considered that he held the weightier + purse; his name was Cooney Finigan, and the object of his visit to Murray—their + conversation, however, will sufficiently develop that. Both, we should + observe, appeared to be exceedingly blank and solemn; Cooney's hard face, + as he cast his eye about him, would have made one imagine that he had just + buried the last of his family, and Murray looked as if he had a son about + to be hanged. The whole cause of this was simply that a finer season, nor + one giving ampler promise of abundance, had not come within the memory of + man. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Murray, with a sigh, “look, Cooney, at the distressin' growth + of grass that's there—a foot high if it's an inch! If God hasn't sed + it, there will be the largest and heaviest crops that ever was seen in the + country; heigho!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but one can't have good luck always,” replied Cooney; “only it's + the wondherful forwardness of the whate that's distressin' me.” + </p> + <p> + “An' do you think that I'm sufferin' nothin' on that account?” asked his + companion; “only you haven't three big stacks of hay waitin' for a + failure, as I have.” + </p> + <p> + “That's bekase I have no meadow on my farm,” replied Cooney; “otherwise I + would be in the hay trade as well as yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, God help us, Cooney! every one has their misfortunes as well as you + and I; sure enough, it's a bitther business to see how every thing's + thrivin'—hay, oats, and whate! why they'll be for a song: may I + never get a bad shillin', but the poor 'ill be paid for takin' them! + that's the bitther pass things will come to; maurone ok! but it's a black + lookout!” + </p> + <p> + “An' this rain, too,” said Cooney, “so soft, and even, and small, and + warm, that it's playin' the very devil. Nothin' could stand it. Why it ud + make a rotten twig grow if it was put into the ground.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a one o' me would like to make the third,” said Murray, “for 'fraid + I might have the misfortune to succeed. Death alive! Only think of my four + arks, of meal, an' my three stacks of hay, an' divil a pile to come out of + them for another twelve months!” + </p> + <p> + “It's bad, too bad, I allow,” said the other; “still let us not despair, + man alive; who knows but the saison may change for the worse yet. Whish!” + he exclaimed, slapping the side of his thigh, “hould up your head, Jemmy, + I have thought of it; I have thought of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have thought of what, Cooney?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, death alive, man, sure there's plenty of time, God be praised for + it, for the—murdher, why didn't we think of it before? ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “For the what, man? don't keep us longin' for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why for the pratie crops to fail still; sure it's only the beginning o' + May now, and who knows but we might have the happiness to see a right good + general failure of the praties still? Eh? ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my sounds, Cooney, you have taken a good deal of weight off of me. + Faith we have the lookout of a bad potato crop yet, sure enough. How is + the wind? Don't you think you feel a little dry bitin' in it, as if it + came from the aist?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, in regard of the dead calm that's in it, I can't exactly say—but, + let me see—you're right, divil a doubt of it; faith it is, sure + enough; bravo, Jemmy, who knows but all may go wrong wid the crops yet.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events, let us have a glass on the head of it, and we'll drink to + the failure of the potato craps, and God prosper the aist wind, for it's + the best for you an' me, Cooney, that's goin'. Come up to the house above, + and we'll have a glass on the head of it.” + </p> + <p> + The fastidious reader may doubt whether any two men, no matter how griping + or rapacious, could prevail upon themselves to express to each other + sentiments so openly inimical to all human sympathy. In holding this + dialogue, however, the men were only thinking aloud, and giving utterance + to the wishes which every inhuman knave of their kind feels. In + compliance, however, with the objections which maybe brought against the + probability of the above dialogue, we will now give the one which did + actually occur, and then appeal to our readers whether the first is not + much more in keeping with the character of the speakers—which ought + always to be a writer's great object—than the second. Now, the + reader already knows that each of these men had three or four large arks + of meal laid past until the arrival of a failure in the crops and a season + of famine, and that Murray had three large stacks of hay in the hope of a + similar failure in the meadow crop. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morrow, Jemmy.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-morrow kindly, Cooney; isn't this a fine saison, the Lord be + praised!” + </p> + <p> + “A glorious saison, blessed be His name! I don't think ever I remimber a + finer promise of the craps.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, nor I, the meadows is a miracle to look at.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a thing else—but the white, an' oats, an' early potatoes, + beat anything ever was seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, the poor will have them for a song, Jemmy.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, or for less, Cooney; they'll be paid for takin' them.” + </p> + <p> + “It's enough to raise one's heart, Jemmy, just to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why then it is that, an', for the same raison, come up to the house + above, and we'll have a sup on the head of it; sure, it's no harm to drink + success to the craps, and may God prevent a failure, any how.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Now, we simply ask the reader which dialogue is in the more appropriate + keeping with the characters of honest, candid Jemmy and Cooney? + </p> + <p> + “And now,” proceeded Cooney, “regard-in' this match between your youngest + daughter Margaret, and my son Toal.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, as for myself,” replied Murray, “sorra much of objection I have + aginst it, barrin' his figure; if he was about a foot and a half higher, + and a little betther made—God pardon me, an' blessed be the maker—there + would, at all events, be less difficulty in the business, especially with + Peggy herself.” + </p> + <p> + “But couldn't you bring her about?” + </p> + <p> + “I did my endayvors, Cooney; you may take my word I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, an' is she not softenin' at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my sounds, Cooney, I cannot say she is. If I could only get her to + spake one sairious word on the subject, I might have some chance; but I + cannot, Cooney; I think both you an' little Toal had betther give it up. I + doubt there's no chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith an' the more will be her loss. I tell you, Jemmy, that he'd outdo + either you or me as a meal man. What more would you want?” + </p> + <p> + “He's cute enough, I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you you don't know the half of it. It's the man that can make the + money for her that you want.” + </p> + <p> + “But aginst that, you know, it's Peggy an' not me that's to marry him. + Now, you know that women often—though not always, I grant—wish + to have something in the appearance of their husband that they needn't be + ashamed to look at.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the only objection that can bo brought against him. He's the boy + can make the money; I'm a fool to him. I'll tell you what, Jemmy Murray, + may I never go home, but he'd skin a flint. Did you hear anything? Now!” + </p> + <p> + Murray, who appeared to be getting somewhat tired of this topic, replied + rather hastily— + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cooney Finnigan, if he could skin the devil himself and ait him + afterwards, she wouldn't have him. She has refused some of the best + looking young men in the parish, widout either rhyme or raison, an' I'm + sure she's not goin' to take your leprechaun of a son, that you might run + a five-gallon keg between his knees. Sure, bad luck to the thing his legs + resemble but a pair of raipin' hooks, wid their backs outwards. Let us + pass this subject, and come in till we drink a glass together.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you call my son a leprechaun, and he has legs like raipin' hooks!” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha! Come in, man alive; never mind little Toal.” + </p> + <p> + “Like raipin' hooks! I'll tell you what, Jemmy, I say now in sincerity, + that there is every prospect of a plentiful sayson; and that there may, I + pray God this day; meadows an' all—O above all, the meadows, for I'm + not in the hay business myself.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Murray, laughing, “you would cut off your nose to vex your + face.” + </p> + <p> + “I would any day, even if should suffer myself by it; and now good-bye, + Jemmy Murray, to the dioual I pitch the whole thing! Rapin' hooks!” And as + he spoke, off went the furious little extortioner, irretrievably offended. + </p> + <p> + The subject of Margaret's marriage, however, was on that precise period + one on which her father and friends had felt and expressed much concern. + Many proposals had been made for her hand during Art's apprenticeship; but + each and all not only without success, but without either hope or + encouragement. Her family were surprised and grieved at this, and the more + so, because they could not divine the cause of it. Upon the subject of her + attachment to Maguire, she not only preserved an inviolable silence + herself, but exacted a solemn promise from her lover that he should not + disclose it to any human being. Her motive, she said, for keeping their + affection and engagement to each other secret, was to avoid being harassed + at home by her friends and family, who, being once aware of the relation + in which she stood towards Art, would naturally give her little peace. She + knew very well that her relations would not consent to such a union, and, + in point of mere prudence and forethought, her conduct was right, for she + certainly avoided much intemperate remonstrance, as afterwards proved to + be the case when she mentioned it. Her father on this occasion having + amused them at home by relating the tift which had taken place between + Cooney Finnigan and himself, which was received with abundant mirth by + them all, especially by Margaret, seriously introduced the subject of her + marriage, and of a recent proposal which had been made to her. + </p> + <p> + “You are the only unmarried girl we have left now,” he said, “and surely + you ought neither to be too proud nor too saucy to refuse such a match as + Mark Hanratty—a young man in as thrivin' a business as there is in + all Ballykeerin; hasn't he a good shop, good business, and a good back of + friends in the country that will stand to him, an' only see how he has + thruv these last couple o' years. What's come over you at all? or do you + ever intend to marry? you have refused every one for so far widout either + rhyme or raison. Why, Peggy, what father's timper could stand this work?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha! like raipin' hooks, father—an' so the little red rogue + couldn't bear that? well, at all events, the comparison's a good one—sorra + better; ha, ha, ha—reapin' hooks!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the answer you have for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Answer!” said Margaret, feigning surprise, “what about?” + </p> + <p> + “About Mark Hanmity.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but sure if he's fond of me, hell have no objection to wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but if he does wait, will you have him?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't promise that, and, at any rate, I'd not like to be a + shopkeeper's wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he'd be puttin' me behind the counter, and you know I'd be too + handsome for that; sure, there's Thogue Nugent that got the handsome wife + from Dublin, and of a fair, or market-day, for one that goes in to buy + anything, there goes ten in to look at her. Throth, I think he ought to + put her in the windy at once, just to save trouble, and give the people + room.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha! well, you're the dickens of a girl, sure enough; but come, + avourneen, don't be makin' me laugh now, but tell me what answer I'm to + give Mark.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to go to Dublin, like Thogue; he lives in the upper part of the + town, and Thogue in the lower, and then there will be a beauty in each end + of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I take it into my head to lose my temper, Peggy, maybe I'd make + you spake then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, will you give me a peck o' mail for widow Dolan?” + </p> + <p> + “No, divil a dust.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure I'll pay you—ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Sure you'll pay me! mavrone, but it's often you've said that afore, and + divil a cross o' Your coin ever we seen yet; faith, it's you that's + heavily in my debt, when I think of all ever you promised to pay me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then; no meal, no answer.” + </p> + <p> + “And will you give me an answer if I give you the meal?” + </p> + <p> + “Honor bright, didn't I say it.” + </p> + <p> + “Go an' get it yourself then, an' see now, don't do as you always do, take + double what you're allowed.” + </p> + <p> + Margiret, in direct violation of this paternal injunction, did most + unquestionably take near twice the stipulated quantity for the widow, and, + in order that there might be no countermand on the part of her father, as + sometimes happened, she sent it off with one of the servants by a back + way, so that he had no opportunity of seeing how far her charity had + carried her beyond the spirit and letter of her instructions. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, when she returned, “now for the answer; and before you + give it, think of the comfort you'll have with him—how fine and + nicely furnished his house is—he has carpets upon the rooms, ay, an' + upon my sounds, on the very stairs itself! faix it's you that will be in + state. Now, acushla, let us hear your answer.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very short, father; I won't have him.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't have him! and in the name of all that's unbiddable and undutiful, + who will you have, if one may ax that, or do you intend, to have any one + at all, or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see,” she said, putting the side of her forefinger to her lips, + “what day is this? Thursday. Well, then, on this day month, father, I'll + tell my mother who I'll have, or, at any rate, who I'd wish to have; but, + in the mean time, nobody need ask me anything further about it till then, + for I won't give any other information on the subject.” + </p> + <p> + The father looked very seriously into the fire for a considerable time, + and was silent; he then drew his breath lengthily, tapped the table a + little with his fingers, and exclaimed—“A month! well, the time will + pass, and, as we must wait, why we must, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Matters lay in this state until the third day before the expiration of the + appointed time, when Margaret, having received from Art secret + intelligence of his return, hastened to a spot agreed upon between them, + that they might consult each other upon what ought to be done under + circumstances so critical. + </p> + <p> + After the usual preface to such tender discussions, Art listened with a + good deal of anxiety, but without the slightest doubt of her firmness and + attachment, to an account of the promise she had given her father. + </p> + <p> + “Well, but, Margaret darlin',” said he, “what will happen if they refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, you know it is too late for them to refuse now; arn't we as good + as married—didn't we pass the Hand Promise—isn't our troth + plighted?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, but suppose they should still refuse, then what's to be + done? what are you and I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I must lave that to you, Art,” she replied archly. + </p> + <p> + “And it couldn't be in better hands, Margaret; if they refuse their + consent, there's nothing for it but a regular runaway, and that will + settle it.” + </p> + <p> + “You must think I'm very fond of you,” she added playfully, “and I suppose + you do, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” said Art, and his face became instantly overshadowed with + seriousness and care, “the day may come when I'll feel how necessary you + will be to guide and support me.” + </p> + <p> + She looked quickly into his eyes, and saw that his mind appeared disturbed + and gloomy. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Art,” she asked, “what is the meaning of your words, and why is + there such sadness in your face?” + </p> + <p> + “There ought not to be sadness in it,” he said, “when I'm sure of you—you + will be my guardian angel may be yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Art, have you any particular meanin' in what you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you all,” said he, “when we are married.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret was generous-minded, and, as the reader may yet acknowledge, + heroic; there was all the boldness and bravery of innocence about her, and + she could scarcely help attributing Art's last words to some fact + connected with his feelings, or, perhaps, to circumstances which his + generosity prevented him from disclosing. A thought struck her— + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said she, “the sooner this is settled the better; as it is, if + you'll be guided by me, we won't let the sun set upon it; walk up with me + to my father's house, come in, and in the name of God, we'll leave nothing + unknown to him. He is a hard man, but he has a heart, and he is better a + thousand times than he is reported. I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Art, “let us go; he may be richer, but there's the blood, and + the honesty, and good name of the Maguires against his wealth—” + </p> + <p> + A gentle pressure on his arm, when he mentioned the word wealth, and he + was silent. + </p> + <p> + “My darlin' Margaret,” said he, “oh how unworthy I am of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said she, “lave me to manage this business my own way. Your good + sense will tell you when to spake; but whatever my father says, trate him + with respect—lave the rest to me.” + </p> + <p> + On entering, they found Murray and his wife in the little parlor—the + former smoking his pipe, and the latter darning a pair of stockings. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Margaret, “Art Maguire convoyed me home; but, indeed, I + must say, I was forced to ask him.” + </p> + <p> + “Art Maguire. Why, then, upon my sounds, Art, I'm glad to see you. An' how + are you, man alive? an' how is Frank, eh? As grave as a jidge, as he + always was—ha, ha, ha! Take a chair, Art, and be sittin'. Peggy, + gluntha me, remimber, you must have Art at your weddin'. It's now widin + three days of the time I'm to know who he is; and upon my sounds, I'm like + a hen on a hot griddle till I hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not within three days, father.” + </p> + <p> + “But I say I am, accordin' to your own countin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not within three hours, father;”—her face 'glowed, and her + whole system became vivified with singular and startling energy as she + spoke;—“no, you are not within three hours, father; not within three + minutes, my dear father; for there stands the man,” she said, pointing to + Art. She gave three or four loud hysterical sobs, and then stood calm, + looking not upon her father, but upon her lover; as much as to say, Is + this love, or is it not? + </p> + <p> + Her mother, who was a quiet, inoffensive creature, without any principle + or opinion whatsoever at variance with those of her husband, rose upon + hearing this announcement; but so ambiguous were her motions, that we + question whether the most sagacious prophet of all antiquity could + anticipate from them the slightest possible clue to her opinion. The + husband, in fact, had not yet spoken, and until he had, the poor woman did + not know her own mind. Under any circumstances, it was difficult exactly + to comprehend her meaning. In fact, she could not speak three words of + common English, having probably never made the experiment a dozen times in + her life. Murray was struck for some time mute. + </p> + <p> + “And is this the young man,” said he, at length, “that has been the mains + of preventin' you from being so well married often and often before now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, father,” she replied, “he was not the occasion of that; but I + was. I am betrothed to him, as he is to me, for five years.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said her father, “my consent to that marriage you will never have; + if you marry him, marry him, but you will marry him without my blessin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Jemmy Murray,” said Art, whose pride of family was fast rising, “who am + I, and who are you?” + </p> + <p> + Margaret put her hand to his mouth, and said in a low voice— + </p> + <p> + “Art, if you love me, leave it to my management.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho, Jemmy,” said the mother, addressing her husband, “only put your ears + to this! <i>Ho, dher manim</i>, this is that skamin' piece of <i>feasthealagh</i> + (* nonesense) they call <i>grah</i> (*love). Ho, by my sowl, it shows what + moseys they is to think that—what's this you call it?—low-lov-loaf, + or whatsomever the devil it is, has to do wid makin' a young couple man + and wife. Didn't I hate the ground you stud on when I was married upon + you? but I had the <i>airighid</i>. Ho, faix, I had the shiners.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a word o' lie in that, Madjey, asthore. You had the money, an' I + got it, and wern't we as happy, or ten times happier, than if we had + married for love?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sartin we am; an' isn't we more unhappier now, nor if we had got + married for loaf, glory be to godness!” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Margaret, anxious to put an end to this ludicrous debate, + “this is the only man I will ever marry.” + </p> + <p> + “And by Him that made me,” said her father, “you will never have my + consent to that marriage, nor my blessin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said she, “not one word. Here, in the presence of my father and + mother, and in the presence of God himself, I say I will be your wife, and + only yours.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said her father, “see whether a blessin' will attend a marriage + where a child goes against the will of her parents.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm of age now to think and act for myself, father; an' you know this is + the first thing I ever disobeyed you in, an' I hope it 'ill be the last. + Am I goin' to marry one that's discreditable to have connected with our + family? So far from that, it is the credit that is comin' to us. Is a + respectable young man, without spot or stain on his name, with the + good-will of all that know him, and a good trade—is such a person, + father, so very high above us? Is one who has the blood of the great + Fermanagh Maguires in his veins not good enough for your daughter, because + you happen to have a few bits of metal that he has not? Father, you will + give us your consent an' your blessin' too; but remember that whether you + do, or whether you don't, I'll not break my vow; I'll marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” said the father, in a calm, collected voice, “put both consent + and blessin' out of the question; you will never have either from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho <i>dher a Ihora heena</i>,” exclaimed the mother, “I'm the boy for one + that will see the buckle crossed against them, or I'd die every day this + twelve months upon the top and tail o' Knockmany, through wind an' + weather. You darlin' scoundrel,” she proceeded, addressing Art, in what + she intended to be violent abuse—“God condemn your sowl to + happiness, is I or am my husband to be whillebelewin' on your loaf? Eh, + answer us that, if you're not able, like a man, as you is?” + </p> + <p> + Margaret, whose humor and sense of the ludicrous were exceedingly strong, + having seldom heard her mother so excited before, gave one arch look at + Art, who, on the contrary, felt perfectly confounded at the woman's + language, and in that look there was a kind of humorous entreaty that he + would depart. She nodded towards the door, and Art, having shook hands + with her, said— + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Jemmy Murray, I hope you'll change your mind still; your + daughter never could got any one that loves her as I do, or that could + treat her with more tendherness and affection.” + </p> + <p> + “Be off, you darlin' vagabone,” said Mrs. Murray, “the heavens be your + bed, you villain, why don't you stay where you is, an' not be malivogin an + undacent family this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Art Maguire,” replied Murray, “you heard my intention, and I'll never + change it.” Art then withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Our readers may now anticipate the consequences of the preceding + conversation. Murray and his wife having persisted in their refusal to + sanction Margaret's marriage with Maguire, every argument and influence + having been resorted to in vain, Margaret and he made what is termed a + runaway match of it, that is, a rustic elopement, in which the young + couple go usually to the house of some friend, under the protection of + whose wife the female remains until her marriage, when the husband brings + her home. + </p> + <p> + And now they commence life. No sooner were they united, than Art, feeling + what was due to her who had made such and so many sacrifices for him, put + his shoulder to the wheel with energy and vigor. Such aid as his father + could give him, he did give; that which stood him most in stead, however, + was the high character and unsullied reputation of his own family. + Margaret's conduct, which was looked upon as a proof of great spirit and + independence, rendered her, if possible, still better loved by the people + than before. But, as we said, there was every confidence placed in Art, + and the strongest hopes of his future success and prosperity in life + expressed by all who knew him; and this was reasonable. Here was a young + man of excellent conduct, a first-rate workman, steady, industrious, + quiet, and, above all things, sober; for the three or four infractions of + sobriety that took place during his apprenticeship, had they even been + generally known, would have been reputed as nothing; the truth is, that + both he and Margaret commenced life, if not with a heavy purse, at least + with each a light heart. He immediately took a house in Ballykeerin, and, + as it happened that a man of his own trade, named Davis, died about the + same time of lockjaw, occasioned by a chisel wound in the ball of the + thumb, as a natural consequence, Art came in for a considerable portion of + his business; so true is it, that one man's misfortune is another man's + making. His father did all he could for him, and Margaret's sisters also + gave them some assistance, so that, ere the expiration of a year, they + found themselves better off than they had reason to expect, and, what + crowned their happiness—for they were happy—was the appearance + of a lovely boy, whom, after his father, they called. Arthur. Their hearts + had not much now to crave after—happiness was theirs, and health; + and, to make the picture still more complete, prosperity, as the + legitimate reward of Art's industry and close attention to business, was + beginning to dawn upon them. + </p> + <p> + One morning, a few months after this time, as she sat with their lovely + babe in her arms, the little rogue playing with the tangles of her raven + hair, Art addressed her in the fulness of as affectionate a heart as ever + beat in a human bosom:— + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mag,” said he, “are you sorry for not marryin' Mark Hanratty?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and then at their beautiful babe, which was his image, + and her lip quivered for a moment; she then smiled, and kissing the + infant, left a tear upon its face. + </p> + <p> + He started, “My God, Margaret,” said he, “what is this?” + </p> + <p> + “If that happy tear,” she replied, “is a proof of it, I am.” + </p> + <p> + Art stooped, and kissing her tenderly, said—“May God make me, and + keep me worthy of you, my darling wife!” + </p> + <p> + “Still, Art,” she continued, “there is one slight drawback upon my + happiness, and that is, when it comes into my mind that in marryin' you, I + didn't get a parent's blessin'; it sometimes makes my mind sad, and I + can't help feelin' so.” + </p> + <p> + “I could wish you had got it myself,” replied her husband, “but you know + it can't be remedied now.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events,” she said, “let us live so as that we may desarve it; it + was my first and last offence towards my father and mother.” + </p> + <p> + “And it's very few could say as much, Mag, dear; but don't think of it, + sure, may be, he may come about yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly hope that,” she replied, “after the priest failin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but,” replied her husband, taking up the child in his arms, “who + knows what this little man may do for us—who knows, some day, but + we'll send a little messenger to his grandfather for a blessin' for his + mammy that he won't have the heart to refuse.” + </p> + <p> + This opened a gleam of satisfaction in her mind. She and her husband + having once more kissed the little fellow, exchanged glances of affection, + and he withdrew to his workshop. + </p> + <p> + Every week and month henceforth added to their comfort. Art advanced in + life, in respectability, and independence; he was, indeed, a pattern to + all tradesmen who wish to maintain in the world such a character as + enforces esteem and praise; his industry was incessant, he was ever + engaged in something calculated to advance himself; up early and down late + was his constant practice—no man could exceed, him in punctuality—his + word was sacred—whatever he said was done; and so general were his + habits of industry, integrity, and extreme good conduct appreciated, that + he was mentioned as a fresh instance of the high character sustained by + all who had the old blood of the Fermanagh Maguires in their veins. In + this way he proceeded, happy in the affections of his admirable wife—happy + in two lovely children—happy in his circumstances—in short, + every way happy, when, to still add to that happiness, on the night of the + very day that closed the term of his oath against liquor—that closed + the seventh year—his wife presented him with their third child, and + second daughter. + </p> + <p> + In Ireland there is generally a very festive spirit prevalent during + christenings, weddings, or other social meetings of a similar nature; and + so strongly is this spirit felt, that it is—or was, I should rather + say—not at all an unusual thing for a man, when taking an oath + against liquor, to except christenings or weddings, and very frequently + funerals, as well as Christmas and Easter. Every one acquainted with the + country knows this, and no one need be surprised at the delight with which + Art Maguire hailed this agreeable coincidence. Art, we have said before, + was naturally social, and, although he did most religiously observe his + oath, yet, since the truth must be told, we are bound to admit that, on + many and many an occasion, he did also most unquestionably regret the + restraint that he had placed upon himself with regard to liquor. Whenever + his friends were met together, whether at fair, or market, wedding, + christening, or during the usual festivals, it is certain that a glass of + punch or whiskey never crossed his nose that he did not feel a secret + hankering after it, and would often have snuffed in the odor, or licked + his lips at it, were it not that he would have considered the act as a + kind of misprision of perjury. Now, however, that he was free, and about + to have a christening in his house, it was at least only reasonable that + he should indulge in a glass, if only for the sake of drinking the health + of “the young lady.” His brother Frank happened to be in town that + evening, and Art prevailed on him to stop for the night. + </p> + <p> + “You must stand for the young colleen, Frank,” said he, “and who do you + think is to join you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, how could I guess?” replied Frank. + </p> + <p> + “The sorra other but little Toal Finnigan, that thought to take Margaret + from me, you renumber.” + </p> + <p> + “I remimber he wanted to marry her, and I know that he's the most + revengeful and ill-minded little scoundrel on the face of the earth; if + ever there was a devil in a human bein', there's one in that misshapen but + sugary little vagabone. His father was bad enough when he was alive, and + worse than he ought to be, may God forgive him now, but this spiteful + skinflint, that's a curse to the poor of the country, as he is their + hatred, what could tempt you to ax him to stand for any child of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “He may be what he likes, Frank, but all I can say is, that I found him + civil and obligin', an' you know the devil's not so black as he's + painted.” + </p> + <p> + “I know no such thing, Art,” replied the other; “for that matter, he may + be a great deal blacker; but still I'd advise you to have nothing to say + to Toal—he's a bad graft, egg and bird; but what civility did he + ever show you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he—he's a devilish pleasant little fellow, any way, so he is; + throth it's he that spakes well of you, at any rate; if he was ten times + worse than he is, he has a tongue in his head that will gain him friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, Art,” said Frank, laughing, “he has been layin' it thick an' sweet + on you. My hand to you, there's not so sweet-tongued a knave in the + province; but mind, I put you on your guard—he's never pure honey + all out, unless where there's bitther hatred and revenge at the bottom of + it—that's well known, so be advised and keep him at a distance; have + nothin' to do or to say to him, and, as to havin' him for a godfather, why + I hardly think the child could thrive that he'd stand for.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too late for that now,”, replied Art, “for I axed him betther than + three weeks agone.” + </p> + <p> + “An' did he consint?” + </p> + <p> + “He did, to be sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, keep your word to him, of coorse; but, as soon as the + christenings over, drop him like a hot potato.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, thin, that's hard enough, Frank, so long as I find the crathur + civil.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but, Art, don't I tell you that it's his civility you should be + afeard of; throth, the same civility ought to get him kicked a dozen times + a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Faix and,” said Art, “kicked or not, here he comes; whisht! don't be + oncivil to the little bachelor at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Oncivil, why should I? the little extortionin' vagabone never injured or + fleeced me; but, before he puts his nose into the house, let me tell you + wanst more, Art, that he never gets sweet upon any one that he hasn't in + hatred for them at the bottom; that's his carracther.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it is,” said Art, “but, until I find it to be true, I'll take the + ginerous side, an' I won't believe it; he's a screw, I know, an' a + skinflint, an'—whisht! here he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Toal Finnigan, how are you?” said Art; “I was goin' to say how is every + tether length of you, only that I think it would be impossible to get a + tether short enough to measure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha, that's right good—divil a man livin' makes me laugh so + much as—why then, Frank Maguire too!—throth, Frank, I'm proud + to see you well—an' how are you, man? and—well, in throth I am + happy to see you lookin' so well, and in good health; an' whisper, Frank, + it's your own fau't that I'm not inquirin' for the wife and childre.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I can return the compliment, Toal; it's a shame for both of us to be + bachelors at this time o' day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the little fellow, “I wasn't Frank Maguire, one of the best + lookin' boys in the barony, an' the most respected, an' why not? Well, + divil a thing afther all like the ould blood, an' if I wanted a pure dhrop + of that same, maybe I don't know where to go to look for it—maybe I + don't, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “It's Toal's fault that he wasn't married many a year ago,” said Art; “he + refused more wives, Frank, than e'er a boy of his years from this to + Jinglety cooeh—divil a lie in it; sure he'll tell you himself.” + </p> + <p> + Now, as Toal is to appear occasionally, and to be alluded to from time to + time in this narrative, we shall give the reader a short sketch or outline + of his physical appearance and moral character. In three words, then, he + had all his father's vices multiplied tenfold, and not one of his good + qualities, such as they were; his hair was of that nondescript color which + partakes at once of the red, the fair, and the auburn; it was a bad dirty + dun, but harmonized with his complexion to a miracle. That complexion, + indeed, was no common one; as we said, it was one of those which, no + matter how frequently it might have been scrubbed, always presented the + undeniable evidences of dirt so thorougly ingrained into the pores of the + skin, that no process could remove it, short of flaying him alive. His + vile, dingy dun bristles stood out in all directions from his head, which + was so shaped as to defy admeasurement; the little rascal's body was + equally ill-made, and as for his limbs, we have already described them, as + reaping-hooks of flesh and blood, terminated by a pair of lark-heeled + feet, as flat as smoothing-irons. Now, be it known, that notwithstanding + these disadvantages, little Toal looked upon himself as an Adonis upon a + small scale, and did certainly believe that scarcely any female on whom he + threw his fascinating eye could resist being enamored of him. This, of + course, having become generally known, was taken advantage of, and many a + merry country girl amused both herself and others at his expenses while he + imagined her to be perfectly serious. + </p> + <p> + “Then how did you escape at all,” said Frank—“you that the girls are + so fond of?” + </p> + <p> + “You may well ax,” said Toal; “but at any rate, it's the divil entirely to + have them too fond of you. There's raison in every thing, but wanst a + woman takes a strong fancy to the cut of your face, you're done for, until + you get rid of her. Throth I suffered as much persecution that way as + would make a good batch o' marthyrs. However, what can one do?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a hard case, Toal,” said Art; “an' I b'lieve you're as badly off, if + not worse, now than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “In that respect,” replied Toal, “I'm ladin' the life of a murdherer. I + can't set my face out but there's a pursuit after me—chased an' + hunted like a bag fox; devil a lie I'm tellin' you.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you intend to marry still, Toal?” asked Frank; “bekaise if you + don't, it would be only raisonable for you to make it generally known that + your mind's made up to die a bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't bring the penalty an' expenses of a wife an' family on me, for + the handsomest woman livin',” said Toal. “Oh no; the Lord in mercy forbid + that! Amin, I pray.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Art, “is it fair play to the girls not to let that be + generally known, Toal?” + </p> + <p> + “Hut,” replied the other, “let them pick it out of their larnin', the + thieves. Sure they parsecuted me to sich a degree, that they desarve no + mercy at my hands. So, Art,” he proceeded, “you've got another mouth to + feed! Oh, the Lord pity you! If you go on this way, what 'ill become of + you at last?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know,” replied Art, “that God always fits the back to the + burden, and that he never sends a mouth but he sends something to fill + it.” + </p> + <p> + The little extortioner shrugged his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows, + turned up his eyes—as much as to say, What a pretty notion of life + you have with such opinions as these! + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, Toal,” said Art, “the young lady we've got home to us is a + beauty; at all events, her godfathers need not be ashamed of her.” + </p> + <p> + “If she's like her own father or mother,” replied Toal, once more resuming + the sugar-candy style, “she can't be anything else than a beauty, It's + well known that sich a couple never stood undher the roof of Aughindrummon + Chapel, nor walked the street of Ballykeerin.” + </p> + <p> + Frank winked at Art, who, instead of returning the wink, as he ought to + have done, shut both his eyes, and then looked at Toal with an expression + of great compassion—as if he wished to say, Poor fellow, I don't + think he can be so bad-hearted as the world gives him credit for. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Toal,” he replied, laughing, “none of your bother now. Ay was + there, many a finer couple under the same roof, and on the same street; so + no palaver, my man; But are you prepared to stand for the girsha? You know + it's nearly a month since I axed you?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I am; but who's the midwife?” + </p> + <p> + “Ould Kate Sharpe; as lucky a woman as ever came about one's house.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, then, I'm sorry for that,” said Toal, “for she's a woman I don't + like; an' I now say beforehand, that devil a traneen she'll be the betther + of me, Art.” + </p> + <p> + “Settle that,” replied Art, “between you; at all events, be ready on + Sunday next—the christenin's fixed for it.” + </p> + <p> + After some farther chat, Toal, who, we should have informed our readers, + had removed from his father's old residence into Ballykeerin, took his + departure, quite proud at the notion of being a godfather at all; for in + truth it was the first occasion on which he ever had an opportunity of + arriving at that honor. + </p> + <p> + Art was a strictly conscientious man; so much so, indeed, that he never + defrauded a human being to the value of a farthing; and as for truth, it + was the standard principle of his whole life. Honesty, truth, and sobriety + are, indeed, the three great virtues upon which all that is honorable, + prosperous, and happy is founded. Art's conscientious scruples were so + strong, that although in point of fact the term of his oath had expired at + twelve o'clock in the forenoon, he would not permit himself to taste a + drop of spirits until after twelve at night. + </p> + <p> + “It's best,” said he to his brother, “to be on the safe side at all + events: a few hours is neither one way nor the other. We haven't now more + than a quarther to go, and then for a tight drop to wet my whistle, an' + dhrink the little girshas health an' her mother's. Throth I've put in a + good apprenticehip to sobriety, anyhow. Come, Madjey,” he added, + addressing the servant-maid, “put down the kettle till we have a little + jorum of our own; Frank here and myself; and all of yez.” + </p> + <p> + “Very little jorum will go far wid me, you know, Art,” replied his + brother; “an' if you take my advice, you'll not go beyond bounds yourself + either.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, Frank, an' I'll not take either yours nor any other body's, until + little Kate's christened. I think that afther a fast of seven years I'm + entitled to a stretch.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said his brother; “I see you're on for it; but as you said + yourself a while ago, it's best to be on the safe side, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, dang it, Frank, sure you don't imagine I'm goin' to drink the town + dhry; there's raison in everything.” + </p> + <p> + At length the kettle was boiled, and the punch made; Art took his tumbler + in hand, and rose up; he looked at it, then glanced at his brother, who + observed that he got pale and agitated. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you?” said he; “is there any thing wrong wid you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinkin',” replied Art, “of what I suffered wanst by it; an' besides, + it's so long since I tasted it, that somehow I jist feel for all the world + as if the oath was scarcely off of me yet, or as if I was doin' what's not + right.” + </p> + <p> + “That's mere weakness,” said Frank; “but still, if you have any scruple, + don't drink it; I bekaise the truth is, Art, you couldn't have a scruple + that will do you more good than one against liquor.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll only take this tumbler an' another to-night; and then we'll go + to bed, plase goodness.” + </p> + <p> + His agitation then passed away, and he drank a portion of the liquor. + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinkin', Art,” said Frank, “that it wouldn't be aisy to find two men + that has a betther right to be thankful to God for the good fortune we've + both had, than yourself and me. The Lord has been good, to me, for I'm + thrivin' to my heart's content, and savin' money every day.” + </p> + <p> + “And glory be to his holy name,” said Art, looking with a strong sense of + religious feeling upward, “so am I; and if we both hould to this, we'll + die rich, plaise goodness. I have saved up very well, too; and here I sit + this night as happy a man as is in Europe. The world's flowin' on me, an' + I want for nothin'; I have good health, a clear conscience, and everything + that a man in my condition of life can stand in need of, or wish for; + glory be to God for it all!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Frank; “glory be to his name for it!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Frank,” said Art, “there's one thing that I often wonder at, an' + indeed so does every one a'most.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that, Art?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that you don't think o' marryin'. Sure you have good means to keep a + wife, and rear a family now; an' of coorse we all wonder that you don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, to tell you the truth, Art, I don't know myself what's the raison + of it—the only wife I think of is my business; but any way, if you + was to see the patthern of married life there is undher the roof wid me, + you'd not be much in consate wid marriage yourself, if you war a + bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” inquired the other, “don't they agree?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay do they, so well that they get sometimes into very close an' lovin' + grips togather; if ever there was a scald alive she's one o' them, an' him + that was wanst so careless and aisey-tempered, she has now made him as bad + as herself—has trained him regularly until he has a tongue that + would face a ridgment. Tut, sure divil a week that they don't flake one + another, an' half my time's, taken up reddin' them.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever happen to get the reddin' blow? eh? ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet; but the truth is, Art, that an ill-tongued wife has driven + many a husband to ruin, an' only that I'm there to pay attention to the + business, he'd be a poor drunken beggarman long ago, an' all owin' to her + vile temper.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she dhrink?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sorra drop—this wickedness all comes natural to her; she + wouldn't be aisy out of hot wather, and poor Jack's parboiled in it every + day in the year.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's I that have got the treasure, Frank; from the day that I first + saw her face till the minute we're spakin' in, I never knew her temper to + turn—always the same sweet word, the same flow of spirits, and the + same light laugh; her love an' affection for me an' the childher there + couldn't be language found for. Come, throth we'll drink her health in + another tumbler, and a speedy uprise to her, asthore machree that she is, + an' when I think of how she set every one of her people at defiance, and + took her lot wid myself so nobly, my heart burns wid love for her, ay, I + feel my very heart burnin' widin me.” + </p> + <p> + Two tumblers were again mixed, and Margaret's health was drunk. + </p> + <p> + “Here's her health,” said Art, “may God grant her long life and + happiness!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” responded Frank, “an' may He grant that she'll never know a + sorrowful heart!” + </p> + <p> + Art laid down his tumbler, and covered his eyes with his hands for a + minute or two. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not ashamed, Frank,” said he, “I'm not a bit ashamed of these tears—she + desarves them—where is her aiquil? oh, where is her aiquil? It's she + herself that has the tear for the distresses of her fellow-creatures, an' + the ready hand to relieve them; may the Almighty shower down his blessins + on her!” + </p> + <p> + “Them tears do you credit,” replied Frank, “and although I always thought + well of you, Art, and liked you betther than any other in the family, + although I didn't say much about it, still, I tell you, I think betther of + you this minute than I ever did in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “There's only one thing in the wide world that's throublin' her,” said + Art, “an' that is, that she hadn't her parents' blessin' when she married + me, nor since—for ould Murray's as stiff-necked as a mule, an' the + more he's driven to do a thing the less he'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” observed Frank, “the best plan is to let him alone; maybe + when it's not axed for he'll give it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish he would,” said Art, “for Margaret's sake; it would take away a + good deal of uneasiness from her mind.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation afterwards took several turns, and embraced a variety of + topics, till the second tumbler was finished. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Art, “as there's but the two of us, and in regard of the + occasion that's in it, throth we'll jist take one more a piece.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Frank, “I never go beyant two, and you said you wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Hut, man, divil a matther for that; sure there's only ourselves two, as I + said, an' Where's the harm? Throth, it's a long time since I felt myself + so comfortable, an' besides, it's not every night we have you wid us. + Come, Frank, one more in honor of the occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Another drop won't cross my lips this night,” returned his brother, + firmly, “so you needn't be mixin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorra foot you'll go to bed to-night till you take another; there, now + it's mixed, so you know you must take it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a drop.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for the sake of poor little Kate, that you're to stand for; come, + Frank, death alive, man!” + </p> + <p> + “Would my drinkin' it do Kate any good?” + </p> + <p> + “Hut, man alive, sure if one was to lay down the law that way upon every + thing, they might as well be out of the world at wanst; come, Frank.”' + </p> + <p> + “No, Art, I said I wouldn't, and I won't break my word.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sure, that's only a trifle; take the liquor; the sorra betther + tumbler of punch ever was made: it's Barney Scaddhan's whiskey.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Scaddhan, a herring, a humorous nickname bestowed + upon him, because he made the foundation of his fortune + by selling herrings. +</pre> + <p> + “An' if Barney Scaddhan keeps good whiskey, is that any rason why I should + break my word, or would you have me get dhrunk because his liquor's + betther than another man's?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for the sake of poor Margaret, then, an' she so fond o' you; sure + many a time she tould me that sorra brother-in-law ever she had she likes + so well, an' I know it's truth; that I may never handle a plane but it is; + dang it, Frank, don't be so stiff.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was stiff, Art, but I always was, and always will be, firm, when + I know I'm in the right; as I said about the child, what good would my + drinkin' that tumbler of punch do Margaret? None in life; it would do her + no good, and it would do myself harm. Sure, we did drink her health.” + </p> + <p> + “An' is that your respect for her?” said Art, in a huff, “if that's it, + why—” + </p> + <p> + “There's not a man livin' respects her more highly, or knows her worth + betther than I do,” replied Frank, interrupting him, “but I simply ax you, + Art, what mark of true respect would the fact of my drinkin' that tumbler + of punch be to her? The world's full of these foolish errors, and bad ould + customs, and the sooner they're laid aside, an' proper ones put in their + place, the betther.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well, Frank, the sorra one o' me will ask you to take it agin; I + only say, that if I was in your house, as you are in mine, I wouldn't + break squares about a beggarly tumbler of punch.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse, Art, I would rather you would; there, now, you have + taken your third tumbler, yet you said when we sat down that you'd confine + yourself to two; is that keepin' your word? I know you may call breakin' + it now a trifle, but I tell you, that when a man begins to break his word + in trifles, he'll soon go on to greater things, and maybe end without much + regardin' it in any thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mane to say, Frank, or to hint, that ever I'd come to sich a + state as that I wouldn't regard my word.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not; but even if I did, by followin' up this coorse you'd put + yourself in the right way of comin' to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, I'll not let this other one be lost either,” he added, drawing + over to him the tumbler which he had filled for his brother; “I've an + addition to my family—the child an' mother doin' bravely, an' didn't + taste a dhrop these seven long years; here's your health, at all events, + Frank, an' may the Lord put it into your heart to marry a wife, an' be as + happy as I am. Here, Madgey, come here, I say; take that whiskey an' + sugar, an' mix yourselves a jorum; it's far in the night, but no matther + for that—an' see, before you mix it, go an' bring my own darlin' + Art, till he dhrinks his mother's health.” + </p> + <p> + “Why now, Art,” began his brother, “is it possible that you can have the + conscience to taich the poor boy sich a cursed habit so soon? What are you + about this minute but trainin' him up to what may be his own destruction + yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Come now, Frank, none of your moralizin',” the truth is, that the punch + was beginning rapidly to affect his head; “none of your moralizin', throth + it's a preacher you ought to be, or a lawyer, to lay down the law. Here, + Madgey, bring him to me; that's my son, that there isn't the like of in + Ballykeerin, any way. Eh, Frank, it's ashamed of him I ought to be, isn't + it? Kiss me, Art, and then kiss your uncle Frank, the best uncle that ever + broke the world's bread is the same Frank—that's a good boy, Art; + come now, drink your darlin' mother's health in this glass of brave punch; + my mother's health, say, long life an' happiness to her! that's a man, + toss it off at wanst, bravo; arra, Frank, didn't he do that manly? the + Lord love him, where 'ud you get sich a fine swaddy as he is of his age? + Oh, Frank, what 'ud become of me if anything happened that boy? it's a + mad-house would hould me soon. May the Lord in heaven save and guard him + from all evil and clanger!” + </p> + <p> + Frank saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him at such a moment, + for the truth is, intoxication was setting in fast, and all his influence + over him was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Atty, before you go to bed agin, jist a weeshy sup more to drink + your little sisther's health; sure Kate Sharpe brought you home a little + sisther, Atty.” + </p> + <p> + “The boy's head will not be able to stand so much,” said Frank; “you will + make him tipsy.” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a tipsy; sure it's only a mere draineen.” + </p> + <p> + He then made the little fellow drink the baby's health, after which he was + despatched to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Throth, it's in for a penny in for a pound wid myself. I know, Frank, + that—that there's something or other wrong wid my head, or at any + rate wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin'. Is everything + movin', Frank?” + </p> + <p> + “You think so,” said Frank, “because you're fast getting tipsy—if + you arn't tipsy all out.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, if I'm tip—tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by + another tumbler. Come, Frank, here's the ould blood of Ireland—the + Maguires of Fermanagh! And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become + you to drink that toast, than to be sittin' there like an oracle, as you + are; for upon my sowl, you're nearly as bad. But, Frank.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow—that is—is—if + he was well made. 'There never stood,' says he, 'sich a couple in the + chapel of—of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up + or down the street of Ballykeerin—that's the chat,' says he: an' + whisper, Frank, ne—neither did there. Whe—where is Margaret's + aiquil, I'd—I'd like to know? an' as for me, I'll measure myself + across the shouldhers aginst e'er a—a man, woman, or child in—in + the parish. Co—come here, now, Frank, till I me—measure the + small o' my leg ag—aginst yours; or if—if that makes you + afeard, I'll measure the—the ball of my leg aginst the ball of + yours. There's a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist look at it.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it; it is a powerful wrist.” + </p> + <p> + “But feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, Art, sure I see it.” + </p> + <p> + “D—n it, man, jist feel it—feel the breadth of—of that + bone. Augh—that's the—the wrist; so anyhow, here's little Toal + Finnigan's health, an' I don't care what they say, I like little Toal, an' + I will like little Toal; bekaise—aise if—if he was the divil, + as—as they say he is, in disguise—ha, ha, ha! he has a civil + tongue in his head.” + </p> + <p> + He then commenced and launched out into the most extravagant praises of + himself, his wife, his children; and from these he passed to the ould + blood of Ireland, and the Fermanagh Maguires. + </p> + <p> + “Where,” he said, “whe—where is there in the country, or anywhere + else, a family that has sich blood as ours in their veins? Very well; an' + aren't we proud of it, as we have a right to be? Where's the Maguire that + would do a mane or shabby act? tha—that's what I'd like to know. + Isn't the word of a Maguire looked upon as aiquil to—to an—another + man's oath; an' where's the man of them that was—as ever known to + break it? Eh Frank? No; stead—ed—steady's the word wid the + Maguires, and honor bright.” + </p> + <p> + Frank was about to remind him that he had in his own person given a proof + that night that a Maguire could break his word, and commit a disreputable + action besides; but as he saw it was useless, he judiciously declined then + making any observation whatsoever upon it. + </p> + <p> + After a good deal of entreaty, Frank succeeded in prevailing on him to go + to bed; in which, however, he failed, until Art had inflicted on him three + woful songs, each immensely long, and sung in that peculiarly fascinating + drawl, which is always produced by intoxication. At length, and when the + night was more than half spent, he assisted him to bed—a task of + very considerable difficulty, were it not that it was relieved by his + receiving from the tipsy man several admirable precepts, and an abundance + of excellent advice, touching his conduct in the world; not forgetting + religion, on which he dwelt with a maudlin solemnity of manner, that was, + or would have been to strangers, extremely ludicrous. Frank, however, + could not look upon it with levity. He understood his brother's character + and foibles too well, and feared that notwithstanding his many admirable + qualities, his vanity and want of firmness, or, in other words, of + self-dependence, might overbalance them all. + </p> + <p> + The next morning his brother Frank was obliged to leave betimes, and + consequently had no opportunity of advising or remonstrating with him. On + rising, he felt sick and feverish, and incapable of going into his + workshop. The accession made to his family being known, several of his + neighbors came in to inquire after the health of his wife and infant; and + as Art, when left to his own guidance, had never been remarkable for + keeping a secret, he made no scruple of telling them that he had got drunk + the night before, and was, of course, quite out of order that morning. + Among the rest, the first to come in was little Toal Finnigan, who, in + addition to his other virtues, possessed a hardness of head—by which + we mean a capacity for bearing drink—that no liquor, or no quantity + of liquor, could overcome. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Toal, “sure it's very reasonable that you should be out of + ordher; after bein' seven years from it, it doesn't come so natural to you + as it would do. Howandiver, you know that there's but the one cure for it—a + hair of the same dog that bit you; and if you're afeared to take the same + hair by yourself, why I'll take a tuft of it wid you, an' we'll dhrink the + wife's health—my ould sweetheart—and the little sthranger's.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth I believe you're right,” said Art, “in regard to the cure; so in + the name of goodness we'll have a gauliogue to begin the day wid, an' set + the hair straight on us.” + </p> + <p> + During that day, Art was neither drunk nor sober, but halfway between the + two states. He went to his workshop about two o'clock; but his journeymen + and apprentices could smell the strong whiskey off him, and perceive an + occasional thickness of pronunciation in his speech, which a good deal + surprised them. When evening came, however, his neighbors, whom he had + asked in, did not neglect to attend; the bottle was again produced, and + poor Art, the principle of restraint having now been removed, re-enacted + much the same scene as on the preceding night, with this exception only, + that he was now encouraged instead of being checked or reproved. + </p> + <p> + There were now only three days to elapse until the following Sabbath, on + which day the child was to be baptized; one of them, that is, the one + following his first intoxication with Frank, was lost to him, for, as we + have said, though not precisely drunk, he was not in a condition to work, + nor properly to give directions. The next he felt himself in much the same + state, but with still less of regret. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is,” said he, “I won't be rightly able to do any thing till + afther this christenin', so that I may set down the remaindher o' the week + as lost; well, sure that won't break me at any rate. It's long since I + lost a week before, and we must only make up for it; afther the + christenin' I'll work double tides.” + </p> + <p> + This was all very plausible reasoning, but very fallacious + notwithstanding; indeed, it is this description of logic which conceals + the full extent of a man's errors from, himself, and which has sent + thousands forward on their career to ruin. Had Art, for instance, been + guided by his steady and excellent brother, or, what would have been + better still, by his own good sense and firmness, he would have got up the + next morning in health, with an easy mind, and a clear conscience, and + been able to resume his work as usual. Instead of that, the night's + debauch produced its natural consequences, feverishness and indisposition, + which, by the aid of a bad proverb, and worse company, were removed by the + very cause which produced them. The second night's debauch lost the + following day, and then, forsooth, the week was nearly gone, and it wasn't + worth while to change the system, as if it was ever too soon to mend, or + as if even a single day's work were not a matter of importance to a + mechanic. Let any man who feels himself reasoning as Art Maguire did, rest + assured that there is an evil principle within him, which, unless he + strangle it by prompt firmness, and a strong conviction of moral duty, + will ultimately be his destruction. + </p> + <p> + There was once a lake, surrounded by very beautiful scenery, to which its + waters gave a fine and picturesque effect. This lake was situated on an + elevated part of the country, and a little below it, facing the west, was + a precipice, which terminated a lovely valley, that gradually expanded + until it was lost in the rich campaign country below. From this lake there + was no outlet of water whatsoever, but its shores at the same time were + rich and green, having been all along devoted to pasture. Now, it so + happened that a boy, whose daily occupation was to tend his master's + sheep, went one day when the winds were strong, to the edge of the lake, + on the side to which they blew, and began to amuse himself by making a + small channel in the soft earth with his naked foot. This small identation + was gradually made larger and larger by the waters—whenever the wind + blew strongly in that direction—until, in the course of time, it + changed into a deep chasm, which wore away the earth that intervened + between the lake and the precipice. The result may be easily guessed. When + the last portion of the earth gave way, the waters of the lake + precipitated themselves upon the beautiful and peaceful glen, carrying + death and destruction in their course, and leaving nothing but a dark + unsightly morass behind them. So is it with the mind of man. When he gives + the first slight assent to a wrong tendency, or a vicious resolution, he + resembles the shepherd's boy, who, unconscious of the consequences that + followed, made the first small channel in the earth with his naked foot. + The vice or the passion will enlarge itself by degrees until all power of + resistance is removed; and the heart becomes a victim to the impetuosity + of an evil principle to which no assent of the will ever should have been + given. + </p> + <p> + Art, as we have said, lost the week, and then came Sunday for the + christening. On that day, of course, an extra cup was but natural, + especially as it would put an end to his indulgence on the one hand, and + his idleness on the other. Monday morning would enable him to open a new + leaf, and as it was the last day—that is, Sunday was—why, dang + it, he would take a good honest jorum. Frank, who had a greater regard for + Art's character than it appeared Art himself had, Spoke to him privately + on the morning of the christening, as to the necessity and decency of + keeping himself sober on that day; but, alas! during this friendly + admonition he could perceive, that early as it was, his brother was not + exactly in a state of perfect sobriety. His remonstrances were very + unpalatable to Art, and as a consciousness of his conduct, added to the + nervousness produced by drink, had both combined to produce irritability + of temper, he addressed himself more harshly to his brother than he had + ever done in his life before. Frank, for the sake of peace, gave up the + task, although he saw clearly enough that the christening was likely to + terminate, at least so far as Art was concerned, in nothing less than a + drunken debauch. This, indeed, was true. Little Toal, who drank more + liquor than any two among them, and Frank himself, were the only sober + persons present, all the rest having successfully imitated the example set + them by Art, who was carried to bed at an early hour in the evening. This + was but an indifferent preparation for his resolution to commence work on + Monday morning, as the event proved. When the morning came, he was + incapable of work; a racking pain in the head, and sickness of stomach, + were the comfortable assurances of his inability. Here was another day + lost; but finding that it also was irretrievably gone, he thought it would + be no great harm to try the old cure—a hair of the dog—as + before, and it did not take much force of reasoning to persuade himself to + that course. In this manner he went on, losing day after day, until + another week was lost. At length he found himself in his workshop, + considerably wrecked and debilitated, striving with tremulous and unsteady + hands to compensate for his lost time; it was now, however, too late—the + evil habit had been contracted—the citadel had been taken—the + waters had been poisoned at their source—the small track with the + naked foot had been made. From this time forward he did little but make + resolutions to-day, which he broke tomorrow; in the course of some time he + began to drink with his own workmen, and even admitted his apprentices to + their potations. Toal Finnigan, and about six or eight dissolute and + drunken fellows, inhabitants of Ballykeerin, were his constant companions, + and never had they a drinking bout that he was not sent for: sometimes + they would meet in his own workshop, which was turned into a tap-room, and + there drink the better part of the day. Of course the workmen could not be + forgotten in their potations, and, as a natural consequence, all work was + suspended, business at a stand, time lost, and morals corrupted. + </p> + <p> + His companions now availed themselves of his foibles, winch they drew out + into more distinct relief. Joined to an overweening desire to hear himself + praised, was another weakness, which proved to be very beneficial to his + companions; this was a swaggering and consequential determination, when + tipsy, to pay the whole reckoning, and to treat every one he knew. + </p> + <p> + He was a Maguire—he was a gentleman—had the old blood in his + veins, and that he might never handle a plane, if any man present should + pay a shilling, so long as he was to the fore. This was an argument in + which he always had the best of it; his companions taking care, even if he + happened to forget it, that some chance word or hint should bring it to + his memory. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Barney Scaddhan—Barney, I say, what's the reckonin', you + sinner? Now, Art Maguire, divil a penny of this you'll pay for—you're + too ginerous, an' have the heart of a prince.” + </p> + <p> + “And kind family for him to have the heart of a prince, sure we all know + what the Fermanagh Maguires wor; of coorse we won't let him pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Toal Finnigan, do you want me to rise my hand to you? I tell you that a + single man here won't pay a penny o' reckonin', while I'm to the good; + and, to make short work of it, by the contints o' the book, I'll strike + the first of ye that'll attempt it. Now!” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, an' I for one,” said Toal, “won't come undher your fist; it's + little whiskey ever I'd drink if I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” the others would exclaim, “that ends it; howendiver, never + mind, Art, I'll engage we'll have our revenge on you for that—the + next meetin' you won't carry it all your own way; we'll be as stiff as + you'll be stout, my boy, although you beat us out of it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Augh,” another would say, in a whisper especially designed for him, “by + the livin' farmer there never was one, even of the Maguires, like him, an' + that's no lie.” + </p> + <p> + Art would then pay the reckoning with the air of a nobleman, or, if he + happened to be without money, he would order it to be scored to him, for + as yet his credit was good. + </p> + <p> + It is wonderful to reflect how vanity blinds common sense, and turns all + the power of reason and judgment to nothing. Art was so thoroughly + infatuated by his own vanity, that he was utterly incapable of seeing + through the gross and selfish flattery with which they plied him. Nay, + when praising him, or when sticking him in for drink, as it is termed, + they have often laughed in his very face, so conscious were they that it + could be done with impunity. + </p> + <p> + This course of life could not fail to produce suitable consequences to his + health, his reputation, and his business. His customers began to find now + that the man whose word had never been doubted, and whose punctuality was + proverbial, became so careless and negligent in attending to his orders, + that it was quite useless to rely upon his promises, and, as a very + natural consequence, they began to drop off one after another, until he + found to his cost that a great number of his best and most respectable + supporters ceased to employ him. + </p> + <p> + When his workmen, too, saw that he had got into tippling and irregular + habits, and that his eye was not, as in the days of his industry, over + them, they naturally became careless and negligent, as did the apprentices + also. Nor was this all; the very individuals who had been formerly + remarkable for steadiness, industry, and sobriety—for Art would then + keep no other—were now, many of them, corrupted by his own example, + and addicted to idleness and drink. This placed him in a very difficult + position; for how, we ask, could he remonstrate with them so long as he + himself transgressed more flagrantly than they did? For this reason he was + often forced to connive at outbreaks of drunkenness and gross cases of + neglect, which no sober man would suffer in those whom he employed. + </p> + <p> + “Take care of your business, and your business will take care of you,” is + a good and a wholesome proverb, that cannot bo too strongly impressed on + the minds of the working classes. Art began to feel surprised that his + business was declining, but as yet his good sense was strong enough to + point out to him the cause of it. His mind now became disturbed, for while + he felt conscious that his own neglect and habits of dissipation + occasioned it, he also felt that he was but a child in the strong grasp of + his own propensities. This was anything but a consoling reflection, and so + long as it lasted he was gloomy, morbid, and peevish; his excellent wife + was the first to remark this, and, indeed, was the first that had occasion + to remark it, for even in this stage of his life, the man who had never + spoken to her, or turned his eye upon her, but with tenderness and + affection, now began, especially when influenced by drink, to give + manifestations of temper that grieved her to the heart. Abroad, however, + he was the same good-humored fellow as ever, with a few rare exceptions—when + he got quarrelsome and fought with his companions. His workmen all were + perfectly aware of his accessibility to flattery, and some of them were + not slow to avail themselves of it: these were the idle and unscrupulous, + who, as they resembled himself, left nothing unsaid or undone to maintain + his good opinion, and they succeeded. His business now declined so much, + that he was obliged to dismiss some of them, and, as if he had been fated + to ruin, the honest and independent, who scorned to flatter his + weaknesses, were the very persons put out of his employment, because their + conduct was a silent censure upon his habits, and the men he retained were + those whom he himself had made drunken and profligate by his example; so + true is it that a drunkard is his own enemy in a thousand ways. + </p> + <p> + Here, then, is our old friend Art falling fast away from the proverbial + integrity of his family—his circumstances are rapidly declining—his + business running to a point—his reputation sullied, and his temper + becoming sharp and vehement; these are strong indications of + mismanagement, neglect, and folly, or, in one word, of a propensity to + drink. + </p> + <p> + About a year and a half has now elapsed, and Art, in spite of several most + determined resolutions to reform, is getting still worse in every respect. + It is not to be supposed, however, that during this period he has not had + visitations of strong feeling—of repentance—remorse—or + that love of drink had so easy a victory over him as one would imagine. No + such thing. These internal struggles sometimes affected him even unto + agony, and he has frequently wept bitter tears on finding himself the + victim of this terrible habit. He had not, however, the courage to look + into his own condition with a firm eye, or to examine the state of either + his heart or his circumstances with the resolution of a man who knows that + he must suffer pain by the inspection. Art could not bear the pain of such + an examination, and, in order to avoid feeling it, he had recourse to the + oblivion of drink; not reflecting that the adoption of every such remedy + for care resembles the wisdom of the man, who, when raging under the + tortures of thirst, attempted to allay them by drinking sea-water. Drink + relieved him for a moment, but he soon found that in his case the remedy + was only another name for the disease. + </p> + <p> + It is not necessary to assure our readers that during Art's unhappy + progress hitherto, his admirable brother Frank felt wrung to the heart by + his conduct. All that good advice, urged with good feeling and good sense, + could do, was tried on him, but to no purpose; he ultimately lost his + temper on being reasoned with, and flew into a passion with Frank, whom he + abused for interfering, as he called it, in business which did not belong + to him. Notwithstanding this bluster, however, there was no man whom he + feared so much; in fact, he dreaded his very appearance, and would go any + distance out of his way rather than come in contact with him. He felt + Frank's moral ascendency too keenly, and was too bitterly sensible of the + neglect with which he had treated his affectionate and friendly + admonitions, to meet him with composure. Indeed, we must say, that, + independently of his brother Frank, he was not left to his own impulses, + without many a friendly and sincere advice. The man had been so highly + respected—his name was so stainless—his conduct so good, so + blameless; he stood forth such an admirable pattern of industry, + punctuality, and sobriety, that his departure from all these virtues + occasioned general regret and sorrow. Every friend hoped that he would pay + attention to his advice, and every friend tried it, but, unfortunately, + every friend failed. Art, now beyond the reach of reproof, acted as every + man like him acts; he avoided those who, because they felt an interest in + his welfare, took the friendly liberty of attempting to rescue him, and + consequently associated only with those who drank with him, flattered him, + skulked upon him, and laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + One friend, however, he had, who, above all others, first in place and in + importance, we cannot overlook—that friend was his admirable and + affectionate wife. Oh, in what language can we adequately describe her + natural and simple eloquence, her sweetness of disposition, her + tenderness, her delicacy of reproof, and her earnest struggles to win back + her husband from the habits which were destroying him! And in the + beginning she was often successful for a time, and many a tear of + transient repentance has she occasioned him to shed, when she succeeded in + touching his heart, and stirring his affection for her and for their + children. + </p> + <p> + In circumstances similar to Art's, however, we first feel our own errors, + we then feel grateful to those who have the honesty to reprove us for + them: by and by, on finding that we are advancing on the wrong path, we + begin to disrelish the advice, as being only an unnecessary infliction of + pain; having got so far as to disrelish the advice, we soon begin to + disrelish the adviser; and ultimately, we become so thoroughly wedded to + our own selfish vices, as to hate every one who would take us out of their + trammels. + </p> + <p> + When Art found that the world, as he said, was going against him, instead + of rallying, as he might, and ought to have done, he began to abuse the + world, and attribute to it all the misfortunes which he himself, and not + the world, had occasioned him. The world, in fact, is nothing to any man + but the reflex of himself; if you treat yourself well, and put yourself + out of the power of the world, the world will treat you well, and respect + you; but if you neglect yourself, do not at all be surprised that the + world and your friends will neglect you also. So far the world acts with + great justice and propriety, and takes its cue from your own conduct; you + cannot, therefore, blame the world without first blaming yourself. + </p> + <p> + Two years had now elapsed, and Art's business was nearly gone; he had been + obliged to discharge the drunken fellows we spoke of, but not until they + had assisted in a great measure to complete his ruin. Two years of + dissipation, neglect of business, and drunkenness, were quite sufficient + to make Art feel that it is a much easier thing to fall into poverty and + contempt, than to work a poor man's way, from early struggle and the tug + of life, to ease and independence. + </p> + <p> + His establishment was now all but closed; the two apprentices had scarcely + anything to do, and, indeed, generally amused themselves in the workshop + by playing Spoil Five—a fact which was discovered by Art himself, + who came on them unexpectedly one day when tipsy; but, as he happened to + be in an extremely good humor, he sat down and took a hand along with + them. This was a new element of enjoyment to him, and instead of reproving + them for their dishonest conduct, he suffered himself to be drawn into the + habit of gambling, and so strongly did this grow upon him, that from + henceforth he refused to participate in any drinking bout unless the + parties were to play for the liquor. For this he had now neither temper + nor coolness; while drinking upon the ordinary plan with his companions, + he almost uniformly paid the reckoning from sheer vanity; or, in other + words, because they managed him; but now that it depended upon what he + considered to be skill, nothing ever put him so completely out of temper + as to be put in for it. This low gambling became a passion with him; but + it was a passion that proved to be the fruitful cause of fights and + quarrels without end. Being seldom either cool or sober, he was a mere + dupe in the hands of his companions; but whether by fair play or foul, the + moment he perceived that the game had gone against him, that moment he + generally charged his opponents with dishonesty and fraud, and then + commenced a fight. Many a time has he gone home, beaten and bruised, and + black, and cut, and every way disfigured in these vile and blackguard + contests; but so inveterately had this passion for card-playing—that + is, gambling for liquor—worked itself upon him, that he could not + suffer a single day to pass without indulging in it. Defeat of any kind + was a thing he could never think of; but for a Maguire—one of the + great Fermanagh Maguires—to be beaten at a rascally game of Spoil + Five, was not to be endured; the matter was impossible, unless by foul + play, and as there was only one method of treating those who could stoop + to the practice of foul play, why he seldom lost any time in adopting it. + This was to apply the fist, and as he had generally three or four against + him, and as, in most instances, he was in a state of intoxication, it + usually happened that he received most punishment. + </p> + <p> + Up to this moment we have not presented Art to our readers in any other + light than that of an ordinary drunkard, seen tipsy and staggering in the + streets, or singing as he frequently was, or fighting, or playing cards in + the public-houses. Heretofore he was not before the world, and in + everybody's eye; but he had now become so common a sight in the town of + Ballykeerin, that his drunkenness was no longer a matter of surprise to + its inhabitants. At the present stage of his life he could not bear to see + his brother Frank; and his own Margaret, although unchanged and. loving as + ever, was no longer to him the Margaret that she had been. He felt how + much he had despised her advice, neglected her comfort, and forgotten the + duties which both God and nature had imposed upon him, with respect to her + and their children. These feelings coming upon him during short intervals + of reflection, almost drove him mad, and he has often come home to her and + them in a frightful and terrible consciousness that he had committed some + great crime, and that she and their children were involved in its + consequences. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” he would say, “Margaret, what is it I've done aginst you and + the childre? I have done some great crime aginst you all, for surely if I + didn't, you wouldn't look as you do—Margaret, asthore, where is the + color that was in your cheeks? and my own Art here—that always + pacifies me when nobody else can—even Art doesn't look what he used + to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sure he will, Art, dear,” she would reply; “now will you let me + help you to bed? it's late; it's near three o'clock; Oh Art, dear, if you + were——” + </p> + <p> + “I won't go to bed—I'll stop here where I am, wid my head on the + table, till mornin'. Now do you know—come here, Margaret—let + me hear you—do you know, and are you sensible of the man you're + married to?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I tell you; I say you are not. There is but one person in the house + that knows that.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Art darlin'—you're right. Come here, Atty; go to your + father; you know what to say, avick.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art,” he would continue, “do you know who your father is?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay do I; he's one of the great Fermanagh Maguires—the greatest + family in the kingdom. Isn't that it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's it, Atty darlin'—come an' kiss me for that; yes, I'm one of + the great Fermanagh Maguires. Isn't that a glorious thin', Atty?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Art, darlin', will you let me help you to bed—think of the + hour it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't go, I tell you. I'll sit here wid my head on the table all night. + Come here, Atty. Atty, it's wondherful how I love you—above all + creatures livin' do I love you. Sure I never refuse to do any thing for + you, Atty; do I now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, will you come to bed for me?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I will, at wanst;” and the unhappy man instantly rose and + staggered into his bedroom, aided and supported by his wife and child; for + the latter lent whatever little assistance he could give to his drunken + father, whom he tenderly loved. + </p> + <p> + His shop, however, is now closed, the apprentices are gone, and the last + miserable source of their support no longer exists. Poverty now sets in, + and want and destitution. He parts with his tools; but not for the purpose + of meeting the demands of his wife and children at home; no; but for drink—drink—drink—drink. + He is now in such a state that he cannot, dares not, reflect, and + consequently, drink is more necessary to him than ever. His mind, however, + is likely soon to be free from the pain of thinking; for it is becoming + gradually debauched and brutified—is sinking, in fact, to the lowest + and most pitiable state of degradation. It was then, indeed, that he felt + how the world deals with a man who leaves himself depending on it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/pageAM1018.jpg" + alt="Page Am1018-- They Immediately Expelled Him " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + His friends had now all abandoned him; decent people avoided him—he + had fallen long ago below pity, and was now an object of contempt. His + family at home were destitute; every day brought hunger—positive, + absolute want of food wherewith to support nature. His clothes were + reduced to tatters; so were those of his wife and children. His frame, + once so strong and athletic, was now wasted away to half its wonted size; + his hands were thin, tremulous, and flesh-less; his face pale and + emaciated; and his eye dead and stupid. He was now nearly alone in the + world. Low and profligate as were his drunken companions, yet even they + shunned him; and so contemptuously did they treat him, now that he was no + longer able to pay his way, or enable the scoundrels to swill at his + expense, that whenever he happened to enter Barney Scaddhan's tap, while + they were in it, they immediately expelled him without ceremony, or Barney + did it for them. He now hated home; there was nothing there for him, but + cold, naked, shivering destitution. The furniture had gone by degrees for + liquor; tables, chairs, kitchen utensils, bed and bedding, with the + exception of a miserable blanket for Margaret and the child, had all been + disposed of for about one-tenth part of their value. Alas, what a change + is this from comfort, industry, independence, and respectability, to + famine, wretchedness, and the utmost degradation! Even Margaret, whose + noble heart beat so often in sympathy with the distresses of the poor, has + scarcely any one now who will feel sympathy with her own. Not that she was + utterly abandoned by all. Many a time have the neighbors, in a stealthy + way, brought a little relief in the shape of food, to her and her + children. Sorry are we to say, however, that there were in the town of + Ballykeerin, persons whom she had herself formerly relieved, and with whom + the world went well since, who now shut their eyes against her misery, and + refused to assist her. Her lot, indeed, was now a bitter one, and required + all her patience, all her fortitude to enable her to bear up under it. Her + husband was sunk down to a pitiable pitch, his mind consisting, as it + were, only of two elements, stupidity and ill-temper. Up until the + disposal of all the furniture, he had never raised his hand to her, or + gone beyond verbal abuse; now, however, his temper became violent and + brutal. All sense of shame—every pretext for decency—all + notions of self-respect, were gone, and nothing was left to sustain or + check him. He could not look in upon himself and find one spark of decent + pride, or a single principle left that contained the germ of his + redemption. He now gave himself over as utterly lost, and consequently + felt no scruple to stoop to any act, no matter how mean or contemptible. + In the midst of all this degradation, however, there was one recollection + which he never gave up; but alas, to what different and shameless purposes + did he now prostitute it! That which had been in his better days a + principle of just pride, a spur to industry, an impulse to honor, and a + safeguard to integrity, had now become the catchword of a mendicant—the + cant or slang, as it were, of an impostor. He was not ashamed to beg in + its name—to ask for whiskey in its name—and to sink, in its + name, to the most sordid supplications. + </p> + <p> + “Will you stand the price of a glass? I'm Art Maguire; one of the great + Maguires of Fermanagh! Think of the blood of the Maguires, and stand a + glass. Barney Scaddhan won't trust me now; although many a pound and penny + of good money I left him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” the person accosted would reply, “an' so sign's on you; you would be + a different man to-day, had you visited Barney Scaddhan's seldomer, or + kept out of it altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not a sarmon I want; will you stand the price of a glass?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a drop.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to blazes, then, if you won't. I'm a betther man than ever you wor, + an' have betther blood in my veins. The great Fermanagh Maguires forever!” + </p> + <p> + But, hold—we must do the unfortunate man justice. Amidst all this + degradation, and crime, and wretchedness, there yet shone undimmed one + solitary virtue. This was an abstract but powerful affection for his + children, especially for his eldest son; now a fine boy about eight or + nine. In his worst and most outrageous moods—when all other + influence failed—when the voice of his own Margaret, whom he once + loved—oh how well! fell heedless upon his ears—when neither + Frank, nor friend, nor neighbor could manage nor soothe him—let but + the finger of his boy touch him, or a tone of his voice fall upon his ear, + and he placed himself in his hands, and did whatever the child wished him. + </p> + <p> + One evening about this time, Margaret was sitting upon a small hassock of + straw, that had been made for little Art, when he began to walk. It was + winter, and there was no fire; a neighbor, however, had out of charity + lent her a few dipped rushes, that they might not be in utter darkness. + One of these was stuck against the wall, for they had no candlestick; and + oh, what a pitiable and melancholy spectacle did its dim and feeble light + present! There she sat, the young, virtuous, charitable, and lovely + Margaret of the early portion of our narrative, surrounded by her almost + naked children—herself with such thin and scanty covering as would + wring any heart but to know it. Where now was her beauty? Where her mirth, + cheerfulness, and all her lightness of heart? Where? Let her ask that + husband who once loved her so well, but who loved his own vile excesses + and headlong propensities better. There, however, she sat, with a tattered + cap on, through the rents of which her raven hair, once so beautiful and + glossy, came out in matted elf-locks, and hung down about her thin and + wasted neck. Her face was pale and ghastly as death; her eyes were without + fire—full of languor—full of sorrow; and alas, beneath one of + them, was too visible, by its discoloration, the foul mark of her + husband's brutality. To this had their love, their tenderness, their + affection come; and by what? Alas! by the curse of liquor—the demon + of drunkenness—and want of manly resolution. She sat, as we have + said, upon the little hassock, while shivering on her bosom was a + sickly-looking child, about a year old, to whom she was vainly endeavoring + to communicate some of her own natural warmth. The others, three in + number, were grouped together for the same reason; for poor little Atty—who, + though so very young, was his mother's only support, and hope, and + consolation—sat with an arm about each, in order, as well as he + could, to keep off the cold—the night being stormy and bitter. + Margaret sat rocking herself to and fro, as those do who indulge in + sorrow, and crooning for her infant the sweet old air of “<i>Tha ma + cullha's na dhuska me</i>,” or “I am asleep and don't waken me!”—a + tender but melancholy air, which had something peculiarly touching in it + on the occasion in question. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said, “I am asleep and don't waken me; if it wasn't for your + sakes, darlins, it's I that long to be in that sleep that we will never + waken from; but sure, lost in misery as we are, what could yez do without + me still?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mane, mammy?” said Atty; “sure doesn't everybody that goes to + sleep waken out of it?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/pageAM1019.jpg" + alt="Page Am1019-- There's a Sleep That Nobody Wakens From " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “No, darlin'; there's a sleep that nobody wakens from.” + </p> + <p> + “Dat quare sleep, mammy,” said a little one. “Oh, but me's could, mammy; + will we eva have blankets?” + </p> + <p> + The question, though simple, opened up the cheerless, the terrible future + to her view. She closed her eyes, put her hands on them, as if she strove + to shut it out, and shivered as much at the apprehension of what was + before her, as with the chilly blasts that swept through the windowless + house. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, dear,” she replied; “for God is good.” + </p> + <p> + “And will he get us blankets, mammy?”. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, darlin', I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “Me id rady he'd get us sometin' to ait fust, mammy; I'm starvin' wid + hungry;” and the poor child began to cry for food. + </p> + <p> + The disconsolate mother was now assailed by the clamorous outcries of + nature's first want, that of food. She surveyed her beloved little brood + in the feeble light, and saw in all its horror the fearful impress of + famine stamped upon their emaciated features, and strangely lighting up + their little heavy eyes. She wrung her hands, and looking up silently to + heaven, wept aloud for some minutes. + </p> + <p> + “Childre,” she said at length, “have patience, poor things, an' you'll + soon get something to eat. I sent over Nanny Hart to my sisther's, an' + when she comes back yell get something;—so have patience, darlins, + till then.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mother,” continued little Atty, who could not understand her + allusion to the sleep from which there is no awakening; “what kind of + sleep is it that people never waken from?” + </p> + <p> + “The sleep that's in the grave, Atty, dear; death is the sleep I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “An' would you wish to die, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Only for your sake, Atty, and for the sake of the other darlins, if it + was the will of God, I would; and,” she added, with a feeling of + indescribable anguish, “what have I now to live for but to see you all + about me in misery and sorrow!” + </p> + <p> + The tears as she spoke ran silently, but bitterly, down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “When I think of what your poor lost father was,” she added, “when we wor + happy, and when he was good, and when I think of what he is now—oh, + my God, my God,” she sobbed' out, “my manly young husband, what curse has + come over you that has brought you down to this! Curse! oh, fareer gair, + it's a curse that's too well known in the country—it's the curse + that laves many an industrious man's house as ours is this bitther night—it's + the curse that takes away good name and comfort, and honesty (that's the + only thing it has left us)—that takes away the strength of both body + and mind—that banishes dacency and shame—that laves many a + widow and orphan to the marcy of an unfeelin' world—that fills the + jail and the madhouse—that brings many a man an' woman to a + disgraceful death—an' that tempts us to the commission of every + evil;—that curse, darlins, is whiskey—drinkin' whiskey—an' + it is drinkin' whiskey that has left us as we are, and that has ruined + your father, and destroyed him forever.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but there's no other curse over us, mother?” + </p> + <p> + The mother paused a moment— + </p> + <p> + “No, darlin',” she replied; “not a curse—but my father and mother + both died, and did not give me their blessin'; but now, Atty, don't ask me + anything more about that, bekase I can't tell you.” This she added from a + feeling of delicacy to her unhappy husband, whom, through all his faults + and vices, she constantly held up to her children as an object of respect, + affection, and obedience. + </p> + <p> + Again the little ones were getting importunate for food, and their cries + were enough to touch any heart, much less that of a tender and loving + mother. Margaret herself felt that some unusual delay must have occurred, + or the messenger she sent to her sister must have long since returned; + just then a foot was heard outside the door, and there was an impatient + cessation of the cries, in the hope that it was the return of Nanny Hart—the + door opened, and Toal Finnigan entered this wretched abode of sorrow and + destitution. + </p> + <p> + There was something peculiarly hateful about this man, but in the eyes of + Margaret there was something intensely so. She knew right well that he had + been the worst and most demoralizing companion her husband ever associated + with, and she had, besides, every reason to believe that, were it not for + his evil influence over the vain and wretched man, he might have overcome + his fatal propensity to tipple. She had often told Art this; but little + Toal's tongue was too sweet, when aided by his dupe's vanity. Many a time + had she observed a devilish leer of satanic triumph in the misshapen + little scoundrel's eye, when bringing home her husband in a state of + beastly intoxication, and for this reason, independently of her knowledge + of his vile and heartless disposition, and infamous character, she + detested him. After entering, he looked about him, and even with the taint + light of the rush she could mark that his unnatural and revolting features + were lit up with a hellish triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Margaret Murray,” said he, “I believe you are now nearly as badly + off as you can be; your husband's past hope, and you are as low as a human + bein' ever was. I'm now satisfied; you refused to marry me—you made + a May-game of me—a laughin' stock of me, and your father tould my + father that I had legs like reapin' hooks! Now, from the day you refused + to marry me, I swore I'd never die till I'd have my revinge, and I have + it; who has the laugh now, Margaret Murray?” + </p> + <p> + “You say,” she replied calmly, “that I am as low as a human bein' can be, + but that's false, Toal Finnigan, for I thank God I have committed no + crime, and my name is pure and good, which is more than any one can say + for you; begone from my place.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” he replied, “but before I go jist let me tell you, that I have + the satisfaction to know that, if I'm not much mistaken, it was I that was + the principal means of leavin' you as you are, and your respectable + husband as he is; so my blessin' be wid you, an that's more than your + father left you. Raipin' hooks, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + The little vile Brownie then disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Margaret, the moment he was gone, immediately turned round, and going to + her knees, leaned, with her half-cold infant still in her arms, against a + creaking chair, and prayed with as much earnestness as a distracted heart + permitted her. The little ones, at her desire, also knelt, and in a few + minutes afterwards, when her drunken husband came home, he found his + miserable family, grouped as they were in their misery, worshipping God in + their own simple and touching manner. His entrance disturbed them, for + Margaret knew she must go through the usual ordeal to which his nightly + return was certain to expose her. + </p> + <p> + “I want something to ait,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Art, dear,” she replied—and this was the worst word she ever + uttered against him—“Art, dear, I have nothing for you till by an' + by; but I will then.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any money?” + </p> + <p> + “Money, Art! oh, where would I get it? If I had money I wouldn't be + without something' for you to eat, or the childre here that tasted nothin' + since airly this mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you're a cursed useless wife,” he replied, “you brought nothin' but + bad luck to me an' them; but how could you bring anything else, when you + didn't get your father's blessin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Art, don't you remember,” she said meekly in reply, “you surely + can't forget for whose sake I lost it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he's fizzin' now, the hard-hearted ould scoundrel, for keepin' it + from you; he forgot who you wor married to, the extortin' ould vagabone—to + one of the great Fermanagh Maguires, an' he' not fit to wipe their shoes. + The curse o' heaven upon you an' him, wherever he is! It was an unlucky + day to me I ever seen the face of one of you—here, Atty, I've some + money; some strange fellow at the inn below stood to me for the price of a + naggin, an' that blasted Barney Scaddhan wouldn't let me in, bekase, he + said, I was a disgrace to his house, the scoundrel.” + </p> + <p> + “The same house was a black sight to you, Art.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, Atty, go off and, get me a naggin.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be better for you to get something to eat, than to drink it, + Art.” + </p> + <p> + “None of your prate, I say, go off an' bring me a naggin o' whiskey, an' + don't let the grass grow under your feet.” + </p> + <p> + The children, whenever he came home, were awed into silence, but although + they durst not speak, there was an impatient voracity visible in their + poor features, and now wolfish little eyes, that was a terrible thing to + witness. Art took the money, and went away to bring his father the + whiskey. + </p> + <p> + “What's the reason,” said he, kindling into sudden fury, “that you didn't + provide something for me to eat? Eh? What's the reason?” and he approached + her in a menacing attitude. “You're a lazy, worthless vagabone. Why didn't + you get me something to ait, I say? I can't stand this—I'm + famished.” + </p> + <p> + “I sent to my sister's,” she replied, laying-down the child; for she + feared that if he struck her and knocked her down, with the child in her + arms, it might be injured, probably killed, by the fall; “when the + messenger comes back from my sister's——” + </p> + <p> + “D—n yourself and your sister,” he replied, striking her a blow at + the same time upon the temple. She fell, and in an instant her face was + deluged with blood. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, lie there,” he continued, “the loss of the blood will cool you. Hould + your tongues, you devils, or I'll throw yez out of the house,” he + exclaimed to the children, who burst into an uproar of grief on seeing + their “mammy,” as they called her, lying bleeding and insensible. “That's + to taich her not to have something for me to ait. Ay,” he proceeded, with + a hideous laugh—“ha, ha, ha! I'm a fine fellow—amn't I? There + she lies now, and yet she was wanst Margaret Murray!—my own Margaret—that + left them all for myself; but sure if she did, wasn't I one of the great + Maguires of Fermanagh?—Get up, Margaret; here, I'll help you up, if + the divil was in you!” + </p> + <p> + He raised her as he spoke, and perceived that consciousness was returning. + The first thing she did was to put up her hand to her temple, where she + felt the warm blood. She gave him one look of profound sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Art dear,” she exclaimed, “Art dear—” her voice failed her, but + the tears flowed in torrents down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” said he, “you needn't spake to me that way. You know any how + I'm damned—damned—lol de rol lol—tol de rol lol! ha, ha, + ha! I have no hope either here or hereafther—divil a morsel of hope. + Isn't that comfortable? eh?—ha, ha, ha”—another hideous laugh. + “Well, no matter; we'll dhrink it out, at all events. Where's Atty, wid + the whiskey? Oh, here he is! That's a good boy, Atty.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mammy darlin',” exclaimed the child, on seeing the blood streaming + from her temple—“mammy darlin', what happened you?” + </p> + <p> + “I fell, Atty dear,” she replied, “and was cut.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a lie, Atty; it was I, your fine chip of a father, that struck + her. Here's her health, at all events! I'll make one dhrink of it; hoch! + they may talk as they like, but I'll stick to Captain Whiskey.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said the child, “will you come over and lie down upon the straw, + for your own me, for your own Atty; and then you'll fall into a sound + sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, Atty, for you—for you—I will, Atty; but mind, I + wouldn't do it for e'er another livin'.” + </p> + <p> + One day wid Captain Whiskey I wrastled a fall, But, t'aix, I was no match + for the Captain at all, Though the landlady's measures they wor damnably + small—But I'll thry him to morrow when I'm sober. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the child, “lie down here on the straw; my poor mammy says + we'll get clane straw to-morrow; and we'll be grand then.” + </p> + <p> + His father, who was now getting nearly helpless, went over and threw + himself upon some straw—thin and scanty and cold it was—or + rather, in stooping to throw himself on it he fell with what they call in + the country a soss; that is, he fell down in a state of utter + helplessness; his joints feeble and weak, and all his strength utterly + prostrated. Margaret, who in the meantime was striving to stop the + effusion of blood from her temple, by the application of cobwebs, of which + there was no scarcity in the house, now went over, and loosening his + cravat, she got together some old rags, of which she formed, as well as + she could, a pillow to support his head, in order to avoid the danger of + his being suffocated. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Art,” she exclaimed, “if you knew what you did, you would cut that + hand off you sooner than raise it to your own Margaret, as you used to + call me. It is pity that I feel for you, Art dear, but no anger; an' God, + who sees my heart, knows that.” + </p> + <p> + Now that he was settled, and her own temple bound up, the children once + more commenced their cry of famine; for nothing can suspend the stern + cravings of hunger, especially when fanged by the bitter consciousness + that there is no food to be had. Just then, however, the girl returned + from her sister's, loaded with oatmeal—a circumstance which changed + the cry of famine into one of joy. + </p> + <p> + But now, what was to be done for fire, there was none in the house. + </p> + <p> + “Here is half-a-crown,” said the girl, “that she sent you; but she put her + hands acrass, and swore by the five crasses, that unless you left Art at + wanst, they'd never give you a rap farden's worth of assistance agin, if + you and they wor to die in the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave him!” said Margaret; “oh never! When I took him, I took him for + betther an' for worse, and I'm not goin' to neglect my duty to him now, + because he's down. All the world has desarted him, but I'll never desart + him. Whatever may happen, Art dear—poor, lost Art—whatever may + happen, I'll live with you, beg with you, die with you; anything but + desart you.” + </p> + <p> + She then, after wiping the tears which accompanied her words, sent out the + girl, who bought some turf and milk, in order to provide a meal of + wholesome food for the craving children. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said she to the girl, “what is to be done? for if poor Art sees + this meal in the morning, he will sell the best part of it to get whiskey; + for I need scarcely tell you,” she added, striving to palliate his + conduct, “that he cannot do without it, however he might contrive to do + without his breakfast.” But, indeed, this was true. So thoroughly was he + steeped in drunkenness—in the low, frequent, and insatiable appetite + for whiskey—that, like tobacco or snuff, it became an essential + portion of his life—a necessary-evil, without which he could + scarcely exist. At all events, the poor children had one comfortable meal, + which made them happy; the little stock that remained was stowed away in + some nook or other, where Art was not likely to find it; the girl went + home, and we were about to say that the rest of this miserable family went + to bed; but, alas! they had no bed to go to, with the exception of a + little straw, and a thin single blanket to cover them. + </p> + <p> + If Margaret's conduct during these severe and terrible trials was not + noble and heroic, we know not what could be called so. The affection which + she exhibited towards her husband overcame everything. When Art had got + about half way in his mad and profligate career, her friends offered to + support her, if she would take refuge with them and abandon him; but the + admirable woman received the proposal as an insult; and the reply she gave + is much the same as the reader has heard from her lips, with reference to + the girl's message from her sister. + </p> + <p> + Subsequently, they offered to take her and the children; but this also she + indignantly rejected. She could not leave him, she said, at the very time + when it was so necessary that her hands should be about him. What might be + the fate of such a man if he had none to take care of him? No, this almost + unexampled woman, rather than desert him in such circumstances, + voluntarily partook in all the wretchedness, destitution, and incredible + misery which his conduct inflicted on her, and did so patiently, and + without a murmur. + </p> + <p> + In a few days after the night we have described, a man covered with rags, + without shoe, or stocking, or shirt, having on an old hat, through the + broken crown of which his hair, wefted with bits of straw, stood out, his + face shrunk and pale, his beard long and filthy, and his eyes rayless and + stupid—a man of this description, we say, with one child in his + arms, and two more accompanying him, might be seen begging through the + streets of Ballykeerin; yes, and often in such a state of drunkenness as + made it frightful to witness his staggering gait, lest he might tumble + over upon the infant, or let it fair out of his arms. This man was Art + Maguire; to such a destiny had he come, or rather had he brought himself + at last; Art Maguire—one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh! + </p> + <p> + But where is she—the attached, the indomitable in love—the + patient, the much enduring, the uncomplaining? Alas! she is at length + separated from him and them; her throbbing veins are hot and rife with + fever—her aching head is filled with images of despair and horror—she + is calling for her husband—her young and manly husband—and + says she will not be parted from him—she is also calling for her + children, and demands to have them. The love of the mother and of the wife + is now furious; but, thank God, the fury that stimulates it is that of + disease, and not of insanity. The trials and privations which could not + overcome her noble heart, overcame her physical frame, and on the day + succeeding that woful night she was seized with a heavy fever, and through + the interference of some respectable inhabitants of the town, was conveyed + to the fever hospital, where she now lies in a state of delirium. + </p> + <p> + And Frank Maguire—the firm, the industrious, and independent—where + is he? Unable to bear the shame of his brother's degradation, he gave up + his partnership, and went to America, where he now is; but not without + having left in the hands of a friend something for his unfortunate brother + to remember him by; and it was this timely aid which for the last three + quarters of a year has been the sole means of keeping life in his + brother's family. + </p> + <p> + Thus have we followed Art Maguire from his youth up to the present stage + of his life, attempting, as well as we could, to lay open to our readers + his good principles and his bad, together with the errors and ignorances + of those who had the first formation of his character—we mean his + parents and family. We have endeavored to trace, with as strict an + adherence to truth and nature as possible, the first struggles of a heart + naturally generous and good, with the evil habit which beset him, as well + as with the weaknesses by which that habit was set to work upon his + temperament. Whether we have done this so clearly and naturally as to + bring home conviction of its truth to such of our readers as may resemble + him in the materials which formed his moral constitution, and + consequently, to hold him up as an example to be avoided, it is not for + ourselves to say. If our readers think so, or rather feel so, then we + shall rest satisfied of having performed our task as we ought. + </p> + <p> + Our task, however, is not accomplished. It is true, we have accompanied + him with pain and pity to penury, rags, and beggary—unreformed, + unrepenting, hardened, shameless, desperate. Do our readers now suppose + that there is anything in the man, or any principle external to him, + capable of regenerating and elevating a heart so utterly lost as his? + </p> + <p> + But hush! what is this? How dark the moral clouds that have been hanging + over the country for a period far beyond the memory of man! how black that + dismal canopy which is only lit by fires that carry and shed around them + disease, famine, crime, madness, bloodshed, and death. How hot, sultry, + and enervating to the whole constitution of man, physically and mentally, + is the atmosphere we have been breathing so long! The miasma of the swamp, + the simoom of the desert, the merciless sirocco, are healthful when + compared to such an atmosphere. And, hark! what formidable being is that + who, with black expanded wings, flies about from place to place, and from + person to person, with a cup of fire in his hands, which he applies to + their eager lips? And what spell or charm lies in that burning cup, which, + no sooner do they taste than they shout, clap their hands with exultation, + and cry out, “We are happy! we are happy!” Hark; he proclaims himself, and + shouteth still louder than they do; but they stop their ears, and will not + listen; they shut their eyes and will not see. What sayeth he? “I am the + Angel of Intemperance, Discord, and Destruction, who oppose myself to God + and all his laws—to man, and all that has been made for his good; my + delight is in misery and unhappiness, in crime, desolation, ruin, murder, + and death in a thousand shapes of vice and destitution. Such I am, such I + shall be, for behold, my dominion shall last forever!” + </p> + <p> + But hush again! Look towards the south! What faint but beautiful light is + it, which, fairer than that of the morning, gradually breaketh upon that + dark sky? See how gently, but how steadily, its lustre enlarges and + expands! It is not the light of the sun, nor of the moon, nor of the + stars, neither is it the morning twilight, which heralds the approach of + day; no, but it is the serene effulgence which precedes and accompanies a + messenger from God, who is sent to bear a new principle of happiness to + man! This principle is itself an angelic spirit, and lo! how the sky + brightens, and the darkness flees away like a guilty thing before it! + Behold it on the verge of the horizon, which is now glowing with the rosy + hues of heaven—it advances, it proclaims its mission:—hark! + </p> + <p> + “I am the Angel of Temperance, of Industry, of Peace! who oppose myself to + the Spirit of Evil and all his laws—I am the friend of man, and + conduct him to the true enjoyment of all that has been made for his good. + My mission is to banish misery, unhappiness, and crime, to save mankind + from desolation, ruin, murder, and death, in a thousand shapes of vice and + destitution.” + </p> + <p> + And now see how he advances in beauty and power, attended by knowledge, + health, and truth, while the harmonies of domestic life, of civil concord, + and social duty, accompany him, and make music in his path. But where is + the angel of intemperance, discord, and destruction? Hideous monster, + behold him! No longer great nor terrible, he flies, or rather totters, + from before his serene opponent—he shudders—he stutters and + hiccups in his howlings—his limbs are tremulous—his hands + shake as if with palsy—his eye is lustreless and bloodshot, and his + ghastly countenance the exponent of death. He flies, but not + unaccompanied; along with him are crime, poverty, hunger, idleness, his + music the groan of the murderer, the clanking of the madman's chain, + filled up by the report of the suicide's pistol, and the horrible yell of + despair! And now he and his evil spirits are gone, the moral atmosphere is + bright and unclouded, and the Angel of Temperance, Industry, and Peace + goes abroad throughout the land, fulfilling his beneficent mission, and + diffusing his own virtues into the hearts of a regenerated people! + </p> + <p> + Leaving allegory, however, to the poets, it is impossible that, treating + of the subject which we have selected, we could, without seeming to + undervalue it, neglect to say a few words upon the most extraordinary + moral phenomenon, which, apart from the miraculous, the world ever saw; we + allude to the wonderful Temperance Movement, as it is called, which, under + the guiding hand of the Almighty, owes its visible power and progress to + the zeal and incredible exertions of one pious and humble man—the + Very Rev. Theobald Matthew, of Cork. When we consider the general, the + proverbial character, which our countrymen have, during centuries, borne + for love of drink, and their undeniable habits of intemperance, we cannot + but feel that the change which has taken place is, indeed, surprising, to + say the least of it. But, in addition to this, when we also consider the + natural temperament of the Irishman—his social disposition—his + wit, his humor, and his affection—all of which are lit up by liquor—when + we just reflect upon the exhilaration of spirits produced by it—when + we think upon the poverty, the distress, and the misery which too + generally constitute his wretched lot, and which it will enable him, for a + moment, to forget—and when we remember that all his bargains were + made over it—that he courted his sweetheart over it—got + married over it—wept for his dead over it—and generally fought + his enemy of another faction, or the Orangeman of another creed, when + under its influence:—when we pause over all these considerations, we + can see how many temptations our countrymen had to overcome in renouncing + it as they did; and we cannot help looking at it as a moral miracle, + utterly without parallel in the history of man. + </p> + <p> + Now we are willing to give all possible credit, and praise, and honor to + Father Matthew; but we do not hesitate to say, that even he would have + failed in being, as he is, the great visible exponent of this admirable + principle, unless there had been other kindred principles in the + Irishman's heart, which recognized and clung to it. In other words it is + unquestionable, that had the religious and moral feelings of the Irish + people been neglected, the principle of temperance would never have taken + such deep root in the heart of the nation as it has done. Nay, it could + not; for does not every man of common sense know, that good moral + principles seldom grow in a bad moral soil, until it is cultivated for + their reception. It is, therefore, certainly a proof that the Roman + Catholic priesthood of Ireland had not neglected the religious principles + of the people. It may, I know, and it has been called a superstitious + contagion; but however that may be, so long as we have such contagions + among us, we will readily pardon the superstition. Let superstition always + assume a shape of such beneficence and virtue to man, and we shall not + quarrel with her for retaining the name. Such a contagion could never be + found among any people in whom there did not exist predisposing qualities, + ready to embrace and nurture the good which came with it. + </p> + <p> + Our argument, we know, may be met by saying that its chief influence was + exerted on those whose habits of dissipation, immorality, and irreligion + kept, them aloof from the religious instruction of the priest. But to + those who know the Irish heart, it is not necessary to say that many a man + addicted to drink is far from being free from the impressions of religion, + or uninfluenced by many a generous and noble virtue. Neither does it + follow that every such man has been neglected by his priest, or left + unadmonished of the consequences which attended his evil habit. But how + did it happen, according to that argument, that it was this very class of + persons—the habitual, or the frequent, or the occasional drunkard—that + first welcomed the spirit of temperance, and availed themselves of its + blessings? If there had not been the buried seeds of neglected instruction + lying in their hearts, it is very improbable that they would have welcomed + and embraced the principle as they did. On the other hand, it is much more + likely that they would have fled from, and avoided a spirit which deprived + them of the gratification of their ruling and darling passion. Evil and + good, we know, do not so readily associate. + </p> + <p> + Be this, however, as it may, we have only to state, in continuation of our + narrative, that at the period of Art Maguire's most lamentable + degradation, and while his admirable but unhappy wife was stretched upon + the burning bed of fever, the far low sounds of the Temperance Movement + were heard, and the pale but pure dawn of its distant light seen at + Ballykeerin. That a singular and novel spirit accompanied it, is certain; + and that it went about touching and healing with all the power of an + angel, is a matter not of history, but of direct knowledge and immediate + recollection. Nothing, indeed, was ever witnessed in any country similar + to it. Whereever it went, joy, acclamation, ecstasy accompanied it; + together with a sense of moral liberty, of perfect freedom from the + restraint, as it were, of some familiar devil, that had kept its victims + in its damnable bondage. Those who had sunk exhausted before the terrible + Molpch of Intemperance, and given themselves over for lost, could now + perceive that there was an ally at hand, that was able to bring them + succor, and drag them back from degradation and despair, to peace and + independence, from contempt and infamy, to respect and praise. Nor was + this all. It was not merely into the heart of the sot and drunkard that it + carried a refreshing consciousness of joy and deliverance, but into all + those hearts which his criminal indulgence had filled with heaviness and + sorrow. It had, to be sure, its dark side to some—ay, to thousands. + Those who lived by the vices —the low indulgences and the ruinous + excesses—of their fellow-creatures—trembled and became aghast + at its approach. The vulgar and dishonest publican, who sold a <i>bona + fide</i> poison under a false name; the low tavern-keeper; the proprietor + of the dram-shop; of the night-house; and the shebeen—all were + struck with terror and dismay. Their occupation was doomed to go. No more + in the dishonest avarice of gain where they to coax and jest with the + foolish tradesman, until they confirmed him in the depraved habit, and led + him on, at his own expense, and their profit, step by step, until the + naked and shivering sot, now utterly ruined, was kicked out, like Art + Maguire, to make room for those who were to tread in his steps, and share + his fate. + </p> + <p> + No more was the purity and inexperience of youth to be corrupted by evil + society, artfully introduced for the sordid purpose of making him spend + his money, at the expense of health, honesty, and good name. + </p> + <p> + No more was the decent wife of the spendthrift tradesman, when forced by + stern necessity, and the cries of her children, to seek her husband in the + public house, of a Saturday night, anxious as she was to secure what was + left unspent of his week's wages, in order to procure to-morrow's food—no + more was she to be wheedled into the bar, to get the landlord's or the + landlady's treat, in order that the outworks of temperance, and the + principles of industry, perhaps of virtue, might be gradually broken down, + for the selfish and diabolical purpose of enabling her drunken husband to + spend a double share of his hardly-earned pittance. + </p> + <p> + Nor more was the male servant, in whom every confidence was placed, to be + lured into these vile dens of infamy, that he might be fleeced or his + money, tutored into debauchery or dishonesty, or thrown into the society + of thieves and robbers, that he might become an accomplice in their + crimes, and enable them to rob his employer with safety. No more was the + female servant, on the other hand, to be made familiar with tippling, or + corrupted by evil company, until she became a worthless and degraded + creature, driven out of society, without reputation or means of + subsistence, and forced to sink to that last loathsome alternative of + profligacy which sends her, after a short and wicked course, to the + jeering experiments of the dissecting-room. + </p> + <p> + Oh, no; those wretches who lived by depravity, debauchery, and corruption, + were alarmed almost into distraction by the approach of temperance, for + they knew it would cut off the sources of their iniquitous gains, and + strip them of the vile means of propagating dishonesty and vice, by which + they lived. But even this wretched class were not without instances of + great disinterestedness and virtue; several of them closed their debasing + establishments, forfeited their ill-gotten means of living, and trusting + to honesty and legitimate industry, voluntarily assumed the badge of + temperance, and joined its peaceful and triumphant standard! + </p> + <p> + Previous to this time, however, and, indeed, long before the joyful sounds + of its advancing motion were heard from afar, it is not to be taken for + granted that the drunkards of the parish of Ballykeerin Avere left to the + headlong impulses of their own evil propensities. Before Art Maguire had + fallen from his integrity and good name, there had not been a more regular + attendant at mass, or at his Easter and Christmas duties, in the whole + parish; in this respect he was a pattern, as Father Costelloe, the priest, + often said, to all who were anxious to lead a decent and creditable life, + forgetting their duty neither to God nor man. A consciousness of his fall, + however, made him ashamed in the beginning to appear at mass, until he + should decidedly reform, which he proposed and resolved to do, or thought + he resolved, from week to week, and from day to day. How he wrought out + these resolutions our readers know too well; every day and every week only + made him worse and worse, until by degrees all thought of God, or prayer, + or priest, abandoned him, and he was left to swelter in misery among the + very dregs of his prevailing vice, hardened and obdurate. Many an + admonition has he received from Father Costelloe, especially before he + become hopeless, and many a time, when acknowledging his own inability to + follow up his purposes of amendment, has he been told by that good and + Christian man, that he must have recourse to better and higher means of + support, and remember that God will not withhold his grace from those who + ask it sincerely and aright. Art, however, could not do so, for although + he had transient awakenings of conscience, that were acute while they + lasted, yet he could not look up to God with a thorough and heartfelt + resolution of permanent reformation. The love of liquor, and the + disinclination to give it up, still lurked in his heart, and prevented him + from setting about his amendment in earnest. If they had not, he would + have taken a second oath, as his brother Frank often advised him to do, + but without effect. He still hoped to be able to practise moderation, and + drink within bounds, and consequently persuaded himself that total + abstinence was not necessary in his case. At length Father Costelloe, like + all those who were deeply anxious for his reformation, was looked upon as + an unwelcome adviser, whose Christian exhortations to a better course of + life were anything but agreeable, because he spoke truth; and so strong + did this feeling grow in him, that in his worst moments he would rather + sink into the earth than meet him: nay, a glimpse of him at any distance + was sure to make the unfortunate man hide himself in some hole or corner + until the other had passed, and all danger of coming under his reproof was + over. Art was still begging with his children, when, after a long and + dangerous illness, it pleased God to restore his wife to him and them. So + much pity, and interest, and respect did she excite during her + convalescence—for it was impossible that her virtues, even in the + lowest depths of her misery, could be altogether unknown—that the + heads of the hospital humanely proposed to give her some kind of situation + in it, as soon as she should regain sufficient strength to undertake its + duties. The mother's love, however, still prompted her to rejoin her + children, feeling as she did, and as she said, how doubly necessary now + her care and attention to them must be. She at length yielded to their + remonstrances, when they assured her that to return in her present weak + condition to her cold and desolate house, and the utter want of all + comfort which was to be found in it, might, and, in all probability, + would, be fatal to her; and that by thus exposing herself too soon to the + consequences of cold and destitution, she might leave her children + motherless. This argument prevailed, but in the meantime she stipulated + that her children and her husband, if the latter were in a state of + sufficient sobriety, should be permitted occasionally to see her, that she + might inquire into their situation, and know how they lived. This was + acceded to, and, by the aid of care and nourishing food, she soon found + herself beginning to regain her strength. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime the Temperance movement was rapidly and triumphantly + approaching. In a town about fifteen miles distant there was a meeting + advertised to be held, at which the great apostle himself was to + administer the pledge; Father Costelloe announced it from the altar, and + earnestly recommended his parishioners to attend, and enrol themselves + under the blessed banner of Temperance, the sober man as well as the + drunkard. + </p> + <p> + “It may be said,” he observed, “that sober men have no necessity for + taking the pledge; and if one were certain that every sober man was to + remain sober during his whole life, there would not, indeed, be a + necessity for sober men to take it; but, alas! my friends, you know how + subject we are to those snares, and pitfalls, and temptations of life by + which our paths are continually beset. Who can say to-day that he may not + transgress the bounds of temperance before this day week? Your condition + in life is surrounded by inducements to drink. You scarcely buy or sell a + domestic animal in fair or market, that you are not tempted to drink; you + cannot attend a neighbor's funeral that you are not tempted to drink—'tis + the same at the wedding and the christening, and in almost all the + transactions of your lives. How then can you answer for yourselves, + especially when your spirits may happen to be elevated, and your hearts + glad? Oh! it is then, my friends, that the tempter approaches you, and + probably implants in your unguarded hearts the germ of that accursed habit + which has destroyed millions. How often have you heard it said of many + men, even within the range of your own knowledge, 'Ah, he was an + industrious, well-conducted, and respectable man—until he took to + drink!' Does not the prevalence of such a vile habit, and the fact that so + many sober men fall away from that virtue, render the words that I have + just uttered a melancholy proverb in the country? Ah, there he is—in + rags and misery; yet he was an industrious, well-conducted, and + respectable man once, that is—before he took to drink! Prevention, + my dear friends, is always better than cure, and in binding yourselves by + this most salutary obligation, you know not how much calamity and + suffering—how much general misery—how much disgrace and crime + you may avoid. And, besides, are we not to look beyond this world? Is a + crime which so greatly depraves the heart, and deadens its power of + receiving the wholesome impressions of religion and truth, not one which + involves our future happiness or misery? Ah, my dear brethren, it is + indeed a great and a cross popular error to say that sober men should not + take this pledge. I hope I have satisfied you that it is a duty they owe + themselves to take it, so long as they feel that they are frail creatures, + and liable to sin and error; and not only themselves, but their children, + their friends, and all who might be affected, either for better or worse, + by their example. + </p> + <p> + “There is another argument, however, which I cannot overlook, while + dwelling upon this important subject. We know that the drunkard, if God + should, through the instrumentality of this great and glorious movement, + put the wish for amendment into his heart, still feels checked and + deterred by a sense of shame; because, the truth is, if none attended + these meetings but such men, that very fact alone would prove a great + obstruction in the way of their reformation. Many, too many, are + drunkards; but every man is not an open drunkard, and hundreds, nay, + thousands, would say, 'By attending these meetings of drunken men, I + acknowledge myself to be a drunkard also;' hence they will probably + decline going through shame, and consequently miss the opportunity of + retrieving themselves. Now, I say, my friends, it is the duty of sober men + to deprive them of this argument, and by an act, which, after all, + involves nothing of self-denial, but still an act of great generosity, to + enable them to enter into this wholesome obligation, without being openly + exposed to the consequences of having acknowledged that they were + intemperate.” + </p> + <p> + He then announced the time and place of the meeting, which was in the + neighboring town of Drumnabrogue, and concluded by again exhorting them + all, without distinction, to attend it and take the pledge. His + exhortations were not without effect; many of his parishioners did attend, + and among them some of Art's former dissolute companions. + </p> + <p> + Art himself, when spoken to, and pressed to go, hiccuped and laughed at + the notion of any such pledge reforming him; a strong proof that all hope + of recovering himself, or of regaining his freedom from drunkenness, had + long ago deserted him. This, if anything further was necessary to do so, + completed the scene of his moral prostration and infamy. Margaret, who was + still in the hospital, now sought to avail herself of the opportunity + which presented itself, by reasoning with, and urging him to go, but, like + all others, her arguments were laughed at, and Art expressed contempt for + her, Father Matthew, and all the meetings that had yet taken place. + </p> + <p> + “Will takin' the pledge,” he asked her, “put a shirt to my back, a thing I + almost forget the use of, or a good coat? Will it put a dacent house over + my head, a good bed under me, and a warm pair of blankets on us to keep us + from shiverin', an' coughin', an' barkin' the whole night long in the + could? + </p> + <p> + “No, faith, I'll not give up the whiskey, for it has one comfort, it makes + me sleep in defiance o' wind and weather; it's the only friend I have left + now—it's my shirt—its my coat—my shoes and stockin's—my + house—my blankets—my coach—my carriage—it makes me + a nobleman, a lord; but, anyhow, sure I'm as good, ay, by the mortual, and + better, for amn't I one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh! Whish, the ou—ould + blood forever, and to the divil wid their meetins!” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said his wife, “I believe if you took the pledge that it would give + you all you say, and more; for it would bring you back the respect and + good-will of the people, that you've long lost.” + </p> + <p> + “To the divil wid the people! I'll tell you what, if takin' the pledge + reforms Mechil Gam, the crooked disciple that he is, or Tom Whiskey, mind—mind + me—I say if it reforms them, or young Barney Scaddhan, thin you may + spake up for it, an' may be, I'll listen to you.” + </p> + <p> + At length the meeting took place, and the three men alluded to by Art, + attended it as they said they would; each returned home with his pledge; + they rose up the next morning, and on that night went to bed sober. This + was repeated day after day, week after week, month after month, and still + nothing characterized them but sobriety, peace, and industry. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, so far as Art Maguire was concerned, it was out of his + power, as it was out of that of hundreds, to derive any benefit from the + example which some of his old hard-drinking associates had so unexpectedly + set both him and them. No meeting had since occurred within seventy or + eighty miles of Ballykeerin, and yet the contagion of good example had + spread through that and the adjoining parishes in a manner that was + without precedent. In fact, the people murmured, became impatient, and, + ere long, demanded from their respective pastors that another meeting + should be held, to afford them an opportunity of publicly receiving the + pledge; and for that purpose they besought the Rev. gentlemen to ask + Father Matthew to visit Ballykeerin. This wish was complied with, and + Father Matthew consented, though at considerable inconvenience to himself, + and appointed a day for the purpose specified. This was about three or + four months after the meeting that was held in the neighboring town + already alluded to. + </p> + <p> + For the last six weeks Margaret had been able to discharge the duties of + an humble situation in the hospital, on the condition that she should at + least once a day see her children. Poor as was the situation in question, + it enabled her to contribute much more to their comfort, than she could if + she had resided with them, or, in other words, begged with them; for to + that, had she returned home, it must have come; and, as the winter was + excessively severe, this would have killed her, enfeebled as she had been + by a long and oppressive fever. Her own good sense taught her to see this, + and the destitution of her children and husband—to feel it. In this + condition then were they—depending on the scanty aid which her poor + exertions could afford them, eked out by the miserable pittance that he + extorted as a beggar—when the intelligence arrived that the great + Apostle of Temperance had appointed a day on which to hold a teetotal + meeting in the town of Ballykeerin. + </p> + <p> + It is utterly unaccountable how the approach of Father Matthew, and of + these great meetings, stirred society into a state of such extraordinary + activity, not only in behalf of temperance, but also of many other + virtues; so true is it, that when one healthy association is struck it + awakens all those that are kindred to it into new life. In addition to a + love of sobriety, the people felt their hearts touched, as it were, by a + new spirit, into kindness and charity, and a disposition to discharge + promptly and with good-will all brotherly and neighborly offices. Harmony, + therefore, civil, social, and domestic, accompanied the temperance + movement wherever it went, and accompanies it still wherever it goes; for, + like every true blessing, it never comes alone, but brings several others + in its train. + </p> + <p> + The morning in question, though cold, was dry and bright; a small platform + had been raised at the edge of the market-house, which was open on one + side, and on it Father Matthew was to stand. By this simple means he would + be protected from rain, should any fall, and was sufficiently accessible + to prevent any extraordinary crush among the postulants. But how will we + attempt to describe the appearance which the town of Ballykeerin presented + on the morning of this memorable and auspicious day? And above all, in + what terms shall we paint the surprise, the wonder, the astonishment with + which they listened to the music of the teetotal band, which, as if by + magic, had been formed in the town of Drumnabogue, where, only a few + months before, the meeting of which we have spoken had been held. Indeed, + among all the proofs of national advantages which the temperance movement + has brought out, we are not to forget those which it has bestowed on the + country—by teaching us what a wonderful capacity for music, and what + a remarkable degree of intellectual power, the lower classes of our + countrymen are endowed with, and can manifest when moved by adequate + principles. Early as daybreak the roads leading to Ballykeerin presented a + living stream of people listening onwards towards the great rendezvous; + but so much did they differ in their aspect from almost any other + assemblage of Irishmen, that, to a person ignorant of their purpose, it + would be difficult, if not impossible, to guess the cause, not that moved + them in such multitudes towards the same direction, but that marked them + by such peculiar characteristics. We have seen Irishmen and Irishwomen + going to a country race in the summer months, when labor there was none; + we have seen them going to meetings of festivity and amusement of all + descriptions;—to fairs, to weddings, to dances—but we must + confess, that notwithstanding all our experience and intercourse with + them, we never witnessed anything at all resembling their manner and + bearing on this occasion. There was undoubtedly upon them, and among them, + all the delightful enjoyment of a festival spirit; they were easy, + cheerful, agreeable, and social; but, in addition to this, there was + clearly visible an expression of feeling that was new even to themselves, + as well as to the spectators. But how shall we characterize this feeling? + It was certainly not at variance with the cheerfulness which they felt, + but, at the same time, it shed over it a serene solemnity of manner which + communicated a moral grandeur to the whole proceeding that fell little + short of sublimity. This was a principle of simple virtue upon which all + were equal; but it was more than that, it was at once a manifestation of + humility, and an exertion of faith in the aid and support of the Almighty, + by whose grace those earnest but humble people felt and trusted that they + would be supported. And who can say that their simplicity of heart—their + unaffected humility, and their firmness of faith have not been amply + rewarded, and triumphantly confirmed by the steadfastness with which they + have been, with extremely few exceptions, faithful to their pledge. + </p> + <p> + About nine o'clock the town of Ballykeerin was crowded with a multitude + such as had never certainly met in it before. All, from the rustic middle + classes down, were there. The crowd was, indeed, immense, yet, + notwithstanding their numbers, one could easily mark the peculiar class + for whose sake principally the meeting had been called together. + </p> + <p> + There was the red-faced farmer of substance, whose sunburnt cheeks, and + red side-neck, were scorched into a color that disputed its healthy hue + with the deeper purple tint of strong and abundant drink. + </p> + <p> + “Such a man,” an acute observer would say, “eats well, and drinks well, + but is very likely to pop off some day, without a minute's warning, or + saying good-by to his friends.” + </p> + <p> + Again, there was the pale and emaciated drunkard, whose feeble and + tottering gait, and trembling hands, were sufficiently indicative of his + broken-down constitution, and probably of his anxiety to be enabled to + make some compensation to the world, or some provision on the part of his + own soul, to balance the consequences of an ill-spent life, during which + morals were laughed at, and health destroyed. + </p> + <p> + There was also the healthy-looking drunkard of small means, who, had he + been in circumstances to do so, would have gone to bed drunk every night + in the year. He is not able, from the narrowness of his circumstances, to + drink himself into apoplexy on the one hand, or debility on the other; but + he is able, notwithstanding, to drink the clothes off his back, and the + consequence is, that he stands before you as ragged, able-bodied, and + thumping a specimen of ebriety as you could wish to see during a week's + journey. There were, in fact, the vestiges of drunkenness in all their + repulsive features, and unhealthy variety. + </p> + <p> + There stood the grog-drinker with his blotched face in full flower, his + eye glazed in his head, and his protuberant paunch projecting over his + shrunk and diminished limbs. + </p> + <p> + The tippling tradesman too was there, pale and sickly-looking, his thin + and over-worn garments evidently insufficient to keep out the chill of + morning, and prevent him from shivering every now and then, as if he were + afflicted with the ague. + </p> + <p> + In another direction might be seen the servant out of place, known by the + natty knot of his white cravat, as well as by the smartness with which he + wears his dress, buttoned up as it is, and coaxed about him with all the + ingenuity which experience and necessity bring to the aid of vanity. His + napeless hat is severely brushed in order to give the subsoil an + appearance of the nap which is gone, but it won't do; every one sees that + his intention is excellent, were it possible for address and industry to + work it out. This is not the case, however, and the hat is consequently a + clear exponent of his principles and position, taste and skill while he + was sober—vain pride and trying poverty now in his drunkenness. + </p> + <p> + The reckless-looking sailor was also there (but with a serious air now), + who, having been discharged for drunkenness, and refused employment + everywhere else, for the same reason, was obliged to return home, and + remain a burden upon his friends. He, too, has caught this healthy + epidemic, and the consequence is, that he will once more gain employment, + for the production of his medal will be accepted as a welcome proof of his + reformation. + </p> + <p> + And there was there, what was better still, the unfortunate female, the + victim of passion and profligacy, conscious of her past life, and almost + ashamed in the open day to look around her. Poor thing! how her heart, + that was once innocent and pure, now trembles within a bosom where there + is awakened many a painful recollection of early youth, and the happiness + of home, before that unfortunate night, when, thrown off her guard by + accursed liquor, she ceased to rank among the pure and virtuous. Yes, all + these, and a much greater variety, were here actuated by the noble + resolution to abandon forever the evil courses, the vices, and the + profligacy into which they were first driven by the effects of drink. + </p> + <p> + The crowd was, indeed, immense, many having come a distance of twenty, + thirty, some forty, and not a few fifty miles, in order to free + themselves, by this simple process, from the influence of the destructive + habit which either was leading, or had led them, to ruin. Of course it is + not to be supposed that among such a vast multitude of people there were + not, as there always is, a great number of those vagabond impostors who go + about from place to place, for the purpose of extorting charity from the + simple and credulous, especially when under the influence of liquor. All + this class hated the temperance movement, because they knew right well + that sobriety in the people was there greatest enemy; the lame, the blind, + the maimed, the deaf, and the dumb, were there in strong muster, and with + their characteristic ingenuity did everything in their power, under the + pretence of zeal and religious enthusiasm, to throw discredit upon the + whole proceedings. It was this vile crew, who, by having recourse to the + aid of mock miracles, fancied they could turn the matter into derision and + contempt, and who, by affecting to be cured of their complaints, with a + view of having their own imposture, when detected, imputed to want of + power in Father Matthew;—it was this vile crew, we say, that first + circulated the notion that he could perform miracles. Unfortunately, many + of the ignorant among the people did in the beginning believe that he + possessed this power, until he himself, with his characteristic candor, + disclaimed it. For a short time the idea of this slightly injured the + cause, and afforded to its enemies some silly and senseless arguments, + which, in lieu of better, they were glad to bring against it. + </p> + <p> + At length Father Matthew, accompanied by several other clergymen and + gentlemen, made his appearance on the platform; then was the rush, the + stretching of necks, and the bitter crushing, accompanied by devices and + manoeuvres of all kinds, to catch a glimpse of him. The windows were + crowded by the more respectable classes, who were eager to witness the + effects of this great and sober enthusiasm among the lower classes. The + proceedings, however, were very simple. He first addressed them in a plain + and appropriate discourse, admirably displaying the very description of + eloquence which was best adapted to his auditory. This being concluded, he + commenced distributing the medal, for which every one who received it, + gave a shilling, the latter at the same time repeating the following + words: “I promise, so long as I shall continue a member of the Teetotal + Temperance Society, to abstain from all intoxicating liquors, unless + recommended for medical purposes, and to discourage by all means in my + power the practice of intoxication in others.” Father Matthew then said, + “May God bless you, and enable you to keep your promise!” + </p> + <p> + Such was the simple ceremony by which millions have been rescued from + those terrible evils that have so long cursed and afflicted society in + this country. + </p> + <p> + In this large concourse there stood one individual, who presented in his + person such symptoms of a low, grovelling, and unremitting indulgence in + drink, as were strikingly observable even amidst the mass of misery and + wretchedness that was there congregated. It is rarely, even in a life, + that an object in human shape, encompassed and pervaded by so many of the + fearful results of habitual drunkenness, comes beneath observation. + Sometimes we may see it in a great city, when we feel puzzled, by the + almost total absence of reason in the countenance, to know whether the + utter indifference to nakedness and the elements, be the consequence of + drunken destitution, or pure idiocy. To this questionable appearance had + the individual we speak of come. The day was now nearly past, and the + crowd had considerably diminished, when this man, approaching Father + Matthew, knelt down, and clasping his skeleton hands, exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “Father, I'm afeard I cannot trust myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Who can?” said Father Matthew; “it is not in yourself you are to place + confidence, but in God, who will support you, and grant you strength, if + you ask for it sincerely and humbly.” + </p> + <p> + These words, uttered in tones of true Christian charity, gave comfort to + the doubting heart of the miserable creature, who said— + </p> + <p> + “I would wish to take the pledge, if I had money; but I doubt it's too + late—too late for me! Oh, if I thought it wasn't!” + </p> + <p> + “It's never too late to repent,” replied the other, “or to return from + evil to good. If you feel your heart inclined to the right I course, do + not let want of money prevent you from pledging yourself to sobriety and + temperance.” + </p> + <p> + “In God's name, then, I will take it,” he replied; and immediately + repeated the simple words which constitute the necessary form. + </p> + <p> + “May God bless you,” said Father Matthew, placing his hand on his head, + “and enable you to keep your promise!” + </p> + <p> + This man, our readers already guess, was Art Maguire. + </p> + <p> + Having thus taken the medal, and pledged himself to sobriety, and a total + abstinence from all intoxicating liquors, his first feeling was very + difficult to describe. Father Matthew's words, though few and brief, had + sunk deep into his heart, and penetrated his whole spirit. He had been for + many a long day the jest and jibe of all who knew him; because they looked + upon his recovery as a hopeless thing, and spoke to him accordingly in a + tone of contempt and scorn—a lesson to us that we never should deal + harshly with the miserable. Nor, however, he had been addressed in accents + of kindness, and in a voice that proclaimed an interest in his welfare. + This, as we said, added to the impressive spirit that prevailed around, + touched him, and he hurried home. + </p> + <p> + On reaching his almost empty house, he found Margaret and the children + there before him; she having come to see how the poor things fared—but + being quite ignorant of what had just taken place with regard to her + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said she, with her usual affectionate manner; “you will want + something to eat; for if you're not hungry, your looks! belie you very + much. I have brought something for you and these creatures.” + </p> + <p> + Art looked at her, then at their children, then at the utter desolation of + the house, and spreading his two hands over his face, he wept aloud. This + was repentance. Margaret in exceeding surprise, rose and approached him:— + </p> + <p> + “Art dear,” she said, “in the name of God, what's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe my father's sick, mother,” said little Atty; “sure, father, if you + are, I an' the rest will go out ourselves, an' you can stay at home; but + we needn't go this day, for my mammy brought us as much as will put us + over it.” + </p> + <p> + To neither the mother nor child did he make any reply; but wept on and + sobbed as if his heart would break. + </p> + <p> + “Oh my God, my God,” he exclaimed bitterly, “what have I brought you to, + my darlin' wife and childre, that I loved a thousand times betther than my + own heart? Oh, what have I brought you to?” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said his wife, and her eye kindled, “in the name of the heavenly + God, is this sorrow for the life you led?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Margaret darlin',” he said, still sobbing; “it's long since I ought + to a felt it; but how can I look back on that woful life? Oh my God, my + God! what have I done, an' what have I brought on you!” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” she said, “say to me that you're sorry for it; only let my ears + hear you saying the words.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Margaret dear,” he sobbed, “from my heart—from the core of my + unhappy heart—I am sorry—sorry for it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there's hope,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and looking up to + heaven, “there is hope—for him—for him—for us all! Oh my + heart,” she exclaimed, quickly, “what is this?” and she scarcely uttered + the words, when she sank upon the ground insensible—sudden joy being + sometimes as dangerous as sudden grief. + </p> + <p> + Art, who now forgot his own sorrow in apprehension for her, raised her up, + assisted by little Atty, who, as did the rest of the children, cried + bitterly, on seeing his mother's eyes shut, her arms hanging lifelessly by + her side, and herself without motion. Water, however, was brought by Atty; + her face sprinkled, and a little put to her lips, and with difficulty down + her throat. At length she gave a long deep-drawn sigh, and opening her + eyes, she looked tenderly into her husband's face— + </p> + <p> + “Art dear,” she said, in a feeble voice, “did I hear it right? And you + said you were sorry?” + </p> + <p> + “From my heart I am, Margaret dear,” he replied; “oh, if you knew what I + feel this minute!” + </p> + <p> + She looked on him again, and her pale face was lit up with a smile of + almost ineffable happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me,” said she; “we are both young yet, Art dear, and we will gain + our lost ground wanst more.” + </p> + <p> + While she spoke, the tears of delight fell in torrents down her cheeks. + Art kissed her tenderly, and immediately pulling out the medal, showed it + to her. + </p> + <p> + She took the medal, and after looking at it, and reading the inscription— + </p> + <p> + “Well, Art,” she said, “you never broke your oath—that's one + comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied; “nor I'll never break this; if I do,” he added + fervently, and impetuously, “may God mark me out for misery and + misfortune!” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, dear,” she replied; “don't give way to these curses—they + sarve no purpose, Art. But I'm so happy this day!” + </p> + <p> + “An' is my father never to be drunk any more, mammy?” asked the little + ones, joyfully; “an he'll never be angry wid you, nor bate you any more?” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, darlins,” she exclaimed; “don't be spakin' about that; sure your + poor father never beat me, only when he didn't know what he was doin'. + Never mention it again, one of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Margaret,” said Art, now thoroughly awakened, “what recompense can I + ever make you, for the treatment I gave you? Oh, how can I think of it, or + look back upon it?” + </p> + <p> + His voice almost failed him, as he uttered the last words; but his + affectionate wife stooped and kissing away the tears from his cheeks, said— + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Art dear; sure this now is not a time to cry;” and yet her own + tears were flowing;—“isn't our own love come back to us? won't we + now have peace? won't we get industrious, and be respected again?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Margaret darling,” he replied, “your love never left you; so don't + put yourself in; but as for me—oh, what have I done? and what have I + brought you to?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, thanks be to the Almighty, all's right. Here's something for + you to ait; you must want it.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” he replied, “did these poor crathurs get anything? bekase if they + didn't, I'll taste nothin' till they do.” + </p> + <p> + “They did indeed,” said Margaret; and all the little ones came joyfully + about him, to assure him that they had been fed, and were not hungry. + </p> + <p> + The first feeling Art now experienced on going abroad was shame—a + deep and overwhelming sense of shame; shame at the meanness of his past + conduct—shame at his miserable and unsightly appearance—shame + at all he had done, and at all he had left undone. What course now, + however, was he to adopt? Being no longer stupified and besotted by + liquor, into a state partly apathetic, partly drunken, and wholly + shameless, he could not bear the notion of resuming his habits of + mendicancy. The decent but not the empty and senseless, pride of his + family was now reawakened in him, and he felt, besides, that labor and + occupation were absolutely necessary to enable him to bear up against the + incessant craving which he felt for the pernicious stimulant. So strongly + did this beset him, that he suffered severely from frequent attacks of + tremor and sensations that resembled fits of incipient distraction. + Nothing, therefore, remained for him but close employment, that would keep + both mind and body engaged. + </p> + <p> + When the fact of his having taken the pledge became generally known, it + excited less astonishment than a person might imagine; in truth, the + astonishment would have been greater, had he refused to take it at all, so + predominant and full of enthusiasm was the spirit of temperance at that + period. One feeling, however, prevailed with respect to him, which was, + that privation of his favorite stimulant would kill him—that his + physical system, already so much exhausted and enfeebled, would, break + down—-and that poor Art would soon go the way of all drunkards. + </p> + <p> + On the third evening after he had taken the pledge, he went down to the + man who had succeeded himself in his trade, and who, by the way, had been + formerly one of his own journeymen, of the very men who, while he was + running his career of dissipation, refused to flatter his vanity, or make + one in his excesses, and who was, moreover, one of the very individuals he + had dismissed. To this man he went, and thus accosted him—his name + was Owen Gallagher. + </p> + <p> + “Owen,” said he, “I trust in God that I have gained a great victory of + late.” + </p> + <p> + The man understood him perfectly well, and replied— + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, Art; I hear you have taken the pledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Belyin' on God's help, I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Owen, “you couldn't rely on betther help.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Art, “I know I could not; but, Owen, I ran a wild and a + terrible race of it—I'm grieved an' shamed to think—even to + think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “An' that's a good sign, Art, there couldn't be betther; for unless a + man's heart is sorry for his faults, and ashamed of them too, it's not + likely he'll give them over.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear to walk the streets,” continued Art, “nor to rise my head; + but still something must be done for the poor wife and childre.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Art,” replied Owen, “that is the wife! The goold of Europe isn't + value for her; an' that's what every one knows.” + </p> + <p> + “But who knows it, an' feels it as I do?” said Art, “or who has the right + either? howandiver, as I said, something must be done; Owen, will you + venture to give me employment? I know I'm in bad trim to come into a + dacent workshop, but you know necessity has no law;—it isn't my + clo'es that will work, but myself; an', indeed, if you do employ me, it's + not much I'll be able to do this many a day; but the truth is, if I don't + get something to keep me busy, I doubt I won't be able to stand against + what I feel both in my mind and body.” + </p> + <p> + These words were uttered with such an air of deep sorrow and perfect + sincerity as affected Gallagher very much. + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said he, “there was no man so great a gainer by the unfortunate + coorse you tuck as I was, for you know I came into the best part of your + business; God forbid then that I should refuse you work, especially as you + have turned over a new lafe;—or to lend you a helpin' hand either, + now that I know it will do you and your family good, and won't go to the + public-house. Come wid me.” + </p> + <p> + He took down his hat as he spoke, and brought Art up to one of those + general shops that are to be found in every country town like Ballykeerin. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Trimble,” said he, “Art Maguire wants a plain substantial suit o' + clothes, that will be chape an' wear well, an' I'll be accountable for + them; Art, sir, has taken the pledge, an' is goin' to turn over a new + lafe, an' be as he wanst was, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “And there is no man,” said the worthy shopkeeper, “in the town of + Ballykeerin that felt more satisfaction than I did when I heard he had + taken it. I know what he wants, and what you want for him, and he shall + have it both cheap and good.” + </p> + <p> + Such was the respect paid to those who nobly resolved to overcome their + besetting sin of drink, and its consequent poverty or profligacy, that the + knowledge alone that they had taken the pledge, gained them immediate + good-will, as it was entitled to do. This, to be sure, was in Art's favor; + but there was about him, independently of this, a serious spirit of + awakened resolution and sincerity which carried immediate conviction along + with it. + </p> + <p> + “This little matter,” said the honest carpenter, with natural + consideration for Art, “will, of coorse, rest between you an' me, Mr. + Trimble.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand your feeling, Owen,” said he, “and I can't but admire it; it + does honor to your heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Hut,” said Gallagher, “it's nothin'; sure it's jist what Art would do for + myself, if we wor to change places.” + </p> + <p> + Thus it is with the world, and ever will be so, till human nature changes. + Art had taken the first step towards his reformation, and Owen felt that + he was sincere; this step, therefore, even slight as it was, sufficed to + satisfy his old friend that he would be safe in aiding him. Gallagher's + generosity, however, did not stop here; the assistance which he gave Art, + though a matter of secrecy between themselves, was soon visible in Art's + appearance, and that of his poor family. Good fortune, however, did not + stop here; in about a week after this, when Art was plainly but + comfortably dressed, and working with Gallagher, feeble as he was, upon + journeyman's wages, there came a letter from his brother Frank, enclosing + ten pounds for the use of his wife and children. It was directed to a + friend in Ballykeerin, who was instructed to apply it according to his own + discretion, and the wants of his family, only by no means to permit a + single shilling of it to reach his hands, unless on the condition that he + had altogether given up liquor. This seemed to Art like a proof that God + had rewarded him for the step he had taken; in a few weeks it was + wonderful how much comfort he and his family had contrived to get about + them. Margaret was a most admirable manager, and a great economist, and + with her domestic knowledge and good sense, things went on beyond their + hopes. + </p> + <p> + Art again was up early and down late—for his strength, by the aid of + wholesome and regular food, and an easy mind, was fast returning to him—although + we must add here, that he never regained the healthy and powerful + constitution which he had lost. His reputation, too, was fast returning; + many a friendly salutation he received from those, who, in his + degradation, would pass him by with either ridicule or solemn contempt. + </p> + <p> + Nothing in this world teaches a man such well-remembered lessons of life + as severe experience. Art, although far, very far removed from his former + independence, yet, perhaps, might be said never to have enjoyed so much + peace of mind, or so strong a sense of comfort, as he did now in his + humble place with his family. The contrast between his past misery, and + the present limited independence which he enjoyed, if it could be called + independence, filled his heart with a more vivid feeling of thankfulness + than he had ever known. He had now a bed to sleep on, with <i>bona fide</i> + blankets—he had a chair to sit on—a fire on his hearth—and + food, though plain, to eat; so had his wife, so had his children; he had + also very passable clothes to his back, that kept him warm and + comfortable, and prevented him from shivering like a reed in the blast; so + had his wife, and so had his children. But he had more than this, for he + had health, a good conscience, and a returning reputation. People now + addressed him as an equal, as a man, as an individual who constituted a + portion of society; then, again, he loved his wife as before, and lived + with her in a spirit of affection equal to any they had ever felt. Why, + this was, to a man who suffered what he and his family had suffered, + perfect luxury. + </p> + <p> + In truth, Art now wondered at the life he had led,—he could not + understand it; why he should have suffered himself, for the sake of a vile + and questionable enjoyment—if enjoyment that could be called, which + was no enjoyment—at least for the sake of a demoralizing and + degrading habit, to fall down under the feet as it were, under the evil + tongues, and the sneers—of those who constituted his world—the + inhabitants of Ballykeerin—was now, that he had got rid of the + thraldom, perfectly a mystery to him. Be this as it may, since he had + regenerated his own character, the world was just as ready to take him up + as it had been to lay him down. + </p> + <p> + Nothing in life gives a man such an inclination for active industry as to + find that he is prospering; he has then heart and spirits to work, and + does work blithely and cheerfully; so was it with Art. He and his employer + were admirably adapted for each other, both being extremely well-tempered, + honest, and first-rate workmen. About the expiration of the first twelve + months, Art had begun to excite a good deal of interest in the town of + Ballykeerin, an interest which was beginning to affect Owen Gallagher + himself in a beneficial way. He was now pointed out to strangers as the + man, who, almost naked, used to stand drunk and begging upon the bridge of + Ballykeerin, surrounded by his starving and equally naked children. In + fact, he began to get a name, quite a reputation for the triumph which he + had achieved over drunkenness; and on this account Owen Gallagher, when it + was generally known in the country that Art worked with him, found his + business so rapidly extending, that he was obliged, from time to time, to + increase the number of hands in his establishment. Art felt this, and + being now aware that his position in life was, in fact, more favorable for + industrious exertion than ever, resolved to give up journey work, and once + more, if only for the novelty of the thing, to set up for himself. Owen + Gallagher, on hearing this from his own lips, said he could not, nor would + not blame him, but, he added— + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what we can do, Art—come into partnership wid me, for + I think as we're gettin' an so well together, it 'ud be a pity, almost a + sin, to part; join me, and I'll give you one-third of the business,”—by + which he meant the profits of it. + </p> + <p> + “Begad,” replied Art, laughing, “it's as much for the novelty of the thing + I'm doin' it as any thing else; I think it 'ud be like a dhrame to me, if + I was to find myself and my family as we wor before.” And so they parted. + </p> + <p> + It is unnecessary here to repeat what we have already detailed concerning + the progress of his early prosperity; it is sufficient, we trust, to tell + our readers that he rose into rapid independence, and that he owed all his + success to the victory that he had obtained over himself. His name was now + far and near, and so popular had he become, that no teetotaller would + employ any other carpenter. This, at length, began to make him proud, and + to feel that his having given up drink, instead of being simply a duty to + himself and his family, was altogether an act of great voluntary virtue on + his part. + </p> + <p> + “Few men,” he said, “would do it, an' may be, afther all, if I hadn't the + ould blood in my veins—if I wasn't one of the great Fermanagh + Maguires, I would never a' done it.” + </p> + <p> + He was now not only a vehement Teetotaller, but an unsparing enemy to all + who drank even in moderation; so much so, indeed, that whenever a man came + to get work done with him, the first question he asked him was—“Are + you a Teetotaller?” If the man answered “No,” his reply was, “Well, I'm + sorry for that, bekase I couldn't wid a safe conscience do your work; but + you can go to Owen Gallagher, and he will do it for you as well as any man + livin'.” + </p> + <p> + This, to be sure, was the abuse of the principle; but we all know that the + best things may be abused. He was, in fact, outrageous in defence of + Teetotalism; attended all its meetings; subscribed for Band-money; and was + by far the most active member in the whole town of Ballykeerin. It was not + simply that he forgot his former poverty; he forgot himself. At every + procession he was to be seen, mounted on a spanking horse, ridiculously + over-dressed—the man, we mean, not the horse—flaunting with + ribands, and quite puffed up at the position to which he had raised + himself. + </p> + <p> + This certainly was not the humble and thankful feeling with which he ought + to have borne his prosperity. The truth, however, was, that Art, in all + this parade, was not in the beginning acting upon those broad, open + principles of honesty, which, in the transactions of business, had + characterized his whole life. He was now influenced by his foibles—by + his vanity—and by his ridiculous love of praise. Nor, perhaps, would + these have been called into action, were it not through the intervention + of his old friend and pot companion, Toal Finnigan. Toal, be it known to + the reader, the moment he heard that Art had become a Teetotaller, + immediately became one himself, and by this means their intimacy was once + more renewed; that is to say, they spoke in friendly terms whenever they + met—but no entreaty or persuasion could ever induce Toal to enter + Art's house; and the reader need not be told why. At all events, Toal, + soon after he joined it, put himself forward in the Teetotal Movement with + such prominence, that Art, who did not wish to be outdone in anything, + began to get jealous of him. Hence his ridiculous exhibitions of himself + in every manner that could attract notice, or throw little Toal into the + shade; and hence also the still more senseless determination not to work + for any but a Teetotaller; for in this, too, Toal had set him the example. + Toal, the knave, on becoming a Teetotaller, immediately resolved to turn + it to account; but Art, provided he could show off, and cut a conspicuous + figure in a procession, had no dishonest motive in what he did; and this + was the difference between them. For instance, on going up the town of + Ballykeerin, you might see over the door of a middle-sized house, + “Teetotal Meal Shop. N. B.—None but Teetotallers need come here.” + </p> + <p> + Now every one knew Toal too well not to understand this; for the truth is, + that maugre his sign, he never refused his meal or other goods to any one + that had money to pay for them. + </p> + <p> + One evening about this time, Art was seated in his own parlor—for he + now had a parlor, and was in a state of prosperity far beyond anything he + had ever experienced before—Margaret and the children were with him; + and as he smoked his pipe, he could not help making an observation or two + upon the wonderful change which so short a time had brought about. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Margaret,” said he, “isn't this wondherful, dear? look at the + comfort we have now about us, and think of—; but troth I don't like + to think of it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I never can,” she replied, “without a troubled and a sinkin' heart; but, + Art, don't you remember when I wanst wished you to become a Teetotaller, + the answer you made me?” + </p> + <p> + “May be I do; what was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you axed me—and you were makin' game of it at the time—whether + Teetotallism would put a shirt or a coat to your back—a house over + your head—give you a bed to lie on, or blankets to keep you and the + childre from shiverin', an' coughin', an' barkin' in the could of the + night? Don't you remember sayin' this?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I do; ay, I remember something about it now. Didn't I say that + whiskey was my coach an' my carriage, an' that it made me a lord?” + </p> + <p> + “You did; well, now what do you say? Hasn't Teetotallism bate you in your + own argument? Hasn't it given you a shirt an' a coat to your back, a good + bed to lie on, a house over your head? In short, now, Art, hasn't it given + you all you said, an' more than ever you expected? eh, now?” + </p> + <p> + “I give in, Margaret—you have me there; but,” he proceeded, “it's + not every man could pull himself up as I did; eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for God's sake, Art, don't begin to put any trust in your own mere + strength, nor don't be boasting of what you did, the way you do; sure, we + ought always to be very humble and thankful to God for what he has done + for us; is there anything comes to us only through him?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm takin' no pride to myself,” said Art, “divil a taste; but this I + know, talk as you will, there's always somethin' in the ould blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Art,” she replied, smiling, “do you know I could answer you on that + subject if I liked?” + </p> + <p> + “You could,” said Art; “come, then, let us hear your answer—come now—ha, + ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + She became grave, but complacent, as she spoke. “Well, then, Art,” said + she, “where was the ould blood when you fell so low? If it was the ould + blood that riz you up, remember it was the ould blood that put you down. + You drank more whiskey,” she added, “upon the head of the ould blood of + Ireland, and the great Fermanagh Maguires, than you did on all other + subjects put together. No, Art dear, let us not trust to ould blood or + young blood, but let us trust to the grace o' God, an' ax it from our + hearts out.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but arn't we in great comfort now?” + </p> + <p> + “We are,” she replied, “thank the Giver of all good for it; may God + continue it to us, and grant it to last!” + </p> + <p> + “Last! why wouldn't it last, woman alive? Well, begad, after all, 'tis not + every other man, any way—” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, now,” said Margaret, interrupting him, “you're beginnin' to + praise yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won't then; I'm going down the town to have a glass or two o' + cordial wid young Tom Whiskey, in Barney Scaddhan's.” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” she replied, somewhat solemnly, “the very name of Barney Scaddhan + sickens me. I know we ought to forgive every one, as we hope to be + forgiven ourselves; but still, Art, if I was in your shoes, the sorra foot + ever I'd put inside his door. Think of the way he trated you; ah, Art + acushla, where's the pride of the ould blood now?” + </p> + <p> + “Hut, woman, divil a one o' me ever could keep in bad feelin' to any one. + Troth, Barney of late's as civil a crature as there's alive; sure what you + spake of was all my own fault and not his; I'll be back in an hour or so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said his wife, “there's one thing, Art, that every one knows.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that, Margaret?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that a man's never safe in bad company.” + </p> + <p> + “But sure, what harm can they do me, when we drink nothing that can injure + us?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said she, “as that's the case, can't you as well stay with + good company as bad?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not be away more than an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, since you will go, Art, listen to me; you'll be apt to meet Toal + Finnigan there; now, as you love me and your childre, an' as you wish to + avoid evil and misfortune, don't do any one thing that he proposes to you: + I've often tould you that he's your bitterest enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you did; but sure, wanst a woman takes a pick (pique) aginst a man + she'll never forgive him. In about an hour mind.” He then went out. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, that some few of those who began to feel irksome under the + Obligation—by which I mean the knaves and hypocrites, for it is not + to be supposed that among such an incredible multitude as joined the + movement there were none of this description—some few, I say, were + in the habit of resorting to Barney Scaddhan's for the social purpose of + taking a glass of the true Teetotal cordial together. This drinking of + cordial was most earnestly promoted by the class of low and dishonest + publicans whom we have already described, and no wonder that it was so; in + the first place, it's sale is more profitable than that of whiskey itself, + and, in the second place, these fellows know by experience that it is the + worst enemy that teetolism has, very few having ever strongly addicted + themselves to cordial, who do not ultimately break the pledge, and resume + the use of intoxicating liquor. This fact was well known at the time, for + Father Costelloe, who did every thing that man could do to extend and + confirm the principle of temperance, had put his parishioners on their + guard against the use of this deleterious trash. Consequently, very few of + the Ballykeerin men, either in town or parish, would taste it; when they + stood in need of anything to quench their thirst, or nourish them, they + confined themselves to water, milk, or coffee. Scarcely any one, + therefore, with the exception of the knaves and hypocrites, tampered with + themselves by drinking it. + </p> + <p> + The crew whom Art went to meet on the night in question consisted of about + half a dozen, who, when they had been in the habit of drinking whiskey, + were hardened and unprincipled men—profligates in every sense—fellows + that, like Toal Finnigan, now adhered to teetotalism from sordid motives + only, or, in other words, because they thought they could improve their + business by it. It is true, they were suspected and avoided by the honest + teetotallers, who wondered very much that Art Maguire, after the treatment + he had formerly received at their hands, should be mean enough, they said, + ever “to be hail fellow well met” with them again. But Art, alas! in spite + of all his dignity of old blood, and his rodomontade about the Fermanagh + Maguires, was utterly deficient in that decent pride which makes a man + respect himself, and prevents him from committing a mean action. + </p> + <p> + For a considerable time before his arrival, there were assembled in Barney + Scaddhan's tap, Tom Whiskey, Jerry Shannon, Jack Mooney, Toal Finnigan, + and the decoy duck, young Barney Scaddhan himself, who merely became a + teetotaller that he might be able to lure his brethren in to spend their + money in drinking cordial. + </p> + <p> + “I wondher Art's not here before now,” observed Tom Whiskey; “blood alive, + didn't he get on well afther joinin' the 'totallers?” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, it's a miracle,” replied Jerry Shannon, “there's not a more + 'spbnsible man in Ballykeerin, he has quite a Protestant look;—ha, + ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a sich a pest ever this house had as the same Art when he was a + blackguard,” said young Scaddhan; “there was no keepin' him out of it, but + constantly spungin' upon the dacent people that wor dhrmkin' in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Many a good pound and penny he left you for all that, Barney, my lad,” + said Mooney; “and purty tratement you gave him when his money was gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, an' we'd give you the same,” returned Scaddhan, “if your's was gone, + too; ha, ha, ha! it's not moneyless vagabones we want here.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Shannon, “you first make them moneyless vagabones, an' then you + kick them out o' doors, as you did him.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said the hardened miscreant, “that's the way we live; when we + get the skin off the cat, then we throw out the carcass.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, dang it, man,” said Whiskey, “would you expect honest Barney here, + or his still honester ould rip of a father, bad as they are, to give us + drink for nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Finnigan, who had not yet spoken, “yez are talkin' about Art + Maguire, and I'll tell yez what I could do; I could bend my finger that + way, an' make him folly me over the parish.” + </p> + <p> + “And how could you do that?” asked Whiskey. + </p> + <p> + “By soodherin' him—by ticklin' his empty pride—by dwellin' on + the ould blood of Ireland, the great Fermanagh Maguires—or by + tellin' him that he's betther than any one else, and could do what nobody + else could.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you make him drunk to-night?” asked Shannon. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Toal, “an' will, too, as ever you seen him in your lives; only + whin I'm praisin' him do some of you oppose me, an' if I propose any thing + to be done, do you all either support me in it, or go aginst me, accordin' + as you see he may take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Mooney, “in ordher to put you in spirits, go off, + Barney, an' slip a glass o' whiskey a piece into this cordial, jist to + tighten it a bit—ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Tom Whiskey, “till we dhrink success to teetotalism, ha, ha, + ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you do him in the cordial,” said Shannon. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” replied Toal; “I'll first soften him a little on the + cordial, and then make him tip the punch openly and before faces, like a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “Troth, it's a sin,” observed Moonoy, who began to disrelish the project; + “if it was only on account of his wife an' childre.” + </p> + <p> + Toal twisted his misshapen mouth into still greater deformity at this + observation— + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “no matter, it'll only be a good joke; Art is a dacent + fellow, and afther this night we won't repate it. Maybe,” he continued “I + may find it necessary to vex him, an' if I do, remember you won't let him + get at me, or my bread's baked.” + </p> + <p> + This they all promised, and the words were scarcely concluded, when Art + entered and joined them. As a great portion of their conversation did not + bear upon the subject matter of this narrative, it is therefore + unnecessary to record it. After about two hours, during which Art had + unconsciously drunk at least three glasses of whiskey, disguised in + cordial, the topic artfully introduced by Toal was the Temperance + Movement. + </p> + <p> + “As for my part,” said he, “I'm half ashamed that I ever joined it. As I + was never drunk, where was the use of it? Besides, it's an unmanly thing + for any one to have it to say that he's not able to keep himself sober, + barrin' he takes an oath, or the pledge.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you take it then?” said Art. + </p> + <p> + “Bekaise I was a fool,” replied Toal; “devil a thing else.” + </p> + <p> + “It's many a good man's case,” observed Art in reply, “to take an oath + against liquor, or a pledge aither, an' no disparagement to any man that + does it.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a betther man that can keep himself sober widout it,” said Toal + dryly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mane by a betther man?” asked Art, somewhat significantly; + “let us hear that first, Toal.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be talking' about betther men here,” said Jerry Shannon; “I tell + you, Toal, there's a man in this room, and when you get me a betther man + in the town of Ballykeerin, I'll take a glass of punch wid you, or a pair + o' them, in spite of all the pledges in Europe!” + </p> + <p> + “And who is that, Jerry,” said Toal. + </p> + <p> + “There he sits,” replied Jerry, putting his extended palm upon Art's + shoulder and clapping it. + </p> + <p> + “May the divil fly away wid you,” replied Toal; “did you think me a manus, + that I'd go to put Art Maguire wid any man that I know? Art Maguire + indeed! Now, Jerry, my throoper, do you think I'm come to this time o' + day, not to know that there's no man in Ballykeerin, or the parish it + stands in—an' that's a bigger word—that could be called a + betther man that Art Maguire?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, boys,” said Art, “none of your nonsense. Sich as I am, be the same + good or bad, I'll stand the next trate, an' devilish fine strong cordial + it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, I don't think myself it's so good,” replied young Scaddhan; + “troth it's waiker than we usually have it; an' the taste somehow isn't + exactly to my plaisin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Art; “if you have any that 'ill plaise yourself betther, + get it; but in the mane time bring us a round o' this, an' we'll be + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Art Maguire,” Toal proceeded, “you were ever and always a man out o' the + common coorse.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Toal, you're beginnin',” said Art; “ha, ha, ha—well, any way, + how is that!” + </p> + <p> + “Bekaise the divil a taste o' fear or terror ever was in your + constitution. When Art, boys, was at school—sure he an' I wor + schoolfellows—if he tuck a thing into his head, no matter what, jist + out of a whim, he'd do it, if the divil was at the back door, or the whole + world goin' to stop him.” + </p> + <p> + “Throth, Toal, I must say there's a great deal o' thruth in that. Divil a + one livin' knows me betther than Toal Finigan, sure enough, boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Arra, Art, do you remember the day you crossed the weir, below Tom + Booth's,” pursued Toal, “when the river was up, and the wather jist + intherin' your mouth?” + </p> + <p> + “That was the day Peggy Booth fainted, when she thought I was gone; begad, + an' I was near it.” + </p> + <p> + “The very day.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be all thrue enough,” observed Tom Whiskey; “still I think I + know Art this many a year, and I can't say I ever seen any of these great + doing's. I jist seen him as aisy put from a thing, and as much afeard of + the tongues of the nabors, or of the world, as another.” + </p> + <p> + “He never cared a damn for either o' them, for all that,” returned Toal; + “that is, mind, if he tuck a thing into his head; ay, an' I'll go farther—divil + a rap ever he cared for them, one way or other. No, the man has no fear of + any kind in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Toal,” said Mooney, “whether he cares for them or not, I think is + aisily decided; and whether he's the great man you make him. Let us hear + what he says himself upon it, and then we'll know.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” replied Toal; “what do you say yourself, Art? Am I + right, or am I wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Toal, sure enough; if it went to that, I don't care a curse + about the world, or all Ballykeerin along wid it. I've a good business, + and can set the world at defiance. If the people didn't want me, they + wouldn't come to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Toal,” said Jerry; “here—I'll hould you a pound note”—and + lie pulled out one as he spoke—“that I'll propose a thing he won't + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha—thank you for nothing, my customer—I won't take that + bait,” replied the other; “but listen—is it a thing that he can do?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” replied Jerry; “and what's more, every man in the room can do it, + as well as Art, if he wishes.” + </p> + <p> + “He can?” + </p> + <p> + “He can.” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said Toal, clapping down his pound. “Jack Mooney, put these in + your pocket till this matther's decided. Now, Jerry, let us hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will;—he won't drink two tumblers of punch, runnin'; that is, one + afther the other.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” observed Art, “I will not; do you want me to break the pledge?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Jerry, “this is not breaking the pledge—it's only for a + wager.” + </p> + <p> + “No matther,” said Art; “it's a thing I won't do.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what, Jerry,” said Toal, “I'll hould you another pound now, + that I do a thing to-night that Art won't do; an' that, like your own + wager, every one in the room can do.” + </p> + <p> + “Done,” said the other, taking out the pound note, and placing it in + Mooney's hand—Toal following his example. + </p> + <p> + “Scaddhan,” said Toal, “go an' bring me two tumblers of good strong punch. + I'm a Totaller as well as Art, boys. Be off, Scaddhan.” + </p> + <p> + “By Japers,” said Tom Whiskey, as if to himself—looking at the same + time as if he were perfectly amazed at the circumstance—“the little + fellow has more spunk than Maguire, ould blood an' all! Oh, holy Moses; + afther that, what will the world come to!” + </p> + <p> + Art heard the soliloquy of Whiskey, and looked about him with an air of + peculiar meaning. His pride—his shallow, weak, contemptible pride, + was up, while the honest pride that is never separated from firmness and + integrity, was cast aside and forgotten. Scaddhan came in, and placing the + two tumblers before Toal, that worthy immediately emptied first one of + them, and then the other. + </p> + <p> + “The last two pounds are yours,” said Jerry; “Mooney, give them to him.” + </p> + <p> + Art, whose heart was still smarting under the artful soliloquy of Tom + Whiskey, now started to his feet, and exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “No, Jerry, the money's not his yet. Barney, bring in two tumblers. What + one may do another may do; and as Jerry says, why it's only for a wager. + At any rate, for one o' my blood was never done out, and never will.” + </p> + <p> + “By Japers,” said Whiskey, “I knew he wouldn't let himself be bate. I knew + when it came to the push he wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Barney,” said Toal, “don't make them strong for him, for they might + get into his head; he hasn't a good head anyway—let them be rather + wake, Barney.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Art, “let them be as strong as his, and stronger, Barney; and + lose no time about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I had better color them,” said Barney, “an' the people about the place + 'll think it's cordial still.” + </p> + <p> + “Color the devil,” replied Art; “put no colorin' on them. Do you think I'm + afeard of any one, or any colors?” + </p> + <p> + “You afeard of any one,” exclaimed Tom Whiskey; “one o' the ould Maguires + afeard! ha, ha, ha!—that 'ud be good!” + </p> + <p> + Art, when the tumblers came in, drank off first one, which he had no + sooner emptied, than he shivered into pieces against the grate; he then + emptied the other, which shared the same fate. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he to Barney, “bring me a third one; I'll let yez see what a + Maguire is.” + </p> + <p> + The third, on making its appearance, was immediately drained, and shivered + like the others—for the consciousness of acting-wrong, in spite of + his own resolution, almost drove him mad. Of what occurred subsequently in + the public house, it is not necessary to give any account, especially as + we must follow Art home—simply premising, before we do so, that the + fact of “Art Maguire having broken the pledge,” had been known that very + night to almost all Ballykeerin—thanks to the industry of Toal + Finnigan, and his other friends. + </p> + <p> + His unhappy wife, after their conversation that evening, experienced one + of those strange, unaccountable presentiments or impressions which every + one, more or less, has frequently felt. Until lately, he had not often + gone out at night, because it was not until lately that the clique began + to reassemble in Barney Scaddhan's. 'Tis true the feeling on her part was + involuntary, but on that very account it was the more distressing; her + principal apprehension of danger to him was occasioned by his intimacy + with Toal Finnigan, who, in spite of all her warnings and admonitions, + contrived, by the sweetness of his tongue, to hold his ground with him, + and maintain his good opinion. Indeed, any one who could flatter, wheedle, + and play upon his vanity successfully, was sure to do this; but nobody + could do it with such adroitness as Toal Finnigan. + </p> + <p> + It is wonderful how impressions are caught by the young from those who are + older and have more experience than themselves. Little Atty, who had heard + the conversation already detailed, begged his mammy not to send him to bed + that night until his father would come home, especially as Mat Mulrennan, + an in-door apprentice, who had been permitted that evening to go to see + his family, had not returned, and he wished, he said, to sit up and let + him in. The mother was rather satisfied than otherwise, that the boy + should sit up with her, especially as all the other children and the + servants had gone to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy,” said the boy, “isn't it a great comfort for us to be as we are + now, and to know that my father can never get drunk again?” + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed, Atty;” and yet she said so; with a doubting, if not an + apprehensive heart. + </p> + <p> + “He'll never beat you more, mammy, now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, darlin'; nor he never did, barrin' when he didn't know what he was + doin'.” + </p> + <p> + “That is when he was drunk, mammy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Atty dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, isn't it a great thing that he can never get drunk any more, mammy; + and never beat you any more; and isn't it curious too, how he never bate + me?” + </p> + <p> + “You, darlin'? oh, no, he would rather cut his arm off than rise it to + you, Atty dear; and it's well that you are so good a boy as you are—for + I'm afeard, Atty, that even if you deserved to be corrected, he wouldn't + do it.” + </p> + <p> + “But what 'ud we all do widout my father, mammy? If anything happened to + him I think I'd die. I'd like to die if he was to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, darlin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Bekase, you know, he'd go to heaven, and I'd like to be wid him; sure + he'd miss me—his own Atty—wherever he'd be.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you'd lave me and your sisters, Atty, and go to heaven with your + father!” + </p> + <p> + The boy seemed perplexed; he looked affectionately at his mother, and said— + </p> + <p> + “No, mammy, I wouldn't wish to lave you, for then you'd have no son at + all; no, I wouldn't lave you—I don't know what I'd do—I'd like + to stay wid you, and I'd like to go wid him, I'd—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, darlin', you won't be put to that trial this many a long day, I + hope.” + </p> + <p> + Just then voices were heard at the door, which both recognized as those of + Art and Mat Mulrennan the apprentice. + </p> + <p> + “Now, darlin',” said the mother, who observed that the child was pale and + drowsy-looking, “you may go to bed, I see you are sleepy, Atty, not bein' + accustomed to sit up so late; kiss me, an' good-night.” He then kissed + her, and sought the room where he slept. + </p> + <p> + Margaret, after the boy had gone, listened a moment, and became deadly + pale, but she uttered no exclamation; on the contrary, she set her teeth, + and compressed her lips closely together, put her hand on the upper part + of her forehead, and rose to go to the door. She was not yet certain, but + a dreadful terror was over her—Could it be possible that he was + drunk?—she opened it, and the next moment her husband, in a state of + wild intoxication, different from any in which she had ever seen him, come + in. He was furious, but his fury appeared to have been directed against + the apprentice, in consequence of having returned home so late. + </p> + <p> + On witnessing with her own eyes the condition in which he returned, all + her presentiments flashed on her, and her heart sank down into a state of + instant hopelessness and misery. + </p> + <p> + “Savior of the world!” she exclaimed, “I and my childre are lost; now, + indeed, are we hopeless—oh, never till now, never till now!” She + wept bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “What are you cryin' for now?” said he; “what are you cryin' for, I say?” + he repeated, stamping his feet madly as he spoke; “stop at wanst, I'll + have no cry—cryin' what—at—somever.” + </p> + <p> + She instantly dried her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Wha—what kep that blasted whelp, Mul—Mulrennan, out till now, + I say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know indeed, Art.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you don't! you kno—know noth-in'; An' now I'll have a + smash, by the—the holy man, I'll—I'll smash every thing in—in + the house.” + </p> + <p> + He then took up a chair, which, by one blow against the floor, he crashed + to pieces. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he, “tha—that's number one; whe—where's that + whelp, Mul—Mulrennan, till I pay—pay him for stayin' out so—so + late. Send him here, send the ska-min' sco—scoundrel here, I bid + you.”. Margaret, naturally dreading violence, went to get little Atty to + pacify him, as well as to intercede for the apprentice; she immediately + returned, and told him the latter was coming. Art, in the mean time, stood + a little beyond the fireplace, with a small beach chair in his hand which + he had made for Atty, when the boy was only a couple of years old, but + which had been given to the other children in succession. He had been + first about to break it also, but on looking at it, he paused and said— + </p> + <p> + “Not this—this is Atty's, and I won't break it.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment Mulrennan entered the room, with Atty behind him, but he + had scarcely done so, when Art with all his strength flung the hard beach + chair at his head; the lad, naturally anxious to avoid it, started to one + side out of its way, and Atty, while in the act of stretching out his arms + to run to his father, received the blow which had been designed for the + other. It struck him a little above the temple, and he fell, but was not + cut. The mother, on witnessing the act, raised her arms and shrieked, but + on hearing the heavy, but dull and terrible sound of the blow against the + poor boy's head, the shriek was suspended when half uttered, and she + stood, her arms still stretched out, and bent a little upwards, as if she + would have supplicated heaven to avert it;—her mouth was half open—her + eyes apparently enlarged, and starting as if it were out of their sockets; + there she stood—for a short time so full of horror as to be + incapable properly of comprehending what had taken place. At length this + momentary paralysis of thought passed away, and with all the tender + terrors of affection awakened in her heart, she rushed to the insensible + boy. Oh, heavy and miserable night! What pen can portray, what language + describe, or what imagination conceive, the anguish, the agony of that + loving mother, when, on raising her sweet, and beautiful, and most + affectionate boy from the ground whereon he lay, that fair head, with its + flaxen locks like silk, fell utterly helpless now to this side, and now to + that! + </p> + <p> + “Art Maguire,” she said, “fly, fly,”—and she gave him one look; but, + great God! what an object presented itself to her at that moment. A man + stood before her absolutely hideous with horror; his face but a minute ago + so healthy and high-colored, now ghastly as that of a corpse, his hands + held up and clenched, his eyes frightful, his lips drawn back, and his + teeth locked with strong and convulsive agony. He uttered not a word, but + stood with his wild and gleaming eyes riveted, as if by the force of some + awful spell, upon his insensible son, his only one, if he was then even + that. All at once he fell down without sense or motion, as if a bullet had + gone through his heart or his brain, and there lay as insensible as the + boy he had loved so well. + </p> + <p> + All this passed so rapidly that the apprentice, who seemed also to have + been paralyzed, had not presence of mind to do any thing but look from one + person to another with terror and alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” said Margaret, at length, “wake up the girls, and then fly—oh, + fly—for the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + The two servant maids, however, had heard enough in her own wild shriek to + bring them to this woful scene. They entered as she spoke, and, aided by + the apprentice, succeeded with some difficulty in laying their master on + his bed, which was in a back room off the parlor. + </p> + <p> + “In God's name, what is all this?” asked one of them, on looking at the + insensible bodies of the father and son. + </p> + <p> + “Help me,” Margaret replied, not heeding the question, “help me to lay the + treasure of my heart—my breakin' heart—upon his own little bed + within, he will not long use it—tendherly, Peggy, oh, Peggy dear, + tendherly to the broken flower—broken—broken—broken, + never to rise his fair head again; oh, he is dead,” she said, in a calm + low voice, “my heart tells me that he is dead—see how his limbs + hang, how lifeless they hang. My treasure—our treasure—our + sweet, lovin', and only little man—our only son sure—our only + son is dead—and where, oh, where, is the mother's pride out of him + now—where is my pride out of him now?” + </p> + <p> + They laid him gently and tenderly—for even the servants loved him as + if he had been a relation—upon the white counterpane of his own + little crib, where he had slept many a sweet and innocent sleep, and + played many a lightsome and innocent play with his little sisters. His + mother felt for his pulse, but she could feel no pulse, she kissed his + passive lips, and then—oh, woful alternative of affliction!—she + turned to his equally insensible father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ma'am,” said one of the girls, who had gone over to look at Art; “oh, + for God's sake, ma'am, come here—here is blood comin' out of the + masther's mouth.” + </p> + <p> + She was at the bedside in an instant, and there, to deepen her sufferings + almost beyond the power of human fortitude, she saw the blood oozing + slowly out of his mouth. Both the servants were now weeping and sobbing as + if their hearts would break. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mistress dear,” one of them exclaimed, seizing her affectionately by + both hands, and looking almost distractedly into her face, “oh, mistress + dear, what did you ever do to desarve this?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Peggy,” she replied, “unless it was settin' my father's + commands, and my mother's at defiance; I disobeyed them both, and they + died without blessin' either me or mine. But oh,” she said, clasping her + hands, “how can one poor wake woman's heart stand all this—a double + death—husband and son—son and husband—and I'm but one + woman, one poor, feeble, weak woman—but sure,” she added, dropping + on her knees, “the Lord will support me. I am punished, and I hope + forgiven, and he will now support me.” + </p> + <p> + She then briefly, but distractedly, entreated the divine support, and rose + once more with a heart, the fibres of which were pulled asunder, as it + were, between husband and son, each of whose lips she kissed, having wiped + the blood from those of her husband, with a singular blending together of + tenderness, distraction and despair. She went from the one to the other, + wringing her hands in dry agony, feeling for life in their hearts and + pulses, and kissing their lips with an expression of hopelessness so + pitiable and mournful, that the grief of the servants was occasioned more + by her sufferings than by the double catastrophe that had occurred. + </p> + <p> + The doctor's house, as it happened, was not far from theirs, and in a very + brief period he arrived. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! Mrs. Maguire, what has happened?” said he, looking on the two + apparently inanimate bodies with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “His father,” she said, pointing to the boy, “being in a state of drink, + threw a little beech chair at the apprentice here, he stepped aside, as + was natural, and the blow struck my treasure there,” she said, holding her + hand over the spot where he was struck, but not on it; “but, doctor, look + at his father, the blood is trickling out of his mouth.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor, after examining into the state of both, told her not to + despair— + </p> + <p> + “Your husband,” said he, “who is only in a fit, has broken a blood-vessel, + I think some small blood-vessel is broken; but as for the boy, I can as + yet pronounce no certain opinion upon him. It will be a satisfaction to + you, however, to know that he is not dead, but only in a heavy stupor + occasioned by the blow.” + </p> + <p> + It was now that her tears began to flow, and copiously and bitterly they + did flow; but as there was still hope, her grief, though bitter, was not + that of despair. Ere many minutes, the doctor's opinion respecting one of + them, at least, was verified. Art opened his eyes, looked wildly about + him, and the doctor instantly signed to his wife to calm the violence of + her sorrow, and she was calm. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” said he, “where's Atty? bring him to me—bring him to + me!” + </p> + <p> + “Your son was hurt,” replied the doctor, “and has just gone to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “He is dead,” said Art, “he is dead, he will never waken from that sleep—and + it was I that killed him!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't disturb yourself,” said the doctor, “as you value your own life and + his; you yourself have broken a blood-vessel, and there is nothing for you + now but quiet and ease.” + </p> + <p> + “He is dead,” said his father, “he is dead, and it was I that killed him; + or, if he's not dead, I must hear it from his mother's lips.” + </p> + <p> + “Art, darlin', he is not dead, but he is very much hurted,” she replied; + “Art, as you love him, and me, and us all, be guided by the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not dead,” said the doctor; “severely hurt he is, but not dead. Of + that you may rest assured.” + </p> + <p> + So far as regarded Art, the doctor was right; he had broken only a small + blood vessel, and the moment the consequences of his fit had passed away, + he was able to get up, and walk about with very little diminution of his + strength. + </p> + <p> + To prevent him from seeing his son, or to conceal the boy's state from + him, was impossible. He no sooner rose than with trembling hands, a + frightful terror of what was before him, he went to the little bed on + which the being dearest to him on earth lay. He stood for a moment, and + looked down upon the boy's beautiful, but motionless face; he first + stooped, and putting his mouth to the child's ear said— + </p> + <p> + “Atty, Atty”—he then shook his head; “you see,” he added, addressing + those who stood about him, “that he doesn't hear me—no, he doesn't + hear me—that ear was never deaf to me before, but it's deaf now;” he + then seized his hand, and raised it, but it was insensible to his touch, + and would have fallen on the bed had he let it go. “You see,” he + proceeded, “that his hand doesn't know mine any longer! Oh, no, why should + it? this is the hand that laid our flower low, so why should he + acknowledge it? yet surely he would forgive his father, if he knew it—oh, + he would forgive that father, that ever and always loved him—loved + him—loved him, oh, that's a wake word, a poor wake word. Well,” he + went on, “I will kiss his lips, his blessed lips—oh, many an' many a + kiss, many a sweet and innocent kiss—did I get from them lips, Atty + dear, with those little arms, that are now so helpless, clasped about my + neck.” He then kissed him again and again, but the blessed child's lips + did not return the embrace that had never been refused before. “Now,” said + he, “you all see that—you all see that he won't kiss me again, and + that is bekaise he can't do it; Atty, Atty,” he said, “won't you speak to + me? it's I, Atty, sure it's I, Atty dear, your lovin' father, that's + callin' you to spake to him. Atty dear, won't you spake to me—do you + hear my voice, <i>asthore machree</i>—do you hear your father's + voice, that's callin' on you to forgive him?” He paused for a short time, + but the child lay insensible and still. + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was no dry eye present; the very doctor wept. + Margaret's grief was loud; she felt every source of love and tenderness + for their only boy opened in her unhappy and breaking heart, and was + inconsolable: but then compassion for her husband was strong as her grief. + She ran to Art, she flung her arms about his neck, and exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Art dear, Art dear, be consoled: take consolation if you can, or you + will break my heart. Forgive you asthore! you, you that would shed your + blood for him! don't you know he would forgive you? Sure, I forgive you—his + mother, his poor, distracted, heart-broken mother forgives you—in + his name I forgive you.” She then threw herself beside the body of their + child, and shouted out—“Atty, our blessed treasure, I have forgiven + your father for you—in your blessed name, and in the name of the + merciful God that you are now with, I have forgiven your unhappy find + heart-broken father—as you would do, if you could, our lost + treasure, as you would do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said his father vehemently distracted with his horrible affliction; + “if there was but any one fault of his that I could remimber now, any one + failin' that our treasure had—if I could think of a single spot upon + his little heart, it would relieve me; but, no, no, there's nothin' of + that kind to renumber aginst him. Oh, if he wasn't what he was—if he + wasn't what he was—we might have some little consolation; but now + we've none; we've none—none!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke and wept, which he did with the bitterest anguish of despair, + his grief assumed a character that was fearful from the inward effusion of + blood, which caused him from time to time to throw it up in red mouthfuls, + and when remonstrated with by the doctor upon the danger of allowing + himself to be overcome by such excitement— + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” he shouted, “if it's my heart's blood, I would shed it at + any time for him; I don't care about life now; what 'ud it be to me + without my son? widout you, Atty dear, what is the world or all that's in + it to me now! An' when I think of who it was that cut you down—cursed + be the hand that gave you that unlucky blow, cursed may it be—cursed + be them that tempted me to drink—cursed may the drink be that made + me as I was, and cursed of God may I be that—” + </p> + <p> + “Art, Art,” exclaimed Margaret, “any thing but that, remember there's a + God above—don't blasphame;—we have enough to suffer widout + havin' to answer for that.” + </p> + <p> + He paused at her words, and as soon as the paroxysm was over, he sunk by + fits into a gloomy silence, or walked from room to room, wringing his + hands and beating his head, in a state of furious distraction, very nearly + bordering on insanity. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, we need scarcely assure our readers, that, as the + newspapers have it, a great and painful sensation had been produced + through the town of Bally-keerin by the circumstances which we have + related:— + </p> + <p> + “Art Maguire had broken the pledge, gone home drunk, and killed his only + son by the blow of an iron bar on the, head; the crowner had been sent + for, an' plaise God we'll have a full account of it all.” + </p> + <p> + In part of this, however, common fame, as she usually is, was mistaken; + the boy was not killed, neither did he then die. On the third day, about + eight o'clock in the evening, he opened his eyes, and his mother, who was + scarcely ever a moment from his bedside, having observed the fact, + approached him with hopes almost as deep as those of heaven itself in her + heart, and in a voice soft and affectionate as ever melted into a human + ear— + </p> + <p> + “Atty, treasure of my heart, how do you feel?” + </p> + <p> + The child made no reply, but as his eye had not met hers, and as she had + whispered very low, it was likely, she thought, that he had not heard her. + </p> + <p> + “I will bring his father,” said she, “for if he will know or spake to any + one, he will, spake to him.” + </p> + <p> + She found Art walking about, as he had done almost ever since the unhappy + accident, and running to him with a gush of joyful tears, she threw her + arms about his neck, and kissing him, said— + </p> + <p> + “Blessed be the Almighty, Art—” but she paused, “oh, great God, Art, + what is this! merciful heaven, do I smell whiskey on you?” + </p> + <p> + “You do,” he replied, “it's in vain, I can't live—I'd die widout it; + it's in vain, Margaret, to spake—if I don't get it to deaden my + grief I'll die: but, what wor you goin' to tell me?” he added eagerly. + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Art,” said she, “how my heart has sunk in spite of the good news I + have for you.” + </p> + <p> + “In God's name,” he asked, “what is it? is our darlin' betther?” + </p> + <p> + “He is,” she replied, “he has opened his eyes this minute, and I want you + to spake to him.” + </p> + <p> + They both entered stealthily, and to their inexpressible delight heard the + child's voice; they paused,—breathlessly paused,—and heard him + utter, in a low sweet voice, the following words— + </p> + <p> + “Daddy, won't you come to bed wid me, wid your own Atty?” + </p> + <p> + This he repeated twice or thrice before they approached him, but when they + did, although his eye turned from one to another, it was vacant, and + betrayed no signs whatsoever of recognition. + </p> + <p> + Their hearts sank again, but the mother, whose hope was strong and active + as her affection, said— + </p> + <p> + “Blessed be the Almighty that he is able even to spake but he's not well + enough to know us yet.” + </p> + <p> + This was unhappily too true, for although they spoke to him, and placed + themselves before him by turns, yet it was all in vain; the child knew + neither them nor any one else. Such, in fact, was now their calamity, as a + few weeks proved. The father by that unhappy blow did not kill his body, + but he killed his mind; he arose from his bed a mild, placid, harmless + idiot, silent and inoffensive—the only words he was almost heard to + utter, with rare exceptions, being those which had been in his mind when + he was dealt the woful blow:—“Daddy, won't you come to bed wid me, + wid your own Atty?” And these he pronounced as correctly as ever, uttering + them with the same emphasis of affection which had marked them before his + early reason had been so unhappily destroyed. Now, even up to that period, + and in spite of this great calamity, it was not too late for Art Maguire + to retrieve himself, or still to maintain the position which he had + regained. The misfortune which befell his child ought to have shocked him + into an invincible detestation of all intoxicating liquors, as it would + most men; instead of that, however, it drove him back to them. He had + contracted a pernicious habit of diminishing the importance of first + errors, because they appeared trivial in themselves; he had never + permitted himself to reason against his propensities, unless through the + indulgent medium of his own vanity, or an overweening presumption in the + confidence of his moral strength, contrary to the impressive experience of + his real weakness. His virtues were many, and his foibles few; yet few as + they were, our readers perceive that, in consequence of his indulging + them, they proved the bane of his life and happiness. They need not be + surprised, then, to hear that from the want of any self-sustaining power + in himself he fell into the use of liquor again; he said he could not live + without it, but then he did not make the experiment; for he took every + sophistry that appeared to make in his favor for granted. He lived, if it + could be called life, for two years and a half after this melancholy + accident, but without the spring or energy necessary to maintain his + position, or conduct his business, which declined as rapidly as he did + himself. He and his family were once more reduced to absolute beggary, + until in the course of events they found a poorhouse to receive them. Art + was seldom without a reason to justify his conduct, and it mattered not + how feeble that reason might be, he always deemed it sufficiently strong + to satisfy himself. For instance, he had often told his wife that if Atty + had recovered, sound in body and mind, he had determined never again to + taste liquor; “but,” said he, “when I seen my darlin's mind gone, I + couldn't stand it widout the drop of drink to keep my heart an' spirits + up.” He died of consumption in the workhouse of Ballykeerin, and there + could not be a stronger proof of the fallacy with which he reasoned than + the gratifying fact, that he had not been more than two months dead, when + his son recovered his reason, to the inexpressible joy of his mother; so + that had he followed up his own sense of what was right, he would have + lived to see his most sanguine wishes, with regard to his son, + accomplished, and perhaps have still been able to enjoy a comparatively + long and happy life. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the day on which he died, although not suffering much + from pain, he seemed to feel an impression that his end was at hand. It is + due to him to say here, that he had for months before his death been + deeply and sincerely penitent, and that he was not only sensible of the + vanity and errors which had occasioned his fall from integrity, and cut + him off in the prime of life, but also felt his heart sustained by the + divine consolations of religion. Father Costello was earnest and + unremitting in his spiritual attentions to him, and certainly had the + gratification of knowing that he felt death to be in his case not merely a + release from all his cares and sorrows, but a passport into that life + where the weary are at rest. + </p> + <p> + About twelve o'clock in the forenoon he asked to see his wife—his + own Margaret—and his children, but, above all, his blessed Atty—for + such was the epithet he had ever annexed to his name since the night of + the melancholy accident. In a few minutes the sorrowful group appeared, + his mother leading the unconscious boy by the hand, for he knew not where + he was. Art lay, or rather reclined, on the bed, supported by two + bolsters; his visage was pale, but the general expression of his face was + calm, mild, and sorrowful; although his words were distinct, his voice was + low and feeble, and every now and then impeded by a short catch—for + to cough he was literally unable. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” said he, “come to me, come to me now,” and he feebly received + her hand in his; “I feel that afther all the warfare of this poor life, + afther all our love and our sorrow, I am goin' to part wid you and our + childhre at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Art, darlin', I can think of nothing now, asthore, but our love,” she + replied, bursting into a flood of tears, in which she was joined by the + children—Atty, the unconscious Atty, only excepted. + </p> + <p> + “An' I can think of little else,” said he, “than our sorrows and + sufferins, an' all the woful evil that I brought upon you and them.” + </p> + <p> + “Darlin',” she replied, “it's a consolation to yourself, as it is to us, + that whatever your errors wor, you've repented for them; death is not + frightful to you, glory be to God!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, looking upwards, and clasping his worn hands; “I am + resigned to the will of my good and merciful God, for in him is my hope + an' trust. Christ, by his precious blood, has taken away my sins, for you + know I have been a great sinner;” he then closed his eyes for a few + minutes, but his lips were moving as if in prayer. “Yes, Margaret,” he + again proceeded, “I am goin' to lave you all at last; I feel it—I + can't say that I'll love you no more, for I think that even in heaven I + couldn't forget you; but I'll never more lave you a sore heart, as I often + did—I'll never bring the bitther tear to your eye—the hue of + care to your face, or the pang of grief an' misery to your heart again—thank + God I will not; all my follies, all my weaknesses, and all my crimes—” + </p> + <p> + “Art,” said his wife, wringing her hands, and sobbing as if her heart + would break, “if you wish me to be firm, and to set our childre an example + of courage, now that it's so much wanted, oh, don't spake as you do—my + heart cannot stand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” said he, “I won't; but when I think of what I might be this + day, and of what I am—when I think of what you and our childre might + be—an' when I see what you are—and all through my means—when + I think of this, Margaret dear, an' that I'm torn away from you and them + in the very prime of life—but,” he added, turning hastily from that + view of his situation, “God is good an' merciful, an' that is my hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Let it be so, Art dear,” replied Margaret; “as for us, God will take care + of us, and in him we will put our trust, too; remimber that he is the God + and father of the widow an' the orphan.” + </p> + <p> + He here appeared to be getting very weak, but in a minute or two he + rallied a little, and said, while his eye, which was now becoming heavy, + sought about until it became fixed upon his son— + </p> + <p> + “Margaret, bring him to me.” + </p> + <p> + She took the boy by the hand, and led him over to the bedside. + </p> + <p> + “Put his hand in mine,” said he, “put his blessed hand in mine.” + </p> + <p> + She did so, and Art looked long and steadily upon the face of his child. + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” said he, “you know that durin' all my wild and sinful coorses, + I always wore the lock of hair you gave me when we wor young next my heart—my + poor weak heart.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret buried her face in her hands, and for some time could not reply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish, darlin',” said he, “to cause you sorrow—you will have + too much of that; but I ax it as a favor—the last from my lips—that + you will now cut off a lock of his hair—his hair fair—an' put + it along with your own upon my heart; it's all I'll have of you both in + the grave where I'll sleep; and, Margaret, do it now—oh, do it + soon.” + </p> + <p> + Margaret, who always carried scissors hanging by her pocket, took them + out, and cutting a long abundant lock of the boy's hair, she tenderly + placed it where he wished, in a little three-cornered bit of black silk + that was suspended from his neck, and lay upon his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Is it done?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “It is done,” she replied as well as she could! + </p> + <p> + “This, you know, is to lie on my heart,” said he, “when I'm in my grave; + you won't forget that!” + </p> + <p> + “No—oh, no, no; but, merciful God, support me! for Art, my husband, + my life, I don't know how I'll part with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, may God bless you forever, my darlin' wife, and support you and my + orphans! Bring them here.” + </p> + <p> + They were then brought over, and in a very feeble voice he blessed them + also. + </p> + <p> + “Now, forgive me all,” said he, “forgive ME ALL!” + </p> + <p> + But, indeed, we cannot paint the tenderness and indescribable affliction + of his wife and children while uttering their forgiveness of all his + offences against them, as he himself termed it. In the meantime he kept + his son close by him, nor would he suffer him to go one moment from his + reach. + </p> + <p> + “Atty,” said he, in a low voice, which was rapidly sinking;—“put his + cheek over to mine”—he added to his wife, “then raise my right arm, + an' put it about his neck;—Atty,” he proceeded, “won't you give me + one last word before I depart?” + </p> + <p> + His wife observed that as he spoke a large tear trickled down his cheek. + Now, the boy was never in the habit of speaking when he was spoken to, or + of speaking at all, with the exception of the words we have already given. + On this occasion, however, whether the matter was a coincidence or not, it + is difficult to say, he said in a quiet, low voice, as if imitating his + father's— + </p> + <p> + “Daddy, won't you come to bed for me, for your own Atty?” + </p> + <p> + The reply was very low, but still quite audible— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, darlin', I—I will—I will for you, Atty.” + </p> + <p> + The child said no more, neither did his father, and when the sorrowing + wife, struck by the stillness which for a minute or two succeeded the + words, went to remove the boy, she found that his father's spirit had gone + to that world where, we firmly trust, his errors, and follies, and sins + have been forgiven. While taking the boy away, she looked upon her + husband's face, and there still lay the large tear of love and repentance—she + stooped down—she kissed it—and it was no longer there. + </p> + <p> + There is now little to be added, unless to inform those who may take an + interest in the fate of his wife and children, that his son soon + afterwards was perfectly restored to the use of his reason, and that in + the month of last September he was apprenticed in the city of Dublin to a + respectable trade, where he is conducting himself with steadiness and + propriety; and we trust, that, should he ever read this truthful account + of his unhappy father, he will imitate his virtues, and learn to avoid the + vanities and weaknesses by which he brought his family to destitution and + misery, and himself to a premature grave. With respect to his brother + Frank, whom his irreclaimable dissipation drove out of the country, we are + able to gratify our readers by saying that he got happily married in + America, where he is now a wealthy man, in prosperous business and very + highly respected. + </p> + <p> + Margaret, in consequence of her admirable character, was appointed to the + situation of head nurse in the Ballykeerin Hospital, and it will not + surprise our readers to hear that she gains and retains the respect and + good-will of all who know her, and that the emoluments of her situation + are sufficient, through her prudence and economy, to keep her children + comfortable and happy. + </p> + <p> + Kind reader, is it necessary that we should recapitulate the moral we + proposed to show' in this true but melancholy narrative? We trust not. If + it be not sufficiently obvious, we can only say it was our earnest + intention that it should be so. At all events, whether you be a + Teetotaller, or a man carried away by the pernicious love of intoxicating + liquors, think upon the fate of Art Maguire, and do not imitate the errors + of his life, as you find them laid before you in this simple narrative of + “The Broken Pledge.” simple narrative of “The Broken Pledge.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other +Stories, by William Carleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP *** + +***** This file should be named 16019-h.htm or 16019-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16019/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other Stories + 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 #16019] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY + +BY WILLIAM CARLETON + + + +Contents: + + Phelim O'toole's Courtship + Wildgoose Lodge + Tubber Derg; Or, The Red Well. + Neal Malone + Art Maguire; Or, The Broken Pledge. + + + + +PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP. + + +Phelim O'Toole, who had the honor of being that interesting personage, +an only son, was heir to a snug estate of half an acre, which had been +the family patrimony since the time of his grandfather, Tyrrell O'Toole, +who won it from the Sassenah at the point of his reaping-hook, during a +descent once made upon England by a body of "spalpeens," in the month +of August. This resolute little band was led on by Tyrrell, who, having +secured about eight guineas by the excursion, returned to his own +country, with a coarse linen travelling-bag slung across his shoulder, a +new hat in one hand, and a staff in the other. On reaching once more his +native village of Teernarogarah, he immediately took half an acre, for +which he paid a moderate rent in the shape of daily labor as a cotter. +On this he resided until death, after which event he was succeeded by +his son, Larry O'Toole, the father of the "purty boy" who is about to +shine in the following pages. + +Phelim's father and mother had been married near seven years without +the happiness of a family. This to both was a great affliction. Sheelah +O'Toole was melancholy from night to morning, and Larry was melancholy +from morning to night. Their cottage was silent and solitary; the floor +and furniture had not the appearance of any cottage in which Irish +children are wont to amuse themselves. When they rose in the morning, +a miserable stillness prevailed around them; young voices were not +heard--laughing eyes turned not on their parents--the melody of angry +squabbles, as the urchins, in their parents' fancy, cuffed and scratched +each other--half, or wholly naked among the ashes in the morning, +soothed not the yearning hearts of Larry and his wife. No, no; there was +none of this. + +Morning passed in a quietness hard to be borne: noon arrived, but the +dismal dreary sense of childlessness hung upon the house and their +hearts; night again returned, only to add its darkness to that which +overshadowed the sorrowful spirits of this disconsolate couple. + +For the first two or three years, they bore this privation with a strong +confidence that it would not last. The heart, however, sometimes becomes +tired of hoping, or unable to bear the burthen of expectation, which +time only renders heavier. They first began to fret and pine, then to +murmur, and finally to recriminate. + +Sheelah wished for children, "to have the crathurs to spake to," she +said, "and comfort us when we'd get ould an' helpless." + +Larry cared not, provided they had a son to inherit the "half acre." +This was the burthen of his wishes, for in all their altercations, his +closing observation usually was--"well, but what's to become of the half +acre?" + +"What's to become of the half acre? Arrah what do I care for the half +acre? It's not that you ought to be thinkin' of, but the dismal poor +house we have, wid not the laugh or schreech of a _single pastiah_ (* +child) in it from year's end to year's end." + +"Well, Sheelah?--" + +"Well, yourself, Larry? To the diouol I pitch your half acre, man." + +"To the diouol you--pitch--What do you fly at me for?" + +"Who's flyin' at you? They'd have little tow on their rock that 'ud fly +at you." + +"You are flyin' at me; an' only you have a hard face, you wouldn't do +it." + +"A hard face! Indeed it's well come over wid us, to be tould that by the +likes o' you! ha!" + +"No matther for that! You had betther keep a soft tongue in your head, +an' a civil one, in the mane time. Why did the divil timpt you to take a +fancy to me at all?" + +"That's it. Throw the _grah_ an' love I _once_ had for you in my teeth, +now. It's a manly thing for you to do, an' you may be proud, of it. Dear +knows, it would be betther for me I had fell in consate wid any face +but yours." + +"I wish to goodness you had! I wouldn't be as I am to-day. There's that +half acre--" + +"To the diouol, I say, I pitch yourself an' your half acre! Why do you +be comin' acrass me wid your half acre? Eh?--why do you?" + +"Come now; don't be puttin' your hands agin your sides, an waggin' your +impty head at me, like a rockin' stone." + +"An' why do you be aggravatin' at me wid your half acre?" + +"Bekase I have a good right to do it. What'll become of it when I d--" + +"----That for you an' it, you poor excuse!" + +"When I di--" + +"----That for you an' it, I say! That for you an' it, you atomy!" + +"What'll become of my half acre when I die? Did you hear that?" + +"You ought to think of what'll become of yourself, when you die; that's +what you ought to think of; but little it throubles you, you sinful +reprobate! Sure the neighbors despises you." + +"That's falsity; but they know the life I lade wid you. The edge of your +tongue's well known. They pity me, for bein' joined to the likes of you. +Your bad tongue's all you're good for." + +"Aren't you afeard to be flyin' in the face o' Providence the way you +are? An' to be ladin' me sich a heart-scalded life for no rason?" + +"It's your own story you're tellin'. Sure I haven't a day's pace wid +you, or ever had these three years. But wait till next harvest, an' if +I'm spared, I'll go to England. Whin I do, I've a consate in my head, +that you'll never see my face agin." + +"Oh, you know that's an' ould story wid you. Many a time you threatened +us wid that afore. Who knows but you'd be dhrowned on your way, an' thin +we'd get another husband." + +"An' be these blessed tongs, I'll do it afore I'm much oulder!" + +"An' lave me here to starve an' sthruggle by myself! Desart me like a +villain, to poverty an' hardship! Marciful Mother of Heaven, look down +upon me this day! but I'm the ill-thrated, an' ill-used poor crathur, +by a man that I don't, an' never did, desarve it from! An' all in regard +that that 'half acre' must go to strangers! Och! oh!" + +"Ay! now take to the cryin', do; rock yourself over the ashes, an' wipe +your eyes wid the corner of your apron; but, I say agin, _what's to +become of the half acre?_" + +"Oh, God forgive you, Larry! That's the worst I say to you, you poor +half-dead blaguard!" + +"Why do you massacray me wid your tongue as you do?" + +"Go. an--go an. I won't make you an answer, you atomy! That's what I'll +do. The heavens above turn your heart this day, and give me strinth to +bear my throubles an' heart burnin', sweet Queen o' Consolation! Or take +me into the arms of Parodies, sooner nor be as I am, wid a poor baste of +a villain, that I never turn my tongue on, barrin' to tell him the kind +of a man he is, the blaguard!" + +"You're betther than you desarve to be!" + +To this, Sheelah made no further reply; on the contrary, she sat +smoking her pipe with a significant silence, that was only broken by an +occasional groan, an ejaculation, or a singularly devout upturning +of the eyes to heaven, accompanied by a shake of the head, at once +condemnatory and philosophical; indicative of her dissent from what he +said, as well as of her patience in bearing it. + +Larry, however, usually proceeded to combat all her gestures by viva +voce argument; for every shake of her head he had an appropriate answer: +but without being able to move her from the obstinate silence she +maintained. Having thus the field to himself, and feeling rather annoyed +by the want of an antagonist, he argued on in the same form of dispute, +whilst she, after first calming her own spirit by the composing effects +of the pipe, usually cut him short with-- + +"Here, take a blast o' this, maybe it'll settle you." + +This was received in silence. The good man smoked on, and every puff +appeared, as an evaporation of his anger. In due time he was as placid +as herself, drew his breath in a grave composed manner, laid his pipe +quietly on the hob, and went about his business as if nothing had +occurred between them. + +These bickerings were strictly private, with the exception of some +disclosures made to Sheelah's mother and sisters. Even these were +thrown out rather as insinuations that all was not right, than as direct +assertions that they lived unhappily. Before strangers they were perfect +turtles. + +Larry, according to the notices of his life furnished by Sheelah, was +"as good a husband as ever broke the world's bread;" and Sheelah "was +as good a poor man's wife as ever threw a gown over her shoulders." +Notwithstanding all this caution, their little quarrels took wind; their +unhappiness became known. Larry, in consequence of a failing he had, was +the cause of this. He happened to be one of those men who can conceal +nothing when in a state of intoxication. Whenever he indulged in +liquor too freely, the veil which discretion had drawn over their +recriminations was put aside, and a dolorous history of their +weaknesses, doubts, hopes, and wishes, most unscrupulously given to +every person on whom the complainant could fasten. When sober, he had no +recollection of this, so that many a conversation of cross-purposes took +place between him and his neighbors, with reference to the state of his +own domestic inquietude, and their want of children. + +One day a poor mendicant came in at dinner hour, and stood as if to +solicit alms. It is customary in Ireland, when any person of that +description appears during meal times, to make him wait until the meal +is over, after which he is supplied with the fragments. No sooner had +the boccagh--as a certain class of beggars is termed--advanced past the +jamb, than he was desired to sit until the dinner should be concluded. +In the mean time, with the tact of an adept in his calling, he began +to ingratiate himself with Larry and his wife; and after sounding the +simple couple upon their private history, he discovered that want of +children was the occasion of their unhappiness. + +"Well good people," said the pilgrim, after listening to a dismal story +on the subject, "don't be cast down, sure, whether or not. There's a +Holy Well that I can direct yez to in the county--. Any one, wid trust +in the Saint that's over it, who'll make a pilgrimage to it on the +Patthern day, won't be the worse for it. When you go there," he added, +"jist turn to a Lucky Stone that's at the side of the well, say a Rosary +before it, and at the end of every dicken (decade) kiss it once, ache of +you. Then you're to go round the well nine times, upon your bare knees, +sayin' your Pathers and Avers all the time. When that's over, lave a +ribbon or a bit of your dress behind you, or somethin' by way of an +offerin', thin go into a tent an' refresh yourselves, an' for that +matther, take a dance or two; come home, live happily, an' trust to the +holy saint for the rest." + +A gleam of newly awakened hope might be discovered lurking in the +eyes of this simple pair, who felt that natural yearning of the, heart +incident to such as are without offspring. + +They looked forward with deep anxiety to the anniversary of the Patron +Saint; and when it arrived, none certainly who attended it, felt a more +absorbing interest in the success of the pilgrimage than they did. + +The days on which these pilgrimages are performed at such places are +called Pattern or Patron days. The journey to holy wells or holy lakes +is termed a Pilgrimage, or more commonly a Station. It is sometimes +enjoined by the priest, as an act of penance; and sometimes undertaken +voluntarily, as a devotional, work of great merit in the sight of God. +The crowds in many places amount to from five hundred to a thousand, and +often to two, three, four, or five thousand people. + +These Stations have, for the most part, been placed in situations +remarkable for wild and savage grandeur, or for soft, exquisite, and +generally solitary beauty. They may be found on the high and rugged +mountain top; or sunk in the bottom of some still and lonely glen, far +removed from the ceaseless din of the world. Immediately beside them, or +close in their vicinity, stand the ruins of probably a picturesque +old abbey, or perhaps a modern chapel. The appearance of these gray, +ivy-covered walls is strongly calculated to stir up in the minds of +the people the memory of bygone times, when their religion, with its +imposing solemnities, was the religion of the land. It is for this +reason, probably, that patrons are countenanced; for if there be not +a political object in keeping them up, it is beyond human ingenuity to +conceive how either religion or morals can be improved by debauchery, +drunkenness, and bloodshed. + +Let the reader, in order to understand the situation of the place we are +describing, imagine to himself a stupendous cliff overhanging a green +glen, into which tumbles a silver stream down a height of two or three +hundred feet. At the bottom of this rock, a few yards from the basin +formed by the cascade, in a sunless nook, was a well of cool, delicious +water. This was the "Holy Well," out of which issued a slender stream, +that joined the rivulet formed by the cascade. On the shrubs which +grew out of the crag-cliffs around it, might be seen innumerable rags +bleached by the weather out of their original color, small wooden +crosses, locks of human hair, buttons, and other substitutes for +property; poverty allowing the people to offer it only by fictitious +emblems. Lower down in the glen, on the river's bank, was a smooth +green, admirably adapted for the dance, which, notwithstanding the +religious rites, is the heart and soul of a Patron. + +On that morning a vast influx of persons, male and female, old and +young, married and single, crowded eagerly towards the well. Among them +might be noticed the blind, the lame, the paralytic, and such as were +afflicted with various other diseases; nor were those good men and their +wives who had no offspring to be omitted. The mendicant, the pilgrim, +the boccagh, together with every other description of impostors, +remarkable for attending such places, were the first on the ground, all +busy in their respective vocations. The highways, the fields, and the +boreens, or bridle-roads, were filled with living streams of people +pressing forward to this great scene of fun and religion. The devotees +could in general be distinguished from the country folks by their +Pharisaical and penitential visages, as well as by their not wearing +shoes; for the Stations to such places were formerly made with bare +feet: most persons now, however, content themselves with stripping off +their shoes and stockings on coming within the precincts of the holy +ground. Human beings are not the only description of animals that +perform pilgrimages to holy wells and blessed lakes. Cows, horses, and +sheep are made to go through their duties, either by way of prevention, +or cure, of the diseases incident to them. This is not to be wondered +at, when it is known that in their religion every domestic animal has +its patron saint, to whom its owner may at any time pray on its behalf. +When the crowd was collected, nothing in the shape of an assembly +could surpass it in the originality of its appearance. In the glen were +constructed a number of tents, where whiskey and refreshments might be +had in abundance. Every tent had a fiddler or a piper; many two of them. +From the top of the pole that ran up from the roof of each tent, was +suspended the symbol by which the owner of it was known by his friends +and acquaintances. Here swung a salt herring or a turf; there a +shillelah; in a third place a shoe, in a fourth place a whisp of hay, in +a fifth an old hat, and so on with the rest. + +The tents stood at a short distance from the scene of devotion at the +well, but not so far as to prevent the spectator from both seeing and +hearing what went on in each. Around the well, on bare knees, moved a +body of people thickly wedged together, some praying, some screaming, +some excoriating their neighbors' shins, and others dragging them out of +their way by the hair of the head. Exclamations of pain from the sick +or lame, thumping oaths in Irish, recriminations in broken English, and +prayers in bog Latin, all rose at once to the ears of the patron +saint, who, we are inclined to think--could he have heard or seen his +worshippers--would have disclaimed them altogether. + +"For the sake of the Holy Virgin, keep your sharp elbows out o' my +ribs." + +"My blessin' an you, young man, an' don't be lanin' an me, i' you +plase!" + +"_Damnho sherry orth a rogarah ruah!_* what do you mane? Is it my back +you're brakin'?" + + * Eternal perdition on you, you red rogue. + +"Hell pershue you, you ould sinner, can't you keep the spike of your +crutch out o' my stomach! If you love me tell me so; but, by the livin' +farmer, I'll take no such hints as that!" + +"I'm a pilgrim, an' don't brake my leg upon the rock, an' my blessin' an +you!" + +"Oh, murdher sheery! my poor child'll be smothered!" + +"My heart's curse an you! is it the ould cripple you're trampin' over?" + +"Here, Barny, blood alive, give this purty young girl a lift, your sowl, +or she'll soon be undhermost!" + + "'Och, 'twas on a Christmas mornin' + That Jeroosillim was born in + The Holy Land'----' + +"Oh, my neck's broke!--the curse----Oh! I'm kilt fairly, so I am! The +curse o' Cromwell an you, an' hould away-- + + 'The Holy Land adornin' + All by the Baltic Say. + The angels on a Station, + Wor takin' raycrayation, + All in deep meditation, + All by the'---- + +contints o' the book if you don't hould away, I say agin, an' let me go +on wid my _rann_ it'll be worse force for you!-- + + 'Wor takin' raycraytion, + All by the Baltic Say!" + +"Help the ould woman there." + +"Queen o' Patriots pray for us!--St. Abraham----go to the divil, you +bosthoon; is it crushin' my sore leg you are?--St. Abraham pray for us! +St. Isinglass, pray for us! St. Jonathan,----musha, I wisht you wor +in America, honest man, instid o' twistin' my arm like a gad f-- St. +Jonathan, pray for us; Holy Nineveh, look down upon us wid compression +an' resolution this day. Blessed Jerooslim, throw down compuncture an' +meditation upon us Chrystyeens assembled here afore you to offer up our +sins! Oh, grant us, blessed Catasthrophy, the holy virtues of Timptation +an' Solitude, through the improvement an' accommodation of St. +Kolumbdyl! To him I offer up this button, a bit o' the waistband o' my +own breeches, an' a taste of my wife's petticoat, in remimbrance of us +having made this holy Station; an' may they rise up in glory to prove it +for us at the last day! Amin!" + +Such was the character of the prayers and ejaculations which issued from +the lips of the motley group that scrambled, and crushed, and screamed, +on their knees around the well. In the midst of this ignorance and +absurdity, there were visible, however, many instances of piety, +goodness of heart, and simplicity of character. From such you could hear +neither oath nor exclamation. They complied with the usages of the place +modestly and attentively: though not insensible, at the same time, to +the strong disgust which the general conduct of those who were both +superstitious and wicked was calculated to excite. A little from the +well, just where its waters mingled with those of the cascade, men and +women might be seen washing the blood off their knees, and dipping such +parts of their body as Were afflicted with local complaints into the +stream. This part' of the ceremony was anything but agreeable to the +eye. Most of those who went round the well drank its waters; and several +of them filled flasks and bottles with it, which they brought home for +the benefit of such members of the family as could not attend in person. + +Whilst all this went forward at the well, scenes of a different kind +were enacted lower down among the tents. No sooner had the penitents +got the difficult rites of the Station over, than they were off to the +whiskey; and decidedly, after the grinding of their bare knees upon +the hard rock--after the pushing, crushing, and exhaustion of bodily +strength which they had been forced to undergo--we say, that the +comforts and refreshments to be had in the tents were very seasonable. +Here the dancing, shouting, singing, courting, drinking, and fighting, +formed one wild uproar of noise, that was perfectly astounding. The +leading boys and the prettiest girls of the parish were all present, +partaking in the rustic revelry. Tipsy men were staggering in every +direction; fiddles were playing, pipes were squeaking, men were rushing +in detached bodies to some fight, women were doctoring the heads of such +as had been beaten, and factions were collecting their friends for a +fresh battle. Here you might see a grove of shillelahs up, and hear +the crash of the onset; and in another place, the heads of the dancing +parties bobbing up and down in brisk motion among the crowd that +surrounded them. + +The pilgrim, having now gone through his Station, stood hemmed in by a +circle of those who wanted to purchase his beads or his scapulars. The +ballad-singer had his own mob, from among whom his voice might be heard +rising in its purest tones to the praise of-- + + "Brave O'Connell, the Liberathur, + An' great Salvathur of Ireland's Isle!" + +As evening approached, the whiskey brought out the senseless prejudices +of parties and factions in a manner quite consonant to the habits of the +people. Those who, in deciding their private quarrels, had in the +early part of the day beat and abused each other, now united as the +subordinate branches of a greater party, for the purpose of opposing in +one general body some other hostile faction. These fights are usually +commenced by a challenge from one party to another, in which a person +from the opposite side is simply, and often very good-humoredly, invited +to assert, that "black is the white of his enemy's eye;" or to touch the +old coat which he is pleased to trail after him between the two opposing +powers. This characteristic challenge is soon accepted; the knocking +down and yelling are heard; stones fly, and every available weapon +is pressed into the service on both sides. In this manner the battle +proceeds, until, probably, a life or two is lost. Bones, too, are +savagely broken, and blood copiously spilled, by men who scarcely know +the remote cause of the enmity between the parties. + +Such is a hasty sketch of the Pattern, as it is called in Ireland, at +which Larry and Sheelah duly performed their station. We, for our parts, +should be sorry to see the innocent pastimes of a people abolished; but, +surely, customs which perpetuate scenes of profligacy and crime should +not be suffered to stain the pure and holy character of religion. + +It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers that Larry O'Toole and +Sheelah complied with every rite of the Station. To kiss the "Lucky +Stone," however, was their principal duty. Larry gave it a particularly +honest smack, and Sheelah impressed it with all the ardor of a devotee. +Having refreshed themselves in the tent, they returned home, and, in +somewhat less than a year from that period, found themselves the happy +parents of an heir to the half-acre, no less a personage than young +Phelim, who was called after St. Phelim, the patron of the "Lucky +Stone." + +The reader perceives that Phelim was born under particularly auspicious +influence. His face was the herald of affection everywhere. + +From the moment of his birth, Larry and Sheelah were seldom known to +have a dispute. Their whole future life was, with few exceptions, one +unchanging honeymoon. Had Phelim been deficient in comeliness, it would +have mattered not a _crona baun_. Phelim, on the contrary, promised to +be a beauty; both, his parents thought it, felt it, asserted it; and who +had a better right to be acquainted, as Larry said, "wid the outs an' +ins, the ups an' downs of his face, the darlin' swaddy!" + +For the first ten years of his life Phelim could not be said to owe +the tailor much; nor could the covering which he wore be, without more +antiquarian loire than we can give to it, exactly classed under any +particular term by which the various parts of human dress are known. He +himself, like some of our great poets, was externally well acquainted +with the elements. The sun and he were particularly intimate; wind and +rain were his brothers, and frost also distantly related to him. With +mud he was hand and glove, and not a bog in the parish, or a quagmire +in the neighborhood, but sprung up under Phelim's tread, and threw him +forward with the brisk vibration of an old acquaintance. Touching his +dress, however, in the early part of his life, if he was clothed with +nothing else, he was clothed with mystery. Some assert that a cast-off +pair of his father's nether garments might be seen upon him each Sunday, +the wrong side foremost, in accommodation with some economy of his +mother's, who thought it safest, in consequence of his habits, to join +them in this inverted way to a cape which he wore on his shoulders. We +ourselves have seen one, who saw another, who saw Phelim in a pair of +stockings which covered him from his knee-pans to his haunches, where, +in the absence of waistbands, they made a pause--a breach existing from +that to the small of his back. The person who saw all this affirmed, at +the same time, that there was a dearth of cloth about the skirts of +the integument which stood him instead of a coat. He bore no bad +resemblance, he said, to-a moulting fowl, with scanty feathers, running +before a gale in the farm yard. + +Phelim's want of dress in his merely boyish years being, in a great +measure, the national costume of some hundred thousand young Hibernians +in his rank of life, deserves a still more, particular notice. His +infancy we pass over; but from the period at which he did not enter +into small clothes, he might be seen every Sunday morning, or on some +important festival, issuing from his father's mansion, with a piece of +old cloth tied about him from the middle to the knees, leaving a pair +of legs visible, that were mottled over with characters which would, +if found on an Egyptian pillar, put an antiquary to the necessity of +constructing a new alphabet to decipher them. This, or the inverted +breeches, with his father's flannel waistcoat, or an old coat that swept +the ground at least two feet behind him, constituted his state dress. On +week days he threw off this finery, and contented himself, if the season +were summer, with appearing in a dun-colored shirt, which resembled +a noun-substantive, for it could stand alone. The absence of soap and +water is sometimes used as a substitute for milling linen among the +lower Irish; and so effectually had Phelim's single change been milled +in this manner, that, when disenshirting at night, he usually laid +it standing at his bedside where it reminded one of frosted linen in +everything but whiteness. + +This, with but little variation, was Phelim's dress until his tenth +year. Long before that, however, he evinced those powers of attraction +which constituted so remarkable a feature in his character. He won all +hearts; the chickens and ducks were devotedly attached to him; the cow, +which the family always intended to buy, was in the habit of licking +Phelim in his dreams; the two goats which they actually did buy, treated +him like I one of themselves. Among the first and last he spent a great +deal of his early life; for as the floor of his father's house was but +a continuation of the dunghill, or the dunghill a continuation of the +floor, we know not rightly which, he had a larger scope, and a more +unsavory pool than usual, for amusement. Their dunghill, indeed, was the +finest of it size and kind to be seen; quite a tasteful thing, and so +convenient, that he could lay himself down at the hearth, and roll +out to its foot, after which he ascended it on his legs, with all the +elasticity of a young poet triumphantly climbing Parnassus. + +One of the greatest wants which Phelim experienced in his young days, +was the want of a capacious pocket. We insinuate nothing; because with +respect to his agility in climbing fruit-trees, it was only a species of +exercise to which he was addicted--the eating and carrying away of the +fruit being merely incidental, or, probably, the result of abstraction, +which, as every one knows, proves what is termed "the Absence of +Genius." In these ambitious exploits, however, there is no denying that +he bitterly regretted the want of a pocket; and in connection with this +we have only to add, that most of his solitary walks were taken about +orchards and gardens, the contents of which he has been often seen to +contemplate with deep interest. This, to be sure, might proceed from +a provident regard to health, for it is a well-known fact that he +has frequently returned home in the evenings, distended like a +Boa-Constrictor after a gorge; yet no person was ever able to come at +the cause of his inflation. There were, to be sure, suspicions abroad, +and it was mostly found that depredations in some neighboring orchard +or garden had been committed a little before the periods in which it was +supposed the distention took place. Wo mention these things after the +example of those "d----d good-natured" biographers who write great men's +lives of late, only for the purpose of showing that there could be no +truth in such suspicions. Phelim, we assure an enlightened public, was +voraciously fond of fruit; he was frequently inflated, too, after the +manner of those who indulge therein to excess; fruit was always +missed immediately after the periods of his distention, so that it was +impossible he could have been concerned in the depredations then +made upon the neighboring orchards. In addition to this, we would beg +modestly to add, that the pomonian temperament is incompatible with the +other qualities for which he was famous. His parents were too ignorant +of those little eccentricities which, had they known them, would have +opened up a correct view of the splendid materials for village greatness +which he possessed, and which, probably, were nipped in their bud +for the want of a pocket to his breeches, or rather by the want of +a breeches to his pocket; for such was the wayward energy of his +disposition, that he ultimately succeeded in getting the latter, though +it certainly often failed him to procure the breeches. In fact, it was +a misfortune to him that he was the Son of his father and mother at all. +Had he been a second Melchizedec, and got into breeches in time, +the virtues which circumstances suppressed in his heart might have +flourished like cauliflowers, though the world would have lost all the +advantages arising from the splendor of his talents at going naked. + +Another fact, in justice to his character, must not be omitted. His +penchant for fruit was generally known; but few persons, at the period +we are describing, were at all aware that a love of whiskey lurked as a +predominant trait in his character, to be brought out at a future era in +his life. + +Before Phelim reached his tenth year, he and his parents had commenced +hostilities. Many were their efforts to subdue some peculiarities of his +temper which then began to appear. Phelim, however, being an only son, +possessed high vantage ground. Along with other small matters which +he was in the habit of picking up, might be reckoned a readiness +at swearing. Several other things also made their appearance in +his parents' cottage, for whose presence there, except through his +instrumentality, they found it rather difficult to account. Spades, +shovels, rakes, tubs, frying-pans, and many other-articles of domestic +use, were transferred, as if by magic, to Larry's cabin. + +As Larry and his wife were both honest, these things were, of course, +restored to their owners, the moment they could be ascertained. Still, +although this honest couple's integrity was known, there were many +significant looks turned upon Phelim, and many spirited prophecies +uttered with especial reference to him, all of which hinted at the +probability of his dying something in the shape of a perpendicular +death. This habit, then, of adding to their furniture, was one cause of +the hostility between him and his parents; we say one, for there were at +least, a good round dozen besides. His touch, for instance, was fatal to +crockery; he stripped his father's Sunday clothes of their buttons, +with great secrecy and skill; he was a dead shot at the panes of his +neighbors' windows; a perfect necromancer at sucking eggs through +pin-holes; took great delight in calling home the neighboring farmers' +workingmen to dinner an hour before it was ready; and was in fact a +perfect master in many other ingenious manifestations of character, ere +he reached his twelfth year. + +Now, it was about this period that the small-pox made its appearance in +the village. Indescribable was the dismay of Phelim's parents, lest +he among others might become a victim to it. Vaccination, had not then +surmounted the prejudices with which every discovery beneficial to +mankind is at first met; and the people were left principally to the +imposture of quacks, or the cunning of certain persons called "fairy +men" or "sonsie women." Nothing remained now but that this formidable +disease should be met by all the power and resources of superstition. +The first thing the mother did was to get a gospel consecrated by the +priest, for the purpose of guarding Phelim against evil. What is termed +a Gospel, and worn as a kind of charm about the person, is simply a slip +of paper, on which are written by the priest the few first verses of the +Gospel of St. John. This, however, being worn for no specific purpose, +was incapable of satisfying the honest woman. Superstition had its own +peculiar remedy for the small-pox, and Sheelah was resolved to apply it. +Accordingly she borrowed a neighbor's ass, drove it home with Phelim, +however, on its back, took the interesting youth by the nape of the +neck, and, in the name of the Trinity, shoved him three times under it, +and three times over it. She then put a bit of bread into its mouth, +until the ass had mumbled it a little, after which she gave the savory +morsel to Phelim, as a _bonne bouche_. This was one preventive against +the small-pox; but another was to be tried. + +She next clipped off the extremities of Phelim's elf locks, tied them in +linen that was never bleached, and hung them beside the Gospel about +his neck. This was her second cure; but there was still a third to be +applied. She got the largest onion possible, which, having cut into nine +parts, she hung from the roof tree of the cabin, having first put the +separated parts together. It is supposed that this has the power of +drawing infection of any kind to itself. It is permitted to remain +untouched, until the disease has passed from the neighborhood, when it +is buried as far down in the earth as a single man can dig. This was +a third cure; but there was still a fourth. She borrowed ten asses' +halters from her neighbors, who, on hearing that they were for Phelim's +use, felt particular pleasure in obliging her. Having procured these, +she pointed them one by one at Phelim's neck, until the number nine +was completed. The tenth, she put on him, and with the end of it in +her hand, led him like an ass, nine mornings, before sunrise, to a +south-running stream, which he was obliged to cross. On doing this, two +conditions were to be fulfilled on the part of Phelim; he was bound, in +the first place, to keep his mouth filled, during the ceremony, with a +certain fluid which must be nameless: in the next, to be silent from the +moment he left home until his return. + +Sheelah having satisfied herself that everything calculated to save her +darling from the small-pox was done, felt considerably relieved, and +hoped that whoever might be infected, Phelim would escape. On the +morning when the last journey to the river had been completed, she +despatched him home with the halters. Phelim, however, wended his way to +a little hazel copse, below the house, where he deliberately twined +the halters together, and erected a swing-swang, with which he amused +himself till hunger brought him to his dinner. + +"Phelim, you idle thief, what kep you away till now?" + +"Oh; mudher, mudher, gi' me a piece o' arran? (* bread.) + +"Why, here's the praties done for your dinner. What kep you?" + +"Oh, be gorra, it's well you ever seen me at all, so it is!" + +"Why," said his father, "what happened you?" + +"Oh, bedad, a terrible thing all out. As I was crassin' Dunroe Hill, I +thramped on hungry grass. First, I didn't know what kem over me, I got +so wake; an' every step I wint, 'twas waker an' waker I was growin', +till at long last, down I dhrops, an' couldn't move hand or fut. I dunna +how long I lay there, so I don't; but anyhow, who should be _sthreelin_' +acrass the hill, but an old _baccagh_. + +"'My _bouchaleen dhas_,' says he--'my beautiful boy,' says he--'you're +in a bad state I find. You've thramped upon Dunroe _hungry grass_, an' +only for somethin' it's a _prabeen_ you'd be, afore ever you'd see home. +Can you spake at all?' says he. + +"'Oh, murdher,' says I,' I b'lieve not.' + +"'Well here,' says the baccagh, 'open your purty gub, an' take in a +thrifle of this male, an' you'll soon be stout enough.' Well, to be +sure, it bates the world! I had hardly tasted the male, whin I found +myself as well as ever; bekase you know, mudher, that's the cure for +it. 'Now,' says the baccagh, 'this is the spot the fairies planted their +hungry grass, an' so you'll know it agin when you see it. What's your +name?' says he. + +"'Phelim O'Toole,' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'go home an' tell your father an' mother to offer up +a prayer to St. Phelim, your namesake, in regard that only for him you'd +be a corp before any relief would a come near you; or, at any rate, wid +the fairies.'" + +The father and mother, although with a thousand proofs before them that +Phelim, so long as he could at all contrive a lie, would never speak +truth, yet were so blind to his well-known propensity, that they +always believed the lie to be truth, until they discovered it to be a +falsehood. When he related a story, for instance, which carried not +only improbability, but impossibility on the face of it, they never +questioned his veracity. The neighbors, to be sure, were vexed and +nettled at the obstinacy of their credulity; especially on reflecting +that they were as sceptical in giving credence to the narrative of any +other person, as all rational people ought to be. The manner of training +up Phelim, and Phelim's method of governing them, had become a by-word +in the village. "Take a sthraw to him, like Sheelah O'Toole," was often +ironically said to mothers remarkable for mischievous indulgence to +their children. + +The following day proved that no charm could protect Phelim from the +small-pox. Every symptom of that disease became quite evident; and the +grief of his doting parents amounted to distraction. Neither of them +could be declared perfectly sane; they knew not how to proceed--what +regimen to adopt for him, nor what remedies to use. A week elapsed, but +each succeeding day found him in a more dangerous state. At length, by +the advice of some of the neighbors, an old crone, called "Sonsy Mary," +was called in to administer relief through the medium of certain +powers which were thought to be derived from something holy and also +supernatural. She brought a mysterious bottle, of which he was to take +every third spoonful, three times a day; it was to be administered by +the hand of a young girl of virgin innocence, who was also to breathe +three times down his throat, holding his nostrils closed with her +fingers. The father and mother were to repeat a certain number of +prayers; to promise against swearing, and to kiss the hearth-stone nine +times--the one turned north, and the other south. All these ceremonies +were performed with care, but Phelim's malady appeared to set them +at defiance; and the old crone would have lost her character in +consequence, were it not that Larry, on the day of the cure, after +having promised not to swear, let fly an oath at a hen, whose cackling +disturbed Phelim. This saved her character, and threw Larry and Sheelah +into fresh despair. + +They had nothing now for it but the "fairy man," to whom, despite the +awful mystery of his character, they resolved to apply rather than see +their only son taken from them for ever. Larry proceeded without delay +to the wise man's residence, after putting a small phial of holy water +in his pocket to protect himself from fairy influence. The house in +which this person lived was admirably in accordance with his mysterious +character. One gable of it was formed by the mound of a fairy Rath, +against the cabin, which stood endwise; within a mile there was no other +building; the country around it was a sheep-walk, green, and beautifully +interspersed with two or three solitary glens, in one of which might be +seen a cave that was said to communicate under ground with the rath. A +ridge of high-Peaked mountains ran above it, whose evening shadow, in +consequence of their form, fell down on each side of the rath, without +obscuring its precincts. It lay south; and, such was the power of +superstition, that during summer, the district in which it stood was +thought to be covered with a light decidedly supernatural. In spring, it +was the first to be in verdure, and in autumn the last. Nay, in winter +itself, the rath and the adjoining valleys never ceased to be green, +these circumstances were not attributed to the nature of the soil, to +its southern situation, nor to the fact of its being pasture land; +but simply to the power of the fairies, who were supposed to keep its +verdure fresh for their own revels. + +When Larry entered the house, which had an air of comfort and snugness +beyond the common, a tall thin pike of a man, about sixty years of age, +stood before him. He wore a brown great-coat that fell far short of his +knees; his small-clothes were closely fitted to thighs not thicker than +hand telescopes; on his legs were drawn gray woollen stockings, rolled +up about six inches over his small-clothes; his head was covered by a +bay bob-wig, on which was a little round, hat, with the edge of the leaf +turned up in every direction. His face was short and sallow; his chin +peaked; his nose small and turned up. If we add to this, a pair of +skeleton-like hands and arms projecting about eight inches beyond the +sleeves of his coat; two fiery ferret-eyes; and a long small holly wand, +higher than himself, we have the outline of this singular figure. + +"God save you, nabor," said Larry. + +"Save you, save you, neighbor," he replied, without pronouncing the name +of the deity. + +"This is a thryin' time," said Larry, "to them that has childhre." + +The fairy-man fastened his red glittering eyes upon him, with a sinister +glance that occasioned Larry to feel rather uncomfortable. + +"So you venthured to come to the fairy-man?" + +"It is about our son, an' he all we ha--" + +"Whisht!" said the man, waving his hand with a commanding air. "Whisht; +I wish you wor out o' this, for it's a bad time to be here. Listen! +Listen! Do you hear nothing?" + +Larry changed color. "I do," he replied--"The Lord protect me: Is that +them?" + +"What did you hear?" said the man. + +"Why," returned the other, "I heard the bushes of the rath all movin', +jist as if a blast o' wind came among them!" + +"Whisht," said the fairy-man, "they're here; you mustn't open your lips +while you're in the house. I know what you want, an' will see your son. +Do you hear anything more? If you do, lay your forefinger along your +nose; but don't spake." + +Larry heard with astonishment, the music of a pair of bagpipes. The tune +played was one which, according to a popular legend, was first played +by Satan; it is called: "Go to the Devil and shake yourself." To our own +knowledge, the peasantry in certain parts of Ireland refuse to sing it +for the above reason. The mystery of the music was heightened too by +the fact of its being played, as Larry thought, behind the gable of the +cabin, which stood against the side of the rath, out of which, indeed, +it seemed to proceed. + +Larry laid his finger along his nose, as he had been desired; and this +appearing to satisfy the fairy-man, he waved his hand to the door, thus +intimating that his visitor should depart; which he did immediately, but +not without observing that this wild-looking being closed and bolted the +door after him. + +It is unnecessary to say that he was rather anxious to get off the +premises of the good people; he therefore lost little time until he +arrived at his own cabin; but judge of his wonder when, on entering it, +he found the long-legged spectre awaiting his return. + +"_Banaght dhea orrin!_" he exclaimed, starting back; "the blessing of +God be upon us! Is it here before me you are?" + +"Hould your tongue, man," said the other, with a smile of mysterious +triumph. "Is it that you wondher at? Ha, ha! That's little of it!" + +"But how did you know my name? or who I was? or where I lived at all? +Heaven protect us! it's beyant belief, clane out." + +"Hould your tongue," replied the man; "don't be axin' me any thing o' +the kind. Clear out, both of ye, till I begin my pisthrogues wid the +sick child. Clear out, I say." + +With some degree of apprehension, Larry and Sheelah left the house as +they had been ordered, and the Fairy-man having pulled out a flask of +poteen, administered a dose of it to Phelim; and never yet did patient +receive his medicine with such a relish. He licked his lips, and fixed +his eye upon it with a longing look. + +"Be Gorra," said he, "that's fine stuff entirely. Will you lave me the +bottle?" + +"No," said the Fairy-man, "but I'll call an' give you a little of it +wanst a day." + +"Ay do," replied Phelim; "the divil a fear o' me, if I get enough of it. +I hope I'll see you often." + +The Fairy-man kept his word; so that what with his bottle, a hardy +constitution, and light bed-clothes, Phelim got the upper hand of his +malady. In a month he was again on his legs; but, alas! his complexion +though not changed to deformity, was wofully out of joint. His principal +blemish, in addition to the usual marks left by his complaint, consisted +in a drooping of his left eyelid, which gave to his whole face a cast +highly ludicrous. + +When Phelim felt thoroughly recovered, he claimed a pair of "leather +crackers," * a hare-skin cap, and a coat, with a pertinacity which kept +the worthy couple in a state of inquietude, until they complied with +his importunity. Henceforth he began to have everything his own way. His +parents, sufficiently thankful that he was spared to them, resolved to +thwart him no more. + + * Breeches made of sheep's skin, so called from the + noise they make in walking or running. + +"It's well we have him at all," said his mother; "sure if we hadn't him, +we'd be breakin' our hearts, and sayin' if it 'ud plase God to send him +back to us, that we'd be happy even wid givin' him his own way." + +"They say it breaks their strinth, too," replied his father, "to be +crubbin' them in too much, an' snappin' at thim for every hand's turn, +an' I'm sure it does too." + +"Doesn't he become the pock-marks well, the crathur?" said the mdther. + +"Become!" said the father; "but doesn't the droop in his eye set him off +all to pieces!" + +"Ay," observed the mother, "an' how the crathur went round among all the +neighbors to show them the 'leather crackers!' To see his little pride +out o' the hare-skin cap, too, wid the hare's ears stickin' out of his +temples. That an' the droopin: eye undher them makes him look so cunnin' +an' ginteel, that one can't help havin' their heart fixed upon him." + +"He'd look betther still if that ould coat wasn't sweepin' the ground +behind him; an' what 'ud you think to put a pair o' _martyeens_ on his +legs to hide the mazles! He might go anywhere thin." + +"Throth he might; but Larry, what in the world wide could be in the +Fairy-man's bottle that Phelim took sich a likin' for it. He tould me +this mornin' that he'd suffer to have the pock agin, set in case he was +cured wid the same bottle." + +"Well, the Heaven be praised, any how, that we have a son for the +half-acre, Sheelah.' + +"Amin! An' let us take good care of him, now that he's spared to us." + +Phelim's appetite, after his recovery, was anything but a joke to +his father. He was now seldom at home, except during meal times; for +wherever fun or novelty was to be found, Phelim was present. He became +a regular attendant upon all the sportsmen. To such he made himself very +useful by his correct knowledge of the best covers for game, and the +best pools for fish. He was acquainted with every rood of land in the, +parish; knew with astonishing accuracy where coveys were to be sprung, +and hares started. No hunt was without him; such was his wind and speed +of foot, that to follow a chase and keep up with the horsemen was to him +only a matter of sport. When daylight passed, night presented him with +amusements suitable to itself. No wake, for instance, could escape him; +a dance without young Phelim O'Toole would have been a thing worthy +to be remembered. He was zealously devoted to cock-fighting; on +Shrove-Tuesday he shouted loudest among the crowd that attended the +sport of throwing at cooks tied to a stake; foot-ball and hurling never +occurred without him. Bull-baiting--for it was common in his +youth--was luxury to him; and, ere he reached fourteen, every one knew +Phelim O'Toole as an adept at card-playing. Wherever a sheep, a leg of +mutton, a dozen of bread, or a bottle of whiskey was put up in a shebeen +house, to be played for by the country gamblers at the five and ten, or +spoil'd five, Phelim always took a hand and was generally successful. On +these occasions he was frequently charged with an over-refined +dexterity; but Phelim usually swore, in vindication of his own +innocence, until he got black in the face, as the phrase among such +characters goes. + +The reader is to consider him now about fifteen--a stout, overgrown, +unwashed cub. His parents' anxiety that he should grow strong, prevented +them from training him to any kind of employment. He was eternally going +about in quest of diversion; and wherever a knot of idlers was to be +found, there was Phelim. He had, up to this period, never worn a shoe, +nor a single article of dress that had been made for himself, with the +exception of one or two pair of sheepskin small-clothes. In this way he +passed his time, bare-legged, without shoes, clothed in an old coat much +too large for him, his neck open, and his sooty locks covered with the +hare-skin cap, the ears as usual sticking out above his brows. Much of +his time was spent in setting the idle boys of the village to fight; and +in carrying lying challenges from one to another. He himself was seldom +without a broken head or a black eye; for in Ireland, he who is known +to be fond of quarrelling, as the people say, usually "gets enough +an' lavins of it." Larry and Sheelah, thinking it now high time that +something should be done with Phelim, thought it necessary to give +him some share of education. Phelim opposed this bitterly as an +unjustifiable encroachment upon his personal liberty; but, by bribing +him with the first and only suit of clothes he had yet got, they at +length succeeded in prevailing on him to go. + +The school to which he was sent happened to be kept in what is called +an inside Kiln. This kind of kiln is usually--but less so now than +formerly--annexed to respectable farmers' outhouses, to which, in +agricultural districts, it forms a very necessary appendage. It also +serves at the same time as a barn, the kiln-pot being sunk in the shape +of an inverted cone at one end, but divided from the barn floor by +a wall about three feet high. From this wall beams run across the +kiln-pot, over which, in a transverse direction, are laid a number of +rafters like the joists of a loft, but not fastened. These ribs are +covered with straw, over which again is spread a winnow-cloth to keep +the grain from being lost. The fire is sunk on a level with the bottom +of the kiln-pot, that is, about eight or ten feet below the floor of the +barn. The descent to it is by stairs formed at the side wall. We have +been thus minute in describing it, because, as the reader will presently +perceive, the feats of Phelim render it necessary. + +On the first day of his entering the school he presented himself with +a black eye; and as his character was well known to both master and +scholars, the former felt no hesitation in giving him a wholesome +lecture upon the subject of his future conduct. For at least a year +before this time, he had gained the nick-name of "Blessed Phelim," and +"Bouncing," epithets bestowed on him by an ironical allusion to his +patron saint, and his own habits. + +"So, Blessed Phelim," said the master, "you are comin' to school!!! +Well, well! I only say that miracles will never cease. Arrah, Phelim, +will you tell us candidly--ah--I beg your pardon; I mean, will you tell +us the best lie you can coin upon the cause of your coming to imbibe +moral and literary knowledge? Silence, boys, till we hear Blessed +Phelim's lie." + +"You must hear it, masther," said Phelim. "I'm comin' to larn to read +an' write." + +"Bravo! By the bones of Prosodius, I expected a lie, but not such a +thumper as that. And you're comin' wid a black eye to prove it! A black +eye, Phelim, is the blackguard's coat of arms; and to do you justice, +you are seldom widout your crest." + +For a few days Phelim attended the school, but learned not a letter. The +master usually sent him to be taught by the youngest lads, with a hope +of being able to excite a proper spirit of pride and emulation in a mind +that required some extraordinary impulse. One day he called him up to +ascertain what progress he had actually made; the unsuspecting teacher +sat at the time upon the wall which separated the barn-floor from the +kiln-pot, with his legs dangling at some distance from the ground. It +was summer, any rafters used in drying the grain had been removed. On +finding that Blessed Phelim, notwithstanding all the lessons he had +received, was still in a state of the purest ignorance, he lost his +temper, and brought him over between his knees, that he might give +him an occasional cuff for his idleness. The lesson went on, and the +master's thumps were thickening about Phelim's ears, much to the worthy +youth's displeasure. + +"Phelim," said the master, "I'll invert you a scarecrow for dunces. I'll +lay you against the wall, with your head down and your heels up like a +forked carrot." + +"But how will you manage that?" said Phelim. "What 'ud I be doin' in the +mane time?" + +"I'll find a way to manage it," said the master. + +"To put my head down an' my heels up, is it?" inquired Phelim. + +"You've said it, my worthy," returned his teacher. + +"If you don't know the way," replied the pupil, "I'll show you;" getting +his shoulder under the master's leg, and pitching him heels over his +head into the kiln-pot. He instantly seized his cap, and ran out of the +school, highly delighted at his feat; leaving the scholars to render the +master whatever assistance was necessary. The poor man was dangerously +hurt, for in addition to a broken arm, he received half a dozen severe +contusions on the head, and in different parts of the body. + +This closed Phelim's education; for no persuasion could ever induce him +to enter a school afterwards; nor could any temptation prevail on the +neighboring teachers to admit him as a pupil. + +Phelim now shot up rapidly to the stature of a young man; and a +graceful slip was he. From the period of fifteen until nineteen, he was +industriously employed in idleness. About sixteen he began to look +after the girls, and to carry a cudgel. The father in vain attempted +to inoculate him with a love of labor; but Phelim would not receive the +infection. His life was a pleasanter one. Sometimes, indeed, when he +wanted money to treat the girls at fairs and markets, he would prevail +on himself to labor a week or fortnight with some neighboring farmer; +but the moment he had earned as much as he deemed sufficient, the spade +was thrown aside. Phelim knew all the fiddlers and pipers in the barony; +was master of the ceremonies at every wake and dance that occurred +within several miles of him. He was a crack dancer, and never attended a +dance without performing a horn-pipe on a door or a table; no man could +shuffle, or treble, or cut, or spring, or caper with him. Indeed it was +said that he could dance "Moll Roe" upon the end of a five-gallon keg, +and snuff a mould candle with his heels, yet never lose the time. The +father and mother were exceedingly proud of Phelim, The former, when he +found him grown up, and associating with young men, began to feel a kind +of ambition in being permitted to join Phelim and his companions, and +to look upon the society of his own son as a privilege. With the girls +Phelim was a beauty without paint. They thought every wake truly a scene +of sorrow, if he did not happen to be present. Every dance was doleful +without him. Phelim wore his hat on one side, with a knowing but +careless air; he carried his cudgel with a good-humored, dashing spirit, +precisely in accordance with the character of a man who did not care a +traneen whether he drank with you as a friend or fought with you as a +foe. Never were such songs heard as Phelim could sing, nor such a +voice as that with which he sang them. His attitudes and action were +inimitable. The droop in his eye was a standing wink at the girls; +and when he sang his funny songs, with what practised ease he gave the +darlings a roguish chuck under the chin! Then his jokes! "Why, faix," +as the fair ones often said of him, "before Phelim speaks at all, one +laughs at what he says." This was fact. His very appearance at a wake, +dance, or drinking match, was hailed by a peal of mirth. This heightened +his humor exceedingly; for say what you will, laughter is to wit what +air is to fire--the one dies without the other. + +Let no one talk of beauty being on the surface. This is a popular error, +and no one but a superficial fellow would defend it Among ten thousand +you could not get a more unfavorable surface than Phelim's. His face +resembled the rough side of a cullender, or, as he was often told in +raillery, "you might grate potatoes on it." The lid of his left eye, +as the reader knows, was like the lid of a salt-box, always closed; and +when he risked a wink with the right, it certainly gave him the look of +a man shutting out the world, and retiring into himself for the purpose +of self-examination. No, no; beauty is in the mind; in the soul; +otherwise Phelim never could have been such a prodigy of comeliness +among the girls. This was the distinction the fair sex drew in his +favor. "Phelim," they would say, "is not purty, but he's very comely. +Bad end to the one of him but would stale a pig off a tether, wid his +winnin' ways." And so he would, too, without much hesitation, for it was +not the first time he had stolen his father's. + +From nineteen until the close of his minority, Phelim became a +distinguished man in fairs and markets. He was, in fact, the hero of +the parish; but, unfortunately, he seldom knew on the morning of the +fair-day the name of the party or faction on whose side he was to fight. +This was merely a matter of priority; for whoever happened to give him +the first treat uniformly secured him. The reason of this pliability +on his part was, that Phelim being every person's friend, by his good +nature, was nobody's foe, except for the day. He fought for fun and for +whiskey. When he happened to drub some companion or acquaintance on +the opposite side, he was ever ready to express his regret at the +circumstance, and abused, them heartily for not having treated him +first. + +Phelim was also a great Ribbonman; and from the time he became initiated +into the system, his eyes were wonderfully opened to the oppressions of +the country. Sessions, decrees, and warrants he looked upon as I gross +abuses; assizes, too, by which so many of his friends were put to +some inconvenience, he considered as the result of Protestant +Ascendancy--cancers that ought to be cut out of the constitution. +Bailiffs, drivers, tithe-proctors, tax-gatherers, policemen, and +parsons, he thought were vermin that ought to be compelled to emigrate +to a much warmer country than Ireland. + +There was no such hand in the county as Phelim at an alibi. Just give +him the outline--a few leading particulars of the fact--and he would +work wonders. One would think, indeed, that he had been born for that +especial purpose; for, as he was never known to utter a syllable of +truth but once, when he had a design in not being believed, so there was +no risk of a lawyer getting truth out of him. No man was ever afflicted +with such convenient maladies as Phelim; even his sprains, tooth-aches, +and colics seemed to have entered into the Whiteboy system. But, indeed, +the very diseases in Ireland are seditious. Many a time has a tooth-ache +come in to aid Paddy in obstructing the course of justice; and a colic +been guilty of misprision of treason. Irish deaths, too, are very +disloyal, and frequently at variance with the laws: nor are our births +much better; for although more legitimate than those of our English +neighbors, yet they are in general more illegal. Phelim, in proving his +alibis, proved all these positions. On one occasion, "he slep at +the prisoner's house, and couldn't close his eye with a thief of a +tooth-ache that parsecuted him the whole night;" so, that in consequence +of having the tooth-ache, it was impossible that the prisoner could +leave the house without his knowledge. + +Again, the prisoner at the bar could not possibly have shot the +deceased, "bekase Mickey slept that very night at Phelim's, an' Phelim, +bein' ill o' the colic, never slep at all durin' the whole night; an', +by the vartue of his oath, the poor boy couldn't go out o' the house +unknownst to him. If he had, Phelim would a seen him, sure." + +Again, "Paddy Cummisky's wife tuck ill of a young one, an' Phelim was +sent for to bring the midwife; but afore he kem to Paddy's, or hard o' +the thing at all, the prisoner, airly in the night, comin' to sit awhile +wid Paddy, went for the midwife instead o' Phelim, an' thin they sot up +an' had a sup in regard of the 'casion; an' the prisoner never left +them at all that night until the next mornin'. An' by the same token, +he remimbered Paddy Cummisky barrin' the door, an' shuttin' the windies, +bekase it's not lucky to have them open, for fraid that the fairies 'ud +throw their _pishthrogues_ upon the young one, an' it not christened." + +Phelim was certainly an accomplished youth. As an alibist, however, his +career was, like that of all alibists, a short one. The fact was, that +his face soon became familiar to the court and the lawyers, so that his +name and appearance were ultimately rather hazardous to the cause of his +friends. + +Phelim, on other occasions, when summoned as evidence against his +well-wishers or brother Ribbonmen, usually forgot his English, and gave +his testimony by an interpreter. Nothing could equal his ignorance and +want of common capacity during these trials. His face was as free from +every visible trace of meaning as if he had been born an idiot. No block +was ever more impenetrable than he. + +"What is the noble gintleman sayin'?" he would ask in Irish; and on +having that explained, he would inquire, "what is that?" then demand a +fresh explanation of the last one, and so on successively, until he was +given up in despair. + +Sometimes, in cases of a capital nature, Phelim, with the consent of his +friends, would come forward and make disclosures, in order to have them +put upon their trial and acquitted; lest a real approver, or some one +earnestly disposed to prosecute, might appear against them. Now the +alibi and its usual accompaniments are all of old standing in Ireland; +but the master-stroke to which we have alluded is a modern invention. +Phelim would bear evidence against them; and whilst the government--for +it was mostly in government prosecutions he adventured this--believed +they had ample grounds for conviction in his disclosures, it little +suspected that the whole matter was a plan to defeat itself. In +accordance with his design, he gave such evidence upon the table as +rendered conviction hopeless. His great object was to damn his own +character as a witness, and to make such blunders, premeditated slips, +and admissions, as just left him within an inch of a prosecution for +perjury. Having succeeded in acquitting his friends, he was content +to withdraw amid a volley of pretended execrations, leaving the +Attorney-General, with all his legal knowledge, outwitted and foiled. + +All Phelim's accomplishments, however, were nothing when compared to his +gallantry. With personal disadvantages which would condemn any other man +to old bachelorship, he was nevertheless the whiteheaded boy among the +girls. He himself was conscious of this, and made his attacks upon their +hearts indiscriminately. If he met an unmarried female only for five +minutes, be she old or ugly, young or handsome, he devoted at least four +minutes and three-quarters to the tender passion; made love to her with +an earnestness that would deceive a saint; backed all his protestations +with a superfluity of round oaths; and drew such a picture of her beauty +as might suit the Houries of Mahomet's paradise. + +Phelim and his father were great associates. No two agreed better. They +went to fairs and markets together; got drunk together; and returned +home with their arms about each other's neck in the most loving and +affectionate manner. Larry, as if Phelim were too modest to speak for +himself, seldom met a young girl without laying siege to her for the +son. He descanted upon his good qualities, glossed over his defects, and +drew deeply upon invention in his behalf. Sheelah, on the other hand, +was an eloquent advocate for him. She had her eye upon half a dozen of +the village girls, to every one of whom she found something to say in +Phelim's favor. + +But it is time the action of our story should commence. When Phelim had +reached his twenty-fifth year, the father thought it was high time for +him to marry. The good man had, of course, his own motives for this. +In the first place, Phelim, with all his gallantry and cleverness, had +never contributed a shilling, either toward his own support or that of +the family. In the second place, he was never likely to do so. In the +third place, the father found him a bad companion; for, in good truth, +he had corrupted the good man's morals so evidently, that his character +was now little better than that of his son. In the fourth place, he +never thought of Phelim, that he did not see a gallows in the distance; +and matrimony, he thought, might save him from hanging, as one poison +neutralizes another. In the fifth place, the half-acre Was but a shabby +patch to meet the exigencies of the family, since Phelim grew up. +"Bouncing Phelim," as he was called for more reasons than one, had the +gift of a good digestion, along with his other accomplishments; and with +such energy was it exercised, that the "half-acre" was frequently in +hazard of leaving the family altogether. The father, therefore, felt +quite willing, if Phelim married, to leave him the inheritance, and seek +a new settlement for himself. Or, if Phelim preferred leaving him, he +agreed to give him one-half of it, together with an equal division of +all his earthly goods; to wit--two goats, of which Phelim was to get +one; six hens and a cock, of which Phelim was to get three hens, and the +chance of a toss-up for the cock; four stools, of which Phelim was to +get two; two pots--a large one and a small one--the former to go with +Phelim; three horn spoons, of which Phelim was to get one, and the +chance of a toss-up for a third. Phelim was to bring his own bed, +provided he did not prefer getting a bottle of fresh straw as a +connubial luxury. The blanket was a tender subject; for having been +fourteen years in employment, it entangled the father and Phelim, +touching the prudence of the latter claiming it all. The son was +at length compelled to give it up, at least in the character of an +appendage to his marriage property. He feared that the wife, should he +not be able to replace it by a new one, or should she herself not be +able to bring him one, as part of her dowry, would find the honeymoon +rather lively. Phelim's bedstead admitted of no dispute, the floor of +the cabin having served him in that capacity ever since he began to +sleep in a separate bed. His pillow was his small clothes, and his quilt +his own coat, under which he slept snugly enough. + +The father having proposed, and the son acceded to these arrangements, +the next thing to be done was to pitch upon a proper girl as his wife. +This being a more important matter, was thus discussed by the father and +son, one evening, at their own fireside, in the presence of Sheelah. + +"Now, Phelim," said the father, "look about you, an' tell us what girl +in the neighborhood you'd like to be married to." + +"Why," replied Phelim, "I'll lave that to you; jist point out the girl +you'd like for your daughter-in-law, an' be she rich, poor, ould, or +ugly, I'll delude her. That's the chat." + +"Ah, Phelim, if you could put your comedher an Gracey Dalton, you'd be a +made boy. She has the full of a rabbit-skin o' guineas." + +"A made boy! Faith, they say I'm that as it is, you know. But would you +wish me to put my comedher on Gracey Dalton? Spake out." + +"To be sure I would." + +"Ay," observed the mother, "or what 'ud you think of Miss Pattherson? +That 'ud be the girl. She has a fine farm, an' five hundre pounds. She's +a Protestant, but Phelim could make a Christian of her." + +"To be sure I could," said Phelim, "have her thumpin' her breast, +and countin' her Padareens in no time. Would you wish me to have her, +mudher?" + +"Throth an' I would, avick." + +"That 'ud never do," observed the father. "Sure you don't think she'd +ever think of the likes o' Phelim?" + +"Don't make a goose of yourself, ould man," observed Phelim. "Do you +think if I set about it, that I'd not manufacture her senses as asy as +I'd peel a piatee?" + +"Well, well," replied the father, "in the name o' Goodness make up to +her. Faith it ud' be somethin' to have a jauntin' car in the family!" + +"Ay, but what the sorra will I do for a suit o' clo'es?" observed +Phelim. "I could never go near her in these breeches. My elbows, too, +are out o' this ould coat, bad luck to it! An' as for a waistcoat, why, +I dunna but it's a sin to call what I'm wearin' a waistcoat at all. Thin +agin--why, blood alive, sure I can't go to her barefooted, an' I dunna +but it 'ud be dacenter to do that same, than to step out in sich excuses +for brogues as these. An' in regard o' the stockins', why, I've pulled +them down, strivin' to look dacent, till one 'ud think the balls o' my +legs is at my heels." + +"The sorra word's in that but thruth, any how," observed the father; +"but what's to be done? For we have no way of gettin' them." + +"Faith, I don't know that," said Phelim. "What if we'd borry? I could +get the loan of a pair of breeches from Dudley Dwire, an' a coat from +Sam Appleton. We might thry Billy Brady for a waistcoat, an' a pair of +stockings. Barny Buckram-back, the pinsioner, 'ud lend me his pumps; an' +we want nothing now but a hat." + +"Nothin' under a Caroline 'ud do, goin' there," observed the father. + +"I think Father O'Hara 'ud oblige me wid the loan o' one for a day or +two;" said Phelim; "he has two or three o' them, all as good as ever." + +"But, Phelim," said the father, "before we go to all this trouble, are +you sure you could put your comedher on Miss Pattherson?" + +"None o' your nonsense," said Phelim, "don't you know I could? I hate +a man to be puttin' questions to me, when he knows them himself. It's a +fashion you have got, an' you ought to dhrop it." + +"Well thin," said the father, "let us set about it to-morrow. If we can +borry the clo'es, thry your luck." + +Phelim and the father, the next morning, set out each in a different +direction, to see how far they could succeed on the borrowing system. +The father was to make a descent on Dudley Dwire for the breeches, and +appeal to the generosity of Sam Appleton for the coat. Phelim himself +was to lay his case before the priest, and to assail Buckram-back, the +pensioner, on his way home, for the brogues. + +When Phelim arrived at the priest's house, he found none of the family +up but the housekeeper. After bidding her good morrow, and being desired +to sit down, he entered into conversation with the good woman, who felt +anxious to know the scandal of the whole parish. + +"Aren't you a son of Larry Toole's, young man?" + +"I am, indeed, Mrs. Doran. I'm Phelim O'Toole, my mother says." + +"I hope you're comin' to spake to the priest about your duty." + +"Why, then, be gorra, I'm glad you axed me, so I am--for only you seen +the pinance in my face, you'd never suppose sich a thing. I want to make +my confishion to him, wid the help o' Goodness." + +"Is there any news goin', Phelim?" + +"Divil a much, barrin' what you hard yourself, I suppose, about Frank +Fogarty, that went mad yesterday, for risin' the meal on the poor, an' +ate the ears off himself afore anybody could see him." + +"_Vick na hoiah_, Phelim; do you tell me so?" + +"Why man o' Moses, is it possible you did not hear it, ma'am?" + +"Oh, worra, man alive, not a syllable! Ate the ears off of himself! +Phelim, acushla, see what it is to be hard an the poor!" + +"Oh, he was ever an' always the biggest nagar livin', ma'am. Ay, an' +when he was tied up, till a blessed priest 'ud be brought to maliwgue +the divil out of him, he got a scythe an' cut his own two hands off." + +"No thin, Phelim!" + +"Faitha, ma'am, sure enough. I suppose, ma'am, you hard about Biddy +Duignan?" + +"Who is she, Phelim?" + +"Why the misfortunate crathurs a daughter of her father's, ould Mick +Duignan, of Tavenimore." + +"An' what about her, Phehm! What happened her?" + +"Faix, ma'am, a bit of a mistake she met wid; but, anyhow, ould Harry +Connolly's to stand in the chapel nine Sundays, an' to make three +Stations to Lough Dergh for it. Bedad, they say it's as purty a crathur +as you'd see in a day's thravellin'." + +"Harry Connolly! Why, I know Harry, but I never heard of Biddy Duiguan, +or her father at all. Harry Connolly! Is it a man that's bent over his +staff for the last twenty years! Hut, tut, Phelim, don't say sich a +thing." + +"Why, ma'am, sure he takes wid it himself; he doesn't deny it at all, +the ould sinner." + +"Oh, that I mayn't sin, Phelim, if one knows who to thrust in this +world, so they don't. Why the desateful ould--hut, Phelim, I can't give +into it." + +"Faix, ma'am, no wondher; but sure when he confesses it himself! Bedad, +Mrs. Doran, I never seen you look so well. Upon my sowl, you'd take the +shine out o' the youngest o' thim!" + +"Is it me, Phelim? Why, you're beside yourself." + +"Beside myself, am I? Faith, an' if I am, what I said's thruth, anyhow. +I'd give more nor I'll name, to have so red a pair of cheeks as you +have. Sowl, they're thumpers." + +"Ha, ha, ha! Oh, that I mayn't sin, but that's a good joke! An ould +woman near sixty!" + +"Now, Mrs. Doran, that's nonsense, an' nothing else. Near sixty! Oh, by +my purty, that's runnin' away wid the story entirely--No, nor thirty. +Faith, I know them that's not more nor five or six-an'-twenty, that 'ud +be glad to borry the loan of your face for a while. Divil a word o' lie +in that." + +"No, no, Phelim, aroon, I seen the day; but that's past. I remimber when +the people did say I was worth lookin' at. Won't you sit near the fire? +You're in the dhraft there." + +"Thank you kindly, ma'am; faith, you have the name, far an' near, for +bein' the civilest woman alive this day. But, upon my sowl, if you wor +ten times as civil, an' say that you're not aquil to any young girl in +the parish, I'd dispute it wid you; an' say it was nothin' else than a +bounce." + +"Arrah, Phelim, darlin, how can you palaver me that way? I hope your +dacent father's well, Phelim, an' your honest mother." + +"Divil a fear o' them. Now, I'd hould nine to one that the purtiest o' +them hasn't a sweeter mout' than you have. By dad, you have a pair o' +lips, God bless them that--well, well--" + +Phelim here ogled her with looks particularly wistful. + +"Phelim, you're losin' the little sense you had." + +"Faix, an' it's you that's taken them out o' me, then. A purty woman +always makes a fool o' me. Divil a word o' lie in it. Faix, Mrs. Doran, +ma'am, you have a chin o' your own! Well, well! Oh, be Gorra, I wish I +hadn't come out this mornin' any how!" + +"Arrah, why, Phelim? In throth, it's you that's the quare Phelim!" + +"Why, ma'am--Oh bedad it's a folly to talk. I can't go widout tastin' +them. Sich a pair o' timptations as your lips, barrin' your eyes, I +didn't see this many a day." + +"Tastin' what, you mad crathur?" + +"Why, I'll show you what I'd like to be afther tastin'. Oh! bedad, I'll +have no refusin'; a purty woman always makes a foo----" + +"Keep away, Phelim; keep off; bad end to you; what do you mane? Don't +you see Fool Art lyin' in the corner there undher the sacks? I don't +think he's asleep." + +"Fool Art! why, the misfortunate idiot, what about him? Sure he hasn't +sinse to know the right hand from the left. Bedad, ma'am the truth is, +that a purty woman always makes a----" + +"Throth an' you won't," said she struggling. + +"Throth an' I will, thin, taste the same lips, or we'll see whose +strongest!" + +A good-humored struggle took place between the housekeeper and Phelim, +who found her, in point of personal strength, very near a match for him. +She laughed heartily, but Phelim attempted to salute her with a face +of mock gravity as nearly resembling that of a serious man as he could +assume. In the meantime, chairs were overturned, and wooden dishes +trundled about; a crash was heard here, and another there. Phelim drove +her to the hob, and from the hob they both bounced into the fire, the +embers and ashes of which were kicked up into a cloud about them. + +"Phelim, spare your strinth," said the funny housekeeper, "it won't do. +Be asy now, or I'll get angry. The priest, too, will hear the noise, and +so will Fool Art." + +"To the divil wid Fool Art an' the priest, too," said Phelim, "who cares +abuckey about the priest when a purty woman like you is consarn-- + +"What's this?" said the priest, stepping down from the parlor--"What's +the matter? Oh, ho, upon my word, Mrs. Doran! Very good, indeed! Under +my own roof, too! An' pray, ma'am, who is the gallant? Turn round young +man. Yes, I see! Why, better and better! Bouncing Phelim O'Toole, that +never spoke truth! I think, Mr. O'Toole, that when you come a courting, +you ought to consider it worth your while to appear somewhat more smooth +in your habiliments. I simply venture to give that as my opinion." + +"Why sure enough," replied Phelim, without a moment's hesitation; "your +Reverence has found us out." + +"Found you out! Why, is that the tone you speak in?" + +"Faith, sir, thruth's best. I wanted her to tell it to you long ago, but +she wouldn't. Howsomever, it's still time enough.--Hem! The thruth, sir, +is, that Mrs. Doran an' I is goin' to get the words said as soon as we +can; so, sir, wid the help o' Goodness, I came to see if your Reverence +'ud call us next Sunday wid a blessin'." + +Mrs. Doran had, for at least a dozen round years before this, been in +a state-of hopelessness upon the subject of matrimony; nothing in the +shape of a proposal having in the course of that period come in her way. +Now we have Addison's authority for affirming, that an old woman who +permits the thoughts of love to get into her head, becomes a very odd +kind of animal. Mrs. Doran, to do her justice, had not thought of it for +nearly three lustres, for this reason, that she had so far overcome her +vanity as to deem it possible that a proposal could be ever made to her. +It is difficult, however, to know what a day may bring forth. Here +was an offer, dropping like a ripe plum into her mouth. She turned +the matter over in her mind with a quickness equal to that of Phelim +himself. One leading thought struck her forcibly: if she refused to +close with this offer, she would never get another. + +"Is it come to this, Mrs. Doran?" inquired the priest. + +"Oh, bedad, sir, she knows it is," replied Phelim, giving her a wink +with the safe eye. + +Now, Mrs. Doran began to have her suspicions. The wink she considered +as decidedly ominous. Phelim, she concluded with all the sagacity of a +woman thinking upon that subject, had winked at her to assent only for +the purpose of getting themselves out of the scrape for the present. She +feared that Phelim would be apt to break off the match, and take some +opportunity, before Sunday should arrive, of preventing the priest from +calling them. Her decision, however, was soon made. She resolved, if +possible to pin down Phelim to his own proposal. + +"Is this true, Mrs. Doran?" inquired the priest, a second time. + +Mrs. Doran could not, with any regard to the delicacy of her sex, give +an assent without proper emotion. She accordingly applied her apron to +her eyes, and shed a few natural tears in reply to the affecting query +of the pastor. + +Phelim, in the meantime, began to feel mystified. Whether Mrs. Doran's +tears were a proof that she was disposed to take the matter seriously, +or whether they were tears of shame and vexation for having been caught +in the character of a romping old hoyden, he could not then exactly +decide. He had, however, awful misgivings upon the subject. + +"Then," said the priest, "it is to be understood that I'm to call you +both on Sunday." + +"There's no use in keepin' it back from you," replied Mrs. Doran. "I +know it's foolish of me; but we have all our failins, and to be fond +of Phelim there, is mine. Your Reverence is to call us next Sunday, as +Phelim tould you. I am sure I can't tell you how he deluded me at all, +the desaver o' the world!" + +Phelim's face during this acknowledgment was, like Goldsmith's Haunch +of Venison, "a subject for painters to study." His eyes projected like a +hare's until nothing could be seen but the balls. Even the drooping lid +raised itself up, as if it were never to droop again. + +"Well," said the priest, "I shall certainly not use a single argument to +prevent you. Your choice, I must say, does you credit, particularly when +it is remembered that you have come at least to years of discretion. +Indeed, many persons might affirm that you have gone beyond them; but I +say nothing. In the meantime your wishes must be complied with. I will +certainly call Phelim O'Toole and Bridget Doran on Sunday next; and one +thing I know, that we shall have a very merry congregation." + +Phelim's eyes turned upon the priest and the old woman alternately, +with an air of bewilderment which, had the priest been a man of much +observation, might have attracted his attention. + +"Oh murdher alive, Mrs. Doran," said Phelim, "how am I to do for clo'es? +Faith, I'd like to appear dacent in the thing, anyhow." + +"True," said the priest. "Have you made no provision for smoothing the +externals of your admirer? Is he to appear in this trim?" + +"Bedad, sir," said Phelim, "we never thought o' that. All the world +knows, your Reverence, that I might carry my purse in my eye, an' never +feel a mote in it. But the thruth is, sir, she was so lively on the +subject--in a kind of a pleasant, coaxin' hurry of her own--an' indeed +I was so myself, too. Augh, Mrs. Doran! Be gorra, sir, she put her +comedher an me entirely, so she did. Well, be my sowl, I'll be the +flower of a husband to her anyhow. I hope your Reverence 'll come to the +christ'nin'? But about the clo'es;--bad luck saize the tack I have +to put to my back, but what you see an me, if we wor to be married +to-morrow." + +"Well, Phelim, aroon," said Mrs. Doran, "his Reverence here has my +little pences o' money in his hands, an' the best way is for you to get +the price of a suit from him. You must get clo'es, an' good ones, too, +Phelim, sooner nor any stop should be put to our marriage." + +"Augh, Mrs. Doran," said Phelim, ogling her from the safe eye, with a +tender suavity of manner that did honor to his heart; "be gorra, ma'am, +you've played the puck entirely wid me. Faith, I'm gettin' fonder an' +fonder of her every minute, your Reverence." + +He set his eye, as he uttered this, so sweetly and significantly upon +the old house-keeper, that the priest thought it a transgression of +decorum in his presence. + +"I think," said he, "you had better keep your melting looks to yourself, +Phelim. Restrain your gallantry, if you please, at least until I +withdraw." + +"Why, blood alive! sir, when people's fond of one another, it's hard to +keep the love down. Augh, Mrs. Doran! Faith, you've rendhored my heart +like a lump o' tallow." + +"Follow me to the parlor," said the priest, "and let me know, Bridget, +what sum I am to give to this melting gallant of yours." + +"I may as well get what'll do the weddin' at wanst," observed Phelim. +"It'll save throuble, in the first place; an' sackinly, it'll save time; +for, plase Goodness, I'll have everything ready for houldin' the weddin' +the Monday afther the last call. By the hole o' my coat, the minute I +get the clo'es we'll be spliced, an' thin for the honeymoon!" + +"How much money shall I give him?" said the priest. + +"Indeed, sir, I think you ought to know that; I'm ignorant o' what 'ud +make a dacent weddin'. We don't intend to get married undher a hedge; +we've frinds an both sides, an' of course, we must have them about us, +plase Goodness." + +"Be gorra, sir, it's no wondher I'm fond of her, the darlin'? Bad win to +you, Mrs. Doran, how did you come over me at all?" + +"Bridget," said the priest, "I have asked you a simple question, +to which I expect a plain answer. What money am I to give this +tallow-hearted swain of yours?" + +"Why, your Reverence, whatsomever you think may be enough for full, an' +plinty, an' dacency, at the weddin'." + +"Not forgetting the thatch for me, in the mane time," said Phelim. +"Nothin' less will sarve us, plase your Reverence. Maybe, sir, you'd +think 'of comin' to the weddin' yourself?" + +"There are in my hands," observed the priest, "one hundred and +twenty-two guineas of your money, Bridget. Here, Phelim, are ten for +your wedding suit and wedding expenses. Go to your wedding! No! +don't suppose for a moment that I countenance this transaction in the +slightest degree. I comply with your wishes, because I heartily +despise you both; but certainly this foolish old woman most. Give me an +acknowledgment for this, Phelim." + +"God bless you, sir!" said Phelim, as if he had paid them a compliment. +"In regard o' the acknowledgment, sir, I acknowledge it wid all my +heart; but bad luck to the scrape at all I can write." + +"Well, no matter. You admit, Bridget, that I give this money to this +blessed youth by your authority and consent." + +"Surely, your Reverence; I'll never go back of it." + +"Now, Phelim," said the priest, "you have the money; pray get married as +soon as possible." + +"I'll give you my oath," said Phelim; "an' be the blessed iron tongs in +the grate there, I'll not lose a day in gettin' myself spliced. Isn't +she the tendher-hearted sowl, your Reverence? Augh, Mrs. Doran!" + +"Leave my place," said the priest. "I cannot forget the old proverb, +that one fool makes many, but an old fool is worse than any. So it is +with this old woman." + +"Ould woman! Oh, thin, I'm sure I don't desarve this from your +Reverence!" exclaimed the housekeeper, wiping her eyes: "if I'm a little +seasoned now, you know I wasn't always so. If ever there was a faithful +sarvant, I was that, an' managed your house and place as honestly as +I'll manage my own, plase Goodness." + +As they left the parlor, Phelim became the consoler. + +"Whisht, you darlin'!" he exclaimed. "Sure you'll have Bouncin' Phelim +to comfort you. But now that he has shut the door, what--hem--I'd +take it as a piece o' civility if you'd open my eyes a little; I +mane--hem--was it--is this doin' him, or how? Are you--hem--do you +undherstand me, Mrs. Doran?" + +"What is it you want to know, Phelim? I think everything is very plain." + +"Oh, the divil a plainer, I suppose. But in the mane time, might one +axe, out o' mere curiosity, if you're in airnest?" + +"In airnest! Arrah, what did I give you my money for, Phelim? Well, now +that everything is settled, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to +me." + +"A bad what?" + +"I say, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to me. I'm afeard, +Phelim, that I'll be too foolish about you--that I'll be too fond of +you." + +Phelim looked at her in solemn silence, and then replied--"Let us trust +in God that you may be enabled to overcome the weakness. Pray to Him +to avoid all folly, an' above everything, to give you a dacent stock of +discration, for it's a mighty fine thing for a woman of your yea--hem--a +mighty fine thing it is, indeed, for a sasoned woman, as you say you +are." + +"When will the weddin' take place, Phelim?" + +"The what?" said Phelim, opening his brisk eye with a fresh stare of +dismay. + +"Why, the weddin', acushla. When will it take place? I think the Monday +afther the last call 'ud be the best time. We wouldn't lose a day thin. +Throth, I long to hear my last call over, Phelim, jewel." + +Phelim gave her another look. + +"The last call! Thin, by the vestment, you don't long half as much for +your last call as I do." + +"Arrah, Phoilim, did you take the--the--what you wor wantin' awhile +agone? Throth, myself disremimbers." + +"Ay, around dozen o' them. How can you forget it?" + +The idiot in the corner here gave a loud snore, but composed himself to +sleep, as if insensible to all that passed. + +"Throth, an' I do forget it. Now, Phelim, you'll not go till you take a +cup o' tay wid myself. Throth, I do forget it, Phelim darlin', jewel." + +Phelim's face now assumed a very queer expression. He twisted his +features into all possible directions; brought his mouth first round to +one ear and then to the other; put his hand, as if in great pain, on the +pit of his stomach; lifted one knee up till it almost touched his +chin, then let it down, and instantly brought up the other in a similar +manner. + +"Phelim, darlin', what ails you?" inquired the tender old nymph. +"Wurrah, man alive, aren't you well?" + +"Oh, be the vestment," said Phelim, "what's this at all? Murdher, +sheery, what'll I do! Oh, I'm very bad! At death's door, so I am! Be +gorra, Mrs. Doran, I must be off." + +"Wurrah, Phelim dear, won't you stop till we settle everything?" + +"Oh, purshuin' to the ha'p'orth I can settle till I recover o' this +murdherin' colic! All's asthray wid me in the inside. I'll see you--I'll +see you--_Hanim an dioul!_ what's this?--I must be off like a shot--oh, +murdher sheery?--but--but--I'll see you to-morrow. In the mane time, +I'm--I'm--for ever oblaged to you for--for--lendin' me the--loan of--oh, +by the vestments, I'm a gone man!--for lendin' me the loan of the ten +guineas--Oh, I'm gone!" + +Phelim disappeared on uttering these words, and his strides on passing +out of the house were certainly more rapid and vigorous than those of +a man laboring under pain. In fact, he never looked behind him until +one-half the distance between the priest's house and his father's cabin +had been fairly traversed. + +Some misgivings occurred to the old housekeeper, but her vanity, having +been revived by Phelim's blarney, would not permit her to listen +to them. She had, besides, other motive to fortify her faith in his +attachment. First, there was her money, a much larger sum than ever +Phelim could expect with any other woman, young or old; again, they were +to be called on the following Sunday, and she knew that when a marriage +affair proceeds so far, obstruction or disappointment is not to be +apprehended. + +When Phelim reached home, he found the father returned after having +borrowed a full suit of clothes for him. Sam Appleton on hearing from +Larry that Bouncing Phelim was about to get a "Great Match,"* generously +lent him coat, waistcoat, hat, and small-clothes. + + * When a country girl is said to have a large fortune, + the peasantry, when speaking of her in reference to + matrimony, say she's a "Great Match." + +When Phelim presented himself at home, he scarcely replied to the +queries put to him by his father and mother concerning his interview +with the priest. He sat down, rubbed his hands, scratched his head, rose +up, and walked to and fro, in a mood of mind so evidently between mirth +and chagrin, that his worthy parents knew not whether to be merry or +miserable. + +"Phelim," said the mother, "did you take anything while you wor away?" + +"Did I take anything! is it? Arrah, be asy, ould woman! Did I take +anything! Faith you may say that!" + +"Let us know, anyhow, what's the matther wid you?' asked the father. + +"Tare-an'-ounze!" exclaimed the son, "what is this for, at all at all? +It's too killin' I am, so it is." + +"You're not lookin' at Sam Appleton's clo'es," said the father, "that he +lent you the loan of, hat an' all?" + +"Do you want to put an affront upon me, ould man? To the divil wid +himself an' his clo'es! When I wants clo'es I'll buy them wid my own +money!' + +"Larry," observed the mother, "there's yourself all over--as proud as +a payoock when the sup's in your head, an' 'ud spake as big widout the +sign o' money in your pocket, as if you had the rint of an estate." + +"What do you say about the sign o' money?" exclaimed Phelim, with a +swagger. "Maybe you'll call that the sign o' money!" he added, producing +the ten guineas in gold. The father and mother looked at it for a +considerable time, then at each other, and shook their heads. + +"Phelim!" said the father, solemnly. "Phelim!" said the mother, awfully; +and both shook their heads again. + +"You wor never over-scrupulous," the father proceeded, "an' you know +you have many little things to answer for, in the way of pickin' up what +didn't belong to yourself. I think, too, you're not the same boy you wor +afore you tuck to swearin' the alibies. + +"Faith, an' I doubt I'll haye to get some one to swear an alibi for +myself soon," Phelim replied. + +"Why, blessed hour!" said Larry, "didn't I often tell you never to join +the boys in anything that might turn out a hangin' matther?" + +"If this is not a hangin' matther," said Phelim, "it's something nearly +as bad: it's a marryin' matther. Sure I deluded another since you seen +me last. Divil a word o' lie in it. I was clane fell in love wid this +mornin' about seven o'clock." + +"But how did you get the money, Phelim?" + +"Why, from the youthful sprig that fell in love wid me. Sure we're to be +'called' in the Chapel on Sunday next." + +"Why thin now, Phelim! An' who is the young crathur? for in throth she +must be young to go to give the money beforehand!" + +"Murdher!" exclaimed Phelim, "what's this for! Was ever any one done +as I am? Who is she! Why she's--oh, murdher, oh!--she's no other +than--hem--divil a one else than Father O'Hara's housekeeper, ould Biddy +Doran!" + +The mirth of the old couple was excessive. The father laughed till he +fell off his stool, and the mother till the tears ran down her cheeks. + +"Death alive; ould man! but you're very merry," said Phelim. "If you wor +my age, an' in such an' amplush, you'd laugh on the wrong side o' your +mouth. Maybe you'll tarn your tune when you hear that she has a hundhre +and twenty guineas." + +"An' you'll be rich, too," said the father. "The sprig an' you will be +rich!--ha, ha, ha!" + +"An' the family they'll have!" said the mother, in convulsions. + +"Why, in regard o' that," said Phelim, rather nettled, "if all fails us, +sure we can do as my father and you did: kiss the Lucky Stone, an' make +a Station." + +"Phelim, aroon," said the mother, seriously, "put it out o' your head. +Sure you wouldn't go to bring me a daughter-in-law oulder nor myself?" + +"I'd as soon go over," (* be transported) said Phelim; "or swing itself, +before I'd marry sich a piece o' desate. Hard feelin' to her! how she +did me to my face!" + +Phelim then entered into a long-visaged detail of the scene at +Father O'Hara's, dwelling bitterly on the alacrity with which the old +housekeeper ensnared him in his own mesh. + +"However," he concluded, "she'd be a sharp one if she'd do me +altogether. We're not married yet; an' I've a consate of my own, that +she's done for the ten guineas, any how!" + +A family council was immediately held upon Phelim's matrimonial +prospects. On coming close to the speculation of Miss Patterson, it +was somehow voted, notwithstanding Phelim's powers of attraction, to be +rather a discouraging one. Gracey Dalton was also given up. The matter +was now serious, the time short, and Phelim's bounces touching his own +fascinations with the sex in general, were considerably abated. It was +therefore resolved that he ought to avail himself of Sam Appleton's +clothes, until his own could be made. Sam, he said, would not press him +for them immediately, inasmuch as he was under obligations to Phelim's +silence upon some midnight excursions that he had made. + +"Not," added Phelim, "but I'm as much, an' maybe more in his power, than +he is in mine." + +When breakfast was over, Phelim and the father, after having determined +to "drink a bottle" that night in the family of an humble young woman, +named Donovan, who, they all agreed, would make an excellent wife for +him, rested upon their oars until evening. In the meantime, Phelim +sauntered about the village, as he was in the habit of doing, whilst the +father kept the day as a holiday. We have never told our readers that +Phelim was in love, because in fact we know not whether he was or not. +Be this as it may, we simply inform them, that in a little shed in +the lower end of the village, lived a person with whom Phelim was very +intimate, called Foodie Flattery. He was, indeed, a man after Phelim's +own heart, and Phelim was a boy after his. He maintained himself by +riding country races; by handing, breeding, and feeding cocks; by +fishing, poaching, and serving processes; and finally, by his knowledge +as a cow-doctor and farrier--into the two last of which he had given +Phelim some insight. We say the two last, for in most of the other +accomplishments Phelim was fully his equal. Phelim frequently envied him +his life. It was an idle, amusing, vagabond kind of existence, just +such a one as he felt a relish for. This man had a daughter, rather +well-looking; and it so happened, that he and Phelim had frequently +spent whole nights out together, no one knew on what employment. Into +Flattery's house did Phelim saunter with something like an inclination +to lay the events of the day before him, and to ask his advice upon his +future prospects. On entering the cabin he was much surprised to find +the daughter in a very melancholy mood; a circumstance which puzzled +him not a little, as he knew that they lived very harmoniously together. +Sally had been very useful to her father; and, if fame did not belie +her, was sometimes worthy Foodie's assistant in his nocturnal exploits. +She was certainly reputed to be "light-handed;" an imputation which +caused the young men of her acquaintance to avoid, in their casual +conversations with her, any allusion to matrimony. + +"Sally, achora," said Phelim, when he saw her in distress, "what's the +fun? Where's your father?" + +"Oh, Phelim," she replied, bursting into tears, "long runs the fox, but +he's cotch at last. My father's in gaol." + +Phelim's jaw dropped. "In gaol! _Chorp an diouol_, no!" + +"It's thruth, Phelim. Curse upon this Whiteboy business, I wish it never +had come into the counthry at all." + +"Sally, I must see him; you know I must. But tell me how it happened? +Was it at home he was taken?" + +"No; he was taken this mornin' in the market. I was wid him sellin' some +chickens. What'll you and Sam Appleton do, Phelim?" + +"Uz! Why, what danger is there to either Sim or me, you darlin'?" + +"I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided +for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor +man, that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind +him wid' nobody to take care o' me.--He says, too, if anything 'ud make +him stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said +to me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?" + +A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face, +which was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of +aspect, became remarkably blank. + +"Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess +what brought me here to-day?" + +"Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe." + +"No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now +tell me this--Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young +fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?" + +"Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction. +Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like +me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by." + +"Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in +case--supposin'--that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you +mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?" + +"Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them--ah, the dickens go +wid you, Phelim--this is more o' your thricks--but if it was thruth you +wor spakin', Phelim?" + +"It is thruth," said Phelim; "be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now, +say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go +an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But +see, Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm +marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in +it. Now, yes or no?" + +"Well--throth--to be sure--the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare +ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?" + +"Be the stool I'm sittin' on!" + +"Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know +it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on +you, Phelim?" + +"Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next. +Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us. +An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra, +surely." + +"Behave, Phelim--oh--oh--Phelim, now--there you've tuck it--och, the +curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my hair down! There now, +you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, Phelim. I hope you +won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get married." + +"Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid +o' lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the +great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all." + +"Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But, +Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it +but ourselves--that is, none o' the neighbors." + +"I'll sing dumb," said Phelim. "Well, _binaght lath, a rogarah!_* Tell +him the thruth--to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled together +whin he comes out, plase Goodness." + + * My blessing be with you, you rogue! + +Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art +projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with +mud, divided from the other part of the cabin. + +"Is he gone?" said Art. + +"You may come out, Art," said she, "he's gone." + +"Ha!" said Art, triumphantly, "I often tould him, when he vexed me an' +pelted me wid snow-balls, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An' +it's not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see +wid his eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!" + +"But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?" + + "Hi the colic, the colic! + An' ho the colic for Phelim!" + +"Then you think he won't, Art?" + + "Hi the colic, the colic! + An' ho the colic for Phelim!" + +"Now, Art, don't say a word about my father not bein' in gaol. He's to +be back from my grandfather's in a short time, an' if we manage well, +you'll see what you'll get, Art--a brave new shirt, Art." + +"Art has the lane for Phelim, but it's not the long one wid no turn in +it. Wherroo for Art!" + +Phelim, on his return home, felt queer; here was a second matrimonial +predicament, considerably worse than the first, into which he was hooked +decidedly against his will. The worst feature in this case was the +danger to be apprehended from Foodie Flattery's disclosures, should +he take it into his head to 'peach upon his brother Whiteboys. Indeed, +Phelim began to consider it a calamity that he ever entered into their +system at all; for, on running over his exploits along with them, he +felt that he was liable to be taken up any morning of the week, and +lodged in one of his majesty's boarding-houses. The only security he had +was the honesty of his confederates; and experience took the liberty of +pointing out to him many cases in which those who considered themselves +quite secure, upon the same grounds, either dangled or crossed the +water. He remembered, too, some prophecies that had been uttered +concerning him with reference both to hanging and matrimony. +Touching the former it was often said, that "he'd die where the bird +flies"--between heaven and earth; on matrimony, that there seldom was a +swaggerer among the girls but came to the ground at last. + +Now Phelim had a memory of his own, and in turning over his situation, +and the prophecies that had been so confidently pronounced concerning +him, he felt, as we said, rather queer. He found his father and mother +in excellent spirits when he got home. The good man had got a gallon of +whiskey on credit; for it had been agreed on not to break the ten golden +guineas until they should have ascertained how the matchmaking would +terminate that night at Donovan's. + +"Phelim," said the father, "strip yourself, an' put on Sam's clo'es: you +must send him down yours for a day or two; he says it's the least he may +have the wearin' o' them, so long as you have his." + +"Right enough," said Phelim; "Wid all my heart; I'm ready to make a fair +swap wid him any day, for that matther." + +"I sent word to the Donovans that we're to go to coort there to night," +said Larry; "so that they'll be prepared for us; an' as it would be +shabby not to have a friend, I asked Sam Appleton himself. He's to folly +us." + +"I see," said Phelim, "I see. Well, the best boy in Europe Sam is, for +such a spree. Now, Fadher, you must lie like the ould diouol tonight. +Back everything I say, an' there's no fear of us. But about what she's +to get, you must hould out for that. I'm to despise it, you know. I'll +abuse you for spakin' about fortune, but don't budge an inch." + +"It's not the first time I've done that for you, Phelim; but in regard +o' these ten guineas, why you must put them in your pocket for fraid +they be wantin' to get off wid layin' down guinea for guinea. You see, +they don't think we have a rap; an' if they propose it we'll be up to +them." + +"Larry," observed Sheelah, "don't make a match except they give that pig +they have. Hould out for that by all means." + +"Tare-an'-ounze!" exclaimed Phelim, "am I goin' to take the counthry out +o' the face? By the vestments, I'm a purty boy! Do you know the fresh +news I have for yez?" + +"Not ten guineas more, Phelim?" replied the father. + +"Maybe you soodhered another ould woman," said the mother. + +"Be asy," replied Phelim. "No, but the five crasses, I deluded a young +one since! I went out!" + +The old couple were once more disposed to be mirthful; but Phelim +confirmed his assertion with such a multiplicity of oaths, that they +believed him. Nothing, however, could wring the secret of her name +out of him. He had reasons for concealing it which he did not wish to +divulge. In fact, he could never endure ridicule, and the name of Sally +Flattery, as the person whom he had "deluded," would constitute, on his +part, a triumph quite as sorry as that which he had achieved in +Father O'Hara's. In Ireland no man ever thinks of marrying a female +thief--which Sally was strongly suspected to be--except some worthy +fellow, who happens to be gifted with the same propensity. + +When the proper hour arrived, honest Phelim, after having already made +arrangements to be called on the following Sunday, as the intended +husband of two females, now proceeded with great coolness to make, +if possible, a similar engagement with a third. There is something, +however, to be said for Phelim. His conquest over the housekeeper was +considerably out of the common course of love affairs. He had drawn +upon his invention, only to bring himself and the old woman out of the +ridiculous predicament in which the priest found them. He had, moreover, +intended to prevail on her to lend him the hat, in case the priest +himself had refused him. He was consequently not prepared for the +vigorous manner in which Mrs. Doran fastened upon the subject of +matrimony. On suspecting that she was inclined to be serious, he +pleaded his want of proper apparel; but here again the liberality of +the housekeeper silenced him, whilst, at the same time, it opened an +excellent prospect of procuring that which he most required--a decent +suit of clothes. This induced him to act a part that he did not feel. +He saw the old woman was resolved to outwit him, and he resolved to +overreach the old woman. + +His marriage with Sally Flattery was to be merely a matter of chance. If +he married her at all, he knew it must be in self-defence. He felt that +her father had him in his power, and that he was anything but a man to +be depended on. He also thought that his being called with her, on the +Sunday following, would neutralize his call with the housekeeper; just +as positive and negative quantities in algebra cancel each other. But he +was quite ignorant that the story of Flattery's imprisonment was merely +a plan of the daughter's to induce him to marry her. + +With respect to Peggy Donovan, he intended, should he succeed in +extricating himself from the meshes which the other two had thrown +around him, that she should be the elected one to whom he was anxious to +unite himself. As to the confusion produced by being called to three at +once, he knew that, however laughable in itself, it would be precisely +something like what the parish would expect from him. Bouncing Phelim +was no common man, and to be called to three on the same Sunday, would +be a corroboration of his influence with the sex. It certainly chagrined +him not a little that one of them was an old woman, and the other of +indifferent morals; but still it exhibited the claim of three women +upon one man, and that satisfied him. His mode of proceeding with Peggy +Donovan was regular, and according to the usages of the country. The +notice had been given that he and his father would go a courting, and of +course they brought the whiskey with them, that being the custom among +persons in their circumstances in life. These humble courtships very +much resemble the driving of a bargain between two chapmen; for, indeed, +the closeness of the demands on the one side, and the reluctance of +concession on the other, are almost incredible. Many a time has a match +been broken up by a refusal on the one part, to give a slip of a pig, +or a pair of blankets, or a year-old calf. These are small matters +in themselves, but they are of importance to those who, perhaps, have +nothing else on earth with which to begin the world. The house to +which Phelim and his father directed themselves was, like their own, +of the-humblest description. The floor of it was about sixteen feet by +twelve; its furniture rude and scanty. To the right of the fire was a +bed, the four posts of which ran up to the low roof; it was curtained +with straw mats, with the exception of an opening about a foot and a +half wide on the side next the fire, through which those who slept in it +passed. A little below the foot of the bed were ranged a few shelves of +deal, supported by pins of wood driven into the wall. These constituted +the dresser. In the lower end of the house stood a potato-bin, made up +of stakes driven into the floor, and wrought with strong wicker-work. +Tied to another stake beside this bin stood a cow, whose hinder part +projected so close to the door, that those who entered the cabin were +compelled to push her over out of their way. This, indeed, was effected +without much difficulty, for the animal became so habituated to the +necessity of moving aside, that it was only necessary to lay the hand +upon her. Above the door in the inside, almost touching the roof, was +the hen-roost, made also of wicker-work; and opposite the bed, on the +other side of the fire, stood a meal-chest. + +Its lid on a level with the little pane of glass which served as a +window. An old straw chair, a few stools, a couple of pots, some wooden +vessels and crockery, completed the furniture of the house. The pig to +which Sheolah alluded was not kept within the cabin, that filthy custom +being now less common than formerly. + +This catalogue of cottage furniture may appear to our English readers +very miserable. We beg them to believe, however, that if every cabin +in Ireland were equally comfortable, the country would be comparatively +happy. Still it is to be remembered, that the _dramatis personae_ of our +story are of the humblest class. + +When seven o'clock drew nigh, the inmates of this little cabin placed +themselves at a clear fire; the father at one side, the mother at the +other, and the daughter directly between them, knitting, for this is +usually the occupation of a female on such a night. Everything in the +house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth; +the parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday +apparel. She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor +otherwise. Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an +anxious look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to +a female, heightened her complexion to a blush that became her. The +creature had certainly made the most of her little finery. Her face +shone like that of a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel; +her hair, carefully curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been +smoothed with soap until it became lustrous by repeated polishing, and +her best red ribbon was tied tightly about it in a smart knot, that +stood out on the side of her head with something of a coquettish air. +Old Donovan and his wife maintained a conversation upon some indifferent +subject, but the daughter evidently paid little attention to what they +said. It being near the hour appointed for Phelim's arrival, she sat +with an appearance of watchful trepidation, occasionally listening, and +starting at every sound that she thought bore any resemblance to a man's +voice or footstep. + +At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse +of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;-- + + "A sailor coorted a farmer's daughter + That lived contagious to the Isle of Man, + A long time coortin', an' still discoorsin' + Of things consarnin' the ocean wide; + At linth he saize, 'My own dearest darlint, + Will you consint for to be my bride?'" + +"An' so she did consint, the darlin', but what the puck would she do +else? God save the family! Paddy Donovan, how is your health? Molly, +avourneen, I'm glad to hear that you're thrivin'. An' Peggy--eh? Ah, be +gorra, fadher, here's somethin' to look at! Give us the hand of you, you +bloomer! Och, och! faith you're the daisey!" + +"Phelim," said the father, "will you behave yourself? Haven't you the +night before you for your capers? Paddy Donovan, I'm glad to see you! +Molly, give us your right hand, for, in troth, I have a regard for you! +Peggy, dear, how are you? But I'm sure, I needn't be axin when I look at +you! In troth, Phelim, she is somethin' to throw your eye at." + +"Larry Toole, you're welcome," replied Donovan and his wife, "an' so +is your son. Take stools both of you, an' draw near the hearth. Here, +Phelim," said the latter, "draw in an' sit beside myself." + +"Thank you kindly, Molly," replied Phelim; "but I'll do no sich thing.. +Arrah, do you think, now, that I'd begin to gosther wid an ould woman, +while I have the likes o' Peggy, the darlin', beside me? I'm up to a +thrick worth nine of it. No, no; this chest 'll do. Sure you know, I +must help the 'duck of diamonds' here to count her stitches." + +"Paddy," said Larry, in a friendly whisper, "put this whiskey past for +a while, barrin' this bottle that we must taste for good luck. Sam +Appleton's to come up afther us an', I suppose, some o' your own +cleavens 'll be here afther a while." + +"Thrue for you," said Donovan. "Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin is to come +over presently. But, Larry, this is nonsense. One bottle o' whiskey was +lashins; my Goodness, what'll we be doin' wid a whole gallon?" + +"Dacency or nothin', Paddy; if it was my last I'd show sperit, an' why +not? Who'd be for the shabby thing?" + +"Well, well, Larry, I can't say but you're right afther all! Maybe I'd +do the same thing myself, for all I'm spakin' aginst it." + +The old people then passed round an introductory glass, after which they +chatted away for an hour or so, somewhat like the members of a committee +who talk upon indifferent topics until their brethren are all assembled. + +Phelim, in the meantime, grappled with the daughter, whose knitting he +spoiled by hooking the thread with his finger, jogging her elbow until +he ran the needles past each other, and finally unravelling her clew; +all which she bore with great good-humor. Sometimes, indeed, she +ventured to give him a thwack upon the shoulder, with a laughing frown +upon her countenance, in order to correct him for teasing her. + +When Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin arrived, the spirits of the party got +up. The whiskey was formally produced, but as yet the subject of the +courtship, though perfectly understood, was not introduced. Phelim and +the father were anxious to await the presence of Sam Appleton, who was +considered, by the way, a first-rate hand at match-making. + +Phelim, as is the wont, on finding the din of the conversation raised +to the proper pitch, stole one of the bottles and prevailed on Peggy to +adjourn with him to the potato-bin. Here they ensconced themselves very +snugly; but not, as might be supposed, contrary to the knowledge and +consent of the seniors, who winked at each other on seeing Phelim +gallantly tow her down with the bottle under his arm. It was only +the common usage on such occasions, and not considered any violation +whatsoever of decorum. When Phelim's prior engagements are considered, +it must be admitted that there was something singularly ludicrous in +the humorous look he gave over his shoulder at the company, as he went +toward the bin, having the bottom of the whiskey-bottle projecting +behind his elbow, winking at them in return, by way of a hint to mind +their own business and allow him to plead for himself. The bin, however, +turned out to be rather an uneasy seat, for as the potatoes lay in +a slanting heap against the wall, Phelim and his sweetheart were +perpetually sliding down from the top to the bottom. Phelim could be +industrious when it suited his pleasure. In a few minutes those who sat +about the fire imagined, from the noise at the bin, that the house was +about to come about their ears. + +"Phelim, you thief," said the father, "what's all that noise for?" + +"_Chrosh orrin!_" (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, "is that +tundher?" + +"Devil carry these piatees," exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with +both hands and all his might, "if there's any sittin' at all upon them! +I'm levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to +give us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse +o' Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his +sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as +here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down, +you jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the +crathur in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in +the world?" + +Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the +poorer Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into +the following sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and +entangled conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm +lovingly about her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her +cheek. + +"Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world--bad cess to me but I'm as glad as +two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an +them. Eh, avourneen?" + +"Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!" + +"Faith, you may say that--(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' tell +us all about your bachelors." + +"The sarra one ever I had, Phelim." + +"Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake +a word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy +Moran pullin' a coard?" + +"No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim. +Nothin' ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father +an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was +along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed, +in civility an' friendship." + +"An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a +sweetheart at all?" + +"The nerra one." + +"Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your +own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh,--, by the tarn, that won't +pass." + +"Well, an' supposin' I had--behave Phelim--supposin' I had, where's the +harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' have yet, I +suppose." + +"Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you, +till, one get's married. I had enough of them, in my day, but you're the +flower o' them all, that I'd like to spend my life wid"--(a squeeze.) + +"The sorra one word the men say a body can trust. I warrant you tould +that story to every one o' them as well as to me. Stop Phelim--it's well +known that what you say to the colleens is no gospel. You know what they +christened you 'Bouncin' Phelim!" + +"Betune you an' me, Peggy, I'll tell you a sacret; I was the boy for +deludin them. It's very well known the matches I might a got; but you +see, you little shaver, it was waitin' for yourself I was." + +"For me! A purty story indeed I'm sure it was! Oh, afther that! Why, +Phelim, how can you----Well, well, did any one ever hear the likes?" + +"Be the vestments, it's thruth. I had you in my eye these three years, +but was waitin' till I'd get together as much money as ud' set us up in +the world dacently. Give me that egg-shell agin. Talkin's dhruthy +work. _Shudorth, a rogarah!_ (* This to you you rogue) an' a pleasant +honeymoon to us!" + +"Wait till we're married first, Phelim; thin it'll be time enough to +dhrink that." + +"Come, acushla, it's your turn now; taste the shell, an' you'll see how +lovin' it'll make us. Mother's milk's a thrifle to it." + +"Well, if I take this, Phelim, I'll not touch another dhrop to-night. +In the mane time here's whatever's best for us! Whoo! Oh, my! but that's +strong! I dunna how the people can dhrink so much of it!" + +"Faith, nor me; except bekase they have a regard for it, an' that it's +worth havin' a regard for, jist like yourself an' me. Upon my faix, +Peggy, it bates all, the love an likin' I have for you, an' ever +had these three years past. I tould you about the eyes, mavourneen, +an'--an'--about the lips--" + +"Phelim--behave--I say--now stop wid you--well--well--but you're the +tazin' Phelim!--Throth the girls may be glad when you're married," +exclaimed Peggy, adjusting her polished hair. + +"Bad cess to the bit, if ever I got so sweet a one in my life--the +soft end of a honeycomb's a fool to it. One thing, Peggy, I can tell +you--that I'll love you in great style. Whin we're marrid it's I that'll +soodher you up. I won't let the wind blow on you. You must give up +workin', too. All I'll ax you to do will be to nurse the childhre; an' +that same will keep you busy enough, plase Goodness." + +"Upon my faix, Phelim, you're the very sarra, so you are. Will you be +asy now? I'll engage when you're married, it'll soon be another story +wid you. Maybe you'd care little about us thin!" + +"Be the vestments, I'm spakin' pure gospel, so I am. Sure you don't know +that to be good husbands runs in our family. Every one of them was as +sweet as thracle to their wives. Why, there's that ould cock, my fadher, +an' if you'd see how he butthers up the ould woman to this day, it 'ud +make your heart warm to any man o' the family." + +"Ould an' young was ever an' always the same to you, Phelim. Sure the +ouldest woman in the parish, if she happened to be single, couldn't +miss of your blarney. It's reported you're goin' to be marrid to an ould +woman.' + +"He---hem--ahem! Bad luck to this cowld I have! it's stickin' in my +throath entirely, so it is!--hem!--to a what?" + +"Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!" + +Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he +carried the housekeeper's money. + +"Would you oblage one wid her name?" + +"You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim." + +Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks. + +"To the sarra wid her, an' all sasoned women. God be praised that the +night's line, anyhow! Hand me the shell, an' we'll take a _gauliogue_ +aich, an' afther that we'll begin an' talk over how lovin' an' fond o' +one another we'll be." + +"You're takin' too much o' the whiskey, Phelim. Oh, for Goodness' +sake!--oh--b--b--n--now be asy. Faix, I'll go to the fire, an' lave you +altogether, so I will, if you don't give over slustherin' me, that way, +an' stoppin' my breath." + +"Here's all happiness to our two selves, _acushla machree!_ Now thry +another _gauliogue_, an' you'll see how deludin' it'll make you." + +"Not a sup, Phelim." + +"Arrah, nonsense! Be the vestment, it's as harmless as new milk from the +cow. It'll only do you good, alanna. Come now, Peggy, don't be ondacent, +an' it our first night's coortin'! Blood alive! don't make little o' my +father's son on sich a night, an' us at business like this, anyhow!" + +"Phelim, by the crass, I won't take it; so that ends it. Do you want +to make little o' me? It's not much you'd think o' me in your mind, if +I'd dhrink it." + +"The shell's not half full." + +"I wouldn't brake my oath for all the whiskey in the kingdom; so don't +ax me. It's neither right nor proper of you to force it an me." + +"Well, all I say is, that it's makin' little of one Phelim O'Toole, that +hasn't a thought in his body but what's over head an' ears in love wid +you. I must only dhrink it for you myself, thin. Here's all kinds o' +good fortune to us! Now, Peggy,--sit closer to me acushla!--Now, Peggy, +are you fond o' me at all? Tell thruth, now." + +"Fond o' you! Sure you know all the girls is fond of you. Aren't you the +boy for deludin' them?--ha, ha, ha?" + +"Come, come, you shaver; that won't do. Be sarious. If you knew how my +heart's warmin' to you this minute, you'd fall in love wid my shadow. +Come, now, out wid it. Are you fond of a sartin boy not far from you, +called Bouncin' Phelim?" + +"To be sure I am. Are you satisfied now? Phelim! I say,"-- + +"Faith, it won't pass, avourneen. That's not the voice for it. Don't +you hear me, how tendher I spake wid my mouth brathin' into your ear, +_acushla machree?_ Now turn about, like a purty entisin' girl, as you +are, an' put your sweet bill to my ear the same way, an' whisper what +you know into it? That's a darlin'! Will you, achora?" + +"An' maybe all this time you're promised to another?" + +"Be the vestments, I'm not promised to one. Now! Saize the one!" + +"You'll say that, anyhow!" + +"Do you see my hands acrass? Be thim five crasses, I'm not promised to +a girl livin', so I'm not, nor wouldn't, bekase I had you in my eye. Now +will you tell me what I'm wantin' you? The grace o' Heaven light down +an you, an' be a good, coaxin darlin' for wanst. Be this an' be that, +if ever you heerd or seen sich doin's an' times as we'll have when we're +marrid. Now the weeny whisper, a colleen dhas." + +"It's time enough yet to let you know my mind, Phelim. If you behave +yourself an' be-----Why thin is it at the bottle agin you are? Now don't +dhrink so much, Phelim, or it'll get into your head. I was sayin' that +if you behave yourself, an' be a good boy, I may tell you somethin' +soon." + +"Somethin' soon! Live horse, an' you'll get grass! Peggy, if that's the +way wid you, the love's all on my side, I see clearly. Are you willin' +to marry me, anyhow?" + +"I'm willin' to do whatsomever my father an' mother wishes." + +"I'm for havin' the weddin' off-hand; an' of coorse, if we agree +to-night, I think our best plan is to have ourselves called on Sunday. +An' I'll tell you what, avourneen--be the holy vestments, if I was to be +'called' to fifty on the same Sunday, you're the darlin' I'd marry." + +"Phelim, it's time for us to go up to the fire; we're long enough here. +I thought you had only three words to say to me." + +"Why, if you're tired o' me, Peggy, I don't want you to stop. I wouldn't +force myself on the best girl that ever stepped." + +"Sure you have tould me all you want to say, an' there's no use in us +stayin' here. You know, Phelim, there's not a girl in the Parish 'ud +believe a word that 'ud come but o' your lips. Sure there's none o' them +but you coorted one time or other. If you could get betther, Phelim, I +dunna whether you'd be here to-night at all or not." + +"Answer me this, Peggy. What do you! think your father 'ud be willin' to +give you? Not that I care a _cron abaun_ about it, for I'd marry you wid +an inch of candle." + +"You know my father's but a poor man, Phelim, an' can give little or +nothing. Them that won't marry me as I am, needn't come here to look for +a fortune." + +"I know that, Peggy, an' be the same token, I want no fortune at all wid +you but yourself, darlin'. In the mane time, to show you that I could +get a fortune--_Dhera Lorha Heena_, I could have a wife wid a hundre an' +twenty guineas!" + +Peggy received this intelligence much in the same manner as Larry and +Sheelah had received it. Her mirth was absolutely boisterous for at +least ten minutes. Indeed, so loud had it been, that Larry and her +father could not help asking:-- + +"Arrah, what's the fun, Peggy, achora?" + +"Oh, nothin'," she replied, "but one o' Phelim's bounces." + +"Now," said Phelim, "you won't believe me? Be all the books--" + +Peggy's mirth prevented his oaths from being heard. In vain he declared, +protested, and swore. On this occasion, he was compelled to experience +the fate peculiar to all liars. Even truth, from his lips, was looked +upon as falsehood. + +Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an +acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject +of the large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to +produce an impression, but the pathetic. + +"Well," said he, "you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o' +this I'll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won't. +Saize the toe I'll move, now, till I'm sick wid cryin'! Oh, murdher +alive, this night! Isn't it a poor case entirely, that the girl I'd +suffer myself to be turned inside out for, won't say that she cares +about a hair o' my head! Oh, thin, but I'm the misfortunate blackguard +all out! Och, oh! Peggy, achora, you'll break my heart! Hand me that +shell, acushla--for I'm in the height of affliction!" + +Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him. Her mirth was even +more intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less +affected with secret laughter than Peggy. + +"It is makin' fun o' me you are, you thief, eh?--Is it laughin' at my +grief you are?" exclaimed Phelim. "Be the tarn' o' wor, I'll punish you +for that." + +Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking +a salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire, +and in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered. + +Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the +courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con. + +"Now, Paddy Donovan, that we're altogether, let me tell you one thing: +there's not a betther natur'd boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow +in the parish, than my Phelim. He'll make your daughther as good, a +husband as ever broke bread!" + +"I'm not sayin' against that, Larry. He is a good-nathur'd boy: but I +tell you, Larry Toole, that my daughter's his fill of a wife any day. +An' I'll put this to the back o' that--she's a hard-workin' girl, that +ates no idle bread." + +"Very right," said Sam Appleton. "Phelim's a hairo, an' she's a beauty. +Dang me, but they wor made for one another. Phelim, _abouchal_, why +don't you--oh, I see you are. Why, I was goin' to bid you make up to +her." + +"Give no gosther, Sam," replied Phelim, "but sind round the bottle, an' +don't forget to let it come this way. I hardly tasted a dhrop to-night." + +"Oh, Phelim!" exclaimed Peggy. + +"Whisht!" said Phelim, "there's no use in lettin' the ould fellows be +committin' sin. Why, they're hearty (* Tipsy) as it is, the sinners." + +"Come, nabors," said Burn, "I'm the boy that's for close work. How does +the match stand? You're both my friends, an' may this be poison to me, +but I'll spake like an honest man, for the one as well as for the other. + +"Well, then," said Donovan, "how is Phelim to support my daughther, +Larry? Sure that's a fair questin', any way." + +"Wiry, Paddy," replied Larry, "when Phelim gets her, he'll have a patch +of his own, as well as another. There's that 'half-acre,' and a betther +piece o' land isn't in Europe!" + +"Well, but what plenishin' are they to have, Larry? A bare half acre's +but a poor look up." + +"I'd as soon you'd not make little of it, in the mane time," replied +Larry, rather warmly. "As good a couple as ever they wor lived on that +half acre; along wid what they earned by hard work otherwise." + +"I'm not disparagin' it, Larry; I'd be long sorry; but about the +furniture? What are they to begin the world wid?" + +"Hut," said Devlin, "go to the sarra wid yez!--What 'ud they want, no +more nor other young people like them, to begin the world wid? Are you +goin' to make English or Scotch of them, that never marries till they're +able to buy a farm an' stock it, the nagurs. By the staff in my hand, an +Irish man 'ud lash a dozen o' them, wid all then prudence! Hasn't Phelim +an' Peggy health and hands, what most new-married couples in Ireland +begins the world wid? Sure they're not worse nor a thousand others?" + +"Success, Antony," said Phelim. "Here's your health for that!" + +"God be thanked they have health and hands," said Donovan. "Still, +Antony, I'd like that they'd have somethin' more." + +"Well, then, Paddy, spake up for yourself," observed Larry. "What will +you put to the fore for the colleen? Don't take both flesh an' bone!" + +"I'll not spake up, till I know all that Phelim's to expect," said +Donovan. "I don't think he has a right to be axin' anything wid sich a +girl as my Peggy." + +"Hut, tut, Paddy! She's a good colleen enough; but do you think she's +above any one that carries the name of O'Toole upon him? Still, it's but +raisonable for you to wish the girl well settled. My Phelim will have +one half o' my worldly goods, at all evints." + +"Name them, Larry, if you plase." + +"Why, he'll have one o' the goats--the gray one, for she's the best o' +the two, in throth. He'll have two stools; three hens, an' a toss-up +for the cock. The biggest o' the two pots; two good crocks; three good +wooden trenchers, an'--hem--he'll have his own--I say, Paddy, are +you listenin' to me?--Phelim, do you hear what I'm givin' you, _a +veehonee?--his own bed!_ An' there's all I can or will do for him. Now +do you spake up for Peggy." + +"I'm to have my own bedstead too," said Phelim, "an' bad cess to the +stouter one in Europe. It's as good this minute as it was eighteen years +agone." + +"Paddy Donovan, spake up," said Larry. + +"Spake up!" said Paddy, contemptuously. "Is it for three crowns' worth +I'd spake up? The bedstead, Phelim! _Bedhu husth_, (* hold your tongue) +man!" + +"Put round the bottle," said Phelim, "we're dhry here." + +"Thrue enough, Phelim," said the father. "Paddy, here's towarst you +an' yours--nabors--all your healths--young couple! Paddy, give us your +hand, man alive! Sure, whether we agree or not, this won't put between +us." + +"Throth, it won't, Larry--an' I'm thankful to you. Your health, Larry, +an' all your healths! Phelim an' Peggy, success to yez, whether or not! +An' now, in regard o' your civility, I will spake up. My proposal is +this:--I'll put down guinea for guinea wid you." + +Now we must observe, by the way, that this was said under the firm +conviction that neither Phelim nor the father had a guinea in their +possession. + +"I'll do that same, Paddy," said Larry; "but I'll lave it to the present +company, if you're not bound to put down the first guinea. Nabors, amn't +I right?" + +"You are right, Larry," said Burn; "it's but fair that Paddy should put +down the first." + +"Molly, achora," said Donovan to the wife, who, by the way, was engaged +in preparing the little feast usual on such occasions--"Molly, achora, +give me that ould glove you have in your pocket." + +She immediately handed him an old shammy glove, tied up into a hard +knot, which he felt some difficulty in unloosing. + +"Come, Larry," said he, laying down a guinea-note, "cover that like a +man." + +"Phelim carries my purse," observed the father; but he had scarcely +spoken when the laughter of the company rang loudly through the +house--The triumph of Donovan appeared to be complete, for he thought +the father's alusion to Phelim tantamount to an evasion. + +"Phelim! Phelim carries it! Faix, an' I, doubt he finds it a light +burdyeen." + +Phelim approached in all his glory. + +"What am I to do?" he inquired, with a swagger. + +"You're to cover that guinea-note wid a guinea, if you can," said +Donovan. + +"Whether 'ud you prefar goold or notes," said Phelim, looking pompously +about him; "that's the talk." + +This was received with another merry peal of laughter. + +"Oh, goold--goold by all manes!" replied Donovan. + +"Here goes the goold, my worthy," said Phelim, laying down his guinea +with a firm slap upon the table. + +Old Donovan seized it, examined it, then sent it round, to satisfy +himself that it was a _bona fide_ guinea. + +On finding that it was good, he became blank a little; his laugh lost +its strength, much of his jollity was instantly neutralized, and his +face got at least two inches longer. Larry now had the laugh against +him, and the company heartily joined in it. + +"Come, Paddy," said Larry, "go an!--ha, ha, ha!" + +Paddy fished for half a minute through the glove; and, after what was +apparently a hard chase, brought up another guinea, which he laid down. + +"Come, Phelim!" said he, and his eye brightened again with a hope that +Phelim would fail. + +"Good agin!" said Phelim, thundering down another, which was instantly +subjected to a similar scrutiny. + +"You'll find it good," said Larry. "I wish we had a sackful o' them. Go +an, Paddy. Go an, man, who's afeard?" + +"Sowl, I'm done," said Donovan, throwing down the purse with a hearty +laugh--"give me your hand, Larry. Be the goold afore us, I thought to do +you. Sure these two guineas is for my rint, an' we mustn't let them come +atween us at all." + +"Now," said Larry, "to let you see that my son's not widout something to +begin the world wid--Phelim, shill out the rest o' the yallow boys." + +"Faix, you ought to dhrink the ould woman's health for this," said +Phelim. "Poor ould crathur, many a long day she was savin' up these for +me. It's my mother I'm speakin' about." + +"An' we will, too," said the father; "here's Sheelah's health, +neighbors! The best poor man's wife that ever threwn a gown over her +shouldhers." + +This was drank with all the honors, and the negotiation proceeded. + +"Now," said Appleton, "what's to be done? Paddy, say what you'll do for +the girl." + +"Money's all talk," said Donovan; "I'll give the girl the two-year ould +heifer--an' that's worth double what his father has promised Phelim; +I'll give her a stone o' flax, a dacent suit o' clo'es, my blessin'--an' +there's her fortune." + +"Has she neither bed nor beddin'?" inquired Larry. + +"Why, don't you say that Phelim's to have his own bed?" observed +Donovan. "Sure one bed 'ill be plinty for them." + +"I don't care a damn about fortune," said Phelim, for the first time +taking a part in the bargain--"so long as I get the darlin' herself. But +I think there 'ud be no harm in havin' a spare pair o' blankets--an', +for that matther, a bedstead, too--in case a friend came to see a body." + +"I don't much mind givin' you a brother to the bedstead you have, +Phelim," replied Donovan, winking at the company, for he was perfectly +aware of the nature of Phelim's bedstead. + +"I'll tell you what you must do," said Larry, "otherwise I'll not stand +it. Give the colleen a chaff bed, blankets an' all other parts complate, +along wid that slip of a pig. If you don't do this, Paddy Donovan, why +we'll finish the whiskey an' part friends--but it's no match." + +"I'll never do it, Larry. The bed an' beddin' I'll give; but the pig +I'll by no manner o' manes part wid." + +"Put round the bottle," said Phelim, "we're gettin' dhry agin--sayin' +nothin' is dhroothy work. Ould man, will you not bother us about +fortune!" + +"Come, Paddy Donnovan," wid Devlin, "dang it, let out a little, +considher he has ten guineas; and I give it as my downright maxim an +opinion, that he's fairly entitled to the pig." + +"You're welcome to give your opinion, Antony, an' I'm welcome not to +care a rotten sthraw about it. My daughter's wife enough for him, widout +a gown to her back, if he had his ten guineas doubled." + +"An' my son," said Larry, "is husband enough for a betther girl nor ever +called you father--not makin' little, at the same time, of either you or +her." + +"Paddy," said Burn, "there's no use in spakin' that way. I agree wid +Antony, that you ought to throw in the 'slip.'" + +"Is it what I have to pay my next gale o' rint wid? No, no! If he won't +marry her widout it, she'll get as good that will." + +"Saize the 'slip," said Phelim, "the darlin' herself here is all the +slip I want." + +"But I'm not so," said Larry, "the 'slip' must go in, or it's a brake +off. Phelim can get girls that has money enough to buy us all out o' +root. Did you hear that, Paddy Donovan?" + +"I hear it," said Paddy, "but I'll b'lieve as much of it as I like." + +Phelim apprehended that as his father got warm with the liquor, he +might, in vindicating the truth of his own assertion, divulge the affair +of the old housekeeper. + +"Ould man," said he "have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any +regard for Phelim." + +"I'd not be brow-bate into anything," observed Donovan. + +"Sowl, you would not," said Phelim; "for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to +marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all, +barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip." + +"Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency," said +Donovan; "but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past +the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather." + +"Whish!" said Appleton, "that's the go! Success ould heart! Give us your +hand, Paddy,--here's your good health, an' may you never button an empty +pocket!" + +"Is all settled?" inquired Molly. + +"All, but about the weddin' an' the calls," replied her husband. "How +are we to do about that, Larry?" + +"Why, in the name o' Goodness, to save time," he replied, "let them be +called on Sunday next, the two Sundays afther, an thin marrid, wid a +blessin'." + +"I agree wid that entirely," observed Molly; "an' now Phelim, clear +away, you an' Peggy, off o' that chist, till we have our bit o' supper +in comfort." + +"Phelim," said Larry, "when the suppers done, you must slip over to +Roche's for a couple o' bottles more o' whiskey. We'll make a night of +it." + +"There's two bottles in the house," said Donovan; "an', be the +saikerment, the first man that talks of bringin' in more, till these is +dhrunk, is ondacent." + +This was decisive. In the meantime, the chest was turned into a table, +the supper laid, and the attack commenced. All was pleasure, fun, +and friendship. The reader may be assured that Phelim, during the +negotiation, had not misspent the time with Peggy, Their conversation, +however, was in a tone too low to be heard by those who were themselves +talking loudly. + +One thing, however, Phelim understood from his friend Sam Appleton, +which was, that some clue had been discovered to an outrage in which he +(Appleton) had been concerned. Above all other subjects, that was one on +which Phelim was but a poor comforter. He himself found circumspection +necessary; and he told Appleton, that if ever danger approached him, he +had resolved either to enlist, or go to America, if he could command the +money. + +"You ought to do that immediately," added Phelim. + +"Where's the money?" replied the other. "I don't know," said Phelim; +"but if I was bent on goin', the want of money wouldn't stop me as long +as it could be found in the counthry. We had to do as bad for others, +an' it can't be a greater sin to do that much for ourselves." + +"I'll think of it," said Appleton. "Any rate, it's in for a penny, in +for a pound, wid me." + +When supper was over, they resumed their drinking, sang songs, and told +anecdotes with great glee and hilarity. Phelim and Peggy danced jigs and +reels, whilst Appleton sang for them, and the bottle also did its duty. + +On separating about two o'clock, there was not a sober man among them +but Appleton. He declined drinking, and was backed in his abstemiousness +by Phelim, who knew that sobriety on the part of Sam would leave himself +more liquor. Phelim, therefore, drank for them both, and that to such +excess, that Larry, by Appleton's advice, left him at his father's in +consequence of his inability to proceed homewards. It was not, however, +without serious trouble that Appleton could get Phelim and the father +separated; and when he did, Larry's grief was bitter in the extreme. By +much entreaty, joined to some vigorous shoves towards the door, he was +prevailed upon to depart without him; but the old man compensated for +the son's absence, by indulging in the most vociferous sorrow as he +went along, about "Ma Phelim." When he reached home, his grief burst out +afresh; he slapped the palms of his hands together, and indulged in a +continuous howl, that one on hearing it would imagine to be the very +echo of misery, When he had fatigued himself, he fell asleep on the bed, +without having undressed, where he lay until near nine o'clock the next +morning. Having got up and breakfasted, he related to his wife, with an +aching head, the result of the last night's proceedings. Everything +he assured her was settled: Phelim and Peggy were to be called the +following Sunday, as Phelim, he supposed, had already informed her. + +"Where's Phelim?" said the wife; "an' why didn't he come home wid you +last night?" + +"Where is Phelim? Why, Sheelah, woman sure he did come home wid me last +night." + +"_Ghrush orrin_, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I thought +you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often at +night, myself didn't think it sthrange." + +Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who +had altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding +night, after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to +Donovan's to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when Phelim +made his appearance, dressed in his own tender apparel only. His face +was three inches longer than usual, and the droop in his eye remarkably +conspicuous. + +"No fear of him," said the father, "here's himself. Arrah, Phelim, what +became of you last night? Where wor you?" + +Phelim sat down very deliberately and calmly, looked dismally at his +mother, and then looked more dismally at his father. + +"I suppose you're sick too, Phelim," said the father. "My head's goin' +round like a top." + +"Ate your breakfast," said his mother; it's the best thing for you." + +"Where wor you last night, Phelim?" inquired the father. + +"What are you sayin', ould man?" + +"Who wor you wid last night?" + +"Do, Phelim," said the mother, "tell us, aroon. I hope it wasn't out you +wor. Tell us, avourneen?" + +"Ould woman, what are you talking about?" + +Phelim whistled "_ulican dim oh_," or, "the song of sorrow." At length +he bounced to his feet, and exclaimed in a loud, rapid voice:--"_Ma +chuirp an diouol!_ ould couple, but I'm robbed of my ten guineas by Sam +Appleton!" + +"Robbed by Sam Appleton! Heavens above!" exclaimed the father. + +"Robbed by Sam Appleton! _Gra machree_, Phelim! no, you aren't!" +exclaimed the mother. + +"_Gra machree_ yourself! but I say I am," replied Phelim; "robbed clane +of every penny of it!" + +Phelim then sat down to breakfast--for he was one of those happy mortals +whose appetite is rather sharpened by affliction--and immediately +related to his father and mother the necessity which Appleton's +connection had imposed on him of leaving the country; adding, that while +he was in a state of intoxication, he had been stripped of Appleton's +clothes; that his own were left beside him; that when he awoke the next +morning, he found his borrowed suit gone; that on searching for his own, +he found, to his misery, that the ten guineas had disappeared along with +Appleton, who, he understood from his father, had "left the neighborhood +for a while, till the throuble he was in 'ud pass over." + +"But I know where he's gone," said Phelim, "an' may the divil's luck go +wid him, an' God's curse on the day I ever had anything to do wid +that hell-fire Ribbon business! 'Twas he first brought me into it, the +villain; an' now I'd give the town land we're in to be fairly out of +it." + +"_Hanim an diouol!_" said the father, "is the ten guineas gone? The +curse of hell upon him, for a black desaver! Where's the villain, +Phelim?" + +"He's gone to America," replied the son* "The divil tare the tongue +out o' myself,' too! I should be puttin' him up to go there, an' to get +money, if it was to be had. The villain bit me fairly." + +"Well, but how are we to manage?" inquired Larry. "What's to be done?" + +"Why," said the other, "to bear it an say nothin'. Even if he was in his +father's house, the double-faced villain has me so much in his power, +that I couldn't say a word about it. My curse on the Ribbon business, I +say, from my heart out!" + +That day was a very miserable one to Phelim and the father. The loss of +the ten guineas, and the feverish sickness produced from their debauch, +rendered their situation not enviable. Some other small matters, too, +in which Phelim was especially concerned, independent of the awkward +situation in which he felt himself respecting the three calls on the +following day, which was Sunday, added greater weight to his anxiety. He +knew not how to manage, especially upon the subject of his habiliments, +which certainly were in a very dilapidated state. An Irishman, however, +never despairs. If he has not apparel of his own sufficiently decent to +wear on his wedding-day, he borrows from a friend. Phelim and his father +remembered that there were several neighbors in the village, who would +oblige him with a suit for the wedding; and as to the other necessary +expenses, they did what their countrymen are famous for--they trusted to +chance. + +"We'll work ourselves out of it some way," said Larry. "Sure, if all +fails us, we can sell the goats for the weddin' expenses. It's one +comfort that Paddy Donovan must find the dinner; an' all we have to get +is the whiskey, the marriage money, an' some other thrifies." + +"They say," observed Phelim, "that people have more luck whin they're +married than whin they're single. I'll have a bout at the marriage, so +I will; for worse luck I can't have, if I had half a dozen wives, than I +always met wid." + + * This is another absurd opinion peculiar to the + Irish, and certainly one of the most pernicious that + prevail among them. Indeed, I believe there is no + country in which so many absurd maxims exist. + +"I'll go down," observed Larry, "to Paddy Donovan's, an' send him to the +priest's to dive in your names to be called to-morrow. Faith, it's well +that you won't have to appear, or I dunna how you'd get over it." + +"No," said Phelim, "that bill won't pass. You must go to the priest +yourself, an' see the curate: if you go near Father O'Hara, it 'ud knock +a plan on the head that I've invinted. I'm in the notion that I'll make +the ould woman bleed agin. I'll squeeze as much out of her as I'll +bring me to America, for I'm not overly safe here; or, if all fails, +I'll marry her, an' run away wid the money. It 'ud bring us all across." + +Larry's interview with the curate was but a short one. He waited on +Donovan, however, before he went, who expressed himself satisfied with +the arrangement, and looked forward to the marriage as certain. As for +Phelim, the idea of being called to three females at the same time, was +one that tickled his vanity very much. Vanity, where the fair sex was +concerned, had been always his predominant failing. He was not finally +determined on marriage with any of them; but he knew that should he +even escape the three, the _eclat_, resulting from so celebrated a +transaction would recommend him to the sex for the remainder of his +life. Impressed with this view of the matter, he sauntered about as +usual; saw Foodie Flattery's daughter, and understood that her uncle had +gone to the priest, to have his niece and worthy Phelim called the next +day. But besides this hypothesis, Phelim had another, which, after all, +was the real one. He hoped that the three applications would prevent the +priest from calling him at all. + +The priest, who possessed much sarcastic humor, on finding the name of +Phelim come in as a candidate for marriage honors with three different +women, felt considerably puzzled to know what he could be at. That +Phelim might hoax one or two of them was very probable, but that he +should have the effrontery to make him the instrument of such an affair, +he thought a little too bad. + +"Now," said he to his curate, as they talked the matter over that night. +"it is quite evident that this scapegrace reckons upon our refusal to +call him with any of those females to-morrow. It is also certain that +not one of the three to whom he has pledged himself is aware that he is +under similar obligations to the other two." + +"How do you intend to act, sir?" inquired the curate. + +"Why," said Mr. O'Hara, "certainly to call him to each: it will give +the business a turn for which he is not prepared. He will stand exposed, +moreover, before the congregation, and that will be some punishment to +him." + +"I don't know as to the punishment," replied the curate. "If ever a +human being was free from shame, Phelim is. The fellow will consider it +a joke." + +"Very possible," observed his superior, "but I am anxious to punish this +old woman. It may prevent her from uniting herself with a fellow who +certainly would, on becoming master of her money, immediately abandon +her--perhaps proceed to America." + +"It will also put the females of the parish on their guard against him," +said the innocent curate, who knew not that it would raise him highly in +their estimation. + +"We will have a scene, at all events," said Mr. O'Hara; "for I'm +resolved to expose him. No blame can be attached to those whom he has +duped, excepting only the old woman, whose case will certainly excite +a great deal of mirth. That matters not, however; she has earned the +ridicule, and let her bear it." It was not until Sunday morning that the +three calls occurred to Phelim in a new light. + +He forgot that the friends of the offended parties might visit upon his +proper carcase the contumely he offered to them. This, however, did not +give him much anxiety, for Phelim was never more in his element than +when entering upon a row. + +The Sunday in question was fine, and the congregation unusually large; +one would think that all the inhabitants of the parish of Teernarogarah +had been assembled. Most of them certainly were. + +The priest, after having gone through the usual ceremonies of the +Sabbath worship, excepting those with which he concludes the mass, +turned round to the congregation, and thus addressed them:-- + +"I would not," said he, "upon any other occasion of this kind, think it +necessary to address you at all; but this is one perfectly unique, and +in some degree patriarchal, because, my friends, we are informed that +it was allowed in the times of Abraham and his successors, to keep +more than one wife. This custom is about being revived by a modern, +who wants, in rather a barefaced manner, to palm himself upon us as a +patriarch. And who do you think, my friends, this Irish Patriarch is? +Why, no other than bouncing Phelim O'Toole!" + +This was received precisely as the priest anticipated: loud were the +snouts of laughter from all parts of the congregation. + +"Divil a fear o' Phelim!" they exclaimed. "He wouldn't be himself, or +he'd kick up a dust some way." + +"Blessed Phelim! Just like him! Faith, he couldn't be marrid in the +common coorse!" + +"Arrah, whisht till we hear the name o' the happy crathur that's to be +blisthered with Phelim! The darlin's in luck, whoever she is, an' has +gained a blessed prize in the 'Bouncer.'" + +"This bouncing patriarch," continued the priest, "has made his selection +with great judgment and discrimination. In the first place, he has +pitched upon a hoary damsel of long standing in the world;--one blessed +with age and experience. She is qualified to keep Phelim's house well, +as soon as it shall be built; but whether she will be able to keep +Phelim himself, is another consideration. It is not unlikely that +Phelim, in imitation of his great prototypes, may prefer living in a +tent. But whether she keeps Phelim or the house, one thing is certain, +that Phelim will keep her money. Phelim selected this aged woman, we +presume, for her judgment; for surely she who has given such convincing +proof of discretion, must make a useful partner to one who, like Phelim, +has that virtue yet to learn. I have no doubt, however, but in a short +time he will be as discreet as his teacher." + +"Blood alive! Isn't that fine language?" + +"You may say that! Begad, it's himself can discoorse! What's the +Protestants to that?" + +"The next upon the list is one who, though a poor man's daughter, will +certainly bring property to Phelim. There is also an aptness in this +selection, which does credit to the 'Patriarch.' Phelim is a great +dancer, an accomplishment with which we do not read that the patriarchs +themselves were possessed: although we certainly do read that a light +heel was of little service to Jacob. Well, Phelim carries a light heel, +and the second female of his choice on this list carries a 'light hand;' +(* Intimating theft) it is, therefore, but natural to suppose that, if +ever they are driven to extremities, they will make light of many things +which other people would consider as of weighty moment. Whether Phelim +and she may long remain stationary in this country, is a problem +more likely to be solved at the county assizes than here. It is not +improbable that his Majesty may recommend the 'Patriarch' and one of +his wives to try the benefit of a voyage to New South Wales, he himself +graciously vouch-saving to bear their expenses." + +"Divil a lie in that, anyhow! If ever any one crossed the wather, Phelim +will. Can't his Reverence be funny whin he plases?" + +"Many a time it was prophecized for him: an' his Reverence knows best." + +"Begad, Phelim's gettin' over the coals. But sure it's all the way the +father an' mother reared him." + +"Tunder-an'-trff, is he goin' to be called to a pair o' them?" + +"Faix, so it seems." + +"Oh, the divil's clip! Is he mad? But let us hear it out." + +"The third damsel is by no means so, well adapted for Phelim as either +of the other two. What she could have seen in him is another problem +much more difficult than the one I have mentioned. I would advise her +to reconsider the subject, and let Phelim have the full benefit of the +attention she may bestow upon it. If she finds the 'Patriarch' possessed +of any one virtue, except necessity, I will admit that it is pretty +certain that she will soon discover the longitude, and that has puzzled +the most learned men of the world. If she marries this 'Patriarch', I +think the angels who may visit him will come in the shape of policemen; +and that Phelim, so long as he can find a cudgel, will give them +anything but a patriarchal reception, is another thing of which we may +rest pretty certain. + +"I. now publish the bans of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of +Teernarogarah, and Bridget Doran of Dernascobe. If any person knows of +any impediment why these two should not be joined in wedlock, they are +bound to declare it. + +"This Bridget Doran, my friends, is no other than my old housekeeper; +but when, where, or how, Phelim could have won upon her juvenile +affections is one of those mysteries which is never to be explained. +I dare say, the match was brought about by despair on her side, and +necessity on his. She despaired of getting a husband, and he had a +necessity for the money. In point of age I admit she would make a very +fit wife for any 'Patriarch.'" + +Language could not describe the effect which this disclosure produced +upon the congregation. The fancy of every one present was tickled at +the idea of a union between Phelim and the old woman. It was followed by +roars of laughter which lasted several minutes. + +"Oh, thin, the curse o' the crows upon him, was he only able to butther +up the ould woman! Oh, _Ghe dldven!_ that flogs. Why, it's a wondher he +didn't stale the ould slip, an' make a run-away match of it--ha, ha, ha! +Musha, bad scran to her, but she had young notions of her own! A purty +bird she picked up in Phelim!--ha, ha, ha!" + +"I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of +Teernarogarah and Sally Flattery of the same place. If any of you knows +of any impediment why they should not be joined in wedlock you are bound +to declare it." + +The mirth rose again, loud and general. Poodle Flattery, whose character +was so well known, appeared so proper a father-in-law for Phelim, that +his selection in this instance delighted them highly. + +"Betther an' betther, Phelim! More power to you! You're fixed at last. +Poodle Flattery's daughter--a known thief! Well, what harm? Phelim +himself has pitch on his fingers--or had, anyhow, when he was growin' +up--for many a thing stuck to them. Oh, bedad, now we know what his +Reverence was at when he talked about the 'Sizes, bad luck to them! +Betune her an' the ould woman, Phelim 'ud be in Paradise! Foodie +Flattery's daughter! Begad, she'll 'bring him property' sure enough, as +his Reverence says." + +"I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole--whom we +must in future call the 'Patriarch'--of Teernarogarah, and Peggy Donovan +of the same place. If any of you knows any impediment in the way of +their marriage, you are bound to declare it." + +"Bravo! Phelim acushla. 'Tis you that's the blessed youth. +Tundher-an'-whiskey, did ever any body hear of sich desate? To do three +o' them. Be sure the Bouncer has some schame in this. Well, one would +suppose Paddy Donovan an' his daughter had more sinse nor to think of +sich a runagate as Bouncin' Phelim." + +"No, but the Pathriark! Sure his Reverence sez that we musn't call him +anything agin but the Pathriark! Oh, be gorra, that's the name!--ha, ha, +ha!" + +When the mirth of the congregation had subsided, and their comments +ended, the priest concluded in the following words:-- + +"Now, my friends, here is such a piece of profligacy as I have never, +in the whole course of my pastoral duties, witnessed. It is the act of +Phelim O'Toole, be it known, who did not scruple to engage himself for +marriage to three females--that is, to two girls and an old woman--and +who, in addition, had the effrontery to send me his name and theirs, to +be given out all on the same Sunday; thus making me an instrument in his +hands to hoax those who trusted in his word. That he can marry but +one of them is quite clear; but that he would not scruple to marry the +three, and three more to complete the half-dozen, is a fact which no one +who knows him will doubt. For my part, I know not how this business may +terminate. Of a truth he has contrived to leave the claims of the three +females in a state of excellent confusion. Whether it raise or lessen +him in their opinion I cannot pretend to determine. I am sorry for +Donovan's daughter, for I know not what greater calamity could befall +any honest family than a matrimonial union with Phelim O'Toole. I trust +that this day's proceedings will operate as a caution to the females +of the parish against such an unscrupulous reprobate. It is for this +purpose only that I publish the names given in to me. His character was +pretty well known before; it is now established; and having established +it, I dismiss the subject altogether." + +Phelim's fame was now nearly at its height. Never before had such a case +been known; yet the people somehow were not so much astonished as might +be supposed. On the contrary, had Phelim's courtship gone off like that +of another man, they would have felt more surprised. We need scarcely +say, that the "giving out" or "calling" of Phelim and the three damsels +was spread over the whole parish before the close of that Sunday. Every +one had it--man, woman, and child. It was told, repeated, and improved +as it went along. Now circumstances were added, fresh points made out, +and other _dramatis personae_ brought in--all with great felicity, and +quite suitable to Phelim's character. + +Strongly contrasted with the amusement of the parishioners in general, +was the indignation felt by the three damsels and their friends. The old +housekeeper was perfectly furious; so much so, indeed, that the priest +gave some dark hints at the necessity of sending for a strait waistcoat. +Her fellow-servants took the liberty of breaking some strong jests upon +her, in return for which she took the liberty of breaking two strong +churnstaves upon them. Being a remarkably stout woman for her years, +she put forth her strength to such purpose that few of them went to bed +without sore bones. The priest was seriously annoyed at it, for he found +that his house was a scene of battle during the remainder of the day. + +Sally Flattery's uncle, in the absence of her father, indignantly +espoused the cause of his niece. He and Donovan each went among their +friends to excite in them a proper resentment, and to form a faction for +the purpose of chastising Phelim. Their chagrin was bitter on finding +that their most wrathful representations of the insult sustained by +their families, were received with no other spirit than one of the most +extravagant mirth. In vain did they rage and fume, and swear; they could +get no one to take a serious view of it. Phelim O'Toole was the author +of all, and from him it was precisely what they had expected. + +Phelim himself, and the father, on hearing of the occurrence after mass, +were as merry as any other two in the parish. At first the father was +disposed to lose his temper; but on Phelim telling him he would bear no +"gosther" on the subject, he thought proper to take it in good humor. +About this time they had not more than a week's provision in the house, +and only three shillings of capital. The joke of the three calls was too +good a one to pass off as an ordinary affair; they had three shillings, +and although it was their last, neither of them could permit the +matter to escape as a dry joke. They accordingly repaired to the little +public-house of the village, where they laughed at the world, got drunk, +hugged each other, despised all mankind, and staggered home, Fagged and +merry, poor and hearty, their arms about each other's necks, perfect +models of filial duty and paternal affection. + +The reader is aware that the history of Phelim's abrupt engagement +with the housekeeper, was conveyed by Fool Art to Sally Flattery. Her +thievish character rendered marriage as hopeless to her as length of +days did to Bridget Doran. No one knew the plan she had laid for Phelim, +but this fool, and, in order to secure his silence, she had promised him +a shirt on the Monday after the first call. Now Art, as was evident +by his endless habit of shrugging, felt the necessity of a shirt very +strongly. + +About ton o'clock on Monday he presented himself to Sally, and claimed +his recompense. + +"Art," said Sally, "the shirt I intended for you is upon Squire Nugent's +hedge beside their garden. You know the family's goin' up to Dublin on +Thursday, Art, an' they're gettin' their washin' done in time to be off. +Go down, but don't let any one see you; take the third shirt on the row, +an' bring it up to me till I smooth it for you." + +Art sallied down to the hedge on which the linen had been put out to +dry, and having reconnoitered the premises, shrugged himself, and cast a +longing eye on the third shirt. With that knavish penetration, however, +peculiar to such persons, he began to reflect that Sally might have +some other object in view besides his accommodation. He determined, +therefore, to proceed upon new principles--sufficiently safe, he +thought, to protect him from the consequences of theft. "Good-morrow, +Bush," said Art, addressing that on which the third shirt was spread. +"Isn't it a burnin' shame an' a sin for you," he continued, "to have +sich a line white shirt an you, an' me widout a stitch to my back. Will +you swap?" + +Having waited until the bush had due time to reply. + +"Sorra fairer," he observed; "silence gives consint." + +In less than two minutes he stripped, put on one of the Squire's best +shirts, and spread out his own dusky fragment in its place. + +"It's a good thing," said Art, "to have a clear conscience; a fair +exchange is no robbery." + +Now, it so happened that the Squire himself, who was a humorist, and +also a justice of the peace, saw Art putting his morality in practice at +the hedge. He immediately walked out with an intention of playing off +a trick upon the fool for his dishonesty; and he felt the greater +inclination to do this in consequence of an opinion long current, that +Art, though he had outwitted several, had never been outwitted himself. + +Art had been always a welcome guest in the Squire's kitchen, and never +passed the "Big House," as an Irish country gentleman's residence is +termed, without calling. On this occasion, however, he was too cunning +to go near it--a fact which the Squire observed. By taking a short cut +across one of his own fields, he got before Art, and turning the angle +of a hedge, met him trotting along at his usual pace. + +"Well, Art, where now?" + +"To the crass roads, your honor." + +"Art, is not this a fine place of mine? Look at these groves, and the +lawn, and the river there, and the mountains behind all. Is it not equal +to Sir William E-----'s?" + +Sir William was Art's favorite patron. + +"Sir William, your honor, has all this at his place." + +"But I think my views are finer." + +"They're fine enough," replied Art; "but where's the lake afore the +door?" + +The Squire said no more about his prospects. + +"Art," he continued, "would you carry a letter from me to M-----?" + +"I'll be wantin' somethin' to dhrink on the way," said Art. + +"You shall get something to eat and drink before you go," said the +Squire, "and half-a-crown for your trouble." + +"Augh," exclaimed Art, "be dodda, sir, you're nosed like Sir William, +and chinned like Captain Taylor." This was always Art's compliment when +pleased. + +The Squire brought him up to the house, ordered him refreshment, and +while Art partook of it, wrote a _letter of mittimus_ to the county +jailor, authorizing him to detain the bearer in prison until he should +hear further from him. + +Art, having received the half-crown and the letter, appeared delighted; +but, on hearing the name of the person to whom it was addressed, he +smelt a trick. He promised faithfully, however, to deliver it, and +betrayed no symptoms whatever of suspicion. After getting some distance +from the big house, he set his wits to work, and ran over in his mind +the names of those who had been most in the habit of annoying him. At +the head of this list stood Phelim O'Toole, and on Phelim's head did +he resolve to transfer the revenge which the Squire, he had no doubt, +intended to take on himself. + +With considerable speed he made way to Larry O'Toole's, where such a +scene presented itself as made him for a moment forget the immediate +purport of his visit. + +Opposite Phelim, dressed out in her best finery, stood the housekeeper, +zealously insisting' on either money or marriage. On one side of him +stood old Donovan and his daughter, whom he had forced to come, in the +character of a witness, to support his charges against the gay deceiver. +On the other were ranged Sally Flattery, in tears, and her uncle in +wrath, each ready to pounce upon Phelim. + +Phelim stood the very emblem of patience and good-humor. When one of +them attacked him, he winked at the other two when either of the other +two came on, he Winked still at those who took breath. Sometimes he trod +on his father's toe, lest the old fellow might lose the joke, and not +unfrequently proposed their going to a public-house, and composing their +differences over a bottle, if any of them would pay the expenses. + +"What do you mane to do?" said the housekeeper; "but it's asy known +I'm an unprojected woman, or I wouldn't be thrated as I am. If I had +relations livin' or near me, we'd pay you on the bones for bringin' me +to shame and scandal, as you have done." + +"Upon my sanies, Mrs. Doran, I feel for your situation, so I do," said +Phelim. You've outlived all your friends, an' if it was in my power to +bring any o' them back to you I'd do it." + +"Oh, you desaver, is that the feelin' you have for me, when I thought +you'd be a guard an' a projection to me? You know I have the money, you +sconce, an' how comfortable it 'ud keep us, if you'd only see what's +good for you. You blarnied an' palavered me, you villain, till you +gained my infections an' thin you tuck the cholic as an excuse to lave +me in a state of dissolution an' disparagement. You promised to marry +me, an' you had no notion of it." + +"You're not the only one he has disgraced, Mrs. Doran," said Donovan. +"A purty way he came down, himself an' his father, undher pretence of +coortin' my daughter. He should lay down his ten guineas, too, to show +us what he had to begin the world wid, the villain!--an' him had no +notion of it aither." + +"An' he should send this girl to make me go to the priest to have him +and her called, the reprobate," said Nick Flattery; "an' him had no +notion of it aither." + +"Sure he sent us all there," exclaimed Donovan. + +"He did," said the old woman. + +"Not a doubt of it," observed Flattery. + +"Ten guineas!" said the housekeeper. "An' so you brought my ten guineas +in your pocket to coort another girl! Aren't you a right profligate?" + +"Yes," said Donovan, "aren't you a right profligate?" + +"Answer the dacent people," said Mattery, "aren't you a right +profligate?" + +"Take the world asy, all of ye," replied Phelim. "Mrs. Doran, there was +three of you called, sure enough; but, be the vestments, I intinded--do +you hear me, Mrs. Doran? Now have rason--I say, do you hear me? Be the +vestmints, I intinded to marry only one of you; an' that I'll do still, +except I'm vexed--(a wink at the old woman). Yet you're all flyin' at +me, as if I had three heads or three tails upon me." + +"Maybe the poor boy's not so much to blame," said Mrs. Doran. "There's +hussies in this world," and here she threw an angry eye upon the other +two, "that 'ud give a man no pace till he'd promise to marry them." + +"Why did he promise to them that didn't want him thin?" exclaimed +Donovan. "I'm not angry that he didn't marry my daughther--for I +wouldn't give her to him now--but I am at the slight he put an her." + +"Paddy Donovan, did you hear what I said jist now?" replied Phelim, "I +wish to Jamini some people 'ud have sinse! Be them five crasses, I knew +thim I intinded to marry, as well as I do where I'm standin'. That's +plain talk, Paddy. I'm sure the world's not passed yet, I hope"--(a wink +at Paddy Donovan.) + +"An' wasn't he a big rascal to make little of my brother's daughter as +he did?" said Flattery; "but he'll rub his heels together for the same +act." + +"Nick Flathery, do you think I could marry three wives? Be that +horseshoe over the door, Sally Flathery, you didn't thrate me dacent. +She did not, Nick, an' you ought to know that it was wrong of her to +come here to-day." + +"Well, but what do you intind to do Phelim, avourn--you profligate?" +said the half-angry, half-pacified housekeeper, who, being the veteran, +always led on the charge. "Why, I intind to marry one of you," said +Phelim. "I say, Mrs. Doran, do you see thim ten fingers acrass--be thim +five crasses I'll do what I said, if nothing happens to put it aside." + +"Then be an honest man," said Flattery, "an' tell us which o' them you +will marry." + +"Nick, don't you know I always regarded your family. If I didn't that +I may never do an ill turn! Now! But some people can't see anything. +Arrah, fandher-an'-whiskey, man, would you expect me to tell out before +all that's here, who I'll marry--to be hurtin' the feelin's of the rest. +Faith, I'll never do a shabby thing." + +"What rekimpinse will you make my daughter for bringin' down her name +afore the whole parish, along wid them she oughtn't to be named in the +one day wid?" said Donovan. + +"An' who is that, Paddy Donovan?" said the housekeeper, with a face of +flame. + +"None of your broad hints, Paddy," said Nick. "If it's a collusion to +Sally Flattery you mane, take care I don't make you ate your words." + +"Paddy," exclaimed Phelim, "you oughtn't to be hurtin' their +feelin's!"--(a friendly wink to Paddy.) + +"If you mane me," said the housekeeper, "by the crook on the fire, I'd +lave you a mark." + +"I mane you for one, thin, since you provoke me," replied Donovan. + +"For one, is it?" said Nick; "an' who's the other, i' you plase?" + +"Your brother's daughter," he replied. "Do you think I'd even (* +compare) my daughter to a thief?" + +"Be gorra," observed Phelim, "that's too provokin', an' what I wouldn't +bear. Will ye keep the pace, I say, till I spake a word to Mrs Doran? +Mrs. Doran, can I have a word or two wid you outside the house?" + +"To be sure you can," she replied; "I'd give you fair play, if the +diouol was in you." + +Phelim, accordingly, brought her out, and thus accosted her,-- + +"Now, Mrs. Doran, you think I thrated you ondacent; but do you see that +book?" said he, producing a book of ballads, on which he had sworn many +a similar oath before? "Be the contints o' that book, as sure as you're +beside me, it's you I intind to marry. These other two--the curse o' +the crows upon them! I wish we could get them from about the place--is +bothyrin' for love o' me, an' I surely did promise to get myself called +to them. They wanted it to be a promise of marriage; but, says I, 'sure +if we're called together it's the same, for whin it comes to that, all's +right,'--an' so I tould both o' them, unknownst to one another. Arra, +be me sowl, you'd make two like them, so you would; an' if you hadn't +a penny, I'd marry you afore aither o' them to-morrow. Now, there's the +whole sacret, an' don't be onaisy about it. Tell Father O'Hara how it +is, whin you go home, an' that he must call the three o' you to me agin +on next Sunday, and the Sunday afther, plase Goodness; jist that I may +keep my promise to them. You know I couldn't have luck or grace if I +marrid you wid the sin of two broken promises on me." + +"My goodness, Phelim, but you tuck a, burdyeen off o' me! Faix, you'll +see how happy we'll be." + +"To be sure we will! But I'm tould you're sometimes crass, Mrs. Doran. +Now, you must promise to be kind an' lovin' to the childre, or be the +vestment, I'll break off the match yet." + +"Och, an' why wouldn't I, Phelim, acushla? Sure that's but rason." + +"Well, take this book an' swear it. Be gorra, your word won't do, +for it's a thing my mind's made up on. It's I that'll be fond o' the +childre." + +"An' how am I to swear it, Phelim? for I never tuck an oath myself yet." + +"Take the book in your hand, shut one eye, and say the words afther me. +Be the contints o' this book," + +"Be the contints o' this book," + +"I'll be kind an' motherly, an' boistherous," + +"I'll be kind, an' motherly, an boistherous," + +"To my own childhre," + +"To my own childhre," + +"An' never bate or abuse thim," + +"An' never bate or abuse thim," + +"Barrin' whin they desarve it;" + +"Barrin' whin they desarve it;" + +"An' this I swear," + +"An' this I swear," + +"In the presence of St. Phelim," + +"In the presence of St. Phelim," "Amin!" + +"Amin!" + +"Now, Mrs. Doran, acushla, if you could jist know how asy my conscience +is about the childhre, poor crathurs, you'd be in mighty fine spirits. +There won't be sich a lovin' husband, begad, in Europe. It's I that'll +coax you, an' butther you up like a new pair o' brogues; but, begad, +you must be sweeter than liquorice or sugar-candy to me. Won't you, +darlin'?" + +"Be the crass, Phelim, darlin', jewel, I'll be as kind a wife as ever +breathed. Arrah, Phelim, won't you come down to-morrow evenin'? There'll +be no one at home but myself, an'--ha, ha, ha!--Oh, you coaxin' rogue! +But, Phelim, you musn't be--Oh, you're a rogue! I see you laughin'! Will +you come darlin?" + +"Surely. But, death alive! I was near for-gettin'; sure, bad luck to the +penny o' the ten guineas but I paid away." + +"Paid away! Is it my ten guineas?" + +"Your ten guineas, darlin'; an' right well I managed it. Didn't I secure +Pat Hanratty's farm by it? Sam Appleton's uncle had it as good as taken; +so, begad, I came down wid the ten guineas, by way of airles, an' now we +have it. I knew you'd be plased to hear it, an' that you'd be proud to +give me ten more for clo'es an' the weddin' expenses. Isn't that good +news, avourneen? Eh, you duck o' diamonds? Faith, let Phelim alone! An' +another thing--I must call you Bridget for the future! It's sweeter an' +more lovin'." + +"Phelim, I wish you had consulted wid me afore you done it: but it +can't be helped. Come down to-morrow evenin', an' we'll see what's to be +done." + +"The grace o'heaven upon you, but you are the winnin'est woman alive +this day! Now take my advice, an' go home without comin' in. I'm wantin' +to get this other pair off o' my hands, as well as I can, an' our best +way is to do it all widout noise. Isn't it, darlin'?" + +"It is, Phelim, jewel; an' I'll go." + +"Faith, Bridget, you've dealt in thracle afore now, you're so sweet. +Now, acushla, farewell: an' take care of yourself till tomorrow +evenin'!" + +Phelim, on re-entering his father's cabin, found Larry and Peggy Donovan +placed between her father and Flattery, each struggling to keep them +asunder. Phelim at first had been anxious to set them by the ears, +but his interview with the old woman changed his plan of operations +altogether. With some difficulty he succeeded in repressing their +tendency to single combat, which, having effected, he brought out +Flattery and his niece, both of whom he thus addressed:-- + +"Be the vestment, Sally, only that my regard an' love for you is +uncommon, I'd break off the affair altogether, so I would." + +"An' why would you do so, Phelim O'Toole?" inquired the uncle. + +"Bekase," replied Phelim, "you came here an' made a show of me, when I +wished to have no _bruliagh_, at all at all. In regard of Peggy Donovan, +I never spoke a word to the girl about marriage since I was christened. +Saize the syllable! My father brought me down there to gosther awhile, +the other night, an' Paddy sent away for whiskey. An' the curse o' +Cromwell on myself! I should get tossicated. So while I was half-saes +over, the two ould rip set to makin' the match--planned to have us +called--an' me knowin' nothin' about it, good, bad, or indifferent. +That's the thruth, be the sky above us." + +"An' what have you to say about the housekeeper, Phelim?" + +"Why I don't know yet, who done me there. I was about takin' a farm, an' +my father borried ten guineas from her. Somebody heard it--I suspect Sam +Appleton--an' gave in our names to the priest, to be called, makin' a +good joke of it. All sorts o' luck to them, barrin' good luck, that did +it; but they put me in a purty state! But never heed! I'll find them out +yet. Now go home, both o' you, an' I'll slip down in half an hour, with +a bottle o' whiskey in my pocket. We'll talk over what's to be done. +Sure Sally here, knows that it's my own intherest to marry her and no +one else." + +"If my father thought you would, Phelim, he'd not stag, even if he was +to cras the wather!" + +"Go home, Sally darlin' till I get this mad Donovan an' his daughter +away. Be all that's beautiful I'll be apt to give him a taste o' +my shillely, if he doesn't behave himself! Half an hour I'll be +clownin--wid the bottle; an' don't you go, Nick, till you see me." + +"Phelim," said the uncle, "you know how the case is. You must aither +marry the girl, or take a long voyage, abouchal. We'll have no bouncin' +or palaver." + +"Bedad, Mick, I've great patience wid you," said Phelim, smiling: "go +off, I say, both of you." + +They proceeded homewards, and Phelim returned to appease the anger of +Donovan, as he had that of the others. Fresh fiction was again drawn +forth, every word of which the worthy father corroborated. They promised +to go down that night and drink another bottle together; a promise which +they knew by the state of their finances, it was impossible to fulfil. +The prospect of a "booze," however, tranquillized Donovan, who in his +heart relished a glass of liquor as well as either Phelim or the father. +Shaking of hands and professions of friendship were again beginning to +multiply with great rapidity, when Peggy thought proper to make a few +observations on the merits of her admirer. + +"In regard to me," she observed, "you may save yourself the throuble o' +comin'. I wouldn't marry Phelim, afther what the priest said yistherday, +if he had the riches o' the townland we're spakin' in. I never cared for +him, nor liked him; an' it was only to plase my father an' mother, that +I consinted to be called to him at all. I'll never join myself to the +likes of him. If I do, may I be a corpse the next minute!" + +Having thus expressed herself, she left her father, Phelim, and Larry, +to digest her sentiments, and immediately went home. + +Donovan, who was outrageous at this contempt of his authority, got his +hat with the intention of compelling her to return and retract, in +their presence, what she had said; but the daughter, being the more +light-footed of the two, reached home before he could overtake her, +where, backed by her mother, she maintained her resolution, and +succeeded, ere long, in bringing the father over to her opinion. + +During this whole scene in Larry's, Fool Art sat in that wild +abstraction which characterizes the unhappy class to which he belonged. +He muttered to himself, laughed--or rather chuckled--shrugged his +shoulders, and appeared to be as unconscious of what had taken place as +an automaton. When the coast was clear he rose up and plucking Phelim's +skirt, beckoned him towards the door. + +"Phelim," said he, when they had got out, "would you like to airn a +crown?" + +"Tell me how, Art?" said Phelim. + +"A letther from, the Square to the jailer of M------ jail. If you bring +back an answer, you'll get a crown, your dinner, an' a quart o' strong +beer." + +"But why don't you bring it yourself, Art?" + +"Why I'm afeard. Sure they'd keep ma in jail, I'm tould, if they'd catch +me in it. Aha! Bo dodda, I won't go near them: sure they'd hang me for +shootin' Bonypart.--Aha!" + +"Must the answer be brought back today, Art?" + +"Oh! It wouldn't do to-morrow, at all. Be dodda, no! Five shillins, +your dinner, an' a quart of sthrong beer!--Aha! But you must give me +a shillin' or two, to buy a sword; for the Square's goin' to make me a +captain: thin I'll be grand! an' I'll make you a sargin'." + +This seemed a windfall to Phelim. The unpleasant dilemma in which Sally +Flattery had placed him, by the fabricated account of her father's +imprisonment, made him extremely anxious to see Foodie himself, and to +ascertain the precise outrage for which he had been secured. Here +then was an opportunity of an interview with him, and of earning +five shillings, a good dinner, and a quart of strong beer, as already +specified. + +"Art," said he, "give me the letther, an' I'm the boy that'll soon do +the job. Long life to you, Art! Be the contints o' the book, Art, I'll +never pelt you or vex you agin, my worthy; an' I'll always call you +captain!" Phelim immediately commenced his journey to M------, which was +only five miles distant, and in a very short time reached the jail, saw +the jailer, and presented his letter. + +The latter, on perusing it, surveyed him with the scrutiny of a man +whose eye was practised in scanning offenders. + +Phelim, whilst the jailer examined him, surveyed the strong and massy +bolts with which every door and hatchway was secured. Their appearance +produced rather an uncomfortable sensation in him; so much so, that +when the jailer asked him his name, he thought it more prudent, in +consequence of a touch of conscience he had, to personate Art for the +present, inasmuch as he felt it impossible to assume any name more safe +than that of an idiot. + +"My name is Art Maguire," said he in reply to the jailer. "I'm messenger +to Square S----, the one he had was discharged on Friday last. I expect +soon to be made groom, too." + +"Come this way," said the jailer, "and you shall have an answer." + +He brought Phelim into the prison-yard, where he remained for about +twenty minutes, laboring under impressions which he felt becoming +gradually more unpleasant. His anxiety was not lessened on perceiving +twenty or thirty culprits, under the management of the turnkeys, enter +the yard, where they were drawn up in a line, like a file of soldiers. + +"What's your name?" said one of the turnkeys. + +"Art Maguire," replied Phelim. + +"Stand here," said the other, shoving him among the prisoners. "Keep +your head up, you villain, an' don't be ashamed to look your friends in +the face. It won't be hard to identify you, at any rate, you scoundrel. +A glimpse of that phiz, even by starlight, would do you, you dog. Jack, +tell Mr. S. to bring in the gintlemen--they're all ready." + +Phelim's dismay on finding himself under drill with such a villainous +crew was indescribable. He attempted to parley with the turnkey, but was +near feeling the weight of his heavy keys for daring to approach a man +placed in authority. + +While thus chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, three gentlemen, +accompanied by the jailer, entered the yard, and walked backward and +forward in front of the prisoners, whose faces and persons they examined +with great care. For a considerable time they could not recognize any +of them; but just as they were about to give up the scrutiny, one of the +gentlemen approached Phelim, and looking narrowly into his countenance, +exclaimed, + +"Here, jailer, this man I identify. I can-not be mistaken in his face; +the rough visage and drooping eye of that fellow put all doubt as to his +identity out of question. What's his' name?" + +"He gives his name, sir, as Arthur Maguire." + +"Arthur what, sir?" said another of the turnkeys, looking earnestly +at Phelim. "Why, sir, this is the fellow that swore the alibis for the +Kellys--ay, an' for the Delaneys, an' for the O'Briens. His name is +Phelim O'Toole; an' a purty boy he is, by all report." + +Phelim, though his heart sank within him, attempted to banter them out +of their bad opinion of him; but there was something peculiarly dismal +and melancholy in his mirth. + +"Why, gintlemen--ha, ha!--be gorra, I'd take it as a convanience--I +mane, as a favor--if you'd believe me that there's a small taste of +mistake here. I was sent by Square S. wid a letter to Mr. S-----t, an' +he gave me fifty ordhers to bring him back an answer this day. As for +Phelim O'Toole, if you mane the rascal that swears the alibis, faith, I +can't deny but I'm as like him, the villain, as one egg is to another. +Bad luck to his 'dhroop,' any how; little I thought that it would ever +bring me into throuble--ha, ha, ha! Mr. S------t, what answer have you +for the Square, sir? Bedad, I'm afeard I'll be late." + +"That letter, Master Maguire, or Toole, or whatever your name is, +authorizes me to detain you as a prisoner, until I hear further from Mr. +S." + +"I identify him distinctly," said the gentleman, once more. "I neither +doubt nor waver on the subject; so you will do right to detain him. I +shall lodge information against him immediately." + +"Sir," said Phelim to the jailer, "the Square couldn't mane me at all, +in regard that it was another person he gave the letter to, for to bring +to you, the other person gave it to me. I can make my oath of that. Be +gorra, you're playin' your thrieks upon sthrangers now, I suppose." + +"Why, you lying rascal," said the jailer, "have you not a few minutes +ago asserted to the contrary? Did you not tell me that your name was +Arthur, or Art Maguire? That you are Mr. S.'s messenger, and expect to +be made his groom. And now you deny all this." + +"He's Phelim O'Toole," said the turnkey, "I'll swear to him; but if you +wait for a minute, I'll soon prove it." + +He immediately retired to the cell of a convict, whom he knew to be from +the townland of Teernarogarah: and ordering its inmate to look through +the bars of his window, which commanded the yard, he asked him if there +was any one among them whom he knew. + +The fellow in a few minutes replied, "Whethen, divil a one, barrin' +bouncin' Phelim O'Toole." + +The turnkey brought him down to the yard, where he immediately +recognized Phelim as an old friend, shook hands with him, and addressed +him by his name. + +"Bad luck to you," said Phelim in Irish, "is this a place to welcome +your friends to!" + +"There is some mystery here," said the jailer. "I suppose the fact is, +that this fellow returned a wrong name to Mr. S., and that that accounts +for the name of Arthur Maguire being in the letter." + +All Phelim's attempts to extricate himself were useless. He gave them +the proper version of the letter affair with Fool Art, but without +making the slightest impression. The jailer desired him to be locked up. + +"Divil fire you all, you villains!" exclaimed Phelim, "is it goin' to put +me in crib ye are for no rason in life? Doesn't the whole parish +know that I was never off o' my bed for the last three months, wid a +complaint I had, until widin two or three days agone!" + +"There are two excellent motives for putting you in crib," said the +jailer; "but if you can prove that you have been confined to your bed so +long as you say, why it will be all the better for yourself. Go with the +turnkey." + +"No, tarenation to the fut I'll go," said Phelim, "till I'm carried." + +"Doesn't the gintleman identify you, you villain," replied one of the +turnkeys; "an' isn't the Square's letther in your favor?" + +"Villain, is id!" exclaimed Phelim. "An' from a hangman's cousin, too, +we're to bear this!--eh? Take that, anyhow, an' maybe you'll get more +when you don't expect it. Whoo! Success, Phelim! There's blood in you +still, abouchal!" + +He accompanied the words by a spring of triumph from the ground, and +surveyed the already senseless turnkey with exultation. In a moment, +however, he was secured, for the purpose of being put into strong irons. + +"To the devil's warmin' pan wid ye all," he continued, "you may do your +worst. I defy you. Ha! by the heavens above me, you'll suffer for +this, my fine gintleman. What can ye do but hang or thransport me, you +villains? I tell ye, if a man's sowl had a crust of sin on it a foot +thick, the best way to get it off 'ud be jist to shoot a dozen like you. +Sin! Oh, the divil saize the sin at all in it. But wait! Did ye ever +hear of a man they call Dan O'Connell? Be my sowl, he'll make yez rub +your heels together, for keepin' an innocent boy in jail, that there's +no law or no warrant out for. This is the way we're thrated by thim +that's ridin' rough shod over us. But have a taste o' patience, ye +scoundrels! It won't last, I can tell yez. Our day will soon come, an' +thin I'd recommend yez to thravel for your health. Hell saize the day's +pace or happiness ever will be seen in the country, till laws, an' +judges, an' Jries, an' jails, an' jailers, an' turnkeys, an' hangmen is +all swep out of it. Saize the day. An' along wid them goes the parsons, +procthors, tithes an' taxes, all to the devil together. That day's not +very far off, d----d villains! An' now I tell ye, that if a hair o' my +head's touched--ay, if I was hanged to-morrow--I'd lave them behind me +that 'ud put a bullet, wid the help an' blessin' O Grod, through any one +that'll injure me! So lay that to your conscience, an' do your best. Be +the crass, O'Connell I'll make you look nine ways at wanst for this! +He's the boy can put the pin in your noses! He's the boy can make yez +thrimble, one an' all o' yez--like a dog in a wet sack! An', wid the +blessin' o' God, he'll help us to put our feet on your necks afore +long!" + +"That's a prudent speech," observed the jailer; "it will serve you very +much." + +Phelim consigned him to a very warm settlement in reply. + +"Bring the ruffian off" added the jailer; "put him in solitary +confinement." + +"Put me wid Foodie Flattery," said Phelim; "you've got him here, +an' I'll go nowhere else. Faith, you'll suffer for givin' me false +imprisonment. Doesn't O'Connell's name make you shake? Put me wid Foodie +Flattery, I say." + +"Foodie Flattery! There is no such man here. Have you got such a person +here?" inquired the jailer of the turnkey. + +"Not at present," said the turnkey; "but I know Foodie well. We've had +him here twice. Come away, Phelim; follow me; you're goin' to be put +where you'll have an opportunity of sayin' your prayers." + +He then ushered Phelim to a cell, where the reader may easily imagine +what he felt. His patriotism rose to a high pitch; he deplored the +wrongs of his country bitterly, and was clearly convinced that until +jails, judges, and assizes, together with a long train of similar +grievances, were utterly abolished, Ireland could never be right, nor +persecuted "boys," like himself, at full liberty to burn or murder the +enemies of their country with impunity. Notwithstanding these heroic +sentiments, an indifferent round oath more than once escaped him against +Ribbonism in whole and in part. He cursed the system, and the day, and +the hour on which he was inveigled into it. He cursed those who had +initiated him; nor did his father and mother escape for their neglect +of his habits, his morals, and his education. This occurred when he had +time for reflection. Whilst thus dispensing his execrations, the jailer +and the three gentlemen, having been struck with his allusion to Foodie +Flattery, and remembering that Foodie was of indifferent morals, came to +the unanimous opinion that it would be a good plan to secure him; and by +informing him that Phelim was in prison upon a capital charge, endeavor +to work upon his fears, by representing his companion as disposed +to turn approver. The state of the country, and Foodie's character, +justified his apprehension on suspicion. He was accordingly taken, +and when certified of Phelim's situation, acted precisely as had been +expected. With very little hesitation, he made a full disclosure of the +names of several persons concerned in burnings, waylayings, and robbery +of arms. The two first names on the list were those of Phelim and +Appleton, with several besides, some of whom bore an excellent, and +others an execrable, character in the country. + +The next day Fool Art went to Larry's, where he understood that Phelim +was on the missing list. This justified his suspicions of the Squire; +but by no means lessened his bitterness against him, for the prank +he had intended to play upon him. With great simplicity, he presented +himself at the Big House, and met its owner on the lawn, accompanied by +two other gentlemen. The magistrate was somewhat surprised at seeing Art +at large, when he imagined him to be under the jailer's lock and key. + +"Well, Art," said he, concealing his amazement, "did you deliver my +letter?" + +"It went safe, your honor," replied Art. "Did you yourself give it into +his hands, as I ordered you?" + +"Whoo! Be dodda, would your honor think Art 'ud tell a lie? Sure he read +it. Aha!" + +"An' what did he say, Art?" + +"Whoo! Why, that he didn't know which of us had the least sense. You for +sendin' a fool on a message, or me for deliverin' it." + +"Was that all that happened?" + +"No, sir. He said," added the fool, with bitter sarcasm, alluding to +a duel, in which the Squire's character had not come off with flying +colors--"he said, sir, that whin you have another challenge to fight, +you may get sick agin for threepence to the poticarry." + +This having been the manner in which the Squire was said to have evaded +the duel, it is unnecessary to say that Art's readiness to refresh his +memory on the subject prevented him from being received at the Big House +in future. + +Reader, remember that we only intended to give you a sketch of Phelim +O'Toole's courtship. We will, however, go so far beyond our original +plan, as to apprise you of his fate. + +When it became known in the parish that he was in jail, under a charge +of felony, Sally Mattery abandoned all hopes of securing him as a +husband. The housekeeper felt suitable distress, and hoped, should the +poor boy be acquitted, that he might hould up his head wid any o' them. +Phelim, through the agency of his father, succeeded in getting ten +guineas from her, to pay the lawyers for defending him; not one penny of +which he applied to the purpose for which he obtained it. The expenses +of his defence were drawn from the Ribbon fund, and the Irish reader +cannot forget the eloquent and pathetic, appeal made by his counsel to +the jury, on his behalf, and the strength with which the fact of his +being the whole support of a helpless father and mother was stated. +The appeal, however, was ineffectual; worthy Phelim was convicted, and +sentenced to transportation for life. When his old acquaintances heard +the nature of his destiny, they remembered the two prophecies that +had been so often uttered concerning him. One of them was certainly +fulfilled to the letter--we mean that in which it was stated, "that the +greatest swaggerer among the girls generally comes to the wall at last." +The other, though not literally accomplished, was touched at least upon +the spirit; transportation for life ranks next to hanging. We,cannot +avoid mentioning a fact connected with Phelim which came to light while +he remained in prison. By incessant trouble he was prevailed upon, or +rather compelled, to attend the prison school, and on examining him, +touching his religion? knowledge, it appeared that he was ignorant of +the plainest truths of Christianity; that he knew not how or by whom the +Christian religion had been promulgated; nor, indeed, any other moral +truth connected with Revelation. + +Immediately after his transportation, Larry took to drink, and his +mother to begging, for she had no other means of living. In this mode +of life, the husband was soon compelled to join her. They are both +mendicants, and Sheelah now appears sensible of the error in their +manner of bringing Phelim up. + +"Ah! Larry," she is sometimes heard to say, "I doubt that we wor wrong +for flyin' in the face o' God, becase He didn't give us childhre. An' +when it plased Him to grant us a son, we oughtn't to 've spoiled him by +over-indulgence, an' by lettin' him have his own head in everythin' +as we did. If we had sint him to school, an' larned him to work, an' +corrected him when he desarved it, instead of laughin' at his lies, an' +misbehavior, and his oaths, as if they wor sport--ay, an abusin' the +nabors when they'd complain of him, or tell us what he was--ay!--if we +had, it's a credit an' a comfort he'd be to us now, an' not a shame an' +a disgrace, an' an affliction. We made our own bed, Larry, an' now we +must lie down an it. An' God help us! We made his bed too, poor boy, an' +a hard one it is. God forgive us! but, anyhow, my heart a breakin', for +bad as he was, sure we havn't him to look upon!" + +"Thrue," replied Larry. "Still he was game an' cute to the last. Biddy +Doran's ten guineas will sarve him beyant, poor fellow. But sure the +boys' kep their word to him, anyhow, in regard of shootin' Foodie +Flattery. Myself was never betther plased in my life, than to hear that +he got the slugs into his heart, the villain!" + +***** + +We have attempted to draw Phelim O'Toole as closely as possible to the +character of that class, whose ignorance, want of education and absence +of all moral principle, constitute them the shame and reproach of +the country. By such men the peace of Ireland is destroyed, illegal +combinations formed, blood shed, and nightly outrages committed. There +is nothing more certain than this plain truth, that if proper religious +and moral knowledge were impressed upon the early principles of persons +like Phelim, a conscience would be created capable of revolting from +crime. Whatever the grievances of a people may be, whether real or +imaginary, one thing is clear, that neither murder nor illegal violence +of any description, can be the proper mode of removing or redressing +them. We have kept Phelim's Ribbonism in the background, because its +details could excite only aversion, and preferred exhibiting his utter +ignorance of morality upon a less offensive subject, in order that the +reader might be enabled to infer, rather than to witness with his mind's +eye, the deeper crimes of which he was capable. + + + + + + +WILDGOOSE LODGE + + +I had read the anonymous summons, but from its general import I believed +it to be one of those special meetings convened for some purpose +affecting the usual objects and proceedings of the body; at least +the terms in which it was conveyed to me had nothing extraordinary or +mysterious in them, beyond the simple fact, that it was not to be a +general but a select meeting: this mark of confidence flattered me, and +I determined to attend punctually. I was, it is true, desired to keep +the circumstances entirely to myself, but there was nothing startling +in this, for I had often received summonses of a similar nature. +I therefore resolved to attend, according to the letter of my +instructions, "on the next night, at the solemn hour of midnight, +to deliberate and act upon such matters as should then and there be +submitted to my consideration." The morning after I received this +message, I arose and resumed my usual occupations; but, from whatever +cause it may have proceeded, I felt a sense of approaching evil hang +heavily upon me; the beats of my pulse were languid, and an undefinable +feeling of anxiety pervaded my whole spirit; even my face was pale, and +my eye so heavy, that my father and brothers concluded me to be ill; an +opinion which I thought at the time to be correct, for I felt exactly +that kind of depression which precedes a severe fever. I could not +understand what I experienced, nor can I yet, except by supposing that +there is in human nature some mysterious faculty, by which, in coming +calamities, the dread of some fearful evil is anticipated, and that it +is possible to catch a dark presentiment of the sensations which they +subsequently produce. For my part I can neither analyze nor define it; +but on that day I knew it by painful experience, and so have a thousand +others in similar circumstances. + +It was about the middle of winter. The day was gloomy and tempestuous, +almost beyond any other I remember; dark clouds rolled over the hills +about me, and a close sleet-like rain fell in slanting drifts that +chased each other rapidly towards the earth on the course of the blast. +The outlying cattle sought the closest and calmest corners of the fields +for shelter; the trees and young groves were tossed about, for the wind +was so unusually high that it swept in hollow gusts through them, with +that hoarse murmur which deepens so powerfully on the mind the sense of +dreariness and desolation. + +As the shades of night fell, the storm, if possible, increased. The moon +was half gone, and only a few stars were visible by glimpses, as a rush +of wind left a temporary opening in the sky. I had determined, if the +storm should not abate, to incur any penalty rather than attend the +meeting; but the appointed hour was distant, and I resolved to be +decided by the future state of the night. + +Ten o'clock came, but still there was no change: eleven passed, and on +opening the door to observe if there were any likelihood of its clearing +up, a blast of wind, mingled with rain, nearly blew me off my feet. At +length it was approaching to the hour of midnight; and on examining it a +third time, I found it had calmed a little, and no longer rained. + +I instantly got my oak stick, muffled myself in my great coat, strapped +my hat about my ears, and, as the place of meeting was only a quarter of +a mile distant, I presently set out. + +The appearance of the heavens was lowering and angry, particularly in +that point where the light of the moon fell against the clouds, from a +seeming chasm in them, through which alone she was visible. The edges of +this chasm were faintly bronzed, but the dense body of the masses that +hung piled on each side of her, was black and inpenetrable to sight. In +no other point of the heavens was there any part of the sky visible; +a deep veil of clouds overhung the whole horizon, yet was the light +sufficient to give occasional glimpses of the rapid shifting which took +place in this dark canopy, and of the tempestuous agitation with which +the midnight storm swept to and fro beneath it. + +At length I arrived at a long slated house, situated in a solitary part +of the neighborhood; a little below it ran a small stream, which was +now swollen above its banks, and rushing with mimic roar over the flat +meadows beside it. The appearance of the bare slated building in such +a night was particularly sombre, and to those, like me, who knew the +purpose to which it was usually devoted, it was or ought to have been +peculiarly so. There it stood, silent and gloomy, without any appearance +of human life or enjoyment about or within it. As I approached, the moon +once more had broken out of the clouds, and shone dimly upon the wet, +glittering slates and windows, with a death-like lustre, that gradually +faded away as I left the point of observation, and entered the +folding-door. It was the parish chapel. + +The scene which presented itself here was in keeping not only with the +external appearance of the house, but with the darkness, the storm, and +the hour, which was now a little after midnight. About forty persons +were sitting in dead silence upon the circular steps of the altar. They +did not seem to move; and as I entered and advanced, the echo of my +footsteps rang through the building with a lonely distinctness, which +added to the solemnity and mystery of the circumstances about me. The +windows were secured with shutters on the inside, and on the altar a +candle was lighted, which burned dimly amid the surrounding darkness, +and lengthened the shadow of the altar itself, and those of six or +seven persons who stood on its upper steps, until they mingled in the +obscurity which shrouded the lower end of the chapel. The faces of the +men who sat on the altar steps were not distinctly visible, yet their +prominent and more characteristic features were in sufficient relief, +and I observed, that some of the most malignant and reckless spirits in +the parish were assembled. In the eyes of those who stood at the altar, +and those whom I knew to be invested with authority over the others, I +could perceive gleams of some latent and ferocious purpose, kindled, +as I soon observed, into a fiercer expression of vengeance, by the +additional excitement of ardent spirits, with which they had stimulated +themselves to a point of determination that mocked at the apprehension +of all future responsibility, either in this world or the next. + +The welcome which I received on joining them was far different from +the boisterous good-humor that used to mark our greetings on other +occasions; just a nod of the head from this or that person, on the part +of those who sat, with a _dhud dhemur tha fhu?_ (* How are you?) in a +suppressed voice, even below a common whisper: but from the standing +group, who were evidently the projectors of the enterprise, I received +a convulsive grasp of the hand, accompanied by a fierce and desperate +look, that seemed to search my eye and countenance, to try if I were a +person likely to shrink from whatever they had resolved to execute. +It is surprising to think of the powerful expression which a moment of +intense interest or great danger is capable of giving to the eye, the +features and the slightest actions, especially in those whose station +in society does not require them to constrain nature, by the force of +social courtesies, into habits that conceal their natural emotions. +None of the standing group spoke; but as each of them wrung my hand +in silence, his eye was fixed on mine, with an expression of drunken +confidence and secrecy, and an insolent determination not to be gainsaid +without peril. If looks could be translated with certainty, they seemed +to say, "We are bound upon a project of vengeance, and if you do not +join us, remember we can revenge." Along with this grasp, they did not +forget to remind me of the common bond by which we were united, for +each man gave me the secret grip of Ribbonism in a manner that made the +joints of my fingers ache for some minutes afterwards. + +There was one present, however--the highest in authority--whose actions +and demeanor were calm and unexcited. He seemed to labor under no +unusual influence whatever, but evinced a serenity so placid and +philosophical, that I attributed the silence of the sitting group, and +the restraint which curbed in the outbreaking passions of those who +stood, entirely to his presence. He was a schoolmaster, who taught his +daily school in that chapel, and acted also on Sunday, in the capacity +of clerk to the priest--an excellent and amiable old man, who knew +little of his illegal connections and atrocious conduct. + +When the ceremonies of brotherly recognition and friendship were past, +the Captain (by which title I shall designate the last-mentioned person) +stooped, and, raising a jar of whiskey on the corner of the altar, held +a wineglass to its neck, which he filled, and with a calm nod handed +it to me to drink. I shrank back, with an instinctive horror, at the +profaneness of such an act, in the house, and on the altar of God, and +peremptorily refused to taste the proffered I draught. He smiled mildly +at what he considered my superstition, and added quietly, and in a low +voice, "You'll be wantin' it I'm thinkin', afther the wettin' you +got." + +"Wet or dry," said I-- + +"Stop, man!" he replied, in the same tone; "spake low. But why wouldn't +you take the whiskey? Sure there's as holy people to the fore as you: +didn't they all take it? An' I wish we may never do worse nor dhrink a +harmless glass o' whiskey, to keep the cowld out, any way." + +"Well," said I, "I'll jist trust to God and the consequences, for the +cowld, Paddy, ma bouchal; but a blessed dhrop of it won't be crossin' my +lips, avick; so no more ghostlier about it;--dhrink it yourself if you +like. Maybe you want it as much as I do; wherein I've the patthern of +a good big-coat upon me, so thick, your sowl, that if it was rainin' +bullocks, a dhrop wouldn't get undher the nap of it." + +He gave me a calm, but keen glance as I spoke. + +"Well, Jim," said he, "it's a good comrade you've got for the weather +that's in it; but, in the manetime, to set you a dacent patthern, I'll +just take this myself,"--saying which, with the jar still upon its +side, and the fore-finger of his left hand in his neck, he swallowed +the spirits--"It's the first I dhrank to-night," he added, "nor would +I dhrink it now, only to show you that I've heart an' spirit to do the +thing that we're all bound an' sworn to, when the proper time comes;" +after which he laid down the glass, and turned up the jar, with much +coolness, upon the altar. + +During our conversation, those who had been summoned to this mysterious +meeting were pouring in fast; and as each person approached the altar, +he received from one to two or three glasses of whiskey, according as he +chose to limit himself; but, to do them justice, there were not a few +of those present, who, in despite of their own desire, and the Captain's +express invitation, refused to taste it in the house of God's worship. +Such, however, as were scrupulous he afterwards recommended to take it +on the outside of the chapel door, which they did, as, by that means, +the sacrilege of the act was supposed to be evaded. + +About one o'clock they were all assembled except six: at least so the +Captain asserted, on looking at a written paper. + +"Now, boys," said he in the same low voice, "we are all present except +the thraitors, whose names I am goin' to read to you; not that we are to +count thim thraitors, till we know whether or not it was in their power +to come. Any how, the night's terrible--but, boys, you're to know, that +neither fire nor wather is to prevint you, when duly summoned to attind +a meeting--particularly whin the summons is widout a name, as you have +been told that there is always something of consequence to be done +thin." + +He then read out the names of those who were absent, in order that the +real cause of their absence might be ascertained, declaring that they +would be dealt with accordingly. | + +After this, with his usual caution, he shut and bolted the door, and +having put the key in his pocket, ascended the steps of the altar, +and for some time traversed the little platform from which the priest +usually addresses the congregation. + +Until this night I had never contemplated the man's countenance with any +particular interest; but as he walked the platform, I had an opportunity +of observing him more closely. He was slight in person, apparently not +thirty; and, on a first view, appeared to have nothing remarkable in his +dress or features. I, however, was not the only person whose eyes were +fixed upon him at that moment; in fact, every one present observed him +with equal interest, for hitherto he had kept the object of the meeting +perfectly secret, and of course we all felt anxious to know it. It was +while he traversed the platform that I scrutinized his features with a +hope, if possible, to glean from them some evidence of what was passing +within him. I could, however, mark but little, and that little was at +first rather from the intelligence which seemed to subsist between him +and those whom I have already mentioned as standing against the altar, +than from any indication of his own. Their gleaming eyes were fixed upon +him with an intensity of savage and demon-like hope, which blazed out in +flashes of malignant triumph, as upon turning, he threw a cool but rapid +glance at them, to intimate the progress he was making in the subject to +which he devoted the undivided energies of his mind. But in the course +of his meditation, I could observe, on one or two occasions, a dark +shade come over his countenance, that contracted his brow into a deep +furrow, and it was then, for the first time, that I saw the satanic +expression of which his face, by a very slight motion of its muscles, +was capable. His hands, during this silence, closed and opened +convulsively; his eyes shot out two or three baleful glances, first to +his confederates, and afterwards vacantly into the deep gloom of the +lower part of the chapel; his teeth ground against each other, like +those of a man whose revenge burns to reach a distant enemy, and +finally, after having wound himself up to a certain determination, his +features relapsed into their original calm and undisturbed expression. + +At this moment a loud laugh, having something supernatural in it, rang +out wildly from the darkness of the chapel; he stopped, and putting his +open hand over his brows, peered down into the gloom, and said calmly in +Irish, "_Bee dhu husth; ha nih anam inh_:--hold your tongue, it is not +yet time." + +Every eye was now directed to the same spot, but, in consequence of its +distance from the dim light on the altar, none could perceive the person +from whom the laugh proceeded. It was, by this time, near two o'clock in +the morning. + +He now stood for a few moments on the platform, and his chest heaved +with a depth of anxiety equal to the difficulty of the design he wished +to accomplish. + +"Brothers," said he--"for we are all brothers--sworn upon all that's +blessed an' holy, to obey whatever them that's over us, manin' among +ourselves, wishes us to do--are you now ready, in the name of God, upon +whose althar I stand, to fulfil yer oaths?" + +The words were scarcely uttered, when those who had stood beside the +altar during the night, sprang from their places, and descending its +steps rapidly turned round, and raising their arms, exclaimed, "By all +that's good an' holy we're willin'." + +In the meantime, those who sat upon the steps of the altar, instantly +rose, and following the example of those who had just spoken, exclaimed +after them, "To be sure--by all that's sacred an' holy we're willin'." + +"Now, boys," said the Captain, "ar'n't ye big fools for your pains? an' +one of ye doesn't know what I mane." + +"You're our Captain," said one of those who had stood at the altar, "an' +has yer ordhers from higher quarthers; of coorse, whatever ye command +upon us we're bound to obey you in." + +"Well," said he, smiling, "I only wanted to thry yez; an' by the oath +ye tuck, there's not a captain in the county has as good a right to be +proud of his min as I have. Well, ye won't rue it, maybe, when the right +time comes; and for that same rason every one of ye must have a glass +from the jar; thim that won't dhrink it in the chapel can dhrink it +widout; an' here goes to open the door for thim." + +He then distributed another glass to every one who would accept it, and +brought the jar afterwards to the chapel door, to satisfy the scruples +of those who would not drink within. When this was performed, and all +duly excited, he proceeded:-- + +"Now, brothers, you are solemnly sworn to obay me, and I'm sure there's +no thraithur here that 'ud parjure himself for a thrifle; but I'm sworn +to obay them that's above me, manin' still among ourselves; an' to show +that I don't scruple to do it, here goes!" + +He then turned round, and taking the Missal between his hands placed it +upon the altar. Hitherto every word was uttered in a low precautionary +tone; but on grasping the book he again turned round, and looking upon +his confederates with the same satanic expression which marked his +countenance before, he exclaimed, in a voice of deep determination, +first kissing the book! + + +[Illustration: PAGE WG939-- By this sacred an' holy book of God] + + + +"By this sacred an' holy book of God, I will perform the action which we +have met this night to accomplish, be that what it may; an' this I swear +upon God's book, and God's althar!" + +On concluding, he struck the book violently with his open hand, thereby +occasioning a very loud report. + +At this moment the candle which burned before him went suddenly out, and +the chapel was wrapped in pitchy darkness; the sound as if of rushing +wings fell upon our ears, and fifty voices dwelt upon the last words of +his oath with wild and supernatural tones, that seemed to echo and to +mock what he had sworn. There was a pause, and an exclamation of +horror from all present; but the Captain was too cool and steady to be +disconcerted. He immediately groped about until he got the candle, +and proceeding calmly to a remote corner of the chapel, took up a +half-burned peat which lay there, and after some trouble succeeded in +lighting it again. He then explained what had taken place; which indeed +was easily done, as the candle happened to be extinguished by a pigeon +which sat directly above it. The chapel, I should have observed, was at +this time, like many country chapels, unfinished inside, and the pigeons +of a neighboring dove-cot had built nests among the rafters of the +unceiled roof; which circumstance also explained the rushing of the +wings, for the birds had been affrighted by the sudden loudness of +the noise. The mocking voices were nothing but the echoes, rendered +naturally more awful by the scene, the mysterious object of the meeting, +and the solemn hour of the night. + +When the candle was again lighted, and these startling circumstances +accounted for, the persons whose vengeance had been deepening more and +more during the night, rushed to the altar in a body, where each, in +a voice trembling with passionate eagerness, repeated the oath, and as +every word was pronounced, the same echoes heightened the wildness +of the horrible ceremony, by their long and unearthly tones. The +countenances of these human tigers were livid with suppressed rage; +their knit brows, compressed lips, and kindled eyes, fell under the dim +light of the taper, with an expression calculated to sicken any heart +not absolutely diabolical. + +As soon as this dreadful rite was completed, we were again startled by +several loud bursts of laughter, which proceeded from the lower darkness +of the chapel; and the Captain, on hearing them, turned to the +place, and reflecting for a moment, said in Irish, "_Gutsho nish, +avohenee_--come hither now, boys." + +A rush immediately took place from the corner in which they had secreted +themselves all the night; and seven men appeared, whom we instantly +recognized as brothers and cousins of certain persons who had been +convicted, some time before, for breaking into the house of an honest +poor man in the neighborhood, from whom, after having treated him with +barbarous violence, they took away such fire-arms as he kept for his own +protection. + +It was evidently not the Captain's intention to have produced these +persons until the oath should have been generally taken, but the +exulting mirth with which they enjoyed the success of his scheme +betrayed them, and put him to the necessity of bringing them forward +somewhat before the concerted moment. + +The scene which now took place was beyond all power of description; +peals of wild, fiendlike yells rang through the chapel, as the party +which stood on the altar and that which had crouched in the darkness +met; wringing of hands, leaping in triumph, striking of sticks and +fire-arms against the ground and the altar itself, dancing and cracking +of fingers, marked the triumph of some hellish determination. Even the +Captain for a time was unable to restrain their fury; but, at length, he +mounted the platform before the altar once more, and with a stamp of his +foot, recalled their attention to himself and the matter in hand. + +"Boys," said he, "enough of this, and too much; an' well for us it is +that the chapel is in a lonely place, or our foolish noise might do us +no good. Let thim that swore so manfully jist now, stand a one side, +till the rest kiss the book one by one." + +The proceedings, however, had by this time taken too fearful a shape for +even the Captain to compel them to a blindfold oath; the first man he +called flatly refused to answer, until he should hear the nature of the +service that was required. This was echoed by the remainder, who, taking +courage from the firmness of this person, declared generally that, until +they first knew the business they were to execute, none of them would +take the oath. The Captain's lip quivered slightly, and his brow again +became knit with the same hellish expression, which I have remarked +gave him so much the appearance of an, embodied fiend; but this speedily +passed away, and was succeeded by a malignant sneer, in which lurked, +if there ever did in a sneer, "a laughing devil," calmly, determinedly +atrocious. + +"It wasn't worth yer whiles to refuse the oath," said he, mildly, "for +the truth is, I had next to nothing for yez to do. Not a hand, maybe, +would have to rise, only jist to look on, an' if any resistance would +be made, to show yourselves; yer numbers would soon make them see +that resistance would be, no use whatever in the present case. At all, +evints, the oath of secrecy must be taken, or woe be to him that will +refuse that; he won't know the day, nor the hour, nor the minute, when +he'll be made a spatch-cock of." + +He then turned round, and, placing his right hand on the Missal, swore, +"In the presence of God, and before his holy altar, that whatever might +take place that night he would keep secret, from man or mortal, except +the priest, and that neither bribery, nor imprisonment, nor death, would +wring it from his heart." + +Having done this, he again struck the book violently, as if to confirm +the energy with which he swore, and then calmly descending the steps, +stood with a serene countenance, like a man conscious of having +performed a good action. As this oath did not pledge those who refused +to take the other to the perpetration of any specific crime, it was +readily taken by all present. Preparations were then made to execute +what was intended: the half burned turf was placed in a little pot; +another glass of whiskey was distributed; and the door being locked +by the Captain, who kept the key as parish clerk and schoolmaster, the +crowd departed silently from the chapel. + +The moment those who lay in the darkness, during the night, made their +appearance at the altar, we knew at once the persons we were to visit; +for, as I said before, they were related to the miscreants whom one of +those persons had convicted, in consequences of their midnight attack +upon himself and his family. The Captain's object in keeping them unseen +was, that those present, not being aware of the duty about to be imposed +on them, might have less hesitation about swearing to its fulfilment. +Our conjectures were correct; for on leaving the chapel we directed our +steps to the house in which this devoted man resided. + +The night was still stormy, but without rain: it was rather dark, too, +though not so as to prevent us from seeing the clouds careering swiftly +through the air. The dense curtain which had overhung and obscured the +horizon was now broken, and large sections of the sky were clear, and +thinly studded with stars that looked dim and watery, as did indeed the +whole firmament; for in some places black clouds were still visible, +threatening a continuance of tempestuous weather. The road appeared +washed and gravelly; every dike was full of yellow water; and every +little rivulet and larger stream dashed its hoarse murmur into our ears; +every blast, too, was cold, fierce, and wintry, sometimes driving us +back to a standstill, and again, when a turn in the road would bring +it in our backs, whirling us along for a few steps with involuntary +rapidity. At length the fated dwelling became visible, and a short +consultation was held in a sheltered place, between the Captain and the +two parties who seemed so eager for its destruction. Their fire-arms +were now loaded, and their bayonets and short pikes, the latter shod and +pointed with iron, were also got ready. The live coal which was brought +in the small pot had become extinguished; but to remedy this, two or +three persons from a remote part of the county entered a cabin on the +wayside, and, under pretence of lighting their own and their comrades' +pipes, procured a coal of fire, for so they called a lighted turf. From +the time we left the chapel until this moment a profound silence had +been maintained, a circumstance which, when I considered the number of +persons present, and the mysterious and dreaded object of their journey, +had a most appalling effect upon my spirits. + +At length we arrived within fifty perches of the house, walking in a +compact body, and with as little noise as possible; but it seemed as +if the very elements had conspired to frustrate our design, for on +advancing within the shade of the farm-hedge, two or three persons found +themselves up to the middle in water, and on stooping to ascertain more +accurately the state of the place, we could see nothing but one immense +sheet of it--spread like a lake over the meadows which surrounded the +spot we wished to reach. + +Fatal night! The very recollection of it, when associated with the +fearful tempests of elements, grows, if that were possible, yet more +wild and revolting. Had we been engaged in any innocent or benevolent +enterprise, there was something in our situation just then that had a +touch of interest in it to a mind imbued with a relish for the savage +beauties of nature. There we stood, about a hundred and thirty in +number, our dark forms bent forward, peering into the dusky expanse of +water, with its dim gleams of reflected light, broken by the weltering +of the mimic waves into ten thousand fragments, whilst the few stars +that overhung it in the firmament appeared to shoot through it in broken +lines, and to be multiplied fifty-fold in the gloomy mirror on which we +gazed. + +Over us was a stormy sky, and around us; a darkness through which we +could only distinguish, in outline, the nearest objects, whilst the wild +wind swept strongly and dismally upon us. When it was discovered that +the common pathway to the house was inundated, we were about to abandon +our object and return home. The Captain, however, stooped down low for +a moment, and, almost closing his eyes, looked along the surface of the +waters; and then, rising himself very calmly, said, in his usually quiet +tone, "Ye needn't go back, boys, I've found a way; jist follow me." + +He immediately took a more circuitous direction, by which we reached a +causeway that had been raised for the purpose of giving a free passage +to and from the house, during such inundations as the present. Along +this we had advanced more than half way, when we discovered a breach +in it, which, as afterwards appeared, had that night been made by the +strength of the flood. This, by means of our sticks and pikes, we found +to be about three feet deep, and eight yards broad. Again we were at +a loss how to proceed, when the fertile brain of the Captain devised a +method of crossing it. + +"Boys," said he, "of coorse you've all played at leap-frog; very well, +strip and go in, a dozen of you, lean one upon the back of another from +this to the opposite bank, where one must stand facing the outside +man, both their shoulders agin one another, that the outside man may be +supported. Then we can creep over you, an' a dacent bridge you'll be, +any way." + +This was the work of only a few minutes, and in less than ten we were +all safely over. + +Merciful Heaven! how I sicken at the recollection of what is to follow! +On reaching the dry bank, we proceeded instantly, and in profound +silence, to the house; the Captain divided us into companies, and then +assigned to each division its proper station. The two parties who had +been so vindictive all the night, he kept about himself; for of those +who were present, they only were in his confidence, and knew his +nefarious purpose; their number was about fifteen. Having made these +dispositions, he, at the head of about five of them, approached the +house on the windy side, for the fiend possessed a coolness which +enabled him to seize upon every possible advantage. That he had +combustibles about him was evident, for in less than fifteen minutes +nearly one-half of the house was enveloped in flames. On seeing this, +the others rushed over to the spot where he and his gang were standing, +and remonstrated earnestly, but in vain; the flames now burst forth with +renewed violence, and as they flung their strong light upon the faces +of the foremost group, I think hell itself could hardly present anything +more satanic than their countenances, now worked up into a paroxysm of +infernal triumph at their own revenge. The Captain's look had lost all +its calmness, every feature started out into distinct malignity, the +curve in his brow was deep, and ran up,to the root of the hair, dividing +his face into two segments, that did not seem to have been designed +for each other. His lips were half open, and the corners of his mouth a +little brought back on each side, like those of a man expressing intense +hatred and triumph over an enemy who is in the death-struggle under his +grasp. His eyes blazed from beneath his knit eyebrows with a fire that +seemed to be lighted up in the infernal pit itself. It is unnecessary, +and only painful, to describe the rest of his gang; demons might have +been proud of such horrible visages as they exhibited; for they worked +under all the power of hatred, revenge, and joy; and these passions +blended into one terrible scowl, enough almost to blast any human eye +that would venture to look upon it. + +When the others attempted to intercede for the lives of the inmates, +there were at least fifteen guns and pistols levelled at them. + +"Another word," said the Captain, "an' you're a corpse where you stand, +or the first man who will dare to spake for them; no, no, it wasn't to +spare them we came here. 'No mercy' is the pass-word for the night, an' +by the sacred oath I swore beyant in the chapel, any one among yez that +will attempt to show it, will find none at my hand. Surround the house, +boys, I tell ye, I hear them stirring. 'No quarter--no mercy,' is the +ordher of the night." + +Such was his command over these misguided creatures, that in an instant +there was a ring round the house to prevent the escape of the unhappy +inmates, should the raging element give them time to attempt it; for +none present durst withdraw themselves from the scene, not only from an +apprehension of the Captain's present vengeance, or that of his gang, +but because they knew that even had they then escaped, an early and +certain death awaited them from a quarter against which they had +no means of defence. The hour now was about half-past two! o'clock. +Scarcely had the last words escaped from the Captain's lips, when one of +the windows of the house was broken, and a human head, having the hair +in a blaze, was descried, apparently a woman's, if one might judge +by the profusion of burning tresses, and the softness of the tones, +notwithstanding that it called, or rather shrieked aloud for help and +mercy. The only reply to this was the whoop from the Captain and his +gang, of "No mercy--no mercy!" and that instant the former, and one of +the latter, rushed to the spot, and ere the action could be perceived, +the head was transfixed with a bayonet and a pike, both having entered +it together. The word "mercy" was divided in her mouth; a short silence +ensued, the head hung down on the window, but was instantly tossed back +into the flames. + +This action occasioned a cry of horror from all present, except the gang +and their leader, which startled and enraged the latter so much, that he +ran towards one of them, and had his bayonet, now reeking with the blood +of its innocent victim, raised to plunge it in his body, when, dropping +the point, he said in a piercing whisper, that hissed in the ears of +all: "It's no use now, you know; if one's to hang, all will hang; so our +safest way, you persave, is to lave none of them to tell the story. Ye +may go now, if you wish; but it won't save a hair of your heads. You +cowardly set! I knew if I had tould yez the sport, that none of you, +except my own boys, would come, so I jist played a thrick upon you; but +remimber what you are sworn to, and stand to the oath ye tuck." + +Unhappily, notwithstanding the wetness of the preceding weather, the +materials of the house were extremely combustible; the whole dwelling +was now one body of glowing flame, yet the shouts and shrieks within +rose awfully above its crackling and the voice of the storm, for the +wind once more blew in gusts, and with great violence. The doors and +windows were all torn open, and such of those within as had escaped the +flames rushed towards them, for the purpose of further escape, and +of claiming mercy at the hands of their destroyers; but whenever they +appeared, the unearthly cry of "no mercy" rang upon their ears for a +moment, and for a moment only, for they were flung back at the points of +the weapons which the demons had brought with them to make the work of +vengeance more certain. + +As yet there were many persons in the house, whose cry for life was +strong as despair, and who clung to it with all the awakened powers +of reason and instinct. The ear of man could hear nothing so strongly +calculated to stifle the demon of cruelty and revenge within him, as the +long and wailing shrieks which rose beyond the elements, in tones that +were carried off rapidly upon the blast, until they died away in the +darkness that lay behind the surrounding hills. Had not the house been +in a solitary situation, and the hour the dead of night, any person +sleeping within a moderate distance must have heard them, for such a cry +of sorrow rising into a yell of despair was almost sufficient to have +awakened, the dead. It was lost, however, upon the hearts and ears that +heard it: to them, though in justice be it said, to only comparatively +a few of them, it appeared as delightful as the tones of soft and +entrancing music. + +The claims of the surviving sufferers were now modified; they +supplicated merely to suffer death by the weapons of their enemies; they +were willing to bear that, provided they should be allowed to escape +from the flames; but no--the horrors of the conflagration were +calmly and malignantly gloried in by their merciless assassins, who +deliberately flung them back into all their tortures. In the course of +a few minutes a man appeared upon the side-wall of the house, nearly +naked; his figure, as he stood against the sky in horrible relief, was +so finished a picture of woebegone agony and supplication, that it is +yet as distinct in my memory as if I were again present at the scene. +Every muscle, now in motion by the powerful agitation of his sufferings, +stood out upon his limbs and neck, giving him an appearance of desperate +strength, to which by this time he must have been wrought up; the +perspiration poured from his frame, and the veins and arteries of his +neck were inflated to a surprising thickness. Every moment he looked +down into the flames which were rising to where he stood; and as he +looked, the indescribable horror which flitted over his features might +have worked upon the devil himself to relent. His words were few:-- + +"My child," said he, "is still safe, she is an infant, a young crathur +that never harmed you, or any one--she is still safe. Your mothers, your +wives, have young innocent childhre like it. Oh, spare her, think for a +moment that it's one of your own; spare it, as you hope to meet a just +God, or if you don't, in mercy shoot me first--put an end to me, before +I see her burned!" + +The Captain approached him coolly and deliberately. "You'll prosecute no +one now, you bloody informer," said he: "you'll convict no more boys for +takin' an ould gun an' pistol from you, or for givin' you a neighborly +knock or two into the bargain." + +Just then, from a window opposite him, proceeded the shrieks of a woman, +who appeared at it with the infant, in her arms. She herself was almost +scorched to death; but, with the presence of mind and humanity of her +sex, she was about to put the little babe out of the window. The Captain +noticed this, and, with characteristic atrocity, thrust, with a sharp +bayonet, the little innocent, along with the person who endeavored to +rescue it, into the red flames, where they both perished. This was the +work of an instant. Again he approached the man: "Your child is a coal +now," said he, with deliberate mockery; "I pitched it in myself, on the +point of this,"--showing the weapon--"an' now is your turn,"--saying +which, he clambered up, by the assistance of his gang, who stood with +a front of pikes and bayonets bristling to receive the wretched man, +should he attempt, in his despair, to throw himself from the wall. +The Captain got up, and placing the point of his bayonet against his +shoulder, flung him into the fiery element that raged behind him. He +uttered one wild and terrific cry, as he fell back, and no more. After +this nothing was heard but the crackling of the fire, and the rushing of +the blast; all that had possessed life within were consumed, amounting +either to eight or eleven persons. + +When this was accomplished, those who took an active part in the murder, +stood for some time about the conflagration; and as it threw its red +light upon their fierce faces and rough persons, soiled as they now were +with smoke and black streaks of ashes, the scene seemed to be changed to +hell, the murderers to spirits of the damned, rejoicing over the arrival +and the torture of some guilty soul. The faces of those who kept aloof +from the slaughter were blanched to the whiteness of death: some of them +fainted, and others were in such agitation that they were compelled to +lean on their comrades. They became actually powerless with horror: +yet to such a scene were they brought by the pernicious influence of +Ribbonism. + +It was only when the last victim went down, that the conflagration shot +up into the air with most unbounded fury. The house was large, deeply +thatched, and well furnished; and the broad red pyramid rose up with +fearful magnificence towards the sky. Abstractedly it had sublimity, but +now it was associated with nothing in my mind but blood and terror. It +was not, however, without a purpose that the Captain and his gang stood +to contemplate its effect. "Boys," said he, "we had betther be sartin +that all's safe; who knows but there might be some of the sarpents +crouchin' under a hape o' rubbish, to come out an' gibbet us to-morrow +or next day: we had betther wait a while, anyhow, if it was only to see +the blaze." + +Just then the flames rose majestically to a surprising height. Our eyes +followed their direction; and we perceived, for the first time, that +the dark clouds above, together with the intermediate air, appeared +to reflect back, or rather to have caught the red hue of the fire. The +hills and country about us appeared with an alarming distinctness; but +the most picturesque part of it was the effect of reflection of the +blaze on the floods that spread over the surrounding plains. These, in +fact, appeared to be one broad mass of liquid copper, for the motion of +the breaking-waters caught from the blaze of the high waving column, +as reflected in them, a glaring light, which eddied, and rose, and +fluctuated, as if the flood itself had been a lake of molten fire. + +Fire, however, destroys rapidly. In a short time the flames sank--became +weak and flickering--by and by, they shot out only in fits--the +crackling of the timbers died away--the surrounding darkness +deepened--and, ere long, the faint light was overpowered by the thick +volumes of smoke that rose from the ruins of the house and its murdered +inhabitants. + +"Now, boys," said the Captain, "all is safe--we may go. Remember, +every man of you, what you've sworn this night, on the book an' altar of +God--not on a heretic Bible. If you perjure yourselves, you may hang +us; but let me tell you, for your comfort, that if you do, there is +them livin' that will take care the lease of your own lives will be but +short." + +After this we dispersed every man to his own home. + +Reader,--not many months elapsed ere I saw the bodies of this Captain, +whose name was Patrick Devann, and all those who were actively concerned +in the perpetration of this deed of horror, withering in the wind, where +they hung gibbeted, near the scene of their nefarious villany; and +while I inwardly thanked Heaven for my own narrow and almost undeserved +escape, I thought in my heart how seldom, even in this world, justice +fails to overtake the murder, and to enforce the righteous judgment of +God--that "whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed." + +***** + +This tale of terror is, unfortunately, too true. The scene of hellish +murder detailed in it lies at Wildgoose Lodge, in the county of Louth, +within about four miles of Carrickmacross, and nine of Dundalk. No such +multitudinous murder has occurred, under similar circumstances, except +the burning of the Sheas, in the county of Tipperary. The name of the +family burned in Wildgoose Lodge was Lynch. One of them had, shortly +before this fatal night, prosecuted and convicted some of the +neighboring Ribbonmen, who visited him with severe marks of their +displeasure, in consequence of his having refused to enrol himself as +a member of their body. The language of the story is partly fictitious; +but the facts are pretty closely such as were developed during the +trial of the murderers. Both parties were Roman Catholics, and either +twenty-five or twenty-eight of those who took an active part in the +burning, were hanged and gibbeted in different parts of the county of +Louth. Devann, the ringleader, hung for some months in chains, within +about a hundred yards of his own house, and about half a mile from +Wildgoose Lodge. His mother could neither go into nor out of her cabin +without seeing his body swinging from the gibbet. Her usual exclamation +on looking at him was--"God be good to the sowl of my poor marthyr!" +The peasantry, too, frequently exclaimed, on seeing him, "Poor Paddy!" A +gloomy fact that speaks volumes! + + + + + + +TUBBER DERG; Or, THE RED WELL. + + +The following story owes nothing to any coloring or invention of +mine; it is unhappily a true one, and to me possesses a peculiar and +melancholy interest, arising from my intimate knowledge of the man whose +fate it holds up as a moral lesson to Irish landlords. I knew him well, +and many a day and hour have I played about his knee, and ran, in my +boyhood, round his path, when, as he said to himself, the world was no +trouble to him. + +On the south side of a sloping tract of light ground, lively, warm, +and productive, stood a white, moderate-sized farm-house, which, in +consequence of its conspicuous situation, was a prominent and, we may +add, a graceful object in the landscape of which it formed a part. The +spot whereon it stood was a swelling natural terrace, the soil of which +was heavier and richer than that of the adjoining lands. On each side +of the house stood a clump of old beeches, the only survivors of that +species then remaining in the country. These beeches extended behind the +house in a land of angle, with opening, enough at their termination to +form a vista, through which its white walls glistened with beautiful +effect in the calm splendor of a summer evening. Above the mound on +which it stood, rose two steep hills, overgrown with furze and fern, +except on their tops, which were clothed with purple heath; they were +also covered with patches of broom, and studded with gray rocks, which +sometimes rose singly or in larger masses, pointed or rounded into +curious and fantastic shapes. Exactly between these hills the sun went +down during the month of June, and nothing could be in finer relief +than the rocky and picturesque outlines of their sides, as crowned with +thorns and clumps of wild ash, they appeared to overhang the valley +whose green foliage was gilded by the sun-beams, which lit up the scene +into radiant beauty. The bottom of this natural chasm, which opened +against the deep crimson of the evening sky, was nearly upon a level +with the house, and completely so with the beeches that surrounded it. +Brightly did the sinking sun fall upon their tops, whilst the neat white +house below, in their quiet shadow, sent up its wreath of smoke +among their branches, itself an emblem of contentment, industry, and +innocence. It was, in fact, a lovely situation; perhaps the brighter +to me, that its remembrance is associated with days of happiness and +freedom from the cares of a world, which, like a distant mountain, +darkens as we approach it, and only exhausts us in struggling to climb +its rugged and barren paths. + +There was to the south-west of this house another little hazel glen, +that ended in a precipice formed, by a single rock some thirty feet, +high, over which tumbled a crystal cascade into a basin worn in its +hard bed below. From this basin the stream murmured away through the +copse-wood, until it joined a larger rivulet that passed, with many a +winding, through a fine extent of meadows adjoining it. Across the foot +of this glen, and past the door of the house we have described, ran a +bridle road, from time immemorial; on which, as the traveller ascended +it towards the house, he appeared to track his way in blood, for a +chalybeate spa arose at its head, oozing out of the earth, and spread +itself in a crimson stream over the path in every spot whereon a +foot-mark could be made. From this circumstance it was called Tubber +Derg, or the Red Well. In the meadow where the glen terminated, was +another spring of delicious crystal; and clearly do I remember the +ever-beaten pathway that led to it through the grass, and up the green +field which rose in a gentle slope to the happy-looking house of Owen +M'Carthy, for so was the man called who resided under its peaceful roof. + +I will not crave your pardon, gentle reader, for dwelling at such length +upon a scene so clear to my heart as this, because I write not now so +much for your gratification as my own. Many an eve of gentle May have +I pulled the Maygowans which grew about that well, and over that smooth +meadow. + +Often have I raised my voice to its shrillest pitch, that I might hear +its echoes rebounding in the bottom of the green and still glen, where +silence, so to speak, was deepened by the continuous murmur of the +cascade above; and when the cuckoo uttered her first note from among the +hawthorns on its side, with what trembling anxiety did I, an urchin of +some eight or nine years, look under my right foot for the white hair, +whose charm was such, that by keeping it about me the first female name +I should hear was destined, I believed in my soul, to be that of my +future wife.* Sweet was the song of the thrush, and mellow the whistle +of the blackbird, as they rose in the stillness of evening over the +"hirken shaws" and green dells of this secluded spot of rural beauty. +Far, too, could the rich voice of Owen M'Carthy be heard along the hills +and meadows, as, with a little chubby urchin at his knee, and another in +his arms, he sat on a bench beside his own door, singing the "Trouglia". +in his native Irish; whilst Kathleen his wife, with her two maids, each +crooning a low song, sat before the door milking the cows, whose sweet +breath mingled its perfume with the warm breeze of evening. + +Owen M'Carthy was descended from a long-line of honest ancestors, +whose names had never, within the memory of man, been tarnished by +the commission of a mean or disreputable action. They were always a +kind-hearted family, but stern and proud in the common intercourse of +life. They believed; themselves to be, and probably were, a branch of +the MacCarthy More stock; and, although only the possessors of a small +farm, it was singular to observe the effect which this conviction +produced upon their bearing and manners. To it might, perhaps, +be attributed the high and stoical integrity for which they were +remarkable. This severity, however, was no proof that they wanted +feeling, or were insensible to the misery and sorrows of others: in +all the little cares and perplexities that chequered the peaceful +neighborhood in which they lived, they were ever the first to console, +or, if necessary, to support a distressed neighbor with the means which +God had placed in their possession; for, being industrious, they were +seldom poor. Their words were few, but sincere, and generally promised +less than the honest hearts that dictated them intended to perform. +There is in some persons a hereditary feeling of just principle, the +result neither of education nor of a clear moral sense, but rather a +kind of instinctive honesty which descends, like a constitutional +bias, from father to son, pervading every member of the family. It is +difficult to define this, or to assign its due position in the scale +of human virtues. It exists in the midst of the grossest ignorance, and +influences the character in the absence of better principles. Such was +the impress which marked so strongly the family of which I speak. No one +would ever think of imputing a dishonest act to the M'Carthys; nor would +any person acquainted with them, hesitate for a moment to consider their +word as good as the bond of another. I do not mean to say, however, that +their motives of action were not higher than this instinctive honesty; +far from it: but I say, that they possessed it in addition to a strong +feeling of family pride, and a correct knowledge of their moral duties. + + * Such is the superstition; and, as I can tell, + faithfully is it believed. + +I can only take up Owen M'Carthy at that part of the past to which my +memory extends. He was then a tall, fine-looking young man; silent, but +kind. One of the earliest events within my recollection is his wedding; +after that the glimpse of his state and circumstances are imperfect; but +as I grew up, they became more connected, and I am able to remember him +the father of four children; an industrious, inoffensive small farmer, +beloved, respected, and honored. No man could rise, be it ever so early, +who would not find Owen up before him; no man could anticipate him in an +early crop, and if a widow or a sick acquaintance were unable to get in +their harvest, Owen was certain to collect the neighbors to assist them; +to be the first there himself, with quiet benevolence, encouraging +them to a zealous performance of the friendly task in which they were +engaged. + +It was, I believe, soon after his marriage, that the lease of the farm +held by him expired. Until that time he had been able to live with +perfect independence; but even the enormous rise of one pound per acre, +though it deprived him in a great degree of his usual comforts, did not +sink him below the bare necessaries of life. For some years after that +he could still serve a deserving neighbor; and never was the hand of +Owen M'Carthy held back from the wants and distresses of those whom he +knew to be honest. + +I remember once an occasion upon which a widow Murray applied to him for +a loan of five pounds, to prevent her two cows from being auctioned +for a half year's rent, of which she only wanted that sum. Owen sat at +dinner with his family when she entered the house in tears, and, as well +as her agitation of mind permitted, gave him a detailed account of her +embarrassment. + +"The blessin' o' God be upon all here," said she, on entering. + +"The double o' that to you, Rosha," replied Owen's wife: "won't you sit +in an' be atin'?--here's a sate beside Nanny; come over, Rosha." + +Owen only nodded to her, and continued to eat his dinner, as if he felt +no interest in her distress. Rosha sat down at a distance, and with the +corner of a red handkerchief to her eyes, shed tears in that bitterness +of feeling which marks the helplessness of honest industry under the +pressure of calamity. + +"In the name o' goodness, Rosha," said Mrs. M'Carthy, "what ails you, +asthore? Sure Jimmy--God spare him to you--wouldn't be dead?" + +"Glory be to God! no, avourneen machree. Och, och! but it 'ud be the +black sight, an' the black day, that 'ud see my brave, boy, the staff +of our support, an' the bread of our mouth, taken away from us!--No, no, +Kathleen dear, it's not that bad wid me yet. I hope we'll never live to +see his manly head laid down before us. 'Twas his own manliness, indeed, +brought it an him--backin' the sack when he was bringin' home our last +_meldhre_ * from the mill; for you see he should do it, the crathur, to +show his strinth, an' the sack, when he got it an was too heavy for him, +an' hurted the small of his back; for his bones, you see, are too young, +an' hadn't time to fill up yet. No, avourneen. Glory be to God! he's +gettin' betther wid me!" and the poor creature's eyes glistened with +delight through her tears and the darkness of her affliction. + +Without saying a word, Owen, when she finished the eulogium on her +son, rose, and taking her forcibly by the shoulder, set her down at the +table, on which a large potful of potatoes had been spread out, with +a circle in the middle for a dish of rashers and eggs, into which dish +every right hand of those about it was thrust, with a quickness that +clearly illustrated the principle of competition as a stimulus to +action. + +"Spare your breath," said Owen, placing her rather roughly upon the +seat, "an' take share of what's goin': when all's cleared off we'll hear +you, but the sorra word till then." + +"Musha, Owen," said the poor woman, "you're the same man still; sure +we all know your ways; I'll strive, avourneen, to ate--I'll strive, +asthore--to plase you, an' the Lord bless you an' yours, an' may you +never be as I an' my fatherless childhre are this sorrowful day!" and +she accompanied her words by a flood of tears. + + * Meldhre--whatever quantity of grain is brought to the + mill to be ground on one occasion. + +Owen, without evincing the slightest sympathy, withdrew himself from the +table. Not a muscle of his face was moved; but as the cat came about his +feet at the time, he put his foot under her, and flung her as easily as +possible to the lower end of the kitchen. + +"Arrah, what harm did the crathur do," asked his wife, "that you'd kick +her for, that way? an' why but you ate out your dinner?" + +"I'm done," he replied, "but that's no rason that Rosha, an' you, an' +thim boys that has the work afore them, shouldn't finish your male's +mate." + +Poor Rosha thought that by his withdrawing he had already suspected +the object of her visit, and of course concluded that her chance of +succeeding was very slender. + +The wife, who guessed what she wanted, as well as the nature of her +suspicion, being herself as affectionate and obliging as Owen, reverted +to the subject, in order to give her an opportunity of proceeding. + +"Somethin' bitther an' out o' the common coorse, is a throuble to you, +Rosha," said she, "or you wouldn't be in the state you're in. The Lord +look down on you this day, you poor crathur--widout the father of your +childhre to stand up for you, an' your only other depindance laid on the +broad of his back, all as one as a cripple; but no matther, Rosha; trust +to Him that can be a husband to you an' a father to your orphans--trust +to Him, an' his blessed mother in heaven, this day, an' never fear but +they'll rise up a frind for you. Musha, Owen, ate your dinner as you +ought to do, wid your capers! How can you take a spade in your hand upon +that morsel?" + +"Finish your own," said her husband, "an' never heed me; jist let me +alone. Don't you see that if I wanted it, I'd ate it, an' what more +would you have about!" + +"Well, acushla, it's your own loss, sure, of a sartinty. An' Rosha, +whisper, ahagur, what can Owen or I do for you? Throth, it would be a +bad day we'd see you at a _deshort_ * for a friend, for you never wor +nothin' else nor a civil, oblagin' neighbor yourself; an' him that's +gone before--the Lord make his bed in heaven this day--was as good a +warrant as ever broke bread, to sarve a friend, if it was at the hour of +midnight." + + * That is at a loss; or more properly speaking, taken + short, which it means. + +"Ah! when I had him!" exclaimed the distracted widow, "I never had +occasion to trouble aither friend or neighbor; but he s gone an' now +it's otherwise wid me--glory be to God for all his mercies--a wurrah +dheelish! Why, thin, since I must spake, an' has no other frind to go +to--but somehow I doubt Owen looks dark upon me--sure I'd put my hand to +a stamp, if my word wouldn't do for it, an' sign the blessed crass that +saved us, for the payment of it; or I'd give it to him in oats, for I +hear you want some, Owen--Phatie oates it is, an' a betther shouldhered +or fuller-lookin' grain never went undher a harrow--indeed it's it +that's the beauty, all out, if it's good seed you want." + +"What is it for, woman alive?" inquired Owen, as he kicked a +three-legged stool out of his way." + +"What is it for, is it? Och, Owen darlin', sure my two brave cows is +lavin' me. Owen M'Murt, the driver, is over wid me beyant, an' has them +ready to set off wid. I reared them both, the two of them, wid my own +hands; _Cheehoney_, that knows my voice, an' would come to me from the +fardest corner o' the field, an' nothin' will we have--nothin' will my +poor sick boy have--but the black wather, or the dhry salt; besides the +butther of them being lost to us for rent, or a small taste of it, of an +odd time, for poor Jimmy. Owen, next to God, I have no friend to depind +upon but yourself!" + +"Me!" said Owen, as if astonished. "Phoo, that's quare enough! Now do +you think, Rosha,--hut, hut, woman alive! Come, boys, you're all done; +out wid you to your spades, an' finish that _meerin_ (* a marsh ditch, a +boundary) before night. Me!--hut, tut!" + +"I have it all but five pounds, Owen, an' for the sake of him that's in +his grave--an' that, maybe, is able to put up his prayer for you"-- + +"An' what would you want me to do, Rosha? Fitther for you to sit down +an' finish your dinner, when it's before you. I'm goin' to get an ould +glove that's somewhere about this chist, for I must weed out that bit +of oats before night, wid a blessin'," and, as he spoke he passed into +another room, as if he had altogether forgotten her solicitation, and in +a few minutes returned. + +"Owen, avick!--an' the blessin' of the fatherless be upon you, sure, an' +many a one o' them you have, any how, Owen!" + +"Well, Rosha--well?" + +"Och, och, Owen, it's low days wid me to be depindin' upon the +sthranger? little thim that reared me ever thought it 'ud come to this. +You know I'm a dacent father's child, an' I have stooped to you, Owen +M'Carthy--what I'd scorn to do to any other but yourself--poor an' +friendless as I stand here before you. Let them take the cows, thin, +from my childhre; but the father of the fatherless will support thim an' +me. Och, but it's well for the O'Donohoes that their landlord lives at +home among themselves, for may the heavens look down on me, I wouldn't +know where to find mine, if one sight of him 'ud save me an' my childre +from the grave! The Agent even, he lives in Dublin, an' how could I lave +my sick boy, an' small girshas by themselves, to go a hundre miles, an' +maybe not see him afther all. Little hopes I'd have from him, even if I +did; he's paid for gatherin' in his rents; but it's well known he wants +the touch of nathur for the sufferins of the poor, an' of them that's +honest in their intintions." + +"I'll go over wid you, Rosha, if that will be of any use," replied Owen, +composedly; "come, I'll go an' spake to Frank M'Murt.'' + +"The sorra blame I blame him, Owen," replied Rosha, "his bread's +depindin' upon the likes of sich doins, an' he can't get over it; but a +word from you, Owen, will save me, for who ever refused to take the word +of a M'Carthy?" + +When Owen and the widow arrived at the house of the latter, they found +the situation of the bailiff laughable in the extreme. Her eldest son, +who had been confined to his bed by a hurt received in his back, was +up, and had got the unfortunate driver, who was rather old, wedged in +between the dresser and the wall, where his cracked voice--for he was +asthmatic--was raised to the highest pitch, calling for assistance. +Beside him was a large tub half-filled with water, into which the little +ones were emptying small jugs, carried at the top of their speed from +a puddle before the door. In the meantime, Jemmy was tugging at the +bailiff with all his strength--fortunately for that personage, it was +but little--with the most sincere intention of inverting him into the +tub which contained as much muddy water as would have been sufficient to +make him a subject for the deliberation of a coroner and twelve honest +men. Nothing could be more conscientiously attempted than the task +which Jemmy had proposed to execute: every tug brought out his utmost +strength, and when he failed in pulling down the bailiff, he compensated +himself for his want of success by cuffing his ribs, and peeling his +shins by hard kicks; whilst from those open points which the driver's +grapple with his man naturally exposed, were inflicted on him by the +rejoicing urchins numberless punches of tongs, potato-washers, and +sticks whose points were from time to time hastily thrust into the +coals, that they might more effectually either blind or disable him in +some other manner. + +As one of the little ones ran out to fill his jug, he spied his mother +and Owen approaching, on which, with the empty vessel in his hand, he +flew towards them, his little features distorted by glee and ferocity, +wildly mixed up together. + +"Oh mudher, mudher--ha, ha, ha!--don't come in yet; don't come in, Owen, +till Jimmy un' huz, an' the Denisses, gets the bailie drownded. We'll +soon have the _bot_ (* tub) full; but Paddy an' Jack Denis have the +eyes a'most pucked out of him; an' Katty's takin' the rapin' hook from, +behind the _cuppet_, to get it about his neck." + +Owen and the widow entered with all haste, precisely at the moment when +Frank's head was dipped, for the first time, into the vessel. + +"Is it goin' to murdher him ye are?" said Owen, as he seized Jemmy with +a grasp that transferred him to the opposite end of the house; "hould +back ye pack of young divils, an' let the man up. What did he come to +do but his duty? I tell you, Jimmy, if you wor at yourself, an' in full +strinth, that you'd have the man's blood on you where you stand, and +would suffer as you ought to do for it." + +"There, let me," replied the lad, his eyes glowing and his veins +swollen with passion; "I don't care if I did. It would be no sin, an' no +disgrace, to hang for the like of him; dacenter to do that, than stale a +creel of turf, or a wisp of straw, 'tanny rate." + +In the meantime the bailiff had raised his head out of the water, and +presented a visage which it was impossible to view with gravity. The +widow's anxiety prevented her from seeing it in a ludicrous light; but +Owen's severe face assumed a grave smile, as the man shook himself and +attempted to comprehend the nature of his situation. The young urchins, +who had fallen back at the appearance of Owen and the widow, now burst +into a peal of mirth, in which, however, Jemmy, whose fiercer passions +had been roused, did not join. + +"Frank M'Murt," said the widow, "I take the mother of heaven to witness, +that it vexes my heart to see you get sich thratement in my place; an' +I wouldn't for the best cow I have that sich a _brieuliagh_ (* squabble) +happened. _Dher charp agusmanim_, (** by my soul and body) Jimmy, but +I'll make you suffer for drawin' down this upon my head, and me had +enough over it afore." + +"I don't care," replied Jemmy; "whoever comes to take our property from +us, an' us willin' to work will suffer for it. Do you think I'd see thim +crathurs at their dhry phatie, an' our cows standin' in a pound for no +rason? No; high hangin' to me, but I'll split to the skull the first man +that takes them; an' all I'm sorry for is, that it's not the vagabone +Landlord himself that's near me. That's our thanks for paying many +a good pound, in honesty and dacency, to him an' his; lavin' us to a +schamin' agent, an' not even to that same, but to his undher-strap-pers, +that's robbin' us on both sides between them. May hard fortune attind +him, for a landlord! You may tell him this, Frank,--that his wisest plan +is to keep clear of the counthry. Sure, it's a gambler he is, they say; +an' we must be harrished an' racked to support his villany! But wait a +bit; maybe there's a good time comin', when we'll pay our money to thim +that won't be too proud to hear our complaints wid their own ears, +an' who won't turn us over to a divil's limb of an agent. He had need, +anyhow, to get his coffin sooner nor he thinks. What signifies hangin' +in a good cause?" said he, as the tears of keen indignation burst from +his glowing eyes. "It's a dacent death, an' a happy death, when it's +for the right," he added--for his mind was evidently fixed upon the +contemplation of those means of redress, which the habits of the +country, and the prejudices of the people, present to them in the first +moments of passion. + +"It's well that Frank's one of ourselves," replied Owen, coolly, +"otherwise, Jemmy, you said words that would lay you up by the heels. +As for you, Frank, you must look over this. The boy's the son of dacent +poor parents, an' it's a new thing for him to see the cows druv from the +place. The poor fellow's vexed, too, that he has been so long laid up +wid a sore back; an' so you see one thing or another has put him through +other. Jimmy is warm-hearted afther all, an' will be sorry for it when +he cools, an' renumbers that you wor only doin' your duty." + +"But what am I to do about the cows? Sure, I can't go back widout either +thim or the rint?" said Frank, with a look of fear and trembling at +Jemmy. + +"The cows!" said another of the widow's sons who then came in; "why, you +dirty spalpeen of a rip, you may whistle on the wrong side o' your mouth +for them. I druv them off of the estate; an' now take them, if you dar! +It's conthrairy to law," said the urchin; "an' if you'd touch them, I'd +make my mudher sarve you wid a _lattitat_ or _fiery-flashes_." + +This was a triumph to the youngsters, who, began to shake their little +fists at him, and to exclaim in a chorus--"Ha, you dirty rip! wait till +we get you out o' the house, an' if we don't put you from ever drivin'! +Why, but you work like another!--ha, you'll get it!"--and every little +fist was shook in vengeance at him. + +"Whist wid ye," said Jemmy to the little ones; "let him alone, he got +enough. There's the cows for you; an keen may the curse o' the widow +an' orphans light upon you, and upon them that sent you, from first to +last!--an' that's the best we wish you!" + +"Frank," said Owen to the bailiff, "is there any one in the town below +that will take the rint, an' give a resate for it? Do you think, man, +that the neighbors of an honest, industrious woman 'ud see the cattle +taken out of her byre for a thrifle? Hut tut! no, man alive--no sich +thing! There's not a man in the parish, wid manes to do it, would see +them taken away to be canted, at only about a fourth part of their +value. Hut, tut,--no!" + +As the sterling fellow spoke, the cheeks of the widow were suffused with +tears, and her son Jemmy's hollow eyes once more kindled, but with a far +different expression from that which but a few minutes before flashed +from them. + +"Owen," said he, and utterance nearly failed him: "Owen, if I was well +it wouldn't be as it is wid us; but--no, indeed it would not; but--may +God bless you for this! Owen, never fear but you'll be paid; may God +bless you, Owen!" + +As he spoke the hand of his humble benefactor was warmly grasped in his. +A tear fell upon it: for with one of those quick and fervid transitions +of feeling so peculiar to the people, he now felt a strong, generous +emotion of gratitude, mingled, perhaps, with a sense of wounded pride, +on finding the poverty of their little family so openly exposed. + +"Hut, tut, Jimmy, avick," said Owen, who understood his feelings; "phoo, +man alive! hut--hem!--why, sure it's nothin' at all, at all; anybody +would do it--only a bare five an' twenty shillins [it was five pound]: +any neighbor--Mick Cassidy, Jack Moran, or Pether M'Cullagh, would do +it.--Come, Frank, step out; the money's to the fore. Rosha, put +your cloak about you, and let us go down to the agint, or clerk, or +whatsomever he is--sure, that makes no maxin anyhow;--I suppose he +has power to give a resate. Jemmy, go to bed again, you're pale, poor +bouchal; and, childhre, ye crathurs ye, the cows won't be taken from +ye this bout.--Come, in the name of God, let us go, and see-everything +rightified at once--hut, tut--come." + +Many similar details of Owen M'Carthy's useful life could be given, in +which he bore an equally benevolent and Christian part. Poor fellow! he +was, ere long, brought low; but, to the credit of our peasantry, much +as is said about their barbarity, he was treated, when helpless, with +gratitude, pity, and kindness. + +Until the peace of 1814, Owen's regular and systematic industry +enabled him to struggle successfully against a weighty rent and sudden +depression in the price of agricultural produce; that is, he was able, +by the unremitting toil of a man remarkable alike for an unbending +spirit and a vigorous frame of body, to pay his rent with tolerable +regularity. It is true, a change began to be visible in his personal +appearance, in his farm, in the dress of his children, and in the +economy of his household. Improvements, which adequate capital would +have enabled, him to effect, were left either altogether unattempted, +or in an imperfect state, resembling neglect, though, in reality, the +result of poverty. His dress at mass, and in fairs and markets, had, +by degrees, lost that air of comfort and warmth which bespeak the +independent farmer. The evidences of embarrassment began to disclose +themselves in many small points--inconsiderable, it is true, but not +the less significant. His house, in the progress of his declining +circumstances,ceased to be annually ornamented by a new coat of +whitewash; it soon assumed a faded and yellowish hue, and sparkled not +in the setting sun as in the days of Owen's prosperity. It had, in fact, +a wasted, unthriving look, like its master. The thatch became black +and rotten upon its roof; the chimneys sloped to opposite points; the +windows were less neat, and ultimately, when broken, were patched with a +couple of leaves from the children's blotted copy-books. His out-houses +also began to fail. The neatness of his little farm-yard, and the +cleanliness which marked so conspicuously the space fronting his +dwelling-house, disappeared in the course of time. Filth began to +accumulate where no filth had been; his garden was not now planted so +early, nor with such taste and neatness as before; his crops were later, +and less abundant; his haggarts neither so full nor so trim as they were +wont to be, nor his ditches and enclosures kept in such good repair. His +cars, ploughs, and other farming implements, instead of being put under +cover, were left exposed to the influence of wind and weather, where +they soon became crazy and useless. + +Such, however, were only the slighter symptoms of his bootless struggle +against the general embarrassment into which the agricultural interests +were, year after year, so unhappily sinking. + +Had the tendency to general distress among the class to which he +belonged become stationary, Owen would have continued by toil and +incessant exertion to maintain his ground; but, unfortunately, there was +no point at which the national depression could then stop. Year after +year produced deeper, more extensive, and more complicated misery; and +when he hoped that every succeeding season would bring an improvement +in the market, he was destined to experience not merely a fresh +disappointment, but an unexpected depreciation in the price of his corn, +butter, and other disposable commodities. + +When a nation is reduced to such a state, no eye but that of God himself +can see the appalling wretchedness to which a year of disease and +scarcity strikes down the poor and working classes. + +Owen, after a long and noble contest for nearly three years, sank, at +length, under the united calamities of disease and scarcity. The father +of the family was laid low upon the bed of sickness, and those of his +little ones who escaped it were almost consumed by famine. This two-fold +shock sealed his ruin; his honest heart was crushed--his hardy frame +shorn of its strength, and he to whom every neighbor fled as to a +friend, now required friendship at a moment when the widespread poverty +of the country rendered its assistance hopeless. + +On rising from his bed of sickness, the prospect before him required his +utmost fortitude to bear. He was now wasted in energy both of mind and +body, reduced to utter poverty, with a large family of children, too +young to assist him, without means of retrieving his circumstances, his +wife and himself gaunt skeletons, his farm neglected, his house wrecked, +and his offices falling to ruin, yet every day bringing the half-year's +term nearer! Oh, ye who riot on the miseries of such men--ye who roll +round the easy circle of fashionable life, think upon this picture! To +vile and heartless landlords, who see not, hear not, know not those to +whose heart-breaking toil ye owe the only merit ye possess--that of +rank in society--come and contemplate this virtuous man, as unfriended, +unassisted, and uncheered by those who are bound by a strong moral duty +to protect and aid him, he looks shuddering into the dark, cheerless +future! Is it to be wondered at that he, and such as he, should, in the +misery of his despair, join the nightly meetings, be lured to associate +himself with the incendiary, or seduced to grasp, in the stupid apathy +of wretchedness, the weapon of the murderer? By neglecting the people; +by draining them, with merciless rapacity, of the means of life; by +goading them on under a cruel system of rack rents, ye become not their +natural benefactors, but curses and scourges, nearly as much in reality +as ye are in their opinion. + +When Owen rose, he was driven by hunger, direct and immediate, to sell +his best cow; and having purchased some oatmeal at an enormous price, +from a well-known devotee in the parish, who hoarded up this commodity +for a "dear summer," he laid his plans for the future, with as much +judgment as any man could display. One morning after breakfast he +addressed his wife as follows: + +"Kathleen, mavourneen, I want to consult wid you about what we ought to +do; things are low wid us, asthore; and except our heavenly Father puts +it into the heart of them I'm goin' to mention, I don't know what well +do, nor what'll become of these poor crathurs that's naked and hungry +about us. God pity them, they don't know--and maybe that same's some +comfort--the hardships that's before them. Poor crathurs! see how quiet +and sorrowful they sit about their little play, passin' the time for +themselves as well as they can! Alley, acushla machree, come over to +me. Your hair is bright and fair, Alley, and curls so purtily that the +finest lady in the land might envy it; but, acushla, your color's gone, +your little hands are wasted away, too; that sickness was hard and sore +upon you, a _colleen machree_ (* girl of my heart) and he that 'ud spend +his heart's blood for you, darlin', can do nothin' to help you!" + +He looked at the child as he spoke, and a slight motion in the muscles +of his face was barely preceptible, but it passed away; and, after +kissing her, he proceeded: + +"Ay, ye crathurs--you and I, Kathleen, could earn our bread for +ourselves yet, but these can't do it. This last stroke, darlin', has +laid us at the door of both poverty and sickness, but blessed be the +mother of heaven for it, they are all left wid us; and sure that's a +blessin' we've to be thankful for--glory be to God!" + +"Ay, poor things, it's well to have them spared, Owen dear; sure I'd +rather a thousand times beg from door to door, and have my childher to +look at, than be in comfort widout them." + +"Beg: that 'ud go hard wid me, Kathleen. I'd work--I'd live on next to +nothing all the year round; but to see the crathurs that wor dacently +bred up brought to that, I couldn't bear it, Kathleen--'twould break +the heart widin in me. Poor as they are, they have the blood of kings +in their veins; and besides, to see a M'Carthy beggin' his bread in the +country where his name was once great--The M'Carthy More, that was their +title-no, acushla, I love them as I do the blood in my own veins; but +I'd rather see them in the arms of God in heaven, laid down dacently +with their little sorrowful faces washed, and their little bodies +stretched out purtily before my eyes--I would--in the grave-yard there +beyant, where all belonging to me lie, than have it cast up to them, or +have it said, that ever a M'Carthy was seen beggin' on the highway." + +"But, Owen, can you strike out no plan for us that 'ud put us in the way +of comin' round agin? These poor ones, if we could hould out for two or +three year, would soon be able to help us." + +"They would--they would. I'm thinkin' this day or two of a plan: but I'm +doubtful whether it 'ud come to anything." + +"What is it, acushla? Sure we can't be worse nor we are, any way." + +"I'm goin' to go to Dublin. I'm tould that the landlord's come home from +France, and that he's there now; and if I didn't see him, sure I could +see the agent. Now, Kathleen, my intintion 'ud be to lay our case before +the head landlord himself, in hopes he might hould back his hand, and +spare us for a while. If I had a line from the agent, or a scrape of a +pen, that I could show at home to some of the nabors, who knows but I +could borry what 'ud set us up agin! I think many of them 'ud be sorry +to see me turned out; eh, Kathleen?" + +The Irish are an imaginative people; indeed, too much so for either +their individual or national happiness. And it is this and superstition, +which also depends much upon imagination, that makes them so easily +influenced by those extravagant dreams that are held out to them by +persons who understand their character. + +When Kathleen heard the plan on which Owen founded his expectations of +assistance, her dark melancholy eye flashed with a portion of its former +fire; a transient vivacity lit up her sickly features, and she turned a +smile of hope and affection upon her children, then upon Owen. + +"Arrah, thin, who knows, indeed!--who knows but he might do something +for us? And maybe we might be as well as ever yet! May the Lord put it +into his heart, this day! I declare, ay!--maybe it was God put it into +your heart, Owen!" + +"I'll set off," replied her husband, who was a man of decision; "I'll +set off on other morrow mornin'; and as nobody knows anything about it, +so let there not be a word said upon the subject, good or bad. If I have +success, well and good; but if not, why, nobody need be the wiser." + +The heart-broken wife evinced, for the remainder of the day, a lightness +of spirits which she had not felt for many a month before. Even Owen +was less depressed than usual, and employed himself in making +such arrangements as he knew would occasion his family to feel the +inconvenience of his absence less acutely. But as the hour of his +departure drew nigh, a sorrowful feeling of affection rising into +greater strength and tenderness threw a melancholy gloom around his +hearth. According to their simple view of distance, a journey to Dublin +was a serious undertaking, and to them it was such. Owen was in weak +health, just risen out of illness, and what was more trying than any +other consideration was, that since their marriage they had never been +separated before. + +On the morning of his departure, he was up before daybreak, and so were +his wife and children, for the latter had heard the conversation already +detailed between them, and, with their simple-minded parents, enjoyed +the gleam of hope which it presented; but this soon changed--when he was +preparing to go, an indefinite sense of fear, and a more vivid clinging +of affection marked their feelings. He himself partook of this, and +was silent, depressed, and less ardent than when the speculation first +presented itself to his mind. His resolution, however, was taken, and, +should he fail, no blame at a future time could be attached to himself. +It was the last effort; and to neglect it, he thought, would have been +to neglect his duty. When breakfast was ready, they all sat down in +silence; the hour was yet early, and a rushlight was placed in a wooden +candlestick that stood beside them to afford light. There was something +solemn and touching in the group as they sat in dim relief, every face +marked by the traces of sickness, want, sorrow, and affection. The +father attempted to eat, but could not; Kathleen sat at the meal, but +could taste nothing; the children ate, for hunger at the moment was +predominant over every other sensation. At length it was over, and Owen +rose to depart; he stood for a minute on the floor, and seemed to take a +survey of his cold, cheerless house, and then of his family; he cleared +his throat several times, but did not speak. + +"Kathleen," said he, at length, "in the name of God I'll go; and may his +blessin' be about you, asthore machree, and guard you and these darlins +till I come back to yez." + +Kathleen's faithful heart could bear no more; she laid herself on his +bosom--clung to his neck, and, as the parting kiss was given, she wept +aloud, and Owen's tears fell silently down his worn cheeks. The children +crowded about them in loud wailings, and the grief of this virtuous and +afflicted family was of that profound description, which is ever the +companion, in such scenes, of pure and genuine love. + +"Owen!" she exclaimed; "Owen, _a-suilish mahuil agus machree!_ (* light +of my eyes and of my heart) I doubt we wor wrong in thinkin' of this +journey. How can you, mavourneen, walk all the way to Dublin, and you so +worn and weakly with that sickness, and the bad feedin' both before and +since? Och, give it up, achree, and stay wid us, let what will happen. +You're not able for sich a journey, indeed you're not. Stay wid me +and the childher, Owen; sure we'd be so lonesome widout you--will you, +agrah? and the Lord will do for us some other way, maybe." + +Owen pressed his faithful wife to his heart, and kissed her chaste lips +with a tenderness which the heartless votaries of fashionable life can +never know. + +"Kathleen, asthore," he replied, in those terms of endearment which flow +so tenderly through the language of the people; "sure whin I remimber +your fair young face--your yellow hair, and the light that was in your +eyes, acushla machree--but that's gone long ago--och, don't ax me to +stop. Isn't your lightsome laugh, whin you wor young, in my ears? and +your step that 'ud not bend the flower of the field--Kathleen, I can't, +indeed I can't, bear to think of what you wor, nor of what you are now, +when in the coorse of age and natur, but a small change ought to be upon +you! Sure I ought to make every struggle to take you and these sorrowful +crathurs out of the state you're in." + +The children flocked about them, and joined their entreaties to those of +their mother. "Father, don't lave us--we'll be lonesome if you go, and +if my mother 'ud get unwell, who'd be to take care of her? Father, don't +lave your own 'weeny crathurs' (a pet name he had for them)--maybe +the meal 'ud be eat out before you'd come back; or maybe something 'ud +happen you in that strange place." + +"Indeed, there's truth in what they say, Owen," said, the wife; "do +be said by your own Kathleen for this time, and don't take sich a long +journey upon you. Afther all, maybe, you wouldn't see him--sure the +nabors will help us, if you could only humble yourself to ax them!" + +"Kathleen," said Owen, "when this is past you'll be glad I went--indeed +you will; sure it's only the tindher feelin' of your hearts, darlins. +Who knows what the landlord may do when I see himself, and show him +these resates--every penny paid him by our own family. Let me go, +acushla; it does cut me to the heart to lave yez the way yez are in, +even for a while; but it's far worse to see your poor wasted faces, +widout havin' it in my power to do anything for yez." + +He then kissed them again, one by one; and pressing the affectionate +partner of his sorrows to his breaking heart, he bade God bless them, +and set out in the twilight of a bitter March morning. He had not gone +many yards from the door when little Alley ran after him in tears; he +felt her hand upon the skirts of his coat, which, she plucked with a +smile of affection that neither tears nor sorrow could repress. "Father, +kiss me again," said she. He stooped down, and kissed her tenderly. The +child then ascended a green ditch, and Owen, as he looked back, saw her +standing upon it; her fair tresses were tossed by the blast about her +face, as with straining eyes she watched him receding from her view. +Kathleen and the other children stood at the door, and also with deep +sorrow watched his form, until the angle of the bridle-road rendered him +no longer visible; after which they returned slowly to the fire and wept +bitterly. + +We believe no men are capable of bearing greater toil or privation than +the Irish. Owen's viaticum was only two or three oaten cakes tied in a +little handkerchief, and a few shillings in silver to pay for his bed. +With this small stock of food and money, an oaken stick in his hand, and +his wife's kerchief tied about his waist, he undertook a journey of one +hundred and ten miles, in quest of a landlord who, so far from being +acquainted with the distresses of his tenantry, scarcely knew even their +names, and not one of them in person. + +Our scene now changes to the metropolis. One evening, about half past +six o'clock, a toil-worn man turned his steps to a splendid! mansion in +Mountjoy Square; his appearance was drooping, fatigued, and feeble. As +he went along, he examined the numbers on the respective doors, until +he reached a certain one--before which he stopped for a moment; he +then stepped out upon the street, and looked through the windows, as if +willing to ascertain whether there was any chance of his object being +attained. Whilst in this situation a carriage rolled rapidly up, and +stopped with a sudden check that nearly threw back the horses on their +haunches. In an instant the thundering knock of the servant intimated +the arrival of some person of rank; the hall door was opened, and Owen, +availing himself of that opportunity, entered the hall. Such a visitor, +however, was too remarkable to escape notice. The hand of the menial +was rudely placed against his breast; and, as the usual impertinent +interrogatories were put to him, the pampered ruffian kept pushing him +back, until the afflicted man stood upon the upper step leading to the +door. + +"For the sake of God, let me spake but two words to him. I'm his tenant; +and I know he's too much of a jintleman to turn away a man that has +lived upon his honor's estate, father and son, for upwards of three +hundred years. My name's Owen ------" + +"You can't see him, my good fellow, at this hour. Go to Mr. M------, +his Agent: we have company to dinner. He never speaks to a tenant on +business; his Agent manages all that. Please, leave the way, here's more +company." + +As he uttered the last word, he pushed Owen back; who, forgetting that +the stairs were behind him, fell,--received a severe cut, and was so +completely stunned, that he lay senseless and bleeding. Another carriage +drove up, as the fellow now much alarmed, attempted to raise him from +the steps; and, by order of the gentleman who came in it, he was brought +into the hall. The circumstance now made some noise. It was whispered +about, that one of Mr. S------'s tenants, a drunken fellow from the +country, wanted to break in forcibly to see him; but then it was also +asserted, that his skull was broken, and that he lay dead in the hall. +Several of the gentlemen above stairs, on hearing that a man had +been killed, immediately assembled about him, and, by the means of +restoratives, he soon recovered, though the blood streamed copiously +from the wound in the back of his head. + +"Who are you, my good man?" said Mr. S------. + +Owen looked about him rather vacantly; but soon collected himself, +and implied in a mournful and touching tone of voice--"I'm one of +your honor's tenants from Tubber Derg; my name is Owen M'Carthy, your +honor--that is, if you be Mr. S------." + +"And pray, what brought you to town, M'Carthy?" + +"I wanted to make an humble appale to your honor's feelins, in regard to +my bit of farm. I, and my poor family, your honor, have been broken down +by hard times and the sickness of the sason--God knows how they axe." + +"If you wish to speak to me about that, my good man, you must know I +refer all these matters to my Agent. Go to him--he knows them best; +and whatever is right and proper to be done for you, he will do it. +Sinclair, give him a crown, and send him to the ------ Dispensary, to +get his head dressed, I say, Carthy, go to my Agent; he knows whether +your claim is just or not, and will attend to it accordingly." + +"Plase, your honor, I've been wid him, and he says he can do nothin' +whatsomever for me. I went two or three times, and couldn't see him, +he was so busy; and, when I did get a word or two wid him, he tould me +there was more offered for my land than I'm payin'; and that if I did +not pay up, I must be put out, God help me!" + +"But I tell you, Carthy, I never interfere between him and my tenants." + +"Och, indeed! and it would be well, both for your honor's tenants and +yourself, if you did, sir. Your honor ought to know, sir, more about +us, and how we're thrated. I'm an honest man, sir, and I tell you so for +your good." + +"And pray, sir," said the Agent, stepping forward, for he had arrived +a few minutes before, and heard the last observation of M'Carthy--"pray +how are they treated, you that know so well, and are so honest a +man?--As for honesty, you might have referred to me for that, I think," +he added. + +"Mr. M------," said Owen, "we're thrated very badly. Sir, you needn't +look at me, for I'm not afeerd to spake the thruth; no bullyin', sir, +will make me say anything in your favor that you don't desarve. You've +broken the half of them by severity; you've turned the tenants aginst +yourself and his honor here; and I tell you now, though you're to the +fore, that, in the coorse of a short time, there'll be bad work upon the +estate, except his honor, here, looks into his own affairs, and hears +the complaints of the people. Look at these resates, your honor; they'll +show you, sir,--" + +"Carthy, I can hear no such language against the gentleman to whom I +entrust the management of my property; of course, I refer the matter +solely to him. I can do nothing in it." + +"Kathleen, avourneen!" claimed the poor man, as he looked up +despairingly to heaven; "and ye, poor darlins of my heart! is this the +news I'm to have for yez whin I go home?--As you hope for mercy, sir, +don't turn away your ear from my petition, that I'd humbly make to +yourself. Cowld, and hunger, and hardship, are at home before me, yer +honor. If you'd be plased to look at these resates, you'd see that I +always paid my rint; and 'twas sickness and the hard times--" + +"And your own honesty, industry, and good conduct," said the Agent, +giving a dark and malignant sneer at him. "Carthy, it shall be my +business to see that you do not spread a bad spirit through the tenantry +much longer.--Sir, you have heard the fellow's admission. It is an +implied threat he will give us much serious trouble. There is not such +another incendiary on your property--not one, upon my honor." + +"Sir," said a servant, "dinner is on the table." + +"Sinclair," said his landlord, "give him another crown, and tell him +to trouble me no more." Saying; which, he and the Agent went up to +the drawing-room, and, in a moment, Owen saw a large party sweep +down stairs, full of glee and vivacity, by whom both himself and his +distresses were as completely forgotten as if they had never existed. + +He now slowly departed, and knew not whether the house-steward had given +him money or not until he felt it in his hand. A cold, sorrowful weight +lay upon his heart; the din of the town deadened his affliction into +a stupor; but an overwhelming sense of his disappointment, and a +conviction of the Agent's diabolical falsehood, entered like barbed +arrows into his heart. + +On leaving the steps, he looked up to heaven in the distraction of +his agonizing thoughts; the clouds were black and lowering--the wind +stormy--and, as it carried them on its dark wing along the sky, he +wished, if it were the will of God, that his head lay in the quiet +grave-yard where the ashes of his forefathers reposed in peace. But he +again remembered his Kathleen and their children; and the large tears of +anguish, deep and bitter, rolled slowly down his cheeks. + +We will not trace him into an hospital, whither the wound on his head +occasioned him to be sent, but simply state, that, on the second week +after this, a man, with his head bound in a handkerchief, lame, bent, +and evidently laboring under a severe illness or great affliction, +might be seen toiling slowly up the little hill that commanded a view of +Tubber Derg. On reaching the top he sat down to rest for a few minutes, +but his eye was eagerly turned to the house which contained all that was +dear to him on this earth. The sun was setting, and shone, with half his +disk visible, in that dim and cheerless splendor which produces almost +in every temperament a feeling of melancholy. His house which, in +happier days, formed so beautiful and conspicuous an object in the +view, was now, from the darkness of its walls, scarcely discernible. +The position of the sun, too, rendered it more difficult to be seen; and +Owen, for it was he, shaded his eyes with his hand, to survey it more +distinctly. Many a harrowing thought and remembrance passed through his +mind, as his eye traced its dim outline in the fading-light'. He had +done his duty--he had gone to the fountain-head, with a hope that his +simple story of affliction might be heard; but all was fruitless: the +only gleam, of hope that opened upon their misery had now passed into +darkness and despair for ever. He pressed his aching forehead with +distraction as he thought of this; then clasped his hands bitterly, and +groaned aloud. + +At length he rose, and proceeded with great difficulty, for the short +rest had stiffened his weak and fatigued joints. As he approached home +his heart sank; and as he ascended the blood-red stream which covered +the bridle-way that led to his house, what with fatigue and affliction, +his agitation weakened him so much that, he stopped, and leaned on his +staff several times, that he might take breath. + +"It's too dark, maybe, for them to see me, or poor Kathleen would send +the darlins to give me the _she dha veha_ (* the welcome). Kathleen, +avourneen machree! how my heart beats wid longin' to see you, asthore, +and to see the weeny crathurs--glory be to Him that has left them to +me--praise and glory to His name!" + +He was now within a few perches of thy door; but a sudden misgiving shot +across his heart when he saw it shut, and no appearance of smoke from +the chimney, nor of stir or life about the house. He advanced-- + +"Mother of glory, what's this!--But, wait, let me rap agin. Kathleen, +Kathleen!--are you widin, avourneen? Owen--Alley--arn't ye widin, +childhre? Alley, sure I'm come back to you all!" and he rapped more +loudly than before. A dark breeze swept through the bushes as he spoke, +but no voice nor sound proceeded from the house;--all was still as death +within. "Alley!" he called once more to his little favorite; "I'm come +home wid something for you, asthore! I didn't forget you, alanna!--I +brought it from Dublin, all the way. Alley!" but the gloomy murmur of +the blast was the only reply. + +Perhaps the most intense of all that he knew as misery was that which +he then felt; but this state of suspense was soon terminated by the +appearance of a neighbor who was passing. + +"Why, thin, Owen, but yer welcome home agin, my poor fellow; and I'm +sorry that I haven't betther news for you, and so are all of us." + +He whom he addressed had almost lost the power of speech. + +"Frank," said he, and he wrung his hand, "What--what? was death among +them? For the sake of heaven, spake!" + +The severe pressure which he received in return ran like a shoot, of +paralysis to his heart. + +"Owen, you must be a man; every one pities yez, and may the Almighty +pity and support yez! She is, indeed, Owen, gone; the weeny fair-haired +child, your favorite Alley, is gone. Yestherday she was berrid; and +dacently the nabors attinded the place, and sent in, as far as they +had it, both mate and dhrink to Kathleen and the other ones. Now, Owen, +you've heard it; trust in God, an' be a man." + +A deep and convulsive throe shook him to the heart. "Gone!--the +fair-haired one!--Alley!--Alley!--the pride of both our hearts; the +sweet, the quiet, and the sorrowful child, that seldom played wid the +rest, but kept wid mys--! Oh, my darlin', my darlin'! gone from my eyes +for ever!--God of glory; won't you support me this night of sorrow and +misery!" + +With a sudden yet profound sense of humility, he dropped on his knees +at the threshold, and, as the tears rolled down his convulsed cheeks, +exclaimed, in a burst of sublime piety, not at all uncommon among our +peasantry--"I thank you, O my God! I thank you, an' I put myself an' my +weeny ones, my _pastchee boght_ (* my poor children) into your hands. I +thank you, O God, for what has happened! Keep me up and support me--och, +I want it! You loved the weeny one, and you took her; she was the light +of my eyes, and the pulse of my broken heart, but you took her, blessed +Father of heaven! an' we can't be angry wid you for so doin'! Still if +you had spared her--if--if--O, blessed Father, my heart was in the very +one you took--but I thank you, O God! May she rest in pace, now and for +ever, Amin!" + +He then rose up, and slowly wiping the tears from his eyes, departed. + +"Let me hould your arm, Frank, dear," said he, "I'm weak and tired wid +a long journey. Och, an' can it be that she's gone--the fair-haired +colleen! When I was lavin' home, an' had kissed them all--'twas the +first time we ever parted, Kathleen and I, since our marriage--the +blessed child came over an' held up her mouth, sayin', 'Kiss me agin, +father;' an' this was afther herself an' all of them had kissed me +afore. But, och! oh! blessed Mother! Frank, where's my Kathleen and the +rest?--and why are they out of their own poor place?" + +"Owen, I tould you awhile agone, that you must be a man. I gave you the +worst news first, an' what's to come doesn't signify much. It was too +dear; for if any man could live upon it you could:--you have neither +house nor home, Owen, nor land. An ordher came from the Agint; your last +cow was taken, so was all you had in the world--hem--barrin' a thrifle. +No,--bad manners to it! no,--you're not widout a home anyway. The +family's in my barn, brave and comfortable, compared to what your own +house was, that let in the wather through the roof like a sieve; and, +while the same barn's to the fore, never say you want a home." + +"God bless you, Frank, for that goodness to them and me; if you're not +rewarded for it here you will in a betther place. Och, I long to see +Kathleen and the childher! But I'm fairly broken down, Frank, and hardly +able to mark the ground; and, indeed, no wondher, if you knew but all: +still, let God's will be done! Poor Kathleen, I must bear up afore her, +or she'll break her heart; for I know how she loved the golden-haired +darlin' that's gone from us. Och, and how did she go, Frank, for I left +her betther?" + +"Why, the poor girsha took a relapse, and wasn't strong enough to bear +up aginst the last attack; but it's one comfort that you know she's +happy." + +Owen stood for a moment, and, looking solemnly in his neighbor's face, +exclaimed, in a deep and exhausted voice, "Frank!" + +"What are you goin' to say, Owen?" + +"The heart widin me's broke--broke!" + +The large tears rolled down his weather-beaten cheeks, and he proceeded +in silence to the house of his friend. There was, however, a feeling +of sorrow in his words and manner which Frank could not withstand. He +grasped Owen's hand, and, in a low and broken voice, simply said--"Keep +your spirits up--keep them up." + +When they came to the barn in which his helpless family had taken up +their temporary residence, Owen stood for a moment to collect himself; +but he was nervous, and trembled with repressed emotion. They then +entered; and Kathleen, on seeing her beloved and affectionate husband, +threw herself on his bosom, and for some time felt neither joy nor +sorrow--she had swooned. The poor man embraced her with a tenderness +at once mournful and deep. The children, on seeing their father safely +returned, forgot their recent grief, and clung about him with gladness +and delight. In the meantime Kathleen recovered, and Owen for many +minutes could not check the loud and clamorous grief, now revived by +the presence of her husband, with which the heart-broken and emaciated +mother deplored her departed child; and Owen himself, on once more +looking among the little ones, on seeing her little frock hanging up, +and her stool vacant by the fire--on missing her voice and her blue +laughing eyes--and remembering the affectionate manner in which, as with +a presentiment of death, she held up her little mouth and offered him +the last kiss--he slowly pulled the toys and cakes he had purchased for +her out of his pocket, surveyed them for a moment, and then, putting +his hands on his face, bent his head upon his bosom, and wept with the +vehement outpouring of a father's sorrow. + +The reader perceives that he was a meek man; that his passions were not +dark nor violent; he bore no revenge to those who neglected or injured +him, and in this he differed from too many of his countrymen. No; his +spirit was broken down with sorrow, and had not room for the fiercer and +more destructive passions. His case excited general pity. Whatever his +neighbors could, do to soothe him and alleviate his affliction was done. +His farm was not taken; for fearful threats were held out against those +who might venture to occupy it. In these threats he had nothing to do; +on the contrary, he strongly deprecated them. Their existence, however, +was deemed by the Agent sufficient to justify him in his callous and +malignant severity towards him. + +We did not write this story for effect. Our object was to relate facts +that occurred. In Ireland, there is much blame justly attached to +landlords, for their neglect and severity, in such depressed times, +towards their tenants: there is also much that is not only indefensible +but atrocious on the part of the tenants. But can the landed proprietors +of Ireland plead ignorance or want of education for their neglect and +rapacity, whilst the crimes of the tenants, on the contrary, may in +general be ascribed to both? He who lives--as, perhaps, his forefathers +have done--upon any man's property, and fails from unavoidable calamity, +has as just and clear a light to assistance from the landlord as if the +amount of that aid were a bonded debt. Common policy, common sense, and +common justice, should induce the Irish landlords to lower their rents +according to the market for agricultural produce, otherwise poverty, +famine, crime, and vague political speculations, founded upon idle hopes +of a general transfer of property, will spread over and convulse the +kingdom. Any man who looks into our poverty may see that our landlords +ought to reduce their rents to a standard suitable to the times and to +the ability of the tenant. + +But to return. Owen, for another year, struggled on for his family, +without success; his firm spirit was broken; employment he could not +get, and even had it been regular, he would have found it impracticable +to support his helpless wife and children by his labor. The next year +unhappily was also one of sickness and of want; the country was not only +a wide waste of poverty, but overspread with typhus fever. One Saturday +night he and the family found themselves without food; they had not +tasted a morsel for twenty-four hours. There were murmuring and +tears and, finally, a low conversation among them, as if they held +a conference upon some subject which filled them with both grief and +satisfaction. In this alternation of feeling did they pass the time +until the sharp gnawing of hunger was relieved by sleep. A keen December +wind blew with a bitter blast on the following morning; the rain was +borne along upon it with violence, and the cold was chill and piercing. +Owen, his wife, and their six children, issued at day-break out of the +barn in which, ever since their removal from Tubber Derg, they had lived +until then; their miserable fragments of bed-clothes were tied in a +bundle to keep them dry; their pace was slow, need we say sorrowful; all +were in tears. Owen and Kathleen went first, with a child upon the +back, and another in the hand, of each. Their route lay by their former +dwelling, the door of which was open, for it had not been inhabited. On +passing it they stood a moment; then with a simultaneous impulse both +approached--entered--and took one last look of a spot to which their +hearts clung with enduring attachment. They then returned; and as they +passed, Owen put forth his hand, picked a few small pebbles out of the +wall, and put them in his pocket. + +"Farewell!" said he, "and may the blessing of God rest upon you! We +now lave you for ever! We're goin' at last to beg our bread through the +world wide, where none will know the happy days we passed widin your +walls! We must lave you; but glory be to the Almighty, we are goin' +wid a clear conscience; we took no revenge into our own hands, but left +everything to God above us. We are poor, but there is neither blood, nor +murder, nor dishonesty upon our heads. Don't cry, Kathleen--don't cry, +childher; there is still a good god above who can and may do something +for us yet, glory be to his holy name!" + +He then passed on with his family, which, including himself, made in +all, eight paupers, being an additional burden upon the country, which +might easily have been avoided. His land was about two years waste, +and when it was ultimately taken, the house was a ruin, and the money +allowed by the landlord for building a new one, together with the +loss of two years' rent, would if humanely directed, have enabled Owen +M'Carthy to remain a solvent tenant. + +When an Irish peasant is reduced to pauperism, he seldom commences the +melancholy task of soliciting alms in his native place. The trial is +always a severe one, and he is anxious to hide his shame and misery from +the eyes of those who know him. This is one reason why some system +of poor laws should be introduced into the country. Paupers of this +description become a burden upon strangers, whilst those who are capable +of entering with friendly sympathy into their misfortunes have no +opportunity of assisting them. Indeed this shame of seeking alms from +those who have known the mendicant in better days, is a proof that +the absence of poor laws takes away from the poorer classes one of the +strongest incitements to industry; for instance, if every Pauper in +Ireland were confined to his own parish, and compelled to beg from his +acquaintances, the sense of shame alone would, by stirring them up to +greater industry, reduce the number of mendicants one-half. There is a +strong spirit of family pride in Ireland, which would be sufficient to +make many poor, of both sexes, exert themselves to the uttermost rather +than cast a stain upon their name, or bring a blush to the face of their +relations. But now it is not so: the mendicant sets out to beg, and in +most instances commences his new mode of life in some distant part of +the country, where his name and family are not known. + +Indeed, it is astonishing how any man can, for a moment, hesitate to +form his opinion upon the subject of poor laws. The English and Scotch +gentry know something about the middle and lower classes of their +respective countries, and of course they have a fixed system of +provision for the poor in each. The ignorance of the Irish gentry, upon +almost every subject connected with the real good of the people, is only +in keeping with their ignorance of the people themselves. It is to be +feared, however, that their disinclination to introduce poor laws arises +less from actual ignorance, than from an illiberal selfishness. The +facts of the case are these: In Ireland the whole support of the +inconceivable multitude of paupers, who swarm like locusts over the +surface of the country, rests upon the middle and lower classes, or +rather upon the latter, for there is scarcely such a thing in this +unhappy country as a middle class. In not one out of a thousand +instances do the gentry contribute to the mendicant poor. In the first +place, a vast proportion of our landlords are absentees, who squander +upon their own pleasures or vices, in the theatres, saloons, or +gaming-houses of France, or in the softer profligacies of Italy, that +which ought to return in some shape to stand in the place of duties +so shamefully neglected. These persons contribute nothing to the poor, +except the various evils which their absence entails upon them. + +On the other hand, the resident gentry never in any case assist a +beggar, even in the remote parts of the country, where there are no +Mendicity Institutions. Nor do the beggars ever think of applying to +them. They know that his honor's dogs would be slipped at them; or that +the whip might be laid, perhaps, to the shoulders of a broken-hearted +father, with his brood of helpless children wanting food; perhaps, upon +the emaciated person of a miserable widow, who begs for her orphans, +only because the hands that supported, and would have defended both her +and them, are mouldered into dust. + +Upon the middle and lower classes, therefore, comes directly the heavy +burden of supporting the great mass of pauperism that presses upon +Ireland. It is certain that the Irish landlords know this, and that they +are reluctant to see any law enacted which might make the performance of +their duties to the poor compulsory. This, indeed, is natural in men who +have so inhumanly neglected them. + +But what must the state of a country be where those who are on the way +to pauperism themselves are exclusively burdened with the support of +the vagrant poor? It is like putting additional weight on a man already +sinking under the burden he bears. The landlords suppose, that because +the maintenance of the idle who are able, and of the aged and infirm who +are not able to work, comes upon the renters of land, they themselves +are exempted from their support. This, if true, is as bitter a stigma +upon their humanity as upon their sense of justice: but it is not true. +Though the cost of supporting such an incredible number of the idle +and helpless does, in the first place, fall upon the tenant, yet, by +diminishing his means, and by often compelling him to purchase, towards +the end of the season, a portion of food equal to that which he has +given away in charity, it certainly becomes ultimately a clear deduction +from the landlord's rent. In either case it is a deduction, but in +the latter it is often doubly so; inasmuch as the poor tenants must +frequently pay, at the close of a season, double, perhaps treble, the +price which provision brought at the beginning of it. + +Any person conversant with the Irish people must frequently have heard +such dialogues as the following, during the application of a beggar for +alms:-- + +Mendicant.--"We're axin your charity for God's sake!" + +Poor Tenant.--"Why thin for His sake you would get it, poor crathur, if +we had it; but it's not for you widin the four corners of the house. It +'ud be well for us if we had now all we gave away in charity durin' the +Whole year; we wouldn't have to be buyin' for ourselves at three prices. +Why don't you go up to the Big House? They're rich and can afford it." + +Mendicant, with a shrug, which sets all his coats and bags in +motion--"Och! och! The Big House, inagh! Musha, do you want me an' the +childhre here, to be torn to pieces wid the dogs? or lashed wid a whip +by one o' the sarvints? No, no, avourneen!" (with a hopeless shake of +the head.) "That 'ud be a blue look-up, like a clear evenin'." + +Poor Tenant.--"Then, indeed, we haven't it to help you, now, poor man. +We're buyin' ourselves." + +Mendicant.--"Thin, throth, that's lucky, so it is! I've as purty a grain +o' male here, as you'd wish to thicken wather wid, that I sthruv to get +together, in hopes to be able to buy a quarther o' tobaccy, along wid a +pair o' new bades an' scapular for myself. I'm suspicious that there's +about a stone ov it, altogether. You can have it anunder the market +price, for I'm frettin' at not havin' the scapular an me. Sure the Lord +will sind me an' the childhre a bit an' sup some way else--glory to his +name!--beside a lock of praties in the corner o' the bag here, that'll +do us for this day, any way." + +The bargain is immediately struck, and the poor tenant is glad to +purchase, even from a beggar, his stone of meal, in consequence of +getting it a few pence under market price. Such scenes as this, which +are of frequent occurrence in the country parts of Ireland, need no +comment. + +This, certainly, is not a state of things which should be permitted to +exist. Every man ought to be compelled to support the poor of his +native parish according to his means. It is an indelible disgrace to the +legislature so long to have neglected the paupers of Ireland. Is it to +bo thought of with common patience that a person rolling in wealth shall +feed upon his turtle, his venison, and his costly luxuries of +every description, for which he will not scruple to pay the highest +price--that this heartless and selfish man, whether he reside at home or +abroad, shall thus unconscionably pamper himself with viands purchased +by the toil of the people, and yet not contribute to assist them, when +poverty, sickness, or age, throws them upon the scanty support of casual +charity? + +Shall this man be permitted to batten in luxury in a foreign land, or at +home; to whip our paupers from his carriage; or hunt them, like beasts +of prey, from his grounds, whilst the lower classes--the gradually +decaying poor--are compelled to groan under the burden of their support, +in addition to their other burdens? Surely it is not a question which +admits of argument. This subject has been darkened and made difficult by +fine-spun and unintelligible theories, when the only knowledge necessary +to understand it may be gained by spending a few weeks in some poor +village in the interior of the country. As for Parliamentary Committees +upon this or any other subject, they are, with reverence be it spoken, +thoroughly contemptible. They will summon and examine witnesses who, for +the most part, know little about the habits or distresses of the poor; +public money will be wasted in defraying their expenses and in printing +reports; resolutions will be passed; something will be said about it +in the House of Commons; and, in a few weeks, after resolving and +re-resolving, it is as little thought of, as if it had never been the +subject of investigation. In the meantime the evil proceeds--becomes +more inveterate--eats into the already declining prosperity of the +country--whilst those who suffer under it have the consolation of +knowing that a Parliamentary Committee sat longer upon it than so many +geese upon their eggs, but hatched nothing. Two circumstances, connected +with pauperism in Ireland, are worthy of notice. The first is this--the +Roman Catholics, who certainly constitute the bulk of the population, +feel themselves called upon, from the peculiar tenets of their religion, +to exercise indiscriminate charity largely to the begging poor. They act +under the impression that eleemosynary good works possess the power of +cancelling sin to an extent almost incredible. Many of their religious +legends are founded upon this view of the case; and the reader will find +an appropriate one in the Priest's sermon, as given in our tale of the +"Poor Scholar." That legend is one which the author has many a time +heard from the lips of the people, by whom it was implicitly believed. +A man who may have committed a murder overnight, will the next day +endeavor to wipe away his guilt by alms given for the purpose of getting +the benefit of "the poor man's prayer." The principle of assisting our +distressed fellow-creatures, when rationally exercised, is one of the +best in society; but here it becomes entangled with error, superstition, +and even with crime--acts as a bounty upon imposture, and in some degree +predisposes to guilt, from an erroneous belief that sin may be cancelled +by alms and the prayers of mendicant impostors. The second point, in +connection with pauperism, is the immoral influence that I proceeds +from the relation in which the begging poor in Ireland stand towards the +class by whom they are supported. These, as we have already said, +are the poorest, least educated, and consequently the most ignorant +description of the people. They are also the most numerous. There have +been for centuries, probably since the Reformation itself, certain +opinions floating among the lower classes in Ireland, all tending to +prepare them for some great change in their favor, arising from +the discomfiture of heresy, the overthrow of their enemies, and the +exaltation of themselves and their religion. + +Scarcely had the public mind subsided after the Rebellion of +Ninety-eight, when the success of Buonaparte directed the eyes and the +hopes of the Irish people towards him, as the person designed to be +their deliverer. Many a fine fiction has the author of this work heard +about that great man's escapes, concerning the bullets that conveniently +turned aside from his person, and the sabres that civilly declined to +cut him down. Many prophecies too were related, in which the glory of +this country under his reign was touched off in the happiest colors. +Pastorini also gave such notions an impulse. Eighteen twenty-five was +to be the year of their deliverance: George the Fourth was never to fill +the British throne; and the mill of Lowth was to be turned three times +with human blood. "The miller with the two thumbs was then living," +said the mendicants, for they were the principal propagators of these +opinions, and the great expounders of their own prophecies; so that of +course there could be no further doubt upon the subject. Several of them +had seen him, a red-haired man with broad shoulders, stout legs, exactly +such as a miller ought to have, and two thumbs on his right hand; all +precisely as the prophecy had stated. Then there was _Beal-derg_, and +several others of the fierce old Milesian chiefs, who along with their +armies lay in an enchanted sleep, all ready to awake and take a part in +the delivery of the country. "Sure such a man," and they would name one +in the time of the mendicant's grandfather, "was once going to a fair to +sell a horse--well and good; the time was the dawn of morning, a little +before daylight: he met a man who undertook to purchase his horse; they +agreed upon the price, and the seller of him followed the buyer into +a Bath, where he found a range of horses, each with an armed soldier +asleep by his side, ready to spring upon him if awoke. The purchaser +cautioned the owner of the horse as they were about to enter the +subterraneous dwelling, against touching either horse or man; but the +countryman happening to stumble, inadvertently laid his hand, upon a +sleeping soldier, who immediately leaped up, drew his sword, and asked, +'Wuil anam inh?' 'Is the time in it? Is the time arrived?' To which the +horse-dealer of the Bath replied, '_Ha niel. Gho dhee collhow areesht_.' +'No: go to sleep again.' Upon this the soldier immediately sank down in +his former position, and unbroken sleep reigned throughout the cave." +The influence on the warm imaginations of an ignorant people, of such +fictions concocted by vagrant mendicants, is very pernicious. They fill +their minds with the most palpable absurdities, and, what is worse, with +opinions, which, besides being injurious to those who receive them, in +every instance insure for those who propagate them a cordial and kind +reception. + +These mendicants consequently pander, for their own selfish ends, to the +prejudices of the ignorant, which they nourish and draw out in a +manner that has in no slight degree been subversive of the peace of the +country. Scarcely any political circumstance occurs which they do not +immediately seize upon and twist to their own purposes, or, in other +words, to the opinions of those from whom they derive their support. +When our present police first appeared in their uniforms and black +belts, another prophecy, forsooth, was fulfilled. Immediately before the +downfall of heresy, a body of "Black Militia" was to appear; the police, +then, are the black militia, and the people consider themselves another +step nearer the consummation of their vague speculations. + +In the year Ninety-eight, the Irish mendicants were active agents, +clever spies, and expert messengers on the part of the people; and to +this day they carry falsehood, and the materials of outrage in its worst +shape, into the bosom of peaceable families, who would, otherwise, never +become connected with a system which is calculated to bring ruin and +destruction upon those who permit themselves to join it. + +This evil, and it is no trifling one, would, by the introduction of +poor-laws, be utterly abolished, the people would not only be more +easily improved, but education, when received, would not be corrupted +by the infusion into it of such ingredients as the above. In many other +points of view, the confirmed and hackneyed mendicants of Ireland are a +great evil to the morals of the people. We could easily detail them, but +such not being our object at present, we will now dismiss the subject of +poor-laws, and resume our narrative. + +Far--far different from this description of impostors, were Owen +M'Carthy and his family. Their misfortunes were not the consequences +of negligence or misconduct on their own part. They struggled long but +unavailingly against high rents and low markets; against neglect on the +part of the landlord and his agent; against sickness, famine, and death. +They had no alternative but to beg or starve. Owen was willing to +work, but he could not procure employment: and provided he could, the +miserable sum of sixpence a day, when food was scarce and dear, would +not support him, his wife, and six little ones. He became a pauper, +therefore, only to avoid starvation. + +Heavy and black was his heart, to use the strong expression of the +people, on the bitter morning when he set out to encounter the dismal +task of seeking alms, in order to keep life in himself and his family. +The plan was devised on the preceding night, but to no mortal, except +his wife, was it communicated. The honest pride of a man whose mind was +above committing a mean action, would not permit him to reveal what he +considered the first stain that ever was known to rest upon the name of +M'Carthy; he therefore sallied out under the beating of the storm, +and proceeded, without caring much whither he went, until he got +considerably beyond the bounds of his own parish. + +In the meantime hunger pressed deeply upon him and them. The day had +no appearance of clearing up; the heavy rain and sleet beat into their +thin, worn garments, and the clamor of his children for food began to +grow more and more importunate. They came to the shelter of a hedge +which inclosed on one side a remote and broken road, along which, +in order to avoid the risk of being recognized, they had preferred +travelling. Owen stood here for a few minutes to consult with his wife, +as to where and when they should "make a beginning;" but on looking +round, he found her in tears. + +"Kathleen, asthore," said he, "I can't bid you not to cry; bear up, +acushla machree; bear up: sure, as I said when we came out this mornin', +there's a good God above us, that can still turn over the good lafe for +us, if we put our hopes in him." + +"Owen," said his sinking wife, "it's not altogether bekase we're brought +to this that I'm cryin'; no, indeed." + +"Thin what ails you, Kathleen darlin'?" + +The wife hesitated, and evaded the question for some time; but at +length, upon his pressing her for an answer, with a fresh gush of +sorrow, she replied, + +"Owen, since you must know--och, may God pity us!--since you must know, +it's wid hunger--wid hunger! I kept, unknownst, a little bit of bread +to give the childhre this mornin', and that was part of it I gave you +yesterday early--I'm near two days fastin'." + +"Kathleen! Kathleen! Och! sure I know your worth, avillish. You were too +good a wife, an' too good a mother, a'most! God forgive me, Kathleen! I +fretted about beginnin', dear; but as my Heavenly Father's above me, I'm +now happier to beg wid you by my side, nor if I war in the best house +of the province widout you! Hould up, avour-neen, for a while. Come on, +childhre, darlins, an' the first house we meet we'll ax their char--, +their assistance. Come on, darlins, and all of yees. Why my heart's +asier, so it is. Sure we have your mother, childhre, safe wid us, an' +what signifies anything so long as she's left to us?" + +He then raised his wife tenderly, for she had been compelled to sit from +weakness, and they bent their steps to a decent farmhouse that stood a +few perches off the road, about a quarter of a mile before them. + +As they approached the door, the husband hesitated a moment; his face +got paler than usual, and his lip quivered, as he said--"Kathleen--" + +"I know what you're goin' to say, Owen. No, acushla, you won't; I'll ax +it myself." + +"Do," said Owen, with difficulty; "I can't do it; but I'll overcome my +pride afore long, I hope. It's thryin' to me, Kathleen, an' you know it +is--for you know how little I ever expected to be brought to this." + +"Husht, avillish! We'll thry, then, in the name o' God." + +As she spoke, the children, herself, and her husband entered, to beg, +for the first time in their lives, a morsel of food. Yes! timidly--with +a blush, of shame, red even to crimson, upon the pallid features +of Kathleen--with grief acute and piercing--they entered the house +together. + +For some minutes they stood and spoke not. The unhappy woman, +unaccustomed to the language of supplication, scarcely knew in what +terms to crave assistance. Owen himself stood back, uncovered, his +fine, but much changed features overcast with an expression of +deep affliction. Kathleen cast a single glance, at him, as if for +encouragement. Their eyes met; she saw the upright man--the last remnant +of the M'Carthy--himself once the friend of the poor, of the unhappy, of +the afflicted--standing crushed and broken down by misfortunes which he +had not deserved, waiting with patience for a morsel of charity. Owen, +too, had his remembrances. He recollected the days when he sought and +gained the pure and fond affections of his Kathleen: when beauty, and +youth, and innocence encircled her with their light and their grace, as +she spoke or moved; he saw her a happy wife and mother in her own +home, kind and benevolent to all who required her good word or her good +office, and remembered the sweetness of her light-hearted song; but now +she was homeless. He remembered, too, how she used to plead with himself +for the afflicted. It was but a moment; yet when their eyes met, that +moment was crowded by recollections that flashed across their minds with +a keen, sense of a lot so bitter and wretched as theirs. Kathleen could +not speak, although she tried; her sobs denied her utterance; and Owen +involuntarily sat upon a chair, and covered his face with his hand. + +To an observing eye it is never difficult to detect the cant of +imposture, or to perceive distress when it is real. The good woman of +the house, as is usual in Ireland, was in the act of approaching them, +unsolicited, with a double handful of meal--that is what the Scotch and +northern Irish call a goivpen, or as much as both hands locked together +can contain--when, noticing their distress, she paused a moment, eyed +them more closely, and exclaimed-- + +"What's this? Why there's something wrong wid you, good people! But +first an' foremost take this, in the name an' honor of God." + +"May the blessin' of the same _Man_* rest upon yees!" replied Kathleen. +"This is a sorrowful thrial to us; for it's our first day to be upon the +world; an' this is the first help of the kind we ever axed for, or ever +got; an' indeed now I find we haven't even a place to carry it in. I've +no--b--b--cloth, or anything to hould it." + + * God is sometimes thus termed in Ireland. By "Man" + here is meant person or being. He is also called the + "Man above;" although this must have been intended for, + and often is applied to, Christ only. + +"Your first, is it?" said the good woman. "Your first! May the marciful +queen o' heaven look down upon yees, but it's a bitther day yees war +driven out in! Sit down, there, you poor crathur. God pity you, I pray +this day, for you have a heart-broken look! Sit down awhile, near the +fire, you an' the childre! Come over, darlins, an' warm yourselves. Och, +oh! but it's a thousand pities to see sich fine childre--handsome an' +good lookin' even as they are, brought to this! Come over, good man; get +near the fire, for you're wet an' could all of ye. Brian, ludher them +two lazy thieves o' dogs out o' that. _Eiree suas, a wadhee bradagh, +agus go mah a shin!_--be off wid yez, ye lazy divils, that's not worth +your feedin'! Come over, honest man." Owen and his family were placed +near the fire; the poor man's heart was full, and he sighed heavily. + +"May He that is plased to thry us," he exclaimed, "reward you for this! +We are," he continued, "a poor an' a sufferin' family; but it's the +will of God that we should be so; an' sure we can't complain widout +committin' sin. All we ax now, is, that it may be plasin' to him that +brought us low, to enable us to bear up undher our thrials. We would +take it to our choice to beg an' be honest, sooner, nor to be wealthy, +an' wicked! We have our failings, an' our sins, God help us; but still +there's nothin' dark or heavy on our consciences. Glory be to the name +o' God for it!" + +"Throth, I believe you," replied the farmer's wife; "there's thruth an' +honesty in your face; one may easily see the remains of dacency about +you all. Musha, throw your little things aside, an' stay where ye are +today: you can't bring out the childre under the teem of rain an' sleet +that's in it. Wurrah dheelish, but it's the bitther day all out! Faix, +Paddy will get a dhrookin, so he will, at that weary fair wid the +stirks, poor bouchal--a son of ours that's gone to Bally-boulteen to +sell some cattle, an' he'll not be worth three hapuns afore he comes +back. I hope he'll have sinse to go into some house, when he's done, +an' dhry himself well, anyhow, besides takin' somethin' to keep out the +could. Put by your things, an' don't, think of goin' out sich a day." + +"We thank you," replied Owen. "Indeed we're glad to stay undher your +roof; for poor things, they're badly able to thravel sich a day--these +childre." + +"Musha, ye ate no breakfast, maybe?" Owen and his family were silent. +The children looked wistfully at their parents, anxious that they should +confirm what the good woman surmised; the father looked again at his +famished brood and his sinking wife, and nature overcame him. + +"Food did not crass our lips this day," replied Owen; "an' I may say +hardly anything yestherday." + +"Oh, blessed mother! Here, Katty Murray, drop scrubbin' that dresser, +an' put down, the midlin' pot for stirabout. Be livin' _manim an +diouol_, woman alive, handle yourself; you might a had it boilin' by +this. God presarve us!--to be two days widout atin! Be the crass, Katty, +if you're not alive, I'll give you a douse o' the churnstaff that'll +bring the fire to your eyes! Do you hear me?" + +"I do hear you, an' did often feel you, too, for fraid hearin' wouldn't +do. You think there's no places in the world but your own, I b'lieve. +Faix, indeed! it's well come up wid us, to be randied about wid no less +a switch than a churnstaff!" + +"Is it givin' back talk, you are? Bad end to me, if you look crucked but +I'll lave you a mark to remimber me by. What woman 'ud put up wid you +but myself, you shkamin flipe? It wasn't to give me your bad tongue I +hired you, but to do your business; and be the crass above us, if you +turn your tongue on me agin, I'll give you the weight o' the churnstaff. +Is it bekase they're poor people that it plased God to bring to this, +that you turn up your nose at doin' anything to sarve them? There's not +wather enough there, I say--put in more what signifies all the stirabout +that 'ud make? Put plinty in: it's betther always to have too much than +too little. Faix, I tell you, you'll want a male's meat an' a night's +lodgin' afore you die, if you don't mend your manners." + +"Och, musha, the poor girl is doin' her best," observed Kathleen; "an' +I'm sure she wouldn't be guilty of usin' pride to the likes of us, or to +any one that the Lord has laid his hand upon." + +"She had betther not, while I'm to the fore," said her mistress. "What +is she herself? Sure if it was a sin to be poor, God help the world. No; +it's neither a sin nor a shame." + +"Thanks be to God, no," said Owen: "it's neither the one nor the other. +So long as we keep a fair name, an' a clear conscience, we can't ever +say that our case is hard." + +After some further conversation, a comfortable breakfast was prepared +for them, of which they partook with an appetite sharpened by their long +abstinence from food. Their stay here was particularly fortunate, for as +they were certain of a cordial welcome, and an abundance of that which +they much wanted--wholesome food--the pressure of immediate distress +was removed. They had time to think more accurately upon the little +preparations for misery which were necessary, and, as the day's leisure +was at their disposal, Kathleen's needle and scissors were industriously +plied in mending the tattered clothes of her husband and her children, +in order to meet the inclemency of the weather. + +On the following morning, after another abundant breakfast, and +substantial marks of kindness from their entertainers, they prepared +to resume their new and melancholy mode of life. As they were about to +depart, the farmer's wife addressed them in the following terms--the +farmer himself, by the way, being but the shadow of his worthy partner +in life-- + +Wife--"Now, good people, you're takin' the world on your heads--" + +Farmer--"Ay, good people, you're takin' the world on your heads--" + +Wife--"Hould your tongue, Brian, an' suck your dhudeen. It's me that's +spakin' to them, so none of your palaver, if you plase, till I'm done, +an' then you may prache till Tib's Eve, an' that's neither before +Christmas nor afther it." + +Farmer--"Sure I'm sayin' nothin', Elveen, barrin' houldin' my tongue, a +shuchar" (* my sugar). + +Wife--"Your takin' the world on yez, an' God knows 'tis a heavy load to +carry, poor crathurs." + +Farmer--"A heavy load, poor crathurs! God he knows it's that." + +Wife--"Brian! _Gluntho ma?_--did you hear me? You'll be puttin' in your +gab, an' me spakin'? How-an-iver, as I was sayin', our house was the +first ye came to, an' they say there's a great blessin' to thim that +gives, the first charity to a poor man or woman settin' out to look for +their bit." + +Farmer--"Throgs, ay! Whin they set out; to look for their bit." + +Wife--"By the crass, Brian, you'd vex a saint. What have you to say in +it, you _pittiogue_?* Hould your whisht now, an' suck your dhudeen, I +say; sure I allow you a quarther o' tobaccy a week, an' what right have +you to be puttin' in your gosther when other people's spakin'?" + + * Untranslatable--but means a womanly man a poor, + effeminate creature. + +Farmer--"Go an." + +Wife--"So, you see, the long an' the short of it is that whenever you +happen to be in this side of the counthry, always come to us. You know +the ould sayin'--when the poor man comes he brings a blessin', an' when +he goes he carries away a curse. You have as much, meal as will last yez +a day or two; an' God he sees you're heartily welcome to all ye got?" + +Farmer--"God he sees you're heartily welcome--" + +Wife--"_Chorp an diouol_, Brian, hould your tongue, Or I'll turn you out +o' the kitchen. One can't hear their own ears for you, you poor squakin' +dhrone. By the crass, I'll--eh? Will you whisht, now?" + +Farmer--"Go an. Amn't I dhrawin' my pipe?" + +Wife--"Well dhraw it; but don't dhraw me down upon you, barrin--. Do you +hear me? an' the sthrange people to the fore, too! Well, the Lord be wid +yez, an' bless yez! But afore yez go, jist lave your blessin' wid us; +for it's a good thing to have the blessin' of the poor?" + +"The Lord bless you, an yours!" said Owen, fervently. "May you and them +never--oh, may you never--never suffer what we've suffered; nor know +what it is to want a male's mate, or a night's lodgin'!" + +"Amin!" exclaimed Kathleen; "may the world flow upon you! for your good, +kind heart desarves it." + +Farmer--"An' whisper; I wish you'd offer up a prayer for the rulin' o' +the tongue. The Lord might hear you, but there's no great hopes that +ever he'll hear me; though I've prayed for it almost ever since I was +married, night an' day, winther and summer; but no use, she's as bad as +ever." + +This was said in a kind of friendly insinuating undertone to Owen; who, +on hearing it, simply nodded his head, but made no other reply. + +They then recommenced their journey, after having once more blessed, +and been invited by their charitable entertainers, who made them promise +never to pass their house without stopping a night with them. + +It is not our intention to trace Owen M'Carthy and his wife through +all the variety which a wandering pauper's life affords. He never could +reconcile himself to the habits of a mendicant. His honest pride and +integrity of heart raised him above it: neither did he sink into the +whine and cant of imposture, nor the slang of knavery. No; there was +a touch of manly sorrow about him, which neither time, nor familiarity +with his degraded mode of life, could take away from him. His usual +observation to his wife, and he never made it without a pang of intense +bitterness, was--"Kathleen, dar-lin', it's thrue we have enough to ate +an' to dhrink; but we have no home--no home!" to a man like him it was a +thought of surpassing bitterness, indeed. + +"Ah! Kathleen," he would observe, "if we had but the poorest shed that +could be built, provided it was our own, wouldn't we be happy? The bread +we ate, avourneen, doesn't do us good. We don't work for it; it's the +bread of shame and idleness: and yet it's Owen M'Carthy that ates it! +But, avourneen, that's past; an' we'll never see our own home, or +our own hearth agin. That's what's cuttin' into my heart, Kathleen. +Never!--never!" + +Many a trial, too, of another kind, was his patience called upon to +sustain; particularly from the wealthy and the more elevated in +life, when his inexperiences as a mendicant led him to solicit their +assistance. + +"Begone, sirrah, off my grounds!" one would say. "Why don't you work, +you sturdy impostor," another would exclaim, "rather than stroll about +so lazily, training your brats to the gallows?" + +"You should be taken up, fellow, as a vagrant," a third would observe; +"and if I ever catch you coming up my avenue again, depend upon it, I +will slip my dogs at you and your idle spawn." + +Owen, on these occasions, turned away in silence; he did not curse them; +but the pangs of his honest heart went before Him who will, sooner or +later, visit upon the heads of such men their cruel spurning and neglect +of the poor. + +"Kathleen," he observed to his wife, one day, about a, year or more +after they had begun to beg; "Kathleen, I have been turnin' it in my +mind, that some of these childhre might sthrive to earn their bit an' +sup, an' their little coverin' of clo'es, poor things. We might put them +to herd cows in the summer, an' the girshas to somethin' else in the +farmers' house. What do you think, asthore?" + +"For God's sake do, Owen; sure my heart's crushed to see them--my own +childhre, that I could lay down my life for--beggin' from door to door. +Och, do something for them that way, Owen, an' you'll relieve the heart +that loves them. It's a sore sight to a mother's eye, Owen, to see her +childhre beggin' their morsel." + +"It is darlin'--it is; we'll hire out the three eldest--Brian, an' Owen, +an' Pether, to herd cows; an' we may get Peggy into some farmer's +house to do loose jobs an' run of messages. Then we'd have only little +Kathleen an' poor Ned along wid us. I'll try any way, an' if I can get +them places, who knows what may happen? I have a plan in my head that +I'll tell you, thin." + +"Arrah, what is it, Owen, jewel. Sure if I know it, maybe when I'm +sorrowful, that thinkin' of it, an' lookin' forrid to it will make me +happier. An' I'm sure, acushla, you would like that." + +"But maybe, Kathleen, if it wouldn't come to pass, that the +disappointment 'ud be heavy on you?" + +"How could it, Owen? Sure we can't be worse nor we are, whatever +happens?" + +"Thrue enough, indeed, I forgot that; an' yet we might, Kathleen. Sure +we'd be worse, if we or the childhre had bad health." + +"God forgive me thin, for what I said! We might be worse. Well, but what +is the plan, Owen?" + +"Why, when we got the childhre places, I'll sthrive to take a little +house, an' work as a cottar. Then, Kathleen, we'd have a home of our +own. I'd work from light to light; I'd work before hours an' afther +hours; ay, nine days in the week, or we'd be comfortable in our own +little home. We might be poor, Kathleen, I know that, an' hard pressed +too; but then, as I said, we'd have our own home, an' our own hearth; +our morsel, if it 'ud be homely, would be sweet, for it would be the +fruits of our own labor." + +"Now, Owen, do you think you could manage to get that?" + +"Wait, acushla, till we get the childhre settled. Then I'll thry the +other plan, for it's good to thry anything that could take us out of +this disgraceful life." + +This humble speculation was a source of great comfort to them. Many +a time have they forgotten their sorrows in contemplating the simple +picture of their happy little cottage. Kathleen, in particular, drew +with all the vivid coloring of a tender mother, and an affectionate +wife, the various sources of comfort and contentment to be found even +in a cabin, whose inmates are blessed with a love of independence, +industry, and mutual affection. + +Owen, in pursuance of his intention, did not neglect, when the proper +season arrived, to place out his eldest children among the farmers. +The reader need not be told that there was that about him which gained +respect. He had, therefore, little trouble in obtaining his wishes on +this point, and to his great satisfaction, he saw three of them hired +out to earn their own support. + +It was now a matter of some difficulty for him to take a cabin and get +employment. They had not a single article of furniture, and neither bed +nor bedding, with the exception of blankets almost worn past use. He was +resolved, however, to give up, at all risks, the life of a mendicant. +For this purpose, he and the wife agreed to adopt a plan quite usual in +Ireland, under circumstances somewhat different from his: this was, +that Kathleen should continue to beg for their support, until the +first half-year of their children's service should expire; and in the +meantime, that he, if possible, should secure employment for himself. +By this means, his earnings and that of his children might remain +untouched, so that in half a year he calculated upon being able to +furnish a cabin, and proceed, as a cotter, to work for, and support his +young children and his wife, who determined, on her part, not to be idle +any more than her husband. As the plan was a likely one, and as Owen +was bent on earning his bread, rather than be a burthen to others, it +is unnecessary to say that it succeeded. In less than a year he found +himself once more in a home, and the force of what he felt on sitting, +for the first time since his pauperism, at his own hearth, may easily be +conceived by the reader. For some years after this, Owen got on slowly +enough; his wages as a daily laborer being so miserable, that it +required him to exert every nerve to keep the house over their head. +What, however, will not carefulness and a virtuous determination, joined +to indefatigable industry, do? + +After some time, backed as he was by his wife, and even by his youngest +children, he, found himself beginning to improve. In the mornings and +evenings he cultivated his garden and his rood of potato-ground. He also +collected with a wheelbarrow, which he borrowed, from an acquaintance, +compost from the neighboring road; scoured an old drain before his door; +dug rich earth, and tossed, it into the pool of rotten water beside the +house, and in fact adopted several other modes of collecting manure. By +this means he had, each spring, a large portion of rich stuff on which +to plant his potatoes. His landlord permitted him to spread this for +planting upon his land; and Owen, ere long, instead of a rood, was able +to plant half an acre, and ultimately, an acre of potatoes. The produce +of this, being more than sufficient for the consumption of his family, +he sold the surplus, and with the money gained by the sale was enabled +to sow half an acre of oats, of which, when made into meal, he disposed +of the greater share. + +Industry is capital; for even when unaided by capital it creates it; +whereas, idleness with capital produces only poverty and ruin. Owen, +after selling his meal and as much potatoes as he could spare, found +himself able to purchase a cow. Here was the means of making more +manure; he had his cow, and he had also straw enough for her provender +during the winter. The cow by affording milk to his family, enabled them +to live more cheaply; her butter they sold, and this, in addition to his +surplus meal and potatoes every year, soon made him feel that he had a +few guineas to spare. He now bethought him of another mode of helping +himself forward in the world: after buying the best "slip" of a pig he +could find, a sty was built for her, and ere long he saw a fine litter +of young pigs within a snug shed. These he reared until they were about +two months old, when he sold them, and found that he had considerably +gained by the transaction. This, department, however, was under the +management of Kathleen, whose life was one of incessant activity and +employment. Owen's children, during the period of his struggles and +improvements, were, by his advice, multiplying their little capital as +fast as himself. The two boys, who had now shot up into the stature of +young men, were at work as laboring servants in the neighborhood. The +daughters were also engaged as servants with the adjoining farmers. The +boys bought each a pair of two-year old heifers, and the daughter one. +These they sent to graze up in the mountains at a trifling charge, for +the first year or two: when they became springers, they put them to rich +infield grass for a few months, until they got a marketable appearance, +after which their father brought them to the neighboring fairs, where +they usually sold to great advantage, in consequence of the small outlay +required in rearing them. + +In fact, the principle of industry ran through the family. There was +none of them idle; none of them a burthen or a check upon the profits +made by the laborer. On the contrary, "they laid their shoulders +together," as the phrase is, and proved to the world, that when the +proper disposition is followed up by suitable energy and perseverance, +it must generally reward him who possesses it. + +It is certainly true that Owen's situation in life now was essentially +different from that which it had been during the latter years of his +struggles an a farmer. It was much more favorable, and far better +calculated to develop successful exertion. If there be a class of men +deserving public sympathy, it is that of the small farmers of Ireland. +Their circumstances are fraught with all that is calculated to depress +and ruin them; rents far above their ability, increasing poverty, and +bad markets. The land which, during the last war, might have enabled the +renter to pay three pounds per acre, and yet still maintain himself with +tolerable comfort, could not now pay more than one pound, or, at the +most, one pound ten; and yet, such is the infatuation of landlords, +that, in most instances, the terms of leases taken out then are +rigorously exacted. Neither can the remission of yearly arrears be said +to strike at the root of the evils under which they suffer. The fact +of the disproportionate rent hanging over them is a disheartening +circumstance, that paralyzes their exertion, and sinks their spirits. If +a landlord remit the rent for one term, he deals more harshly with the +tenant at the next; whatever surplus, if any, his former indulgence +leaves in the tenant's hands, instead of being expended upon his +property as capital, and being permitted to lay the foundation of +hope and prosperity, is drawn from him, at next term, and the poor, +struggling tenant is thrown back into as much distress, embarrassment, +and despondency as ever. There are, I believe, few tenants in Ireland +of the class I allude to, who are not from one gale to three in arrear. +Now, how can it be expected that such men will labor with spirit and +earnestness to raise crops which they may never reap? crops which the +landlord may seize upon to secure as much of his rent as he can. + +I have known a case in which the arrears were not only remitted, but the +rent lowered to a reasonable standard, such as, considering the markets, +could be paid. And what was the consequence? The tenant who was looked +upon as a negligent man, from whom scarcely any rent could be got, took +courage, worked his farm with a spirit and success which he had not +evinced before; and ere long was in a capacity to pay his gales to the +very day; so that the judicious and humane landlord was finally a gainer +by his own excellent economy. This was an experiment, and it succeeded +beyond expectation. + +Owen M'Carthy did not work with more zeal and ability as an humble +cotter than he did when a farmer; but the tide was against him as a +landholder, and instead of having advanced, he actually lost ground +until he became a pauper. No doubt the peculiarly unfavorable run of two +hard seasons, darkened by sickness and famine, were formidable obstacles +to him; but he must eventually have failed, even had they not occurred. +They accelerated his downfall, but did not cause it. + +The Irish people, though poor, are exceedingly anxious to be +independent. Their highest ambition is to hold a farm. So strong is this +principle in them, that they will, without a single penny of capital, or +any visible means to rely on, without consideration or forethought, come +forward and offer a rent which, if they reflected only for a moment, +they must feel to be unreasonably high. This, indeed, is a great evil +in Ireland. But what, in the meantime, must we think of those imprudent +landlords, and their more imprudent agents, who let their land to +such persons, without proper inquiry into their means, knowledge of +agriculture, and general character as moral and industrious men? A farm +of land is to be let; it is advertised through the parish; application +is to be made before such a day, to so and so. The day arrives, the +agent or the land-steward looks over the proposals, and after singling +out the highest, bidder, declares him tenant, as a matter of course. +Now, perhaps, this said tenant does not possess a shilling in the +world, nor a shilling's worth. Most likely he is a new-married man, +with nothing but his wife's bed and bedding, his wedding-suit, and his +blackthorn cudgel, which we may suppose him to keep in reserve for the +bailiff. However, he commences his farm; and then follow the shiftings, +the scramblings, and the fruitless struggles to succeed, where success +is impossible. His farm is not half tilled; his crops are miserable; the +gale-day has already passed; yet, he can pay nothing until he takes it +out of the land. Perhaps he runs away--makes a moonlight flitting--and, +by the aid of his friends, succeeds in bringing the crop with him. The +landlord, or agent, declares he is a knave; forgetting that the man +had no other alternative, and that they were the greater knaves and +fools too, for encouraging him to undertake a task that was beyond his +strength. + +In calamity we are anxious to derive support from the sympathy of our +friends; in our success, we are eager to communicate to them the power +of participating in our happiness. When Owen once more found himself +independent and safe, he longed to realize two plans on which he had +for some time before been seriously thinking. The first was to visit his +former neighbors, that they might at length know that Owen McCarthy's +station in the world was such as became his character. The second was, +if possible, to take a farm in his native parish, that he might close +his days among the companions of his youth, and the friends of his +maturer years. He had, also, another motive; there lay the burying-place +of the M'Carthys, in which slept the mouldering dust of his own +"golden-haired" Alley. With them--in his daughter's grave--he intended +to sleep his long sleep. Affection for the dead is the memory of the +heart. In no other graveyard could he reconcile it to himself to be +buried; to it had all his forefathers been gathered; and though +calamity had separated him from the scenes where they had passed through +existence, yet he was resolved that death should not deprive him of its +last melancholy consolation;--that of reposing with all that remained of +the "departed," who had loved him, and whom he had loved. He believed, +that to neglect this, would be to abandon a sacred duty, and felt sorrow +at the thought of being like an absent guest from the assembly of his +own dead; for there is a principle of undying hope in the heart, that +carries, with bold and beautiful imagery, the realities of life into the +silent recesses of death itself. + +Having formed the resolution of visiting his old friends at Tubber Derg, +he communicated it to Kathleen and his family; Ids wife received the +intelligence with undisguised delight. + +"Owen," she replied, "indeed I'm glad you mintioned it. Many a time the +thoughts of our place, an' the people about it, comes over me. I know, +Owen, it'll go to your heart to see it; but still, avourneen, you'd +like, too, to see the ould faces an' the warm hearts of them that pitied +us, an' helped us, as well as they could, whin we war broken down." + +"I would, Kathleen; but I'm not going merely to see thim an' the place. +I intind, if I can, to take a bit of land somewhere near Tubber Derg. +I'm unasy in my mind, for 'fraid I'd not sleep in the grave-yard where +all belongin' to me lie." + +A chord of the mother's heart was touched; and in a moment the memory of +their beloved child brought the tears to her eyes. + +"Owen, avourneen, I have one requist to ax of you, an' I'm sure you +won't refuse it to me; if I die afore you, let me be buried wid Alley. +Who has a right to sleep so near her as her own mother?" + +"The child's in my heart still," said Owen, suppressing his emotion; +"thinkin' of the unfortunate mornin' I wint to Dublin, brings her +back to me. I see her standin', wid her fair pale face--pale--oh, my +God!--wid hunger an' sickness--her little thin clo'es, an' her goolden +hair, tossed about by the dark blast--the tears in her eyes, an' the +smile, that she once had, on her face--houldin' up her mouth, an' sayin' +'Kiss me agin, father;' as if she knew, somehow, that I'd never see +her, nor her me, any more. An' whin I looked back, as I was turnin' the +corner, there she stood, strainin' her eyes after her father, that she +was then takin' the last sight of until the judgment-day." + +His voice here became broken, and he sat in silence for a few minutes. + +"It's sthrange," he added, with more firmness, "how she's so often in my +mind!" + +"But, Owen, dear," replied Kathleen, "sure it was the will of God that +she should lave us. She's now a bright angel in heaven, an' I dunna if +it's right--indeed, I doubt it's sinful for us to think so much about +her. Who knows but her innocent spirit is makin' inthercession for us +all, before the blessed Mother o' God! Who knows but it was her that got +us the good fortune that flowed in upon us, an' that made our strugglin' +an' our laborin' turn out so lucky." + +The idea of being lucky or unlucky is, in Ireland, an enemy to industry. +It is certainly better that the people should believe success in life +to be, as it is, the result of virtuous exertion, than of contingent +circumstances, over which they themselves have no control. Still there +was something beautiful in the superstition of Kathleen's affections; +something that touched the heart and its! dearest associations. + +"It's very true, Kathleen," replied her husband; "but God is ever ready +to help them that keeps an honest heart, an' do everything in their +power to live creditably. They may fail for a time, or he may thry them +for awhile, but sooner or later good, intintions and honest labor will +be rewarded. Look at ourselves--blessed be his name!" + +"But whin do you mane to go to Tubber Derg, Owen!" + +"In the beginnin' of the next week. An', Kathleen, ahagur, if you +remimber the bitther mornin' we came upon the world--but we'll not +be spakin' of that now. I don't like to think of it. Some other time, +maybe, when we're settled among our ould friends, I'll mintion it." + +"Well, the Lord bliss your endayvors, anyhow! Och, Owen, do thry an' +get us a snug farm somewhere near them. But you didn't answer me about +Alley, Owen?" + +"Why, you must have your wish, Kathleen, although I intended to keep +that place for myself. Still we can sleep one on aich side of her; an' +that may be aisily done, for our buryin'-ground is large: so set your +mind at rest on that head. I hope God won't call us till we see our +childhre settled dacently in the world. But sure, at all evints, let his +blessed will be done!" + +"Amin! amin! It's not right of any one to keep their hearts fixed too +much upon the world; nor even, they say, upon one's own childhre." + +"People may love their childhre as much as they plase, Kathleen, if they +don't let their _grah_ for them spoil the crathurs, by givin' them their +own will, till they become headstrong an' overbearin'. Now, let my linen +be as white as a bone before Monday, plase goodness; I hope, by that +time, that Jack Dogherty will have my new clo'es made; for I intind to +go as dacent as ever they seen me in my best days." + +"An' so you will, too, avillish. Throth, Owen, it's you that'll be the +proud man, steppin' in to them in all your grandeur! Ha, ha, ha! The +spirit o' the M'Carthys is in you still, Owen." + +"Ha, ha, ha! It is, darlin'; it is, indeed; an' I'd be sarry it wasn't. +I long to see poor Widow Murray. I dunna is her son, Jemmy, married. +Who knows, afther all we suffered, but I might be able to help +her yet?--that is, if she stands in need of it. But, I suppose, her +childhre's grown up now, an' able to assist her. Now, Kathleen, mind +Monday next; an' have everything ready. I'll stay away a week or so, at +the most, an' afther that I'll have news for you about all o' them." + +When Monday morning arrived, Owen found himself ready to set out for +Tubber Derg. The tailor had not disappointed him; and Kathleen, to do +her justice, took care that the proofs of her good housewifery should +be apparent in the whiteness of his linen. After breakfast, he dressed +himself in all his finery; and it would be difficult to say whether +the harmless vanity that peeped out occasionally from his simplicity +of character, or the open and undisguised triumph of his faithful wife, +whose eye rested on him with pride and affection, was most calculated to +produce a smile. + +"Now, Kathleen," said he, when preparing for his immediate departure, +"I'm, thinkin' of what they'll say, when they see, me so smooth an' +warm-lookin'. I'll engage they'll be axin' one another, 'Musha, how, did +Owen M'Carthy get an, at all, to be so well to do in the world, as he +appears to be, afther failin' on his ould farm?'" + +"Well, but Owen, you know how to manage them." + +"Throth, I do that. But there is one thing they'll never get out o' me, +any way." + +"You won't tell that to any o' them, Owen?" + +"Kathleen, if I thought they only suspected it, I'd never show my face +in Tubber Derg agin. I think I could bear to be--an' yet it 'ud be a +hard struggle with me too--but I think I could bear to be buried among +black strangers, rather than it should be said, over my grave, among +my own, 'there's where Owen M'Carthy lies--who was the only man, of his +name, that ever begged his morsel on the king's highway. There he lies, +the descendant of the great M'Carthy Mores, an' yet he was a beggar.' +I know, Kathleen achora, it's neither a sin nor a shame to ax one's bit +from our fellow-creatures, whin, fairly brought to it, widout any fault +of our own; but still I feel something in me, that can't bear to think +of it widout shame an' heaviness of heart." + +"Well, it's one comfort, that nobody knows it but ourselves. The poor +childhre, for their own sakes, won't ever breathe it; so that it's +likely the sacret 'll be berrid wid us." + +"I hope so, acushla. Does this coat sit asy atween the shouldhers? I +feel it catch me a little." + +"The sorra nicer. There; it was only your waistcoat that was turned down +in the collar. Here--hould your arm. There now--it wanted to be pulled +down a little at the cuffs. Owen, it's a beauty; an' I think I have good +right to be proud of it, for it's every thread my own spinnin'." + +"How do I look in it, Kathleen? Tell me thruth, now." + +"Throth, you're twenty years younger; the never a day less." + +"I think I needn't be ashamed to go afore my ould friends in it, any +way. Now bring me my staff, from undher the bed above; an', in the name +o' God, I'll set out." + +"Which o' them, Owen? Is it the oak or the blackthorn?" + +"The oak, acushla. Oh, no; not the blackthorn. It's it that I brought +to Dublin wid me, the unlucky thief, an' that I had while we wor a +shaughran. Divil a one o' me but 'ud blush in the face, if I brought +it even in my hand afore them. The oak, ahagur; the oak. You'll get it +atween the foot o' the bed an' the wall." + +When Kathleen placed the staff in his hand, he took off his hat and +blessed himself, then put it on, looked at his wife, and said--"Now +darlin', in the name o' God, I'll go. Husht, avillish machree, don't be +cryin'; sure I'll be back to you in a week." + +"Och! I can't help it, Owen. Sure this is the second time you wor ever +away from me more nor a day; an' I'm thinkin' of what happened both +to you an' me, the first time you wint. Owen, acushla, I feel that if +anything happened you, I'd break my heart." + +"Arrah, what 'ud happen me, darlin', wid God to protect me? Now, God +be wid you, Kathleen dheelish, till I come back to you wid good news, +I hope. I'm not goin' in sickness an' misery, as I wint afore, to see a +man that wouldn't hear my appale to him; an' I'm lavin' you comfortable, +agrah, an' wantin' for nothin'. Sure it's only about five-an'-twenty +miles from this--a mere step. The good God bless an' take care of you, +my darlin' wife, till I come home to you!" + +He kissed the tears that streamed from her eyes; and, hemming several +times, pressed her hand, his face rather averted, then grasped his +staff, and commenced his journey. + +Scenes like this were important events to our humble couple. Life, when +untainted by the crimes and artificial manners which destroy its purity, +is a beautiful thing to contemplate among the virtuous poor; and, where +the current of affection runs deep and smooth, the slightest incident +will agitate it. So it was with Owen M'Carthy and his wife. Simplicity, +truth, and affection, constituted their character. In them there was no +complication of incongruous elements. The order of their virtues was not +broken, nor the purity of their affections violated, by the anomalous +blending together of opposing principles, such as are to be found in +those who are involuntarily contaminated by the corruption of human +society. + +Owen had not gone far, when Kathleen called to him: "Owen, +ahagur--stand, darlin'; but don't come back a step, for fraid o' bad +luck."* + + * When an Irish peasant sets out on a journey, or to + transact business in fair or market, he will not, if + possible, turn back. It is considered unlucky: as it is + also to be crossed by a hare, or met by a red-haired + woman. + +"Did I forget anything, Kathleen?" he inquired. "Let me see; no; sure +I have my beads an' my tobaccy box, an' my two clane shirts an' +handkerchers in the bundle. What is it, acushla?" + +"I needn't be axin' you, for I know you wouldn't forget it; but for +'fraid you might--Owen, whin you're at Tubber Derg, go to little Alley's +grave, an' look at it; an' bring me back word how it appears. You might +get it cleaned up, if there's weeds or anything growin' upon it; an' +Owen, would you bring me a bit o' the clay, tied up in your pocket. Whin +you're there, spake to her; tell her it was the lovin' mother that bid +you, an' say anything that you think might keep her asy, an' give her +pleasure. Tell her we're not now as we wor whin she was wid us; that we +don't feel hunger, nor cowld, nor want; an' that nothin' is a throuble +to us, barrin' that we miss her--ay, even yet--_a suillish machree_ (* +light of my heart), that she was--that we miss her fair face an' goolden +hair from among us. Tell her this; an' tell her it was the lovin' mother +that said it, an' that sint the message to her." + +"I'll do it all, Kathleen; I'll do it all--all, An' now go in, darlin', +an' don't be frettin'. Maybe we'll soon be near her, plase God, where we +can see the place she sleeps in, often." + +They then separated again; and Owen, considerably affected by the +maternal tenderness of his wife, proceeded on his journey. He had not, +actually, even at the period of his leaving home, been able to determine +on what particular friend he should first call. That his welcome would +be hospitable, nay, enthusiastically so, he was certain. In the meantime +he vigorously pursued his journey; and partook neither of refreshment +nor rest, until he arrived, a little after dusk, at a turn of the +well-known road, which, had it been daylight, would have opened to him a +view of Tubber Derg. He looked towards the beeches, however, under which +it stood; but to gain a sight of it was impossible. His road now lying +a little to the right, he turned to the house of his sterling friend, +Frank Farrell, who had given him and his family shelter and support, +when he was driven, without remorse, from his own holding. In a +short time he reached Frank's residence, and felt a glow of sincere +satisfaction at finding the same air of comfort and warmth about it +as formerly. Through the kitchen window he saw the strong light of the +blazing fire and heard, ere he presented himself, the loud hearty laugh +of his friend's wife, precisely as light and animated as it had been +fifteen years before. + +Owen lifted the latch and entered, with that fluttering of the pulse +which every man feels on meeting with a friend, after an interval of +many years. + +"Musha, good people, can ye tell me is Frank Farrell at home?" + +"Why, thin, he's not jist widin now, but he'll be here in no time +entirely," replied one of his daughters. "Won't you sit down, honest +man, an' we'll sind for him." + +"I'm thankful to you," said Owen. "I'll sit, sure enough, till he comes +in." + +"Why thin!--eh! it must--it can be no other!" exclaimed Farrell's wife, +bringing! over a candle and looking Owen earnestly in the face; "sure +I'd know that voice all the world over! Why, thin, marciful +Father--Owen M'Carthy,--Owen M'Carthy, is it your four quarthers that's +livin' an' well? Queen o' heaven, Owen M'Carthy darlin', you're +welcome!" the word was here interrupted by a hearty kiss from the kind +housewife;--welcome a thousand an' a thousand times! _Vick ne hoiah!_ +Owen dear, an' are you livin' at all? An' Kathleen, Owen, an' the +childhre, an' all of yez--an' how are they?" + +"Throth, we're livin' an' well, Bridget; never was betther, thanks be to +God an' you, in our lives." + +Owen was now surrounded by such of Farrell's children as were old enough +to remember him; every one of whom he shook hands with, and kissed. + +"Why, thin, the Lord save my sowl, Bridget," said he, "are these the +little bouchaleens an' colleens that were runnin' about my feet whin +I was here afore? Well, to be sure! How they do shoot up! An' is this +Atty?" + +"No: but this is Atty, Owen; faix, Brian outgrew him; an' here's Mary, +an' this is Bridget Oge." + +"Well!--well! But where did these two; young shoots come from? this boy +an' the colleen here? They worn't to the fore, in my time, Bridget." + +"This is Owen, called afther yourself,--an' this is Kathleen. I needn't +tell you who she was called afther." + +"_Gutsho, alanna? thurm pogue?_--come here, child, and kiss me," said +Owen to his little namesake; "an' sure I can't forget the little woman +here; _gutsho, a colleen_, and kiss: me too." + +Owen took her on his knee, and kissed her twice. + +"Och, but poor Kathleen," said he, "will be the proud woman of this, +when she hears it; in throth she will be that." + +"Arrah! what's comin' over me!" said Mrs. Farrell. "Brian, run up to +Micky Lowrie's for your father, An' see, Brian, don't say who's wantin' +him, till we give him a start. Mary, come here, acushla," she added to +her eldest daughter in a whisper--"take these two bottles an' fly up +to Peggy Finigan's for the full o' them o' whiskey. Now be back before +you're there, or if you don't, that I mightn't, but you'll see what +you'll get. Fly, aroon, an' don't let the grass grow undher your feet. +An' Owen, darlin'--but first sit over to the fire:--here get over to +this side, it's the snuggest;--arrah, Owen--an' sure I dunna what to ax +you first. You're all well? all to the fore?" + +"All well, Bridget, an' thanks be to heaven, all to the fore." + +"Glory be to God! Throth it warms my heart to hear it. An' the childre's +all up finely, boys an' girls?" + +"Throth, they are, Bridget, as good-lookin' a family o' childre as +you'd wish to see. An' what is betther, they're as good as they're +good-lookin'." + +"Throth, they couldn't but be that, if they tuck at all afther their +father an' mother. Bridget, aroon, rub the pan betther--an' lay the +knife down, I'll cut the bacon myself, but go an' get a dozen o' the +freshest eggs;--an' Kathleen, Owen, how does poor Kathleen look? Does +she stand it as well as yourself?" + +"As young as ever you seen her. God help her!--a thousand degrees +betther nor whin you seen her last." + +"An' well to do, Owen?--now tell the truth? Och, musha, I forget who I'm +spakin' to, or I wouldn't disremimber the ould sayin' that's abroad this +many a year:--'who ever knew a M'Carthy of Tubber Derg to tell a lie, +break his word, or refuse to help a friend in distress.' But, Owen, +you're well to do in' the world?" + +"We're as well, Bridget, or may be betther, nor you ever knew us, +except, indeed, afore the ould lase was run out wid us." + +"God be praised again? Musha, turn round a little, Owen, for 'fraid +Frank 'ud get too clear a sight of your face at first. Arrah, do you +think he'll know you? Och, to be sure he will; I needn't ax. Your voice +would tell upon you, any day." + +"Know me! Indeed Frank 'ud know my shadow. He'll know me wid half a +look." + +And Owen was right, for quickly did the eye of his old friend recognize +him, despite of the little plot that was laid to try his penetration. +To describe their interview would be to repeat the scene we have already +attempted to depict between Owen and Mrs. Farrell. No sooner were the +rites of hospitality performed, than the tide of conversation began to +flow with greater freedom. Owen ascertained one important fact, which we +will here mention, because it produces, in a great degree, the want +of anything like an independent class of yeomanry in the country. On +inquiring after his old acquaintances, he discovered that a great many +of them, owing to high rents, had emigrated to America. They belonged +to that class of independent farmers, who, after the expiration of +their old leases, finding the little capital they had saved beginning +to diminish, in consequence of rents which they could not pay, deemed it +more prudent, while anything remained in their hands, to seek a country +where capital and industry might be made available. Thus did the +landlords, by their mismanagement and neglect, absolutely drive off +their estates, the only men, who, if properly encouraged, were capable +of becoming the strength and pride of the country. It is this system, +joined to the curse of middlemen and sub-letting, which has left the +country without any third grade of decent, substantial yoemen, who might +stand as a bond of peace between the highest and the lowest classes. It +is this which has split the kingdom into two divisions, constituting +the extreme ends of society--the wealthy and the wretched, If this third +class existed, Ireland would neither be so political nor discontented as +she is; but, on the contrary, more remarkable for peace and industry. At +present, the lower classes, being too poor, are easily excited by those +who promise them a better order of things than that which exists. These +theorists step into the exercise of that legitimate influence which the +landed proprietors have lost by their neglect. There is no middle class +in the country, who can turn round to them and say, "Our circumstances +are easy, we want nothing; carry your promises to the poor, for that +which you hold forth to their hopes, we enjoy in reality." The poor +soldier, who, because he was wretched, volunteered to go on the +forlorn hope, made a fortune; but when asked if he would go on a second +enterprise of a similar kind, shrewdly replied, "General, I am now an +independent man; send some poor devil on your forlorn hope who wants to +make a fortune." + +Owen now heard anecdotes and narratives of all occurrences, whether +interesting or strange, that had taken place during his abscence. Among +others, was the death of his former landlord, and the removal of the +agent who had driven him to beggary. Tubber Derg, he found, was then the +property of a humane and considerate man, who employed a judicious and +benevolent gentleman to manage it. + +"One thing, I can tell you," said Frank; "it was but a short time in the +new agent's hands, when the dacent farmers stopped goin' to America." + +"But Frank," said Owen, and he sighed on putting the question, "who is +in Tubber Derg, now?" + +"Why, thin, a son of ould Rousin' Redhead's of Tullyvernon--young Con +Roe, or the Ace o' Hearts--for he was called both by the youngsters--if +you remimber him. His head's as red an' double as big, even, as his +father's was, an' you know that no hat would fit ould Con, until he sent +his measure to Jemmy Lamb, the hatter. Dick Nugent put it out on +him, that Jemmy always made Rousin' Red-head's hat, either upon the +half-bushel pot or a five-gallon keg of whiskey. 'Talkin' of the keg,' +says Dick, 'for the matther o' that,' says he, 'divil a much differ the +hat will persave; for the one'--meanin' ould Con's head, who was a hard +dhrinker--' the one,' says Con, 'is as much a keg as the other--ha! ha! +ha!' Dick met Rousin' Redhead another day: 'Arrah, Con,' says he, 'why +do you get your hats made upon a pot, man alive? Sure that's the rason +that you're so fond o' poteen.' A quare mad crathur was Dick, an' would +go forty miles for a fight. Poor fellow, he got his skull broke in a +scrimmage betwixt the Redmonds and the O'Hanlons; an' his last words +were, 'Bad luck to you, Redmond--O'Hanlon, I never thought you, above +all men dead and gone, would be the death o' me.' Poor fellow! he was +for pacifyin' them, for a wondher, but instead o' that he got pacified +himself." + +"An' how is young Con doin', Frank?" + +"Hut, divil a much time he has to do aither well or ill, yit. There was +four tenants on Tubber Derg since you left it, an' he's the fifth. It's +hard to say how he'll do; but I believe he's the best o' thim, for so +far. That may be owin' to the landlord. The rent's let down to him; an' +I think he'll be able to take bread, an' good bread too, out of it." + +"God send, poor man!" + +"Now, Owen, would you like to go back to it?" + +"I can't say that. I love the place, but I suffered too much in it. No; +but I'll tell you, Frank, if there was e'er a snug farm near it that I +could get rasonable, I'd take it." + +Frank slapped his knee exultingly. "Ma chuirp!--do you say so, Owen?" + +"Indeed, I do." + +"Thin upon my song, thats the luckiest thing I ever knew. There's, this +blessed minute, a farm o' sixteen acres, that the Lacys is lavin'--goin' +to America--an' it's to be set. They'll go the week afther next, an' +the house needn't be cowld, for you can come to it the very day afther +they Live it." + +"Well," said Owen, "I'm glad of that. Will you come wid me to-morrow, +an' we'll see about it?" + +"To be sure I will; an' what's betther, too; the Agint is a son of ould +Misther Rogerson's, a man that knows you, an' the history o' them you +came from, well. An', another thing, Owen! I tell you, whin it's abroad +that you want to take the farm, there's not a man in the parish will bid +agin you. You may know that yourself." + +"I think, indeed, they would rather sarve me than otherwise," replied +Owen; "an', in the name o' God, we'll see what can be done. Misther +Rogerson, himself, 'ud spake to his son for me; so that I'll be sure of +his intherest. Arrah, Frank, how is an ould friend o' mine, that I have +a great regard for--poor Widow Murray?" + +"Widow Murray. Poor woman, she's happy." + +"You don't mane she's dead?" + +"She's dead, Owen, and happy, I trust, in the Saviour. She died last +spring was a two years." + +"God be good to her sowl! An' are the childhre in her place still? It's +she that was the dacent woman." + +"Throth, they are; an' sorrow a betther doin' family in the parish than +they are. It's they that'll be glad to see you, Owen. Many a time I seen +their poor mother, heavens be her bed, lettin' down the tears, whin +she used to be spakin' of you, or mintion how often you sarved her; +espeshially, about some way or other that you privinted her cows from +bein' canted for the rint. She's dead now, an' God he knows, an honest +hard-workin' woman she ever was." + +"Dear me, Frank, isn't it a wondher to think how the people dhrop off! +There's Widow Murray, one o' my ouldest frinds, an' Pether M'Mahon, an' +Barny Lorinan--not to forget pleasant Rousin' Red-head--all taken away! +Well!--Well! Sure it's the will o' God! We can't be here always." + +After much conversation; enlivened by the bottle, though but sparingly +used on the part of Owen, the hour of rest arrived, when the family +separated for the night. + +The gray dawn of a calm, beautiful summer's morning found Owen up and +abroad, long before the family of honest Frank had risen. When dressing +himself, with an intention of taking an early walk, he was asked by his +friend why he stirred so soon, or if he--his host--should accompany him. +"No," replied Owen; "lie still; jist let me look over the counthry while +it's asleep. When I'm musin' this a-way I don't like anybody to be along +wid me. I have a place to go an' see, too--an' a message--a tendher +message, from poor Kathleen, to deliver, that I wouldn't wish a second +person to hear. Sleep, Frank. I'll jist crush the head o' my pipe agin' +one o' the half-burned turf that the fire was raked wid, an' walk out +for an hour or two. Afther our breakfast we'll go-an' look about this +new farm." + +He sallied out as he spoke, and closed the door after him in that +quiet, thoughtful way for which he was ever remarkable. The season was +midsummer, and the morning wanted at least an hour of sunrise. Owen +ascended a little knoll, above Frank's house, on which he stood +and surveyed the surrounding country with a pleasing but melancholy +interest. As his eye rested on Tubber Derg, he felt the difference +strongly between the imperishable glories of nature's works, and those +which are executed by man. His house he would not have known, except +by its site. It was not, in fact, the same house, but another which had +been built in its stead. This disappointed and vexed him. An object on +which his affections had been placed was removed. A rude stone house +stood before him, rough and unplastered; against each end of which was +built a stable-and a cow-house, sloping down from the gables to low +doors at booh sides; adjoining these rose two mounds of filth, large +enough to be easily distinguished from the knoll on which he stood. He +sighed as he contrasted it with the neat and beautiful farm-house, which +shone there in his happy days, white as a lily, beneath the covering +of the lofty beeches. There was no air of comfort, neatness, or +independence, about it; on the contrary, everything betrayed the +evidence of struggle and difficulty, joined, probably, to want both of +skill and of capital. He was disappointed, and turned his gaze upon the +general aspect of the country, and the houses in which either his old +acquaintances or their children lived. The features of the landscape +were, certainly, the same; but even here was a change for the worse. The +warmth of coloring which wealth and independence give to the appearance +of a cultivated country, was gone. Decay and coldness seemed to brood +upon everything, he saw. The houses, the farm-yards, the ditches, and +enclosures, were all marked by the blasting proofs of national decline. +Some exceptions there were to this disheartening prospect, but they were +only sufficient to render the torn and ragged evidences of poverty, +and its attendant--carelessness--more conspicuous. He left the knoll, +knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and putting it into his waistcoat +pocket, ascended a larger hill, which led to the grave-yard, where his +child lay buried. On his way to this hill, which stood about half a mile +distant, he passed a few houses of an humble description, with whose +inhabitants he had been well acquainted. Some of these stood nearly as +he remembered them; but others were roofless, with their dark mud +gables either fallen in or partially broken down. He surveyed their +smoke-colored walls with sorrow; and looked, with a sense of the +transient character of all man's works upon the chickweed, docks, and +nettles, which had shot up so rankly on the spot where many a chequered +scene of joy and sorrow had flitted over the circumscribed circle of +humble life, ere the annihilating wing of ruin swept away them and their +habitations. + +When he had ascended the hill, his eye took a wider range. The more +distant and picturesque part of the country lay before him. "Ay!" said +he in a soliloquy, "Lord bless us, how sthrange is this world!--an' +what poor crathurs are men! There's the dark mountains, the hills, the +rivers, an' the green glens, all the same; an' nothin' else a'most but's +changed! The very song of that blackbird, in the thorn-bushes an' hazels +below me, is like the voice of an ould friend to my ears. Och, indeed, +hardly that, for even the voice of man changes; but that song is the +same as I heard it for the best part o' my life. That mornin' star, +too, is the same bright crathur up there that it ever was! God help +us! Hardly any thing changes but man, an' he seems to think that he +can never change; if one is to judge by his thoughtlessness, folly, an' +wickedness!" + +A smaller hill, around the base of which went the same imperfect road +that crossed the glen of Tubber Derg, prevented him from seeing the +grave-yard to which he was about to extend his walk. To this road he +directed his steps. On reaching it he looked, still with a strong memory +of former times, to the glen in which his children, himself, and his +ancestors had all, during their day, played in the happy thoughtlessness +of childhood and youth. But the dark and ragged house jarred upon his +feelings. He turned from it with pain, and his eye rested upon the +still green valley with evident relief. He thought of his "buried +flower"--"his-golden-haired darlin'," as he used to call her--and +almost fancied that he saw her once more wandering waywardly through its +tangled mazes, gathering berries, or strolling along the green meadow, +with a garland of gowans about her neck. Imagination, indeed, cannot +heighten the image of the dead whom we love; but even if it could, there +was no standard of ideal beauty in her father's mind beyond that of +her own. She had been beautiful; but her beauty was pensive: a fair yet +melancholy child; for the charm that ever encompassed her was one of +sorrow and tenderness. Had she been volatile and mirthful, as children +usually are, he would not have carried so far into his future life the +love of her which he cherished. Another reason why he still loved her +strongly, was a consciousness that her death had been occasioned by +distress and misery; for, as he said, when looking upon the scenes of +her brief but melancholy existence--"Avour-neen machree, I remimber to +see you pickin' the berries; but asthore--asthore--it wasn't for play +you did it. It was to keep away the cuttin' of hunger from your heart! +Of all our childhre every one said that you wor the M'Carthy--never +sayin' much, but the heart in you ever full of goodness and affection. +God help me, I'm glad--an', now, that I'm comin' near it--loth to see +her grave." + +He had now reached the verge of the graveyard. Its fine old ruin stood +there as usual, but not altogether without the symptoms of change. Some +persons had, for the purposes of building, thrown down one of its +most picturesque walls. Still its ruins clothed with ivy, its mullions +moss-covered, its gothic arches and tracery, gray with age, were the +same in appearance as he had ever seen them. + +On entering this silent palace of Death, he reverently uncovered his +head, blessed himself, and, with feelings deeply agitated, sought the +grave of his beloved child. He approached it; but a sudden transition +from sorrow to indignation took place in his mind, even before he +reached the spot on which she lay. "Sacred Mother!" he exclaimed, "who +has dared to bury in our ground? Who has--what villain has attimpted to +come in upon the M'Carthys--upon the M'Carthy Mores, of Tubber Derg? Who +could--had I no friend to prev--eh? Sacred Mother, what's this? Father +of heaven forgive me! Forgive me, sweet Saviour, for this bad feelin' +I got into! Who--who--could raise a head-stone over the darlin' o' my +heart, widout one of us knowin' it! Who--who could do it? But let me see +if I can make it out. Oh, who could do this blessed thing, for the poor +an' the sorrowful?" He began, and with difficulty read as follows:-- + +"Here lies the body of Alice M'Carthy, the beloved daughter of Owen and +Kathleen M'Carthy, aged nine years. She was descended from the M'Carthy +Mores. + +"Requiescat in pace. + +"This head-stone was raised over her by widow Murray, and her son, James +Murray, out of grateful respect for Owen and Kathleen M'Carthy, who +never suffered the widow and orphan, or a distressed neighbor, to crave +assistance from them in vain, until it pleased God to visit them with +affliction." + +"Thanks to you, my Saviour!" said Owen, dropping on his knees over the +grave,--"thanks an' praise be to your holy name, that in the middle of +my poverty--of all my poverty--I was not forgotten! nor my darlin' child +let to lie widout honor in the grave of her family! Make me worthy, +blessed Heaven, of what is written down upon me here! An' if the +departed spirit of her that honored the dust of my buried daughter is +unhappy, oh, let her be relieved, an' let this act be remimbered to her! +Bless her son, too, gracious Father, an' all belonging to her on this +earth! an', if it be your holy will, let them never know distress, or +poverty, or wickedness?" + +He then offered up a Pater Noster for the repose of his child's soul, +and another for the kind-hearted and grateful widow Murray, after which +he stood to examine the grave with greater accuracy. + +There was, in fact, no grave visible. The little mound, under which lay +what was once such a touching image of innocence, beauty, and feeling, +had sunk down to the level of the earth about it. He regretted this, +inasmuch as it took away, he thought, part of her individuality. Still +he knew it was the spot wherein she had been buried, and with much of +that vivid feeling, and strong figurative language, inseparable from the +habits of thought and language of the old Irish families, he delivered +the mother's message to the inanimate dust of her once beautiful and +heart-loved child. He spoke in a broken voice, for even the mention of +her name aloud, over the clay that contained her, struck with a fresh +burst of sorrow upon his heart. + +"Alley," he exclaimed in Irish, "Alley, _nhien machree_, your father +that loved you more nor he loved any other human crathur, brings a +message to you from the mother of your heart, avourneen! She bid me call +to see the spot where you're lyin', my buried flower, an' to tell you +that we're not now, thanks be to God, as we wor whin you lived wid us. +We are well to do now, _acushla oge machree_, an' not in hunger, an' +sickness, an' misery, as we wor whin you suffered them all! You will +love to hear this, pulse of our hearts, an' to know that, through all we +suffered--an' bittherly we did suffer since you departed--we never let +you out of our memory. No, _asthore villish_, we thought of you, an' +cried afther our poor dead flower, many an' many's the time. An' she bid +me tell you, darlin' of my heart, that we feel: nothin' now so much as +that you are not wid us to share our comfort an' our happiness. Oh, what +wouldn't the mother give to have you back wid her; but it can't be--an' +what wouldn't I give to have you before my eyes agin, in health an' +in life--but it can't be. The lovin' mother sent this message to you, +Alley. Take it from her; she bid me tell you that we are well an' happy; +our name is pure, and, like yourself, widout spot or stain. Won't you +pray for us before God, an' get him an' his blessed Mother to look on +us wid favor an' compassion? Farewell, Alley asthore! May you slelp in +peace, an' rest on the breast of your great Father in Heaven, until we +all meet in happiness together. It's your father that's spakin' to you, +our lost flower; an' the hand that often smoothed your goolden head is +now upon your grave." + +He wiped his eyes as he concluded, and after lifting a little of the +clay from her grave, he tied it carefully up, and put it into his +pocket. + +Having left the grave-yard, he retraced his steps towards Frank +Farrell's house. The sun had now risen, and as Owen ascended the larger +of the two hills which we have mentioned, he stood again to view the +scene that stretched beneath him. About an hour before all was still, +the whole country lay motionless, as if the land had been a land of the +dead. The mountains, in the distance, were covered with the thin mists +of morning; the milder and richer parts of the landscape had appeared in +that dim gray distinctness which gives to distant objects such a clear +outline. With the exception of the blackbird's song, every thing seemed +as if stricken into silence; there was not a breeze stirring; both +animate and inanimate nature reposed as if in a trance; the very trees +appeared asleep, and their leaves motionless, as if they had been of +marble. But now the scene was changed. The sun had flung his splendor +upon the mountain-tops, from which the mists were tumbling in broken +fragments to the valleys between them. A thousand birds poured their +songs upon the ear; the breeze was up, and the columns of smoke from the +farm-houses and cottages played, as if in frolic, in the air. A white +haze was beginning to rise from the meadows; early teams were afoot; +and laborers going abroad to their employment. The lakes in the +distance shone like mirrors; and the clear springs on the mountain-sides +glittered in the sun, like gems on which the eye could scarcely rest. +Life, and light, and motion, appear to be inseparable. The dew of +morning lay upon nature like a brilliant veil, realizing the beautiful +image of Horace, as applied to woman: + + Vultus nimium lubricus aspici. + +By-and-by the songs of the early workmen were heard; nature had awoke, +and Owen, whose heart was strongly, though unconsciously, alive to the +influence of natural religion, participated in the general elevation +of the hour, and sought with freshened spirits the house of his +entertainer. + +As he entered this hospitable roof, the early industry of his friend's +wife presented him with a well-swept hearth and a pleasant fire, before +which had been placed the identical chair that they had appropriated +to his own use. Frank was enjoying "a blast o' the pipe," after having +risen; to which luxury the return of Owen gave additional zest and +placidity. In fact, Owen's presence communicated a holiday spirit to the +family; a spirit, too, which declined not for a moment during the period +of his visit. + +"Frank," said Owen, "to tell you the thruth, I'm not half plased wid you +this mornin'. I think you didn't thrate me as I ought to expect to be +thrated." + +"Musha, Owen M'Carthy, how is that?" + +"Why, you said nothin' about widow Murray raisin' a head-stone over our +child. You kept me in the dark there, Frank, an' sich a start I never +got as I did this mornin', in the grave-yard beyant." + +"Upon my sowl, Owen, it wasn't my fau't, nor any of our fau'ts; for, +to tell you the thruth, we had so much to think and discoorse of last +night, that it never sthruck me, good or bad. Indeed it was Bridget that +put it first in my head, afther you wint out, an' thin it was too late. +Ay, poor woman, the dacent strain was ever in her, the heaven's be her +bed." + +"Frank, if any one of her family was to abuse me till the dogs wouldn't +lick my blood, I'd only give them back good for evil afther that. +Oh, Frank, that goes to my heart! To put a head-stone over my weeny +goolden-haired darlin', for the sake of the little thrifles I sarved +thim in! Well! may none belongin' to her ever know poverty or hardship! +but if they do, an' that I have it----How-an'-iver, no matther. God +bless thim! God bless thim! Wait till Kathleen hears it!" + +"An' the best of it was, Owen, that she never expected to see one of +your faces. But, Owen, you think too much about that child. Let us talk +about something else. You've seen Tubber Derg wanst more?" + +"I did; an' I love it still, in spite of the state it's in." + +"Ah! it's different from what it was in your happy days. I was spakin' +to Bridget about the farm, an' she advises us to go, widout losin' a +minute, an' take it if we can." + +"It's near this place I'll die, Frank. I'd not rest in my grave if I +wasn't berrid among my own; so we'll take the farm if possible." + +"Well, then, Bridget, hurry the breakfast, avourneen; an' in the name o' +goodness, we'll set out, an' clinch the business this very day." + +Owen, as we said, was prompt in following up his determinations. After +breakfast they saw the agent and his father, for both lived together. +Old Rogerson had been intimately acquainted with the M'Carthys, and, as +Frank had anticipated, used his influence with the agent in procuring +for the son of his old friend and acquaintance the farm which he sought. + +"Jack," said the old gentleman, "you don't probably know the history +and character of the Tubber Derg M'Carthys so well as I do. No man ever +required the written bond of a M'Carthy; and it was said of them, and +is said still, that the widow and orphan, the poor man or the stranger, +never sought their assistance in vain. I, myself, will go security, if +necessary, for Owen M'Carthy." + +"Sir," replied Owen, "I'm thankful to you; I'm grateful to you. But +I wouldn't take the farm, or bid for it at all, unless I could bring +forrid enough to stock it as I wish, an' to lay in all that's wantin' to +work it well. It 'ud be useless for me to take it--to struggle a year +or two--impoverish the land--an' thin run away out of it. No, no; I have +what'll put me upon it wid dacency an' comfort." + +"Then, since my father has taken such an interest in you, M'Carthy, +you must have the farm. We shall get leases prepared, and the business +completed in a few days; for I go to Dublin on this day week. Father, +I now remember the character of this family; and I remember, too, the +sympathy which was felt for one of them, who was harshly ejected +about seventeen or eighteen years ago, out of the lands on which his +forefathers had lived, I understand, for centuries." + +"I am that man, sir," returned Owen. "It's too long a story to tell now; +but it was only out o' part of the lands, sir, that I was put. What +I held was but a poor patch compared to what the family held in my +grandfather's time. A great part of it went out of our hands at his +death." + +"It was very kind of you, Misther Rogerson, to offer to go security for +him," said Frank; "but if security was wantin, sir, Id not be willin' to +let anybody but myself back him. I'd go all I'm worth in the world--an' +by my sowl, double as much--for the same man." + +"I know that, Frank, an' I thank you; but I could put security in Mr. +Rogerson's hands, here, if it was wanted. Good-mornin' an' thank you +both, gintleman. To tell yez the thruth," he added, with a smile, "I +long to be among my ould friends--manin' the people, an' the hills, an' +the green fields of Tubber Derg--agin; an' thanks be to goodness, sure I +will soon." + +In fact, wherever Owen went, within the bounds of his native parish, +his name, to use a significant phrase of the people, was before him. +His arrival at Frank Farrel's was now generally known by all his +acquaintances, and the numbers who came to see him were almost beyond +belief. During the two or three successive days, he went among his +old "cronies;" and no sooner was his arrival at any particular house +intimated, than the neighbors all flocked to him. Scythes were left +idle, spades were stuck in the earth, and work neglected for the time +being; all crowded about him with a warm and friendly interest, not +proceeding from idle curiosity, but from affection and respect for the +man. + +The interview between him and widow Murray's children was affecting. +Owen felt deeply the delicate and touching manner in which they had +evinced their gratitude for the services he had rendered them; and young +Murray remembered with a strong gush of feeling, the distresses under +which they lay when Owen had assisted them. Their circumstances, owing +to the strenuous exertions of the widow's eldest son, soon afterwards +improved; and, in accordance with the sentiments of hearts naturally +grateful, they had taken that method of testifying what they felt. +Indeed, so well had Owen's unparalleled affection for his favorite child +been known, that it was the general opinion about Tubber Derg that her +death had broken his heart. + +"Poor Owen, he's dead," they used to say; "the death of his weeny one, +while he was away in Dublin, gave him the finishin' blow. It broke his +heart." + +Before the week was expired, Owen had the satisfaction of depositing the +lease of his new farm, held at a moderate rent, in the hands of Frank +Farrel; who, tying it up along with his own, secured it in the +"black chest." Nothing remained now but to return home forthwith, and +communicate the intelligence to Kathleen. Frank had promised, as soon as +the Lacy's should vacate the house, to come with a long train of cars, +and a number of his neighbors, in order to transfer Owen's family and +furniture to his new dwelling. Everything therefore, had been arranged; +and Owen had nothing to do but hold himself in readiness for the welcome +arrival of Frank and his friends. + +Owen, however, had no sense of enjoyment when not participated in by his +beloved Kathleen. If he felt sorrow, it was less as a personal feeling +than as a calamity to her. + +If he experienced happiness, it was doubly sweet to him as reflected +from his' Kathleen. All this was mutual between them. Kathleen loved +Owen precisely as he loved Kathleen. Nor let our readers suppose that +such characters are not in humble life. It is in humble life, where +the Springs of feeling are not corrupted by dissimulation and evil +knowledge, that the purest, and tenderest, and strongest virtues are to +be found. + +As Owen approached his home, he could not avoid contrasting the +circumstances of his return now with those under which, almost +broken-hearted after his journey to Dublin, he presented himself to his +sorrowing and bereaved wife about eighteen years before. He raised +his hat, and thanked God for the success which had, since that period, +attended him, and, immediately after his silent thanksgiving, entered +the house. + +His welcome, our readers may be assured, was tender and affectionate. +The whole family gathered about him, and, on his informing them that +they were once more about to reside on a farm adjoining to their beloved +Tubber Derg, Kathleen's countenance brightened, and the tear of delight +gushed to her eyes. + +"God be praised, Owen," she exclaimed; "we will have the ould place +afore our eyes, an' what is betther, we will be near where Alley is +lyin'. But that's true, Owen," she added, "did you give the light of our +hearts the mother's message?" + +Owen paused, and his features were slightly overshadowed, but only by +the solemnity of the feeling. + +"Kathleen," said he, "I gave her your message; but, avourneen, have +sthrange news for you about Alley." + +"What, Owen? What is it, acushla? Tell me quick?" + +"The blessed child was not neglected--no, but she was honored in our +absence. A head-stone was put over her, an' stands there purtily this +minute." + +"Mother of Glory, Owen!" + +"It's thruth. Widow Murray an' her son Jemmy put it up, wid words upon +it that brought the tears to my eyes. Widow Murray is dead, but her +childher's doin' well. May God bless an' prosper them, an' make her +happy!" + +The delighted mother's heart was not proof against the widow's +gratitude, expressed, as it had been, in a manner so affecting. She +rocked herself to and fro in silence, whilst the tears fell in showers +down her cheeks. The grief, however, which this affectionate couple felt +for their child, was not always such as the reader has perceived it to +be. It was rather a revival of emotions that had long slumbered, but +never died; and the associations arising from the journey to Tubber +Derg, had thrown them back, by the force of memory, almost to the period +of her death. At times, indeed, their imagination had conjured her up +strongly, but the present was an epoch in the history of their sorrow. + +There is little more to be said. Sorrow was soon succeeded by +cheerfulness and the glow of expected pleasure, which is ever the +more delightful, as the pleasure is pure. In about a week their old +neighbors, with their carts and cars, arrived; and before the day was +closed on which Owen removed to his new residence, he found himself once +more sitting at his own hearth, among the friends of his youth, and the +companions of his maturer years. Ere the twelvemonth elapsed, he had his +house perfectly white, and as nearly resembling that of Tubber Derg in +its better days as possible. About two years ago we saw him one evening +in the month of June, as he sat on a bench beside the door, singing with +a happy heart his favorite song of "_Colleen dhas crootha na mo_." It +was about an hour before sunset. The house stood on a gentle eminence, +beneath which a sweep of green meadow stretched away to the skirts of +Tubber Derg. Around him was a country naturally fertile, and, in spite +of the national depression, still beautiful to contemplate. Kathleen +and two servant maids were milking, and the whole family were assembled +about the door. + +"Well, childher," said the father, "didn't I tell yez the bitther +mornin' we left Tubber Derg, not to cry or be disheartened--that there +was a 'good God above who might do somethin' for us yet?' I never did +give up may trust in Him, an' I never will. You see, afther all our +little troubles, He has wanst more brought us together, an' made us +happy. Praise an' glory to His name!" + +I looked at him as he spoke. He had raised his eyes to heaven, and a +gleam of elevated devotion, perhaps worthy of being-called sublime, +irradiated his features. The sun, too, in setting, fell upon his broad +temples and iron-gray locks, with a light solemn and religious. +The effect to me, who knew his noble character, and all that he had +suffered, was as if the eye of God then rested upon the decline of a +virtuous man's life with approbation;--as if he had lifted up the +glory of his countenance upon him. Would that many of his thoughtless +countrymen had been present! They might have blushed for their crimes, +and been content to sit and learn wisdom at the feet of Owen M'Carthy. + + + + + + +NEAL MALONE. + + +There never was a greater souled or doughtier tailor than little Neal +Malone. Though but four feet; four in height, he paced the earth with +the courage and confidence of a giant; nay, one would have imagined that +he walked as if he feared the world itself was about to give way under +him. Lot none dare to say in future that a tailor is but the ninth +part of a man. That reproach has been gloriously taken away from the +character of the cross-legged corporation by Neal Malone. He has wiped +it off like a stain from the collar of a second-hand coat; he has +pressed this wrinkle out of the lying front of antiquity; he has drawn +together this rent in the respectability of his profession. No. By him +who was breeches-maker to the gods--that is, except, like Highlanders, +they eschewed inexpressibles--by him who cut Jupiter's frieze jocks for +winter, and eke by the bottom of his thimble, we swear, that Neal Malone +was more than the ninth part of a man! + +Setting aside the Patagonians, we maintain that two-thirds of mortal +humanity were comprised in Neal; and, perhaps, we might venture to +assert, that two-thirds of Neal's humanity were equal to six-thirds of +another man's. It is right well known that Alexander the Great was a +little man, and we doubt whether, had Alexander the Great been bred to +the tailoring business, he would have exhibited so much of the hero +as Neal Malone. Neal was descended from a fighting family, who had +signalized themselves in as many battles as ever any single hero +of antiquity fought. His father, his grandfather, and his great +grandfather, were all fighting men, and his ancestors in general, up, +probably, to Con of the Hundred Battles himself. No wonder, therefore, +that Neal's blood should cry out against the cowardice of his calling; +no wonder that he should be an epitome of all that was valorous and +heroic in a peaceable man, for we neglected to inform the reader that +Neal, though "bearing no base mind," never fought any man in his own +person. That, however, deducted nothing from his courage. If he did not +fight, it was simply because he found cowardice universal. No man would +engage him; his spirit blazed in vain; his thirst for battle was doomed +to remain unquenched, except by whiskey, and this only increased it. In +short, he could find no foe. He has often been known to challenge the +first cudgel-players and pugilists of the parish; to provoke men of +fourteen stone weight; and to bid mortal defiance to faction heroes of +all grades--but in vain. There was that in him which told them that an +encounter with Neal would strip them of their laurels. Neal saw all this +with a lofty indignation; he deplored the degeneracy of the times, and +thought it hard that the descendant of such a fighting family should be +doomed to pass through life peaceably, while so many excellent rows and +riots took place around him. It was a calamity to see every man's head +broken but his own; a dismal thing to observe his neighbors go about +with their bones in bandages, yet his untouched; and his friends beat +black and blue, whilst his own cuticle remained undiscolored. + +"Blur-an'-agers!" exclaimed Neal one day, when half-tipsy in the fair, +"am I never to get a bit of fightin'? Is there no cowardly spalpeen to +stand afore Neal Malone? Be this an' be that, I'm blue-mowlded for want +of a batin'! I'm disgracin' my relations by the life I'm ladin'! Will +none o' ye fight me aither for love, money, or whiskey--frind or inimy, +an' bad luck to ye? I don't care a traneen which, only out o' pure +frindship, let us have a morsel o' the rale kick-up, 'tany rate. Frind +or inimy, I say agin, if you regard me; sure that makes no differ, only +let us have the fight." + +This excellent heroism was all wasted; Neal could not find a single +adversary. Except he divided himself like Hotspur, and went to buffets, +one hand against the other, there was no chance of a fight; no person +to be found sufficiently magnanimous to encounter the tailor. On the +contrary, every one of his friends--or, in other words, every man in the +parish--was ready to support him. He was clapped on the back, until his +bones were nearly dislocated in his body; and his hand shaken, until his +arm lost its cunning at the needle for half a week afterwards. This, to +be sure, was a bitter business--a state of being past endurance. Every +man was his friend--no man was his enemy. A desperate position for any +person to find himself in, but doubly calamitous to a martial tailor. + +Many a dolorous complaint did Neal make upon the misfortune of having +none to wish him ill; and what rendered this hardship doubly oppressive, +was the unlucky fact that no exertions of his, however offensive, could +procure him a single foe. In vain did lie insult, abuse, and malign all +his acquaintances. In vain did he father upon them all the rascality +and villany he could think of; he lied against them with a force and +originality that would have made many a modern novelist blush for +want of invention--but all to no purpose. The world for once became +astonishingly Christian; it paid back all his efforts to excite its +resentment with the purest of charity; when Neal struck it on the +one cheek, it meekly turned unto him the other. It could scarcely +be expected that Neal would bear this. To have the whole world in +friendship with a man is beyond doubt rather an affliction. Not to have +the face of a single enemy to look upon, would decidedly be considered +a deprivation of many agreeable sensations by most people, as well as by +Neal Malone. Let who might sustain a loss, or experience a calamity, it +was a matter of indifference to Neal. They were only his friends, and he +troubled neither his head nor his heart about them. + +Heaven help us! There is no man without his trials; and Neal, the +reader perceives, was not exempt from his. What did it avail him that he +carried a cudgel ready for all hostile contingencies? or knit his brows +and shook his kipjoeen at the fiercest of his fighting friends? The +moment he appeared, they softened into downright cordiality. His +presence was the signal of peace; for, notwithstanding his unconquerable +propensity to warfare, he went abroad as the genius of unanimity, though +carrying in his bosom the redoubtable disposition the a warrior; just as +the sun, though the source of light himself, is said to be dark enough +at bottom. + +It could not be expected that Neal, with whatever fortitude he might +bear his other afflictions, could bear such tranquillity like a hero. To +say that he bore it as one, would be to basely surrender his character; +for what hero ever bore a state, of tranquillity with courage? It +affected his cutting out! It produced what Burton calls "a windie +melancholie," which was nothing else than an accumulation of courage +that had no means of escaping, if courage can without indignity be ever +said to escape. He sat uneasy on his lap-board. Instead of cutting out +soberly, he nourished his scissors as if he were heading a faction; he +wasted much chalk by scoring his cloth in wrong places, and even caught +his hot goose without a holder. These symptoms alarmed, his friends, who +persuaded him to go to a doctor. Neal went, to satisfy them; but he knew +that no prescription could drive the courage out of him--that he was too +far gone in heroism to be made a coward of by apothecary stuff. Nothing +in the pharmacopoeia could physic him into a pacific state. His disease +was simply the want of an enemy, and an unaccountable superabundance of +friendship on the part of his acquaintances. How could a doctor remedy +this by a prescription? Impossible. The doctor, indeed, recommended +bloodletting; but to lose blood in a peaceable manner was not only +cowardly, but a bad cure for courage. Neal declined it: he would lose +no blood for any man until he could not help it; which was giving the +character of a hero at a single touch. His blood was not to be thrown +away in this manner; the only lancet ever applied to his relations was +the cudgel, and Neal scorned to abandon the principles of his family. + +His friends finding that he reserved his blood for more heroic purposes +than dastardly phlebotomy, knew not what to do with him. His perpetual +exclamation was, as we have already stated, "I'm blue-mowlded for want +of a batin'!" They did everything in their power to cheer him with the +hope of a drubbing; told him he lived in an excellent country for a man +afflicted with his malady; and promised, if it were at all possible, +to create him a private enemy or two, who, they hoped in heaven, might +trounce him to some purpose. + +This sustained him for a while; but as day after day passed, and no +appearance of action presented itself, he could not choose but increase +in courage. His soul, like a sword-blade too long in the scabbard, was +beginning to get fuliginous by inactivity. He looked upon the point of +his own needle, and the bright edge of his scissors, with a bitter pang, +when he thought of the spirit rusting within him: he meditated fresh +insults, studied new plans, and hunted out cunning devices for provoking +his acquaintances to battle, until by degrees he began to confound his +own bram, and to commit more grievous oversights in his business than +ever. Sometimes he sent home to one person a coat, with the legs of a +pair of trousers attached to it for sleeves, and despatched to another +the arms of the aforesaid coat tacked together as a pair of trousers. + +Sometimes the coat was made to button behind instead of before, and he +frequently placed the pockets in the lower part of the skirts, as if he +had been in league with cut-purses. + +This was a melancholy situation, and his friends pitied him accordingly. + +"Don't bo cast down, Neal," said they, "your friends feel for you, poor +fellow." + +"Divil carry my frinds," replied Neal, "sure there's not one o' yez +frindly enough to be my inimy. Tare-an'-ounze! what'll I do? I'm +blue-rhowlded for want of a batin'!" + +Seeing that their consolation was thrown away upon him, they resolved +to leave him to his fate; which they had no sooner done than Neal had +thoughts of taking to the _Skiomachia_ as a last remedy. In this mood he +looked with considerable antipathy at his own shadow for several nights; +and it is not to be questioned, but that some hard battles would have +taken place between them, were it not for the cunning of the shadow, +which declined to fight him in any other position than with its back +to the wall. This occasioned him to pause, for the wall was a fearful +antagonist, inasmuch that it knew not when it was beaten; but there was +still an alternative left. He went to the garden one clear day about +noon, and hoped to have a bout with the shade, free from interruption. +Both approached, apparently eager for the combat, and resolved to +conquer or die, when a villanous cloud happening to intercept the light, +gave the shadow an opportunity of disappearing; and Neal found himself +once more without an opponent. + +"It's aisy known," said Neal, "you haven't the blood in you, or you'd +come up to the scratch like a man." + +He now saw that fate was against him, and that any further hostility +towards the shadow was only a tempting of Providence. He lost his +health, spirits, and everything but his courage. His countenance became +pale and peaceful looking; the bluster departed from him; his body +shrunk up like a withered parsnip. Thrice was he compelled to take in +his clothes, and thrice did he ascertain that much of his time would be +necessarily spent in pursuing his retreating person through the solitude +of his almost deserted garment. + +God knows it is difficult to form a correct opinion upon a situation +so paradoxical as Neal's was. To be reduced to skin and bone by the +downright friendship of the world, was, as the sagacious reader will +admit, next to a miracle. We appeal to the conscience of any man who +finds himself without an enemy, whether he be not a greater skeleton +than the tailor; we will give him fifty guineas provided he can show +a calf to his leg. We know he could not; for the tailor had none, and +that was because he had not an enemy. No man in friendship with the +world ever has calves to his legs. To sum up all in a paradox of our +own invention, for which we claim the full credit of originality, we +now assert, that more men have risen in the world by the injury of their +enemies, than have risen by the kindness of their friends. You may take +this, reader, in any sense; apply it to hanging if you like, it is still +immutably and immovably true. + +One day Neal sat cross-legged, as tailors usually sit, in the act of +pressing a pair of breeches; his hands were placed, backs up, upon the +handle of his goose, and his chin rested upon the back of his hands. To +judge from his sorrowful complexion one would suppose that he sat rather +to be sketched as a picture of misery, or of heroism in distress, than +for the industrious purpose of pressing the seams of a garment. There +was a great deal of New Burlington-street pathos in his countenance; +his face, like the times, was rather out of joint; "the sun was just +setting, and his golden beams fell, with a saddened splendor, athwart +the tailor's"----the reader may fill up the picture. + +In this position sat Neal, when Mr. O'Connor, the schoolmaster, whose +inexpressibles he was turning for the third time, entered the workshop. +Mr. O'Connor, himself, was as finished a picture of misery as the +tailor. There was a patient, subdued kind of expression in his face, +which indicated a very full-portion of calamity; his eye seemed charged +with affliction of the first water; on each side of his nose might be +traced two dry channels which, no doubt, were full enough while the +tropical rains of his countenance lasted. Altogether, to conclude from +appearances, it was a dead match in affliction between him and the +tailor; both seemed sad, fleshless, and unthriving. + +"Misther O'Connor," said the tailor, when the schoolmaster entered, +"won't you be pleased to sit down?" + +Mr. O'Connor sat; and, after wiping his forehead, laid his hat upon the +lap-board, put his half handkerchief in his pocket, and looked upon the +tailor. The tailor, in return, looked upon Mr. O'Connor; but neither of +them spoke for some minutes. Neal, in fact, appeared to be wrapped up +in his own misery, and Mr. O'Connor in his; or, as we often have much +gratuitous sympathy for the distresses of our friends, we question but +the tailor was wrapped up in Mr. O'Connor's misery, and Mr. O'Connor in +the tailor's. + +Mr. O'Connor at length said--"Neal, are my inexpressibles finished?" + +"I am now pressin' your inexpressibles," replied Neal; "but, be my sowl, +Mr. O'Connor, it's not your inexpressibles I'm thinkin' of. I'm not the +ninth part of what I was. I'd hardly make paddin' for a collar now." + +"Are you able to carry a staff still, Neal?" + +"I've a light hazel one that's handy," said the tailor; "but where's +the use of carryin' it, whin I can get no one to fight wid. Sure I'm +disgracing my relations by the life I'm leadin'. I'll go to my grave +widout ever batin' a man, or bein' bate myself; that's the vexation. +Divil the row ever I was able to kick up in my life; so that I'm fairly +blue-mowlded for want of a batin'. But if you have patience----" + +"Patience!" said Mr. O'Connor, with a shake of the head, that was +perfectly disastrous even to look at; "patience, did you say, Neal?" + +"Ay," said Neal, "an', be my sowl, if you deny that I said patience, +I'll break your head!" + +"Ah, Neal," returned the other, "I don't deny it--for though I am +teaching philosophy, knowledge, and mathematics, every day in my life, +yet I'm learning patience myself both night and day. No, Neal; I have +forgotten to deny anything. I have not been guilty of a contradiction, +out of my own school, for the last fourteen years. I once expressed +the shadow of a doubt about twelve years ago, but ever since I have +abandoned even doubting. That doubt was the last expiring effort at +maintaining my domestic authority--but I suffered for it." + +"Well," said Neal, "if you have patience, I'll tell you what afflicts me +from beginnin' to endin'." + +"I will have patience," said Mr. O'Connor, and he accordingly heard a +dismal and indignant tale from the tailor. + +"You have told me that fifty times over," said Mr. O'Connor, after +hearing the story. "Your spirit is too martial for a pacific life. If +you follow my advice, I will teach you how to ripple the calm current +of your existence to some purpose. Marry a wife. For twenty-five years I +have given instructions in three branches, viz.--philosophy, knowledge, +and mathematics--I am also well versed in matrimony, and I declare that, +upon my misery, and by the contents of all my afflictions, it is my +solemn and melancholy opinion, that, if you marry a wife, you will, +before three months pass over your concatenated state, not have a single +complaint to make touching a superabundance of peace and tranquillity, +or a love of fighting." + +"Do you mean to say that any woman would make me afeard?" said the +tailor, deliberately rising up and getting his cudgel. "I'll thank you +merely to go over the words agin till I thrash you widin an inch o' your +life. That's all." + +"Neal," said the schoolmaster, meekly, "I won't fight; I have been too +often subdued ever to presume on the hope of a single victory. My spirit +is long since evaporated: I am like one, of your own shreds, a mere +selvage. Do you not know how much my habiliments have shrunk in, even +within the last five years? Hear me, Neal; and venerate my words as +if they proceeded from the lips of a prophet. If you wish to taste the +luxury of being subdued--if you are, as you say, blue-moulded for want +of a beating, and sick at heart of a peaceful existence--why, marry a +wife. Neal, send my breeches home with all haste, for they are wanted, +you understand. Farewell!" + +Mr. O'Connor, having thus expressed himself, departed, and Neal stood, +with the cudgel in his hand, looking at the door out of which he passed, +with an expression of fierceness, contempt, and reflection, strongly +blended on the ruins of his once heroic visage. + +Many a man has happiness within his reach if he but knew it. The tailor +had been, hitherto, miserable because he pursued a wrong object. The +schoolmaster, however, suggested a train of thought upon which Neal +now fastened with all the ardor of a chivalrous temperament. Nay, he +wondered that the family spirit should have so completely seized +upon the fighting side of his heart, as to preclude all thoughts of +matrimony; for he could not but remember that his relations were as +ready for marriage as for fighting. To doubt this, would have been to +throw a blot upon his own escutcheon. He, therefore, very prudently +asked himself, to whom, if he did not marry, should he transmit his +courage. He was a single man, and, dying as such, he would be the sole +depository of his own valor, which, like Junius's secret, must perish +with, him. If he could have left it, as a legacy, to such of his friends +as were most remarkable for cowardice, why, the case would be altered; +but this was impossible--and he had now no other means of preserving it +to posterity than by creating a posterity to inherit it. He saw, too, +that the world was likely to become convulsed. Wars, as everybody +knew, were certainly to break out; and would it not be an excellent +opportunity for being father to a colonel, or, perhaps, a general, that +might astonish the world. + +The change visible in Neal, after the schoolmaster's last visit, +absolutely thunder-struck all who knew him. The clothes, which he had +rashly taken in to fit his shrivelled limbs, were once more let out. The +tailor expanded with a new spirit; his joints ceased to be supple, as +in the days of his valor; his eye became less fiery, but more brilliant. +From being martial, he got desperately gallant; but, somehow, he could +not afford to act the hero and lover both at the same time. This, +perhaps, would be too much to expect from a tailor. His policy was +better. He resolved to bring all his available energy to bear upon +the charms of whatever fair nymph he should select for the honor of +matrimony; to waste his spirit in fighting would, therefore, be a +deduction from the single purpose in view. + +The transition from war to love is by no means so remarkable as we might +at first imagine. We quote Jack Falstaff in proof of this, or, if the +reader be disposed to reject our authority, then we quote Ancient Pistol +himself--both of whom we consider as the most finished specimens of +heroism that ever carried a safe skin. Acres would have been a hero had +he won gloves to prevent the courage from oozing out at his palms, or +not felt such an unlucky antipathy to the "snug lying in the Abbey;" and +as for Captain Bobadil, he never had an opportunity of putting his plan, +for vanquishing an army, into practice. We fear, indeed, that neither +his character, nor Ben Jonson's knowledge of human nature, is properly +understood; for it certainly could not be expected that a man, whose +spirit glowed to encounter a whole host, could, without tarnishing his +dignity, if closely pressed, condescend to fight an individual. But +as these remarks on courage may be felt by the reader as an invidious +introduction of a subject disagreeable to him, we beg to hush it for the +present and return to the tailor. + +No sooner had Neal begun to feel an inclination to matrimony, than his +friends knew that his principles had veered, by the change now visible +in his person and deportment. They saw he had ratted from courage, and +joined love. Heretofore his life had been all winter, darkened by storm +and hurricane. The fiercer virtues had played the devil with him; every +word was thunder, every look lightning; but now all that had passed +away;--before, he was the Jortiter in re, at present he was the suaviter +in modo. His existence was perfect spring--beautifully vernal. All the +amiable and softer qualities began to bud about his heart; a genial +warmth was diffused over him; his soul got green within him; every day +was serene; and if a cloud happened to be come visible, there was +a roguish rainbow astride of it, on which sat a beautiful Iris that +laughed down at him, and seemed to say, "why the dickens, Neal, don't +you marry a wife?" + +Neal could not resist the afflatus which descended on him; an ethereal +light dwelled, he thought, upon the face of nature; the color of the +cloth, which he cut out from day to day, was to his enraptured eye like +the color of Cupid's wings--all purple; his visions were worth their +weight in gold; his dreams, a credit to the bed he slept on; and his +feelings, like blind puppies, young and alive to the milk of love and +kindness which they drew from his heart. Most of this delight escaped +the observation of the world, for Neal, like your true lover, became +shy and mysterious. It is difficult to say what he resembled; no dark +lantern ever had more light shut up within itself, than Neal had in his +soul, although his friends were not aware of it. They knew, indeed, that +he had turned his back upon valor; but beyond this their knowledge did +not extend. + +Neal was shrewd enough to know that what he felt must be love;--nothing +else could distend him with happiness, until his soul felt light and +bladder-like, but love. As an oyster opens, when expecting the tide, so +did his soul expand at the contemplation of matrimony. Labor ceased to +be a trouble to him; he sang and sewed from morning to night; his hot +goose no longer burned him, for his heart was as hot as his goose; the +vibrations of his head, at each successive stitch, were no longer sad +and melancholy. There was a buoyant shake of exultation in them which +showed that his soul was placid and happy within him. + +Endless honor be to Neal Malone for the originality with which he +managed the tender sentiment! He did not, like your commonplace lovers, +first discover a pretty girl, and afterwards become enamored of her. No +such thing, he had the passion prepared beforehand--cut out and made up +as it were, ready for any girl whom it might fit. This was falling in +love in the abstract, and let no man condemn it without a trial; for +many a long-winded argument could be urged in its defence. It is always +wrong to commence business without capital, and Neal had a good stock +to begin with. All we beg is, that the reader will not confound it with +Platonism, which never marries; but he is at full liberty to call it +Socratism, which takes unto itself a wife, and suffers accordingly. + +Let no one suppose that Neal forgot the schoolmaster's kindness, or +failed to be duly grateful for it. Mr. O'Connor was the first person +whom he consulted touching his passion. With a cheerful soul--he waited +on that melancholy and gentleman-like man, and in the very luxury of his +heart told him that he was in love. + +"In love, Neal!" said the schoolmaster. "May I inquire with whom?" + +"Wid nobody in particular, yet," replied Neal; "but of late I'm got +divilish fond o' the girls in general." + +"And do you call that being in love, Neal?" said Mr. O'Connor. + +"Why, what else would I call it?" returned the tailor. "Amn't I fond of +them?" + +"Then it must be what is termed the Universal Passion, Neal," observed +Mr. O'Connor, "although it is the first time I have seen such an +illustration of it as you present in your own person." + +"I wish you would advise me how to act," said Neal; "I'm as happy as a +prince since I began to get fond o' them, an' to think of marriage." + +The schoolmaster shook his head again, and looked rather miserable. Neal +rubbed his hands with glee, and looked perfectly happy. The schoolmaster +shook his head again, and looked more miserable than before. Neal's +happiness also increased on the second rubbing. + +Now, to tell the secret at once, Mr. O'Connor would not have appeared so +miserable, were it not for Neal's happiness; nor Neal so happy, were it +not for Mr. O'Connor's misery. It was all the result of contrast; but +this you will not understand unless you be deeply read in modern novels. + +Mr. O'Connor, however, was a man of sense, who knew, upon this +principle, that the longer he continued to shake his head, the more +miserable he must become, and the more also would he increase Neal's +happiness; but he had no intention of increasing Neal's happiness at +his own expense--for, upon the same hypothesis, it would have been for +Neal's interest had he remained shaking his head there, and getting +miserable until the day of judgment. He consequently declined giving the +third shake, for he thought that plain conversation was, after all, +more significant and forcible than the most eloquent nod, however ably +translated. + +"Neal," said he, "could you, by stretching your imagination, contrive to +rest contented with nursing your passion in solitude, and love the sex +at a distance?" + +"How could I nurse and mind my business?" replied the tailor. I'll never +nurse so long as I'll have the wife; and as for imagination it depends +upon the grain of it, whether I can stretch it or not. I don't know that +I ever made a coat of it in my life." + +"You don't understand me, Neal," said the schoolmaster. "In recommending +marriage, I was only driving one evil out of you by introducing another. +Do you think that, if you abandoned all thoughts of a wife, you would +get heroic again?--that is, would you, take once more to the love of +fighting?" + +"There is no doubt but I would," said the tailor: "If I miss the wife, +I'll kick up such a dust as never was seen in the parish, an' you're +the first man that I'll lick. But now that I'm in love," he continued, +"sure, I ought to look out for the wife." + +"Ah! Neal," said the schoolmaster, "you are tempting destiny: your +temerity be, with all its melancholy consequences, upon your own head." + +"Come," said the tailor, "it wasn't to hear you groaning to the tune of +'Dhrimmind-hoo,' or 'The ould woman rockin' her cradle,' that I came; +but to know if you could help me in makin' out the wife. That's the +discoorse." + +"Look at me, Neal," said the schoolmaster, solemnly; "I am at this +moment, and have been any time for the last fifteen years, a living +caveto against matrimony. I do not think that earth possesses such a +luxury as a single solitary life. Neal, the monks of old were happy men: +they were all fat and had double chins; and, Neal, I tell you, that all +fat men are in general happy. Care cannot come at them so readily as +at a thin man; before it gets through the strong outworks, of flesh +and blood with which they are surrounded, it becomes treacherous to its +original purpose, joins the cheerful spirits it meets in the system, and +dances about the heart in all the madness of mirth; just like a sincere +ecclesiastic, who comes to lecture a good fellow against drinking, but +who forgets his lecture over his cups, and is laid under the table with +such success, that he either never comes to finish his lecture, or +comes often; to be laid under the table, Look at me Neal, how wasted, +fleshless, and miserable, I stand before you. You know how my garments +have shrunk in, and what a solid man I was before marriage. Neal, +pause, I beseech you: otherwise you stand a strong chance of becoming a +nonentity like myself." + +"I don't care what I become," said the tailor; "I can't think that you'd +be so: unsonable as to expect that any of the Malones; should pass +out of the world widout either bein' bate or marrid. Have rason, Mr. +O'Connor, an' if you can help me to the wife, I promise to take in your +coat the next time--for nothin'." + +"Well, then," said Mr. O'Connor, "what-would you think of the butcher's +daughter, Biddy Neil? You have always had a thirst for blood, and here +you may have it gratified in an innocent manner, should you ever become +sanguinary again. 'Tis true, Neal, she is twice your size, and possesses +three times your strength; but for that very reason, Neal, marry her if +you can. Large animals are placid; and heaven preserve those bachelors, +whom I wish well, from a small wife: 'tis such who always wield the +sceptre of domestic life, and rule their husbands with a rod of iron." + +"Say no more, Mr. O'Connor," replied the tailor, "she's the very girl +I'm in love wid, an' never fear, but I'll overcome her heart if I it can +be done by man. Now, step over the way to my house, an' we'll have a sup +on the head of it. Who's that calling?" + +"Ah! Neal, I know the tones--there's a shrillness in them not to be +mistaken. Farewell! I must depart; you have heard the proverb, 'those +who are bound must obey.' Young Jack, I presume, is squalling, and I +must either nurse him, rock the cradle, or sing comic tunes for him, +though heaven knows with what a disastrous heart I often sing, 'Begone +dull care,' the 'Rakes of Newcastle,' or 'Peas upon a Trencher.' Neal, +I say again, pause before you take this leap in the dark. Pause, Neal, I +entreat you. Farewell!" + +Neal, however, was gifted with the heart of an Irishman, and scorned +caution as the characteristic of a coward; he had, as it appeared, +abandoned all design of fighting, but the courage still adhered to him +even in making love. He consequently conducted the siege of Biddy Neil's +heart with a degree of skill and valor which would not have come amiss +to Marshal Gerald at the siege of Antwerp. Locke or Dugald Stewart, +indeed, had they been cognizant of the tailor's triumph, might have +illustrated the principle on which he succeeded--as to ourselves, we +can only conjecture it. Our own opinion is, that they were both animated +with a congenial spirit. Biddy was the very pink of pugnacity, and +could throw in a body blow, or plant a facer, with singular energy +and science. Her prowess hitherto had, we confess, been displayed only +within the limited range of domestic life; but should she ever find +it necessary to exercise it upon a larger scale, there was no doubt +whatsoever, in the opinion of her mother, brothers, and sisters, every +one of whom she had successively subdued, that she must undoubtedly +distinguish herself. There was certainly one difficulty which the tailor +had not to encounter in the progress of his courtship; the field was +his own; he had not a rival to dispute his claim. Neither was there any +opposition given by her friends; they were, on the contrary, all anxious +for the match; and when the arrangements were concluded, Neal felt his +hand squeezed by them in succession, with an expression more resembling +condolence than joy. Neal, however, had been bred to tailoring, and not +to metaphysics; he could cut out a coat very well, but we do not say +that he could trace a principle--as what tailor, except Jeremy Taylor, +could? + +There was nothing particular in the wedding. Mr. O'Connor was asked by +Neal to be present at it: but he shook his head, and told him that +he had not courage to attend it, or inclination to witness any man's +sorrows but his own. He met the wedding party by accident, and was heard +to exclaim with a sigh, as they flaunted past him in gay exuberance of +spirits--"Ah, poor Neal! he is going like one of her father's cattle to +the shambles! Woe is me for having suggested matrimony to the tailor! He +will not long-be under the necessity of saying that he 'is blue-moulded +for want of a beating.' The butcheress will fell him like a Kerry ox, +and I may have his blood to answer for, and his discomfiture to feel +for, in addition to my own miseries." + +On the evening of the wedding-day, about the hour of ten o'clock, +Neal--whose spirits were uncommonly exalted, for his heart luxuriated +within him--danced with his bride's maid; after the dance he sat beside +her, and got eloquent in praise of her beauty; and it is said, too, that +he whispered to her, and chucked her chin with considerable gallantry. +The tete-a-tete continued for some time without exciting particular +attention, with one exception; but that exception was worth a whole +chapter of general rules. Mrs. Malone rose up, then sat down again, and +took off a glass of the native; she got up a second time--all the wife +rushed upon her heart--she approached them, and in a fit of the most +exquisite sensibility, knocked the bride's maid down, and gave the +tailor a kick of affecting pathos upon the inexpressibles. The whole +scene was a touching one on both sides. The tailor was sent on all-fours +to the floor; but Mrs. Malone took him quietly up, put him under her arm +as one would a lap dog, and with stately step marched him away to the +connubial, apartment, in which everything remained very quiet for the +rest of the night. + +The next morning Mr. O'Connor presented himself to congratulate the +tailor on his happiness. Neal, as his friend shook hands with him, gave +the schoolmaster's fingers a slight squeeze, such as a man gives who +would gently entreat your sympathy. The schoolmaster looked at him, and +thought he shook his head. Of this, however, he could not be certain; +for, as he shook his own during the moment of observation, he concluded +that it might be a mere mistake of the eye, or perhaps the result of a +mind predisposed to be credulous on the subject of shaking heads. + +We wish it were in our power to draw a veil, or curtain, or blind of +some description, over the remnant of the tailor's narrative that is to +follow; but as it is the duty of every faithful historian to give +the secret causes of appearances which the world in general do not +understand, so we think it but honest to go on, impartially and +faithfully, without shrinking from the responsibility that is frequently +annexed to truth. + +For the first three days after matrimony, Neal felt like a man who had +been translated to a new and more lively state of existence. He had +expected, and flattered himself, that, the moment this event should +take place, he would once more resume his heroism, and experience +the pleasure of a drubbing. This determination he kept a profound +secret--nor was it known until a future period, when he disclosed it to +Mr. O'Connor. He intended, therefore, that marriage should be nothing +more than a mere parenthesis in his life--a kind of asterisk, pointing, +in a note at the bottom, to this single exception in his general +conduct--a _nota bene_ to the spirit of a martial man, intimating that +he had been peaceful only for a while. In truth, he was, during the +influence of love over him, and up to the very day of his marriage, +secretly as blue-moulded as ever for want of a beating. The heroic +penchant lay snugly latent in his heart, unchecked and unmodified. He +flattered himself that he was achieving a capital imposition upon the +world at large--that he was actually hoaxing mankind in general--and +that such an excellent piece of knavish tranquillity had never been +perpetrated before his time. + +On the first week after his marriage, there chanced to be a fair in +the next market-town. Neal, after breakfast, brought forward a bunch of +shillelahs, in order to select the best; the wife inquired the purpose +of the selection, and Neal declared that he was resolved to have a fight +that day, if it were to be had, he said, for love or money. "The thruth +is," he exclaimed, strutting with fortitude about the house, "the thruth +is, that I've done the whole of yez--I'm as _blue-mowlded_ as ever for +want of a batin'." + +"Don't go," said the wife. + +"I will go," said Neal, with vehemence; "I'll go if the whole parish was +to go to prevint me." + +In about another half-hour Neal sat down quietly to his business, +instead of going to the fair! + +Much ingenious speculation might be indulged in, upon this abrupt +termination to the tailor's most formidable resolution; but, for our own +part, we will prefer going on with the narrative, leaving the reader +at liberty to solve the mystery as he pleases. In the mean time, we say +this much--let those who cannot make it out, carry it to their tailor; +it is a tailor's mystery, and no one has so good a right to understand +it--except, perhaps, a tailor's wife. + +At the period of his matrimony, Neal had become as plump and as stout +as he ever was known to be in his plumpest and stoutest days. He and the +schoolmaster had been very intimate about this time; but we know not how +it happened that soon afterwards he felt a modest bridelike reluctance +in meeting with that afflicted gentleman. As the eve of his union +approached, he was in the habit, during the schoolmaster's visits to +his workshop, of alluding, in rather a sarcastic tone, considering the +unthriving appearance of his friend, to the increasing lustiness of +his person. Nay, he has often leaped up from his lap-board, and, in the +strong spirit of exultation, thrust out his leg in attestation of his +assertion, slapping it, moreover, with a loud laugh of triumph, that +sounded like a knell to the happiness of his emaciated acquaintance. +The schoolmaster's philosophy, however, unlike his flesh, never departed +from him; his usual observation was, "Neal, we are both receding from +the same point; you increase in flesh, whilst I, heaven help me, am fast +diminishing." + +The tailor received these remarks with very boisterous mirth, whilst +Mr. O'Connor simply shook his head, and looked sadly upon his limbs, +now shrouded in a superfluity of garments, somewhat resembling a slender +thread of water in a shallow summer stream, nearly wasted away, and +surrounded by an unproportionate extent of channel. + +The fourth month after the marriage arrived. Neal, one day, near its +close, began to dress himself in his best apparel. Even then, when +buttoning his waistcoat, he shook his head after the manner of Mr. +O'Connor, and made observations upon the great extent to which it +over-folded him. + +Well, thought he, with a sigh--this waistcoat certainly did fit me to a +T: but it's wondherful to think how--cloth stretches. + +"Neal," said the wife, on perceiving him dressed, "where are you bound +for?" + +"Faith, for life," replied Neal, with a mitigated swagger; "and I'd as +soon, if it had been the will of Provid--" + +He paused. + +"Where are you going?" asked the wife, a second time. + +"Why," he answered, "only to the dance at Jemmy Connolly's; I'll be back +early." + +"Don't go," said the wife. "I'll go," said Neal, "if the whole +counthry was to prevent me. Thunder an' lightnin,' woman, who am I?" he +exclaimed, in a loud but rather infirm voice; "arn't I Neal Malone, that +never met a man who'd fight him! Neal Malone, that was never beat by +man! Why, tare-an-ounze, woman! Whoo! I'll get enraged some time, an' +play the divil? Who's afeard, I say?" + +"Don't go," added the wife a third time, giving Neal a significant look +in the face. + +In about another half-hour, Neal sat down quietly to his business, +instead of going to the dance! + +Neal now turned himself, like many a sage in similar circumstances, to +philosophy; that is to say--he began to shake his head upon principle, +after the manner of the schoolmaster. He would, indeed, have preferred +the bottle upon principle; but there was no getting at the bottle, +except through the wife; and it so happened that by the time it reached +him, there was little consolation left in it. Neal bore all in silence; +for silence, his friend had often told him, was a proof of wisdom. + +Soon after this, Neal, one evening, met Mr. O'Connor by chance upon a +plank which crossed a river. This plank was only a foot in breadth, so +that no two individuals could pass each other upon it. We cannot find +words in which to express the dismay of both, on finding that they +absolutely glided past one another without collision. + +Both paused, and surveyed each other solemnly; but the astonishment was +all on the side of Mr. O'Connor. + +"Neal," said the schoolmaster, "by all the household gods, I conjure you +to speak, that I may be assured you live!" + +The ghost of a blush crossed the churchyard visage of the tailor. + +"Oh!" he exclaimed, "why the devil did you tempt me to marry a wife." + +"Neal," said his friend, "answer me in the most solemn manner +possible--throw into your countenance all the gravity you can assume; +speak as if you were under the hands of the hangman, with the rope about +your neck, for the question is, indeed, a trying-one which I am about to +put. Are you still 'blue-moulded for want of beating?'" + +The tailor collected himself to make a reply; he put one leg out--the +very leg which he used to show in triumph to his friend; but, alas, how +dwindled! He opened his waistcoat, and lapped it round him, until he +looked like a weasel on its hind legs. He then raised himself up on his +tip toes, and, in an awful whisper, replied, "No!!! the devil a bit I'm +blue-mowlded for want of a batin." + +The schoolmaster shook his head in his own miserable manner; but, alas! +he soon perceived that the tailor was as great an adept at shaking the +head as himself. Nay, he saw that there was a calamitous refinement--a +delicacy of shake in the tailor's vibrations, which gave to his own nod +a very commonplace character. + +The next day the tailor took in his clothes; and from time to time +continued to adjust them to the dimensions of his shrinking person. +The schoolmaster and he, whenever they could steal a moment, met and +sympathized together. Mr. O'Connor, however, bore up somewhat better +than Neal. The latter was subdued in heart and in spirit; thoroughly, +completely, and intensely vanquished. His features became sharpened +by misery, for a termagant wife is the whetstone on which all the +calamities of a hen-pecked husband are painted by the devil. He no +longer strutted as he was wont to do; he no longer carried a cudgel +as if he wished to wage a universal battle with mankind. He was now a +married man.--Sneakingiy, and with a cowardly crawl did he creep along +as if every step brought him nearer to the gallows. The schoolmaster's +march of misery was far slower than Neal's: the latter distanced him. +Before three years passed, he had shrunk up so much, that he could not +walk abroad of a windy day without carrying weights in his pockets to +keep him firm on the earth, which he once trod with the step of a giant. +He again sought the schoolmaster, with whom indeed he associated as +much as possible. Here he felt certain of receiving sympathy; nor was +he disappointed. That worthy, but miserable, man and Neal, often retired +beyond the hearing of their respective wives, and supported each other +by every argument in their power. Often have they been heard, in the +dusk of evening, singing behind a remote hedge that melancholy ditty, +"Let us both be unhappy together;" which rose upon the twilight breeze +with a cautious quaver of sorrow truly heart-rending and lugubrious. + +"Neal," said Mr. O'Connor, on one of those occasions, "here is a book +which I recommend to your perusal; it is called 'The Afflicted Man's +Companion;' try if you cannot glean some consolation out of it." + +"Faith," said Neal, "I'm forever oblaged to you, but I don't want it. +I've had 'The Afflicted Man's Companion' too long, and divil an atom of +consolation I can get out of it. I have one o' them I tell you; but, be +me sowl, I'll not undhertake a pair o' them. The very name's enough for +me." They then separated. + +The tailor's _vis vitae_ must have been powerful, or he would have died. +In two years more his friends could not distinguish him from his own +shadow; a circumstance which was of great inconvenience to him. Several +grasped at the hand of the shadow instead of his; and one man was near, +paying it five and sixpence for making a pair of smallclothes. Neal, it +is true, undeceived him with some trouble; but candidly admitted that he +was not able to carry home the money. It was difficult, indeed, for the +poor tailor to bear what he felt; it is true he bore it as long as +he could; but at length he became suicidal, and often had thoughts of +"making his own quietus with his bare bodkin." After many deliberations +and afflictions, he ultimately made the attempt; but, alas! he found +that the blood of the Malones refused to flow upon so ignominious an +occasion. So he solved the phenomenon; although the truth was, that his +blood was not "i' the vein" for't; none was to be had. What then was to +be done? He resolved to get rid of life by some process; and the next +that occurred to him was hanging. In a solemn spirit he prepared a +selvage, and suspended himself from the rafter of his workshop; but here +another disappintment awaited him--he would not hang. Such was his want +of gravity, that his own weight proved insufficient to occasion his +death by mere suspension. His third attempt was at drowning, but he +was too light to sink; all the elements,--all his own energies joined +themselves, he thought, in a wicked conspiracy to save his life. Having +thus tried every avenue to destruction, and failed in all, he felt like +a man doomed to live for ever. Henceforward he shrunk and shrivelled by +slow degrees, until in the course of time he became so attenuated, that +the grossness of human vision could no longer reach him. + +This, however, could not last always. Though still alive, he was, to all +intents and purposes, imperceptible. He could now only be heard; he was +reduced to a mere essence--the very echo of human existence, _vox +el praiterea nihil_. It is true the schoolmaster asserted that he +occasionally caught passing glimpses of him; but that was because he +had been himself nearly spiritualized by affliction, and his visual ray +purged in the furnace of domestic tribulation. By and by Neal's voice +lessened, got fainter and more indistinct, until at length nothing but +a doubtful murmur could be heard, which ultimately could scarcely be +distinguished from a ringing in the ears. + +Such was the awful and mysterious fate of the tailor, who, as a hero, +could not of course die; he merely dissolved like an icicle, wasted into +immateriality, and finally melted away beyond the perception of mortal +sense. Mr. O'Connor is still living, and once more in the fulness of +perfect health and strength. His wife, however, we may as well hint, has +been dead more than two years. + + + + + + + +ART MAGUIRE; + +OR, THE BROKEN PLEDGE. + + +PREFACE. + +In proposing to write a series of "Tales for the Irish People," the +author feels perfectly conscious of the many difficulties by which he +is surrounded, and by which he may be still met in his endeavors to +accomplish that important task. In order, however, to make everything as +clear and intelligible as possible, he deems it necessary, in the first +place, to state what his object is in undertaking it: that object is +simply to improve their physical and social condition--generally; +and through the medium of vivid and striking, but unobjectionable +narratives, to inculcate such principles as may enable Irishmen to think +more clearly, reason more correctly, and act more earnestly upon the +general duties, which, from their position in life, they are called upon +to perform. With regard to those who feel apprehensive that anything +calculated to injure the doctrinal convictions of the Catholic people +may be suffered to creep into these Tales, the author has only to assure +them--that such an object comes within the scope neither of his plan +or inclinations. It is not his intention to make these productions the +vehicles of Theology or Polemics; but studiously to avoid anything and +everything that even approaches the sphere of clerical duty. His +object, so far from that, is the inculcation of general, not peculiar, +principles--principles which neither affect nor offend any creed, but +which are claimed and valued by all. In this way, by making amusement +the handmaiden of instruction, the author believes it possible to let +into the cabin, the farm-house, and even the landlord's drawing-room, +a light by which each and all of them may read many beneficial +lessons--lessons that will, it is hoped, abide with them, settle down +in their hearts, and by giving them a, clearer sense of their respective +duties, aid in improving and regenerating their condition. + +To send to the poor man's fireside, through the medium of Tales that +will teach his heart and purify his affections, those simple lessons +which may enable him to understand his own value--that will generate +self-respect, independence, industry, love of truth, hatred of deceit +and falsehood, habits of cleanliness, order, and punctuality--together +with all those lesser virtues which help to create a proper sense of +personal and domestic comfort--to assist in working out these healthful +purposes is the Author's anxious wish--a task in which any man may feel +proud to engage. + +Self-reliance, manly confidence in the effect of their own virtues, +respect for the virtues that ought to adorn rank, rather than for +rank itself, and a spurning of that vile servility which is only the +hereditary remnant of bygone oppression, will be taught the people +in such a way as to make them feel how far up in society a high moral +condition can and ought to place them. Nor is this all;--the darker +page of Irish life shall be laid open before them--in which they will be +taught, by examples that they can easily understand, the fearful details +of misery, destitution, banishment, and death, which the commission of a +single crime may draw down, not only upon the criminal himself, but upon +those innocent and beloved connections whom he actually punishes by his +guilt. + +It is, indeed, with fear and trembling that the Author undertakes such a +great and important task as this. If he fail, however, he may well say-- + +"_Quem si non tenuifc, tamon magnis excidit ausis_." + +Still he is willing to hope that, through the aid of truthful fiction, +operating upon the feelings of his countrymen, and on their knowledge of +peasant life, he may furnish them with such a pleasing Encyclopedia of +social duty--now lit up with their mirth, and again made tender with +their sorrow--as will force them to look upon him as a benefactor--to +forget his former errors--and to cherish his name with affection, when +he himself shall be freed forever from those cares and trials of life +which have hitherto been his portion. + +In the following simple narrative of "The Broken Pledge," it was his +aim, without leading his readers out of the plain paths of every-day +life or into the improbable creations of Romance, to detail the +character of such an individual as almost every man must have often seen +and noticed within the society by which he is surrounded. He trusts that +the moral, as regards both husband and wife, is wholesome and good, +and calculated to warn those who would follow in the footsteps of "Art +Maguire." + +Dubin, July 4, 1845. + + + +It has been often observed, and as frequently inculcated, through the +medium of both press and pulpit, that there is scarcely any human being +who, how striking soever his virtues, or how numerous his good qualities +may be, does not carry in his moral constitution some particular +weakness or failing, or perhaps vice, to which he is especially subject, +and which may, if not properly watched and restrained, exercise an +injurious and evil influence over his whole life. Neither have the +admonitions of press or pulpit ended in merely laying down this obvious +and undeniable truth, but, on the contrary, very properly proceeded to +add, that one of the most pressing duties of man is to examine his own +heart, in order to ascertain what this particular vice or failing in his +case may be, in order that, when discovered, suitable means be taken to +remove or overcome it. + +The man whose history we are about to detail for the reader's +instruction, was, especially during the latter years of his life, a +touching, but melancholy illustration of this indisputable truth; in +other words, he possessed the weakness or the vice, as the reader may +consider it, and found, when too late, that a yielding resolution, or, +to use a phrase perhaps better understood, a good intention, was but a +feeble and inefficient instrument with which to attempt its subjection. +Having made these few preliminary observations, as being suitable, in +our opinion, to the character of the incidents which follow, we proceed +at once to commence our narrative. + +Arthur, or, as he was more familiarly called by the people, Art Maguire, +was the son of parents who felt and knew that they were descended from +higher and purer blood than could be boasted of by many of the families +in their neighborhood. Art's father was a small farmer, who held about +ten acres of land, and having a family of six children--three sons, and +as many daughters--he determined upon putting one or two of the former +to a trade, so soon as they should be sufficiently grown up for that +purpose. This, under his circumstances was a proper and provident +resolution to make. His farm was too small to be parceled out, as is too +frequently the case, into small miserable patches, upon each of which +a young and inconsiderate couple are contented to sit down, with the +prospect of rearing up and supporting a numerous family with wofully +inadequate means; for although it is generally a matter of certainty +that the families of these young persons will increase, yet it is a +perfectly well-known fact that the little holding will not, and the +consequence is, that families keep subdividing on the one hand, and +increasing on the other, until there is no more room left for them. +Poverty then ensues, and as poverty in such cases begets competition, +and competition crime, so we repeat that Condy Maguire's intention, +as being one calculated to avoid such a painful state of things, was a +proof of his own good sense and forethought. + +Arthur's brother, Frank, was a boy not particularly remarkable for any +peculiar brilliancy of intellect, or any great vivacity of disposition. +When at school he was never in a quarrel, nor engaged in any of those +wild freaks which are sore annoyances to a village schoolmaster, and +daring outrages against his authority. He was consequently a favorite +not only with the master, but with all the sober, well-behaved boys +of the school, and many a time has Teague Rooney, with whom he was +educated, exclaimed, as he addressed him: + +"Go to your sate, Frank abouchal; faith, although there are boys endowed +wid more brilliancy of intellect than has fallen to your lot, yet you +are the very youth who understands what is due to legitimate authority, +at any rate, an' that's no small gift in itself; go to your sate, sorrow +taw will go to your substratum this bout, for not having your lesson; +for well I know it wasn't idleness that prevented you, but the natural +sobriety and slowness of intellect you are gifted wid. If you are slow, +however, you are sure, and I'll pledge my reputaytion aginst that of the +great O'Flaherty himself, that you and your brinoge of a brother will +both live to give a beautiful illustration of the celebrated race +between the hare and the tortoise yet. Go to your sate wid impunity, and +tell your dacent mother I was inquiring for her." + +Such, indeed, was a tolerably correct view of Frank's character. He was +quiet, inoffensive, laborious, and punctual; though not very social or +communicative, yet he was both well-tempered and warm-hearted, points +which could not, without considerable opportunities of knowing him, be +readily perceived. Having undertaken the accomplishment of an object, he +permitted no circumstance to dishearten or deter him in working out +his purpose; if he said it, he did it; for his word was a sufficient +guarantee that he would; his integrity was consequently respected, +and his resolution, when he expressed it, was seldom disputed by his +companions, who knew that in general it was inflexible. After what we +have said, it is scarcely necessary to add that he was both courageous +and humane. + +These combinations of character frequently occur. Many a man not +remarkable for those qualities of the head that impress themselves most +strikingly upon the world, is nevertheless gifted with those excellent +principles of the heart which, although without much show, and scarcely +any noise, go to work out the most useful purposes of life. Arthur, on +the contrary, was a contrast to his brother, and a strong one, too, on +many points; his intellect was far superior to that of Frank's, but, +on the other hand, he by no means possessed his brother's steadiness or +resolution. We do not say, however, that he was remarkable for the want +of either, far from it; he could form a resolution, and work it out as +well as his brother, provided his course was left unobstructed: nay, +more, he could overcome difficulties many and varied, provided only that +he was left unassailed by, one solitary temptation--that of an easy +and good-humored vanity. He was conscious of his talents, and of his +excellent qualities, and being exceedingly vain, nothing gave him +greater gratification than to hear himself praised for possessing +them--for it is a fact, that every man who is vain of any particular +gift, forgets that he did not bestow that gift upon himself, and that +instead of priding himself upon the possession of it, he should only be +humbly thankful to the Being who endowed him with it. + +Art was social, communicative, and, although possessing what might be +considered internal resources more numerous, and of a far higher order +than did his brother, yet, somehow, it was clear that he had not the +same self-dependence that marked the other. He always wanted, as it. +were, something to lean upon, although in truth he did not at all +require it, had he properly understood himself. The truth is, like +thousands, he did not begin to perceive, or check in time, those early +tendencies that lead a heart naturally indolent, but warm and generous, +to the habit of relying first, in small things, upon external sources +and objects, instead of seeking and finding within itself those +materials for manly independence, with which every heart is supplied, +were its possessor only aware of the fact, and properly instructed how +to use them. + +Art's enjoyments, for instance, were always of a social nature, and +never either solitary or useful in their tendencies; of this character +was every thing he engaged in. He would not make a ship of water +flaggons by himself, nor sail it by himself--he would not spin a top, +nor trundle a hoop without a companion--if sent upon a message, or to +dig a basket of potatoes in the field, he would rather purchase the +society of a companion with all the toys or playthings he possessed than +do either alone. His very lessons he would not get unless his brother +Frank got his along with him. The reader may thus perceive that he +acquired no early habit of self-restraint, no principle of either labor +or enjoyment within, himself, and of course could acquire none at all +of self-reliance. A social disposition in our amusements is not only +proper, but natural, for we believe it is pretty generally known, that +he who altogether prefers such amusements is found to be deficient +in the best and most generous principles of our nature. Every thing, +however, has its limits and its exceptions. Art, if sent to do a day's +work alone, would either abandon it entirely, and bear the brunt of his +father's anger, or he would, as we have said, purchase the companionship +of some neighbor's son or child, for, provided he had any one to whom he +could talk, he cared not, and having thus succeeded, he would finish it +triumphantly. + +In due time, however, his great prevailing weakness, vanity, became well +known to his family, who, already aware of his peculiar aversion to any +kind of employment that was not social, immediately seized upon it, +and instead of taking rational steps to remove it, they nursed it into +stronger life by pandering to it as a convenient means of regulating, +checking, or stimulating the whole habits of his life. His family were +not aware of the moral consequences which they were likely to produce +by conduct such as this, nor of the pains they were ignorantly taking to +lay the foundation of his future misfortune and misery. + +"Art, my good boy, will you take your spade and clane out the remaindher +o' that drain, between the Hannigans and us," said his father. + +"Well, will Frank come?" + +"Sure you know he can't; isn't he weedin' that bit of _blanther_ in +Crackton's park, an' afther that sure he has to cut scraws on the +Pirl-hill for the new barn." + +"Well, I'll help him if he helps me; isn't that fair? Let us join." + +"Hut, get out o' that, avourneen; go yourself; do what you're bid, Art." + +"Is it by myself? murdher alive, father, don't ax me; I'll give him my +new Cammon if he comes." + +"Throth you won't; the sorra hand I'd ever wish to see the same Cammon +in but your own; faix, it's you that can handle it in style. Well now, +Art, well becomes myself but I thought I could play a Cammon wid the +face o' clay wanst in my time, but may I never sin if ever I could match +you at it; oh, sorra taste o' your Cammon you must part wid; sure I'd +rather scower the drain myself." + +"Bedad I won't part wid it then." + +"I'd rather, I tell you, scower it myself--an' I will, too. Sure if I +renew the ould cough an me I'll thry the _Casharawan_, (* Dandelion) that +did me so much good the last time." + +"Well, that's purty! Ha, ha, ha! you to go! Oh, ay, indeed--as if I'd +stand by an' let you. Not so bad as that comes to, either--no. Is the +spade an' shovel in the shed?" + +"To be sure they are. Throth, Art, you're worth the whole o' them--the +sorra lie in it. Well, go, avillish." + +This was this fine boy's weakness played upon by those who, it is true, +were not at all conscious of the injury they were inflicting upon him at +the time. He was certainly the pride of the family, and even while they +humored and increased this his predominant and most dangerous foible, we +are bound to say that they gratified their own affection as much as they +did his vanity. + +His father's family consisted, as we have said, of three sons and three +daughters. The latter were the elder, and in point of age Art, as we +have said, was the youngest of them all. The education that he and his +brothers received was such as the time and the neglected state of the +country afforded them. They could all read and write tolerably well, and +knew something of arithmetic. This was a proof that their education had +not been neglected. And why should it? Were they not the descendants of +the great Maguires of Fermanagh? Why, the very consciousness of their +blood was felt as a proud and unanswerable argument against ignorance. +The best education, therefore, that could be procured by persons in +their humble sphere of life, they received. The eldest brother, whose +name was Brian, did not, as is too frequently the case with the eldest +sons of small farmers, receive so liberal a portion of instruction as +Frank or Art. This resulted from the condition and necessities of his +father, who could not spare him from his farm--and, indeed, it cost the +worthy man many a sore heart. At all events, time advanced, and the two +younger brothers were taken from school with a view of being apprenticed +to some useful trade. The character of each was pretty well in +accordance with their respective dispositions. Frank had no enemies, yet +was he by no means so popular as Art, who had many. The one possessed +nothing to excite envy, and never gave offence; the other, by the very +superiority of his natural powers, exultingly paraded, as they were, at +the expense of dulness or unsuccessful rivalry, created many vindictive +maligners, who let no opportunity pass of giving him behind his back the +harsh word which they durst not give him to his face. In spite of all +this, his acknowledged superiority, his generosity, his candor, and +utter ignorance or hatred of the low chicaneries of youthful cunning, +joined to his open, intrepid, and manly character, conspired to render +him popular in an extraordinary degree. Nay, his very failings added +to this, and when the battle of his character was fought, all the +traditionary errors of moral life were quoted in his favor. + +"Ay, ay, the boy has his faults, and who has not; I'd be glad to know? +If he's lively, it's betther to be that, than a mosey, any day. His +brother Frank is a good boy, but sure divil a squig of spunk or spirits +is in him, an', my dear, you know the ould proverb, that a standin' +pool always stinks, while the runnin' strame is sweet and clear to the +bottom. If he's proud, he has a right to be proud, and why shouldn't he, +seein' that it's well known he could take up more larnin' than half the +school." + +"Well, but poor Frank's a harmless boy, and never gave offence to +mortual, which, by the same token, is more than can be said of Art the +lad." + +"Very well, we know all that; and maybe it 'ud be betther for himself +if he had a sharper spice of the dioual in him--but sure the poor boy +hasn't the brain for it. Offence! oh, the dickens may seize the offence +poor Frank will give to man or woman, barrin' he mends his manners, and +gats a little life into him--sure he was a year and a day in the Five +Common Rules, an' three blessed weeks gettin' the Multiplication Table." + +Such, in general, was the estimate formed of their respective +characters, by those who, of course, had an opportunity of knowing them +best. Whether the latter were right or wrong will appear in the sequel, +but in the meantime we must protest, even in this early stage of our +narrative, against those popular exhibitions of mistaken sympathy, which +in early life--the most dangerous period too--are felt and expressed +for those who, in association with weak points of character, give strong +indications of talent. This mistaken generosity is pernicious to the +individual, inasmuch as it confirms him in the very errors which he +should correct, and in the process of youthful reasoning, which is +most selfish, induces him not only to doubt the whisperings of his +own conscience, but to substitute in their stead the promptings of the +silliest vanity. + +Having thus given a rapid sketch of these two brothers in their +schoolboy life, we now come to that period at which their father thought +proper to apprentice them. The choice of the trade he left to their own +natural judgment, and as Frank was the eldest, he was allowed to choose +first. He immediately selected that of a carpenter, as being clean, +respectable, and within-doors; and, as he added-- + +"Where the wages is good--and then I'm tould that one can work afther +hours, if they wish." + +"Very well," said the father, "now let us hear, Art; come, alanna, what +are you on for?" + +"I'll not take any trade," replied Art. + +"Not take any trade, Art! why, my goodness, sure you knew all along that +you war for a trade. Don't you know when you and Frank grow up, and, of +course, must take the world on your heads, that it isn't this strip of a +farm that you can depend on." + +"That's what I think of," said Frank; "one's not to begin the world wid +empty pockets, or, any way, widout some ground to put one's foot on." + +"The world!" rejoined Art; "why, what the sorra puts thoughts o' the +world into your head, Frank? Isn't it time enough for you or me to think +o' the world these ten years to come?" + +"Ay," replied Frank, "but when we come to join it isn't the time to +begin to think of it; don't you know what the ould saying says--_ha nha +la na guiha la na scuillaba_--it isn't on the windy day that you are to +look for your scollops."* + + * The proverb inculcates forethought and provision. + Scollop is an osier sharpened at both ends, by which + the thatch of a house is fastened down to the roof. Of + a windy day the thatch alone would be utterly useless, + if there were no scollops to keep it firm. + +"An' what 'ud prevent you, Art, from goin' to larn a trade?" asked his +father. + +"I'd rather stay with you," replied the affectionate boy; "I don't like +to leave you nor the family, to be goin' among strangers." + +The unexpected and touching nature of his motive, so different from what +was expected, went immediately to his father's heart. He looked at his +fine boy, and was silent for a minute, after which he wiped the moisture +from his eyes. Art, on seeing his father affected, became so himself, +and added-- + +"That's my only raison, father, for not goin'; I wouldn't like to lave +you an' them, if I could help it." + +"Well, acushla," replied the father, while his eyes beamed on him with +tenderness and affection, "sure we wouldn't ax you to go, if we could +any way avoid it--it's for your own good we do it. Don't refuse to go, +Art; sure for my sake you won't?" + +"I will go, then," he replied; "I'll go for your sake, but I'll miss you +all." + +"An' we'll miss you, ahagur. God bless you, Art dear, it's jist like +you. Ay, will we in throth miss you; but, then, think what a brave fine +thing it'll be for you to have a grip of a dacent independent trade, +that'll keep your feet out o' the dirt while you live." + +"I will go," repeated Art, "but as for the trade, I'll have none but +Frank's. I'll be a carpenter, for then he and I can be together." + +In addition to the affectionate motive which Art had mentioned to his +father--and which was a true one--as occasioning his reluctance to learn +a trade, there was another, equally strong and equally tender. In the +immediate neighborhood there lived a family named Murray, between whom +and the Maguires there subsisted a very kindly intimacy. Jemmy Murray +was in fact one of the wealthiest men in that part of the parish, as +wealth then was considered--that is to say, he farmed about forty acres, +which he held at a moderate rent, and as he was both industrious and +frugal, it was only a matter of consequence that he and his were well +to do in the world. It is not likely, however, that even a passing +acquaintance would ever have taken place between them, were it not for +the consideration of the blood which was known to flow in the veins +of the Fermanagh Maguires. Murray was a good deal touched with +purse-pride--the most offensive and contemptible description of pride +in the world--and would never have suffered an intimacy, were it not for +the reason I have alleged. It is true he was not a man of such stainless +integrity as Condy Maguire, because it was pretty well known that in +the course of his life, while accumulating money, he was said to +have stooped to practices that were, to say the least of them, highly +discreditable. For instance, he always held over his meal, until there +came what is unfortunately both too well known and too well felt in +Ireland,--a dear year--a year of hunger, starvation, and famine. For the +same reason he held over his hay, and indeed on passing his haggard you +were certain to perceive three or four immense stacks, bleached by the +sun and rain of two or three seasons into a tawny yellow. Go into his +large kitchen or storehouse, and you saw three or four immense +deal chests filled with meal, which was reserved for a season of +scarcity--for, proud as Farmer Murray was, he did not disdain to fatten +upon human misery. Between these two families there was, as we have +said, an intimacy. It was wealth and worldly goods on the one side; +integrity and old blood on the other. Be this as it may, Farmer Murray +had a daughter, Margaret, the youngest of four, who was much about the +age of Arthur Maguire. Margaret was a girl whom it was almost impossible +to know and not to love. Though then but seventeen, her figure was full, +rich, and beautifully formed. Her abundant hair was black and glossy as +ebony, and her skin, which threw a lustre like ivory itself, had--not +the whiteness of snow--but a whiteness a thousand times more natural--a +whiteness that was fresh, radiant, and spotless. She was arch and full +of spirits, but her humor--for she possessed it in abundance--was so +artless, joyous, and innocent, that the heart was taken with it before +one had time for reflection. Added, however, to this charming vivacity +of temperament were many admirable virtues, and a fund of deep and +fervent feeling, which, even at that early period of her life, had made +her name beloved by every one in the parish, especially the poor and +destitute. The fact is, she was her father's favorite daughter, and he +could deny her nothing. The admirable girl was conscious of this, but +instead of availing herself of his affection for her in a way that +many--nay, we may say, most--would have done, for purposes of dress or +vanity, she became an interceding angel for the poor and destitute; and +closely as Murray loved money, yet it is due to him to say, that, on +these occasions, she was generally successful. Indeed, he was so far +from being insensible to his daughter's noble virtues, that he felt +pride in reflecting that she possessed them, and gave aid ten times +from that feeling for once that he did from a more exalted one. Such +was Margaret Murray, and such, we are happy to say--for we know it--are +thousands of the peasant girls of our country. + +It was not to be wondered at, then, that in addition to the reluctance +which a heart naturally affectionate, like Art's, should feel on leaving +his relations for the first time, he should experience much secret +sorrow at being deprived of the society of this sweet and winning girl. + +Matters now, however, were soon arranged, and the time, nay, the very +day for their departure was appointed. Art, though deeply smitten with +the charms of Margaret Murray, had never yet ventured to breathe to her +a syllable of love, being deterred naturally enough by the distance in +point of wealth which existed between the families. Not that this alone, +perhaps, would have prevented him from declaring his affection for her; +but, young as he was, he had not been left unimpressed by his father's +hereditary sense of the decent pride, strict honesty, and independent +spirit, which should always mark the conduct and feelings of any one +descended from the great Fermanagh Maguires. He might, therefore, +probably have spoken, but that his pride dreaded a repulse, and that he +could not bear to contemplate. This, joined to the natural diffidence of +youth, sufficiently accounts for his silence. + +There lived, at the period of which we write, which is not a thousand +years ago, at a place called "the Corner House," a celebrated carpenter +named Jack M'Carroll. He was unquestionably a first-rate mechanic, kept +a large establishment, and had ample and extensive business. To him had +Art and Frank been apprenticed, and, indeed, a better selection could +not have been made, for Jack was not only a good workman himself, but an +excellent employer, and an honest man. An arrangement had been entered +into with a neighboring farmer regarding their board and lodging, +so that every thing was settled very much to the satisfaction of all +parties. + +When the day of their departure had at length arrived, Art felt his +affections strongly divided, but without being diminished, between +Margaret Murray and his family; while Frank, who was calm and +thoughtful, addressed himself to the task of getting ready such luggage +as they had been provided with. + +"Frank," said Art, "don't you think we ought to go and bid farewell to a +few of our nearest neighbors before we lave home?" + +"Where's the use of that?" asked Frank; "not a bit, Art; the best plan +is jist to bid our own people farewell, and slip away without noise or +nonsense." + +"You may act as you plaise, Frank," replied the other; "as for me, I'll +call on Jemmy Hanlon and Tom Connolly, at all events; but hould," said +he, abruptly, "ought I to do that? Isn't it their business to come to +us?" + +"It is," replied Frank, "and so they would too, but that they think +we won't start till Thursday; for you know we didn't intend to go till +then." + +"Well," said Art, "that's a horse of another color: I will call on them. +Wouldn't they think it heartless of us to go off widout seein' them? An' +besides, Frank, why should we steal away like thieves that had the hue +and cry at their heels? No, faith, as sure as we go at all, we'll go +openly, an' like men that have nothing to be afraid of." + +"Very well," replied his brother, "have it your own way, so far as +you're consarned, as for me, I look upon it all as mere nonsense." + +It is seldom that honest and manly affection fails to meet its reward, +be the period soon or late. Had Art been guided by Frank's apparent +indifference--who, however, acted in this matter solely for the sake of +sparing his brother's feelings--he would have missed the opportunity of +being a party to an incident which influenced his future life in all he +ever afterwards enjoyed and suffered. He had gone, as he said, to bid +farewell to his neighbors, and was on his return home in order to take +his departure, when whom should he meet on her way to her father's +house, after having called at his father's "to see the girls," as she +said, with a slight emphasis upon the word girls, but Margaret Murray. + +As was natural, and as they had often done before under similar +circumstances, each paused on meeting, but somehow on this occasion +there was visible on both sides more restraint than either had ever yet +shown. At length, the preliminary chat having ceased, a silence ensued, +which, after a little time, was broken by Margaret, who, Art could +perceive, blushed deeply as she spoke. + +"So, Art, you and Frank are goin' to lave us." + +"It's not with my own consint I'm goin', Margaret," he replied. As he +uttered the words he looked at her; their eyes met, but neither could +stand the glance of the other; they were instantly withdrawn. + +"I'll not forget my friends, at all events," said Art; "at least, +there's some o' them I won't, nor wouldn't either, if I was to get a +million o' money for doin' so." + +Margaret's face and neck, on hearing this, were in one glow of crimson, +and she kept her eyes still on the ground, but made no reply. At +length she raised them, and their glances met again; in that glance the +consciousness of his meaning was read by both, the secret was disclosed, +and their love told. + +The place where they stood was in one of those exquisitely wild but +beautiful green country lanes that are mostly enclosed on each side +by thorn hedges, and have their sides bespangled with a profusion +of delicate and fragrant wild flowers, while the pathway, from the +unfrequency of feet, is generally covered with short daisy-gemmed grass, +with the exception of a trodden line in the middle that is made solely +by foot-passengers. Such was the sweet spot in which they stood at the +moment the last glance took place between them. + +At length Margaret spoke, but why was it that her voice was such music +to him now? Musical and sweet it always was, and he had heard it a +thousand times before, but why, we ask, was it now so delicious to his +ear, so ecstatic to his heart? Ah, it was that sweet, entrancing little +charm which trembled up from her young and beating heart, through its +softest intonations; this low tremor it was that confirmed the tale +which the divine glance of that dark, but soft and mellow eye, had just +told him. But to proceed, at length she spoke-- + +"Arthur," said the innocent girl, unconscious that she was about to do +an act for which many will condemn her, "before you go, and I know I +will not have an opportunity of seein' you again, will you accept of a +keepsake from me?" + + +[Illustration: PAGE AM994-- At length Margaret spoke] + + +"Will I? oh, Margaret, Margaret!"--he gazed at her, but could not +proceed, his heart was too full. + +"Take this," said she, "and keep it for my sake." + +Ho took it out of her hand, he seized the hand itself, another glance, +and they sank into each other's arms, each trembling with an excess of +happiness. Margaret wept. This gush of rapture relieved and lightened +their young and innocent hearts, and Margaret having withdrawn +herself from his arms, they could now speak more freely. It is not our +intention, however, to detail their conversation, which may easily be +conjectured by our readers. On looking at the keepsake, Art found that +it was a tress of her rich and raven hair, which, we may add here, he +tied about his heart that day, and on that heart, or rather the dust of +that heart, it lies on this. + +It was fortunate for Art that he followed! his brother's judgment in +selecting the same trade. Frank, we have said, notwithstanding his +coldness of manner, was by no means deficient in feeling or affection; +he possessed, however, the power of suppressing their external +manifestations, a circumstance which not unfrequently occasioned it to +happen that want of feeling was often imputed to him without any just +cause. At all events, he was a guide, a monitor, and a friend to his +brother, whom he most sincerely and affectionately loved; he kindly +pointed out to him his errors, matured his judgment by sound practical +advice: where it was necessary, he gave him the spur, and on other, +occasions held him in. Art was extremely well-tempered, as was Frank +also, so that it was impossible any two brothers could agree better, or +live in more harmony than they did. In truth, he had almost succeeded +in opening Art's eyes to the weak points in his character, especially +to the greatest, and most dangerous of all--his vanity, or insatiable +appetite for praise. They had not been long in M'Carroll's establishment +when the young man's foibles were soon seen through, and of course began +to be played upon; Frank, however, like a guardian angel, was always at +hand to advise or defend him, as the case might be, and as both, in a +physical contest, were able and willing to fight their own battles, we +need not say that in a short time their fellow-workmen ceased to play +off their pranks upon either of them. Everything forthwith passed very +smoothly; Art's love for Margaret Murray was like an apple of gold in +his heart, a secret treasure of which the world knew nothing; they saw +each other at least once a month, when their vows were renewed, and, +surely, we need not say, that their affection on each subsequent +interview only became more tender and enduring. + +The period of Frank's and Art's apprenticeship had now nearly expired, +and it is not too much to say that their conduct reflected the highest +credit upon themselves. Three or four times, we believe, Art had been +seduced, in the absence of his brother, by the influence of bad company, +to indulge in drink, even to intoxication. This, during the greater part +of a whole apprenticeship, considering his temperament, and the almost +daily temptations by which he was beset, must be admitted on the whole +to be a very moderate amount of error in that respect. On the morning +after his last transgression, however, apprehending very naturally a +strong remonstrance from his brother, he addressed him as follows, in +anticipation of what he supposed Frank was about to say:-- + +"Now, Frank, I know you're goin' to scould me, and what is more, I know +I disarve all you could say to me; but there's one thing you don't know, +an' that is what I suffer for lettin' myself be made a fool of last +night. Afther the advices you have so often given me, and afther what +my father so often tould us to think of ourselves, and afther the solemn +promises I made to you--and that I broke, I feel as if I was nothin' +more or less than a disgrace to the name." + +"Art," said the other, "I'm glad to hear you speak as you do; for it's +a proof that repentance is in your heart. I suppose I needn't say that +it's your intention not to be caught be these fellows again." + +"By the sacred--" + +"Whisht," said Frank, clapping his hand upon his mouth; "there's no use +at all in rash oaths, Art. If your mind is made up honestly and firmly +in the sight of God--and dependin' upon his assistance, that is enough +--and a great deal betther, too, than a rash oath made in a sudden fit +of repentance--ay, before you're properly recovered from your liquor. +Now say no more, only promise me you won't do the like, again." + +"Frank, listen to me--by all the--" + +"Hould, Art," replied Frank, stopping him again; "I tell you once more, +this rash swearin' is a bad sign--I'll hear no rash oaths; but listen +you to me; if your mind is made up against drinkin' this way again, jist +look me calmly and steadily in the face, and answer me simply by yes +or no. Now take your time, an' don't be in a hurry--be cool--be +calm--reflect upon what you're about to say; and whether it's your +solemn and serious intention to abide by it. My question 'll be very +short and very simple; your answer, as I said, will be merely yes or no. +Will you ever allow these fellows to make you drunk again? Yes or no, +an' not another word." + +"No." + +"That will do," said Frank; "now give me your hand, and a single word +upon what has passed you will never hear from me." + +In large manufactories, and in workshops similar to that in which the +two brothers were now serving their apprenticeship, almost every +one knows that the drunken and profligate entertain an unaccountable +antipathy against the moral and the sober. Art's last fit of +intoxication was not only a triumph over himself, but, what was still +more, a triumph over his brother, who had so often prevented him from +falling into their snares and joining in their brutal excesses. It +so happened, however, that about this precise period, Art had, +unfortunately, contracted an intimacy with one of the class I speak of, +an adroit fellow with an oily tongue, vast powers of flattery, and +still greater powers of bearing liquor--for Frank could observe, that +notwithstanding all their potations, he never on any occasion +observed him affected by drink, a circumstance which raised him in his +estimation, because he considered that he was rather an obliging, civil +young fellow, who complied so far as to give these men his society, but +yet had sufficient firmness to resist the temptations to drink beyond +the bounds of moderation. The upshot of all this was, that Frank, not +entertaining any suspicion particularly injurious to Harte, for such +was his name, permitted his brother to associate with him much more +frequently than he would have done, had he even guessed at his real +character. + +One day, about a month after the conversation which we have just +detailed between the two brothers, the following conversation took place +among that class of the mechanics whom we shall term the profligates:-- + +"So he made a solemn promise, Harte, to _Drywig_"--this was a nickname +they had for Frank--"that he'd never smell liquor again." + +"A most solemnious promise," said Harte ironically; "a most solemn and +solemnious promise; an' only that I know he's not a Methodist, I could +a'most mistake him for Paddy M'Mahon, the locality preacher, when he +tould me--" + +"Paddy M'Mahon!" exclaimed Skinadre, the first speaker, a little thin +fellow, with white hair and red ferret eyes; "why, who the divil ever +heard of a Methodist Praicher of the name of Paddy M'Mahon?" + +"It's aisy known," observed a fellow named, or rather nicknamed, Jack +Slanty, in consequence of a deformity in his leg, that gave him the +appearance of leaning or slanting to the one side; "it's aisy known, +Skinadre, that you're not long in this part of the country, or you'd not +ax who Paddy M'Mahon is." + +"Come, Slanty, never mind Paddy M'Mahon," said another of them; "he +received the gift of grace in the shape of a purty Methodist wife and +a good fortune; ay, an' a sweet love-faist he had of it; he dropped the +Padereens over Solomon's Bridge, and tuck to the evenin' meetins--that's +enough for you to know; and now, Harte, about Maguire?" + +"Why," said Harte, "if I'm not allowed to edge in a word, I had betther +cut." + +"A most solemn promise, you say?" + +"A most solemn and solemnious promise, that was what I said; never again +by night or day, wet or dry, high or low, in or out, up or down, here +or there, to--to--get himself snimicated wid any liquorary fluid +whatsomever, be the same more or less, good, bad, or indifferent, hot or +could, thick or thin, black or white--" + +"Have done, Harte; quit your cursed sniftherin', an' spake like a +Christian; do you think you can manage to circumsniffle him agin?" + +"Ay," said Harte, "or any man that ever trod on neat's leather--barrin' +one." + +"And who is that one?" + +"That one, sir--that one--do you ax me who that one is?" + +"Have you no ears? To be sure I do." + +"Then, Skinadre, I'll tell you--I'll tell you, sarra,"--we ought to add +here, that Harte was a first-rate mimic, and was now doing a drunken +man,--"I'll tell you, sarra--that person was Nelson on the top of the +monument in Sackville street--no--no--I'm wrong; I could make poor ould +Horace drunk any time, an' often did--an' many a turn-tumble he got off +the monument at night, and the divil's own throuble I had in gettin' him +up on it before mornin', bekaise you all know he'd be cashiered, or, any +way, brought to coort martial for leavin' his po-po-post." + +"Well, if Nelson's not the man, who is?" + +"_Drywig's_ his name," replied Harte; "you all know one _Drywig_, don't +you?" + +"Quit your cursed stuff, Harte," said a new speaker, named Garvey; "if +you think you can dose him, say so, and if not, let us have no more talk +about it." + +"Faith, an' it'll be a nice card to play," replied Harte, resuming his +natural voice; "but at all events, if you will all drop into Garvey's +lodgins and mine, to-morrow evenin', you may find him there; but don't +blame me if I fail." + +"No one's goin' to blame you," said Slanty, "an' the devil's own pity it +is that that blasted _Drywig_ of a brother of his keeps him in leadin' +strings the way he does." + +"The way I'll do is this: I'll ask him up to look at the pattern of my +new waistcoat, an' wanst I get him in, all I have to do is to lay it on +thick." + +"I doubt that," said another, who had joined them; "when he came here +first, and for a long time afther, soapin' him might do; but I tell you +his eye's open--it's no go--he's wide awake now." + +"Shut your orifice," said Harte; "lave the thing to me; 'twas I did it +before, although he doesn't think so, an' it's I that will do it again, +although he doesn't think so. Haven't I been for the last mortal month +guardin' him aginst yez, you villains?" + +"To-morrow evenin'?" + +"Ay, to-morrow evenin'; an' if we don't give him a gauliogue that'll +make him dance the circumbendibus widout music--never believe that my +name's any thing else than Tom Thin, that got thick upon spring wather. +Hello! there's the bell, boys, so mind what I tould yez; we'll give him +a farewell benefit, if it was only for the sake of poor _Drywig_. Ah, +poor _Drywig!_ how will he live widout him? Ochone, ochone! ha, ha, ha!" + +Without at all suspecting the trap that had been set for him, Art +attended his business as usual, till towards evening, when Harte took an +opportunity, when he got him for a few minutes by himself, of speaking +to him apparently in a careless and indifferent way. + +"Art, that's a nate patthern in your waistcoat; but any how, I dunna +how it is that you contrive to have every thing about you dacenter an' +jinteeler than another." This, by the way, was true, both of him and his +brother. + +"Tut, it's but middlin'," said Art; "it's now but a has-been:--when it +was at itself it wasn't so bad." + +"Begad, it was lovely wanst; now; how do you account, Art, for bein' +supairior to us in all in--in every thing, I may say; ay, begad, in +every thing, and in all things, for that's a point every one allows." + +"Nonsense, Syl" (his name was Sylvester), "don't be comin' it soft over +me; how am I betther than any other?" + +"Why, you're betther made, in the first place, than e'er a man among +us; in the next place, you're a betther workman;"--both these were +true--"an', in the third place, you're the best lookin' of the whole +pack; an' now deny these if you can:--eh, ha, ha, ha--my lad, I have +you!" + +An involuntary smile might be observed on Art's face at the last +observation, which also was true. + +"Syl," he replied, "behave yourself; what are you at now? I know you." + +"Know me!" exclaimed Syl; "why what do you know of me? Nothing that's +bad I hope, any way." + +"None of your palaver, at all events," replied Art; "have you got any +tobaccy about you?" + +"Sorra taste," replied Harte, "nor had since mornin'." + +"Well, I have then," said Art, pulling out a piece, and throwing it to +him with the air of a superior; "warm your gums wid that, for altho' I +seldom take a blast myself, I don't forget them that do." + +"Ah, begorra," said Harte, in an undertone that was designed to be +heard, "there's something in the ould blood still; thank you, Art, faix +it's yourself that hasn't your heart in a trifle, nor ever had. I bought +a waistcoat on Saturday last from Paddy M'Gartland, but I only tuck it +on the condition of your likin' it." + +"Me! ha, ha, ha, well, sure enough, Syl, you're the quarest fellow +alive; why, man, isn't it yourself you have to plaise, not me." + +"No matther for that, I'm not goin' to put my judgment in comparishment +wid yours, at any rate; an' Paddy M'Gartland himself said, 'Syl, my boy, +you know what you're about; if this patthern plaises Art Maguire, it'll +plaise anybody; see what it is,' says he, 'to have the fine high ould +blood in one's veins.' Begad he did; will you come up this evenin' about +seven o'clock, now, like a good fellow, an' pass your opinion for me? +Divil a dacent stitch I have, an' I want either it, or another, made up +before the ball night."* + + * Country dances, or balls, in which the young men pay + from ten to fifteen pence for whiskey "to trate the + ladies." We hope they will be abolished. + +"Well, upon my soundhers, Syl, I did not think you were such a fool; of +coorse I'll pass my opinion on it--about seven o'clock, you say." + +"About seven--thank you, Art; an' now listen;--sure the boys intind to +play off some prank upon you afore you lave us." + +"On me," replied the other, reddening; "very well, Syl, let them do +so; I can bear a joke, or give a blow, as well as another; so divil may +care, such as they give, such as they'll get--only this, let there be +no attempt to make me drink whiskey, or else there may be harder hittin' +than some o' them 'ud like, an' I think they ought to know that by this +time." + +"By jing, they surely ought; well, but can you spell mum?" + +"M-u-m." + +"Ha, ha, ha, take care of yourself, an' don't forget seven." + +"Never fear." + +"Frank," said Art, "I'm goin' up to Syl Harte's lodgin's to pass my +opinion on the patthern of a waistcoat for him." + +"Very well," said Frank, "of coorse." + +"I'll not stop long." + +"As long or short as you like, Art, my boy." + +"I hope, Frank, you don't imagine that there's any danger of drink?" + +"Who, me--why should I, afther what passed? Didn't you give me your +word, and isn't your name Maguire? Not I." + +Art had seen, and approved of the pattern, and was chatting with Syl, +when a knock came to the room door in which they sat; Syl rose, and +opening the door, immediately closed it after him, and began in a low +voice to remonstrate with some persons outside. At length Art could hear +the subject of debate pretty well-- + +"Sorra foot yez will put inside the room this evenin', above all +evenin's in the year." + +"Why, sure we know he won't drink. I wish to goodness we knew he had +been here; we wouldn't ax him to drink, bekase we know he wouldn't. + +"No matther for that, sorrow foot yez'll put acrass the thrashel this +evenin'; now, I'll toll you what, Skinadre, I wouldn't this blessed +minute, for all I've earned these six months, that ye came this +evenin';--I have my raisons for it; Art Maguire is a boy that we have no +right to compare ourselves wid--you all know that." + +"We all know it, and there's nobody denyin' it; we haven't the blood in +our veins that he has, an' blood will show itself anywhere." + +"Well then, boys, for his sake--an' I know you'd do any day for his sake +what you wouldn't, nor what you oughtn't, for mine--for his sake, I say, +go off wid yez, and bring your liquor somewhere else, or sure wait till +to-morrow evenin'." + +"Out of respect for Art Maguire we'll go; an' divil another boy in the +province we'd pay that respect to; good-evenin', Syl!" + +"Aisy, boys," said Art, coming to the door, "don't let me frighten +you--come in--I'd be very sorry to be the means of spoilin' sport, +although I can't drink myself; that wouldn't be generous--come in." + +"Augh," said Skinadre, "by the livin' it's in him, an' I always knew it +was--the rale drop." + +"Boys," said Harte, "go off wid yez out o' this, I say; divil a foot +you'll come in." + +"Arra go to--Jimmaiky; who cares about you, Syl, when we have Art's +liberty? Sure we didn't know the thing ourselves half an hour ago." + +"Come, Syl, man alive," said Art, "let the poor fellows enjoy their +liquor, an', as I can't join yez, I'll take my hat an' be off." + +"I knew it, an' bad luck to yez, how yez 'ud drive him away," said Syl, +quite angry. + +"Faix, if we disturb you, Art, we're off--that 'ud be too bad; yes, Syl, +you were right, it was very thoughtless of us: Art, we ax your pardon, +sorra one of us meant you any offence in life--come, boys." + +Art's generosity was thus fairly challenged, and he was not to be +outdone-- + +"Aisy, boys," said he; "sit down; I'll not go, if that'll plaise yez; +sure you'll neither eat me nor dhrink me." + +"Well, there's jist one word you said, Slanty, that makes me submit to +it," observed Harte, "an' that is, that it was accident your comin' at +all;" he here looked significantly at Art, as if to remind him of their +previous conversation on that day, and as he did it, his face gradually +assumed a complacent expression, as much as to say, it's now clear that +this cannot be the trap they designed for you, otherwise it wouldn't be +accidental. Art understood him, and returned a look which satisfied the +other that he did so. + +As they warmed in their liquor, or pretended to get warm, many sly +attempts to entrap him were made, every one of which was openly and +indignantly opposed by Harte, who would not suffer them to offer him a +drop. + +It is not our intention to dwell upon these matters: at present it is +sufficient to say, that after a considerable part of the evening had +been spent, Harte rose up, and called upon them all to fill their +glasses-- + +"And," he added, "as this is a toast that ought always to bring a full +glass to the mouth, and an empty one from it, I must take the liberty of +axin Art himself to fill a bumper." + +The latter looked at him with a good deal of real surprise, as the +others did with that which was of a very different description. + +"Skinadre," proceeded Harte, "will you hand over the cowld wather, for +a bumper it must be, if it was vitriol." He then filled Art's glass with +water, and proceeded--"Stand up, boys, and be proud, as you have a +right to be; here's the health of Frank Maguire, and the ould blood of +Ireland!--hip, hip, hurra!" + +"Aisy, boys," said Art, whose heart was fired by this unexpected +compliment, paid to a brother whom he loved so well, and who, indeed, +so well, deserved his love; "aisy, boys," he proceeded, "hand me the +whiskey; if it was to be my last, I'll never drink my brother's health +in cowld wather." + +"Throth an' you will this time," said Harte, "undher this roof spirits +won't crass; your lips, an' you know for why." + +"I know but one thing," replied Art, "that as you said yourself, if it +was vitriol, I'd dhrink it for the best brother that ever lived; I only +promised him that I wouldn't get dhrunk, an' sure, drinkin' a glass o' +whiskey, or three either, wouldn't make me dhrunk--so hand it here." + +"Well, Art," said Harte, "there's one man you can't blame for this, and +that is Syl Harte." + +"No, Syl, never--but now, boys, I am ready." + +"Frank Maguire's health! hip, hip, hurra!" + +Thus was a fine, generous-minded, and affectionate young man--who +possessed all the candor and absence of suspicion which characterize +truth--tempted and triumphed over, partly through the very warmth of +his own affections, by a set of low, cunning profligates, who felt only +anxious to drag him down from the moral superiority which they felt +he possessed. That he was vain, and fond of praise, they knew, and our +readers may also perceive that it was that unfortunate vanity which +gave them the first advantage over him, by bringing him, through its +influence, among them. Late that night he was carried home on a door, in +a state of unconscious intoxication. + +It is utterly beyond our power to describe the harrowing state of +his sensations on awakening the next morning. Abasement, repentance, +remorse, all combined as they were within him, fall far short of what +he felt; he was degraded in his own eyes, deprived of self-respect, and +stripped of every claim to the confidence of his brother, as he was +to the well-known character for integrity which had been until then +inseparable from the name. That, however, which pressed upon him with +the most intense bitterness was the appalling reflection that he could +no longer depend upon himself, nor put any trust in his own resolutions. +Of what use was he in the world without a will of his own, and the power +of abiding by its decisions? None; yet what was to be done? He could not +live out of the world, and wherever he went, its temptations would beset +him. Then there was his beloved Margaret Murray! was he to make her the +wife of a common drunkard? or did she suspect, when she pledged herself +to him, that she was giving away her heart and affections to a poor +unmanly sot, who had not sense or firmness to keep himself sober? He +felt in a state between distraction and despair, and putting his hands +over his face, he wept bitterly. To complete the picture, his veins +still throbbed with the dry fever that follows intoxication, his stomach +was in a state of deadly sickness and loathing, and his head felt +exactly as if it would burst or fly asunder. + +Alas! had his natural character been properly understood and judiciously +managed; had he been early taught to understand and to control his +own obvious errors; had the necessity of self-reliance, firmness, and +independence been taught him; had his principles not been enfeebled +by the foolish praise of his family, nor his vanity inflated by their +senseless appeals to it--it is possible, nay, almost certain, that he +would, even at this stage of his life, have been completely free +from the failings which are beginning even now to undermine the whole +strength of his moral constitution. + +Frank's interview with him on this occasion was short but significant-- + +"Art," said he, "you know I never was a man of many words; and I'm +not goin' to turn over a new lafe now. To scould you is not my +intention--nor to listen to your promises. All I have to say is, that +you have broken your word, and disgraced your name. As for me, I can put +neither confidence nor trust in you any longer; neither will I." + +A single tear was visible on his cheek as he passed out of the room; +and when he did, Art's violent sobs were quite audible. Indeed, if truth +must be told, Frank's distress was nearly equal to his brother's. +What, however, was to be done? He was too ill to attend his business, +a circumstance which only heightened his distress; for he knew that +difficult as was the task of encountering his master, and those who +would only enjoy his remorse, still even that was less difficult to +be borne than the scourge of his own reflections. At length a thought +occurred, which appeared to give him some relief; that thought he felt +was all that now remained to him, for as it was clear that he could no +longer depend on himself, it was necessary that he should find something +else on which to depend. He accordingly sent an intimation to his master +that he wished to have a few minutes' conversation with him, if he could +spare time; M'Carroll accordingly came, and found him in a state which +excited the worthy man's compassion. + +"Well, Art," said he, "what is it you wish to speak to me about? I hear +you were drunk last night. Now I thought you had more sense than to let +these fellows put you into such a pickle. I have a fine, well-conducted +set of men in general; but there is among them a hardened, hackneyed +crew, who, because they are good workmen, don't care a curse about +either you or me, or anybody else. They're always sure of employment, if +not here, at least elsewhere, or, indeed, anywhere." + +"But it wasn't their fault," replied Art, "it was altogether my own; +they were opposed to my drinkin' at all, especially as they knew that I +promised Frank never to get drunk agin. It was when Syl Harte proposed +Frank's health, that I drank the whiskey in spite o' them." + +"Syl Harte," said his master with a smile, "ay, I was thinkin' so; well, +no matter, Art, have strength and resolution not to do the like again." + +"But that's the curse, sir," replied the young man, "I have neither the +one nor the other, and it's on that account I sent for you." + +"How is that, Art?" + +"Why," said the other, "I am goin' to bind myself--I am goin' to swear +against it, and so to make short work of it, and for fraid any one might +prevent me"--he blessed himself, and proceeded--"I now, in the presence +of God, swear upon this blessed manwil (* Manual) that a drop of +spirituous drink, or liquor of any kind, won't cross my lips for the +next seven years, barrin' it may be necessary as medicine;" he then +kissed the book three times, blessed himself again, and sat down +considerably relieved. + +"Now," he added, "you may tell them what I've done; that's seven years' +freedom, thank God; for I wouldn't be the slave of whiskey--the greatest +of tyrants--for the wealth of Europe." + +"No, but the worst of it is, Art," replied his m ister, who was an +exceedingly shrewd man, "that whiskey makes a man his own tyrant and +his own slave, both at the same time, and that's more than the greatest +tyrant that ever lived did yet. As for yourself, you're not fit to work +any this day, so I think you ought to take a stretch across the country, +and walk off the consequence of your debauch with these fellows last +night." + +Art now felt confidence and relief; he had obtained the very precise aid +of which he stood in need. The danger was now over, and a prop placed +under his own feeble resolution, on which he could depend with safety; +here there could be no tampering with temptation; the matter was clear, +explicit, and decisive: so far all was right, and, as we have said, his +conscience felt relieved of a weighty burden. + +His brother, on hearing it from his own lips, said little, yet that +little was not to discourage him; he rather approved than otherwise, but +avoided expressing any very decided opinion on it, one way or the other. + +"It's a pity," said he, "that want of common resolution should drive +a man to take an oath; if you had tried your own strength, a little +farther, Art, who knows but you might a' gained a victory without it, +and that would be more creditable and manly than swearin'; still, the +temptation to drink is great to some people, and this prevents all +possibility of fallin' into it." + +Art, who, never having dealt in any thing disingenuous himself, was slow +to credit duplicity in others, did not once suspect that the profligates +had played him off this trick, rather to annoy the brother than himself. +It was, after all, nothing but the discreditable triumph of cunning and +debased minds, over the inexperience, or vanity, if you will, of one, +who, whatever his foibles might be, would himself scorn to take an +ungenerous advantage of confidence reposed in him in consequence of his +good opinion and friendly feeling. + +The period of their apprenticeship, however, elapsed, and the day at +length arrived for their departure from the Corner House. Their master, +and, we may add, their friend, solicited them to stop with him still as +journeymen; but, as each had a different object in view, they declined +it. Art proposed to set up for himself, for it was indeed but natural +that one whose affections had been now so long engaged, should wish, +with as little delay as possible, to see himself possessed of a home +to which he might bring his betrothed wife. Frank had not trusted to +chance, or relied merely upon vague projects, like his brother; for, +some time previous to the close of his apprenticeship, he had been +quietly negotiating the formation of a partnership with a carpenter who +wanted a steady man at the helm. The man had capital himself, and +was clever enough in his way, but then he was illiterate, and utterly +without method in conducting his affairs; Frank was therefore the +identical description of person he stood in need of, and, as the +integrity of his family was well known--that integrity which they +felt so anxious to preserve without speck--there was of course little +obstruction in the way of their coming to terms. + +On the morning of the day on which they left his establishment, +M'Carroll came into the workshop while they were about bidding farewell +to their companions, with whom they had lived--abating the three or four +pranks that were played off upon Art--on good and friendly terms, and +seeing that they were about to take their departure, he addressed them +as follows:-- + +"I need not say," he proceeded, "that I regret you are leaving me; which +I do, for, without meaning any disrespect to those present, I am bound +to acknowledge that two better workmen, or two honester young men, were +never in my employment. Art, indeed is unsurpassed, considering his +time, and that he is only closing his apprenticeship: 'tis true, he has +had good opportunities--opportunities which, I am happy to say, he has +never neglected. I am in the habit, as you both know, of addressing +a few words of advice to my young men at the close of their +apprenticeships, and when they are entering upon the world as you are +now. I will therefore lay down a few simple rules for your guidance, +and, perhaps, by following them, you will find yourselves neither the +worse nor the poorer men. + +"Let the first principle then of your life, both as mechanics, and men, +be truth--truth in all you think, in all you say, and in all you do; if +this should fail to procure you the approbation of the world, it will +not fail to procure you your own, and, what is better, that of God. Let +your next principle be industry--honest, fair, legitimate industry, to +which you ought to annex punctuality--for industry without +punctuality is but half a virtue. Let your third great principle be +sobriety--strict and undeviating sobriety; a mechanic without sobriety, +so far from being a benefit or an ornament to society, as he ought to +be, is a curse and a disgrace to it; within the limits of sobriety all +the rational enjoyments of life are comprised, and without them are +to be found all those which desolate society with crime, indigence, +sickness, and death. In maintaining sobriety in the world, and +especially among persons of your own class, you will certainly have much +to contend with; remember that firmness of character, when acting upon +right feeling and good sense, will enable you to maintain and work out +every virtuous and laudable purpose which you propose to effect. Do not, +therefore, suffer yourselves to be shamed from sobriety, or, indeed, +from any other moral duty, by the force of ridicule; neither, on the +other hand, must you be seduced into it by flattery, or the transient +gratification of social enjoyment. I have, in fact, little further to +add; you are now about to become members of society, and to assume +more distinctly the duties which it imposes on you. Discharge them all +faithfully--do not break your words, but keep your promises, and respect +yourselves, remember that self-respect is a very different thing +from pride, or an empty overweening vanity--self-respect is, in fact, +altogether incompatible with them, as they are with it; like opposite +qualities, they cannot abide in the same individual. Let me impress +it on you, that these are the principles by which you must honorably +succeed in life, if you do succeed; while by neglecting them, you must +assuredly fail. 'Tis true, knavery and dishonesty are often successful, +but it is by the exercise of fraudulent practices, which I am +certain you will never think of carrying into the business of life--I +consequently dismiss this point altogether, as unsuitable to either +of you. I have only to add, now, that I hope most sincerely you will +observe the few simple truths I have laid down to you; and I trust, that +ere many years pass, I may live to see you both respectable, useful, +and independent members of society. Farewell, and may you be all we wish +you!" + +Whether this little code of useful doctrine was equally observed by +both, will appear in the course of our narrative. + +About a month or so before the departure of Frank and Art from the +Corner House, Jemmy Murray and another man were one day in the beginning +of May strolling through one of his pasture-fields. His companion was +a thin, hard-visaged little fellow, with a triangular face, and dry +bristly hair, very much the color of, and nearly as prickly as, a +withered furze bush; both, indeed, were congenial spirits, for it is +only necessary to say, that he of the furze bush was another of those +charital and generous individuals whose great delight consisted, like +his friend Murray, in watching the seasons, and speculating upon the +failure of the crops. He had the reputation of being wealthy, and +in fact was so; indeed, of the two, those who had reason to know, +considered that he held the weightier purse; his name was Cooney +Finigan, and the object of his visit to Murray--their conversation, +however, will sufficiently develop that. Both, we should observe, +appeared to be exceedingly blank and solemn; Cooney's hard face, as he +cast his eye about him, would have made one imagine that he had just +buried the last of his family, and Murray looked as if he had a son +about to be hanged. The whole cause of this was simply that a finer +season, nor one giving ampler promise of abundance, had not come within +the memory of man. + +"Ah!" said Murray, with a sigh, "look, Cooney, at the distressin' growth +of grass that's there--a foot high if it's an inch! If God hasn't sed +it, there will be the largest and heaviest crops that ever was seen in +the country; heigho!" + +"Well, but one can't have good luck always," replied Cooney; "only it's +the wondherful forwardness of the whate that's distressin' me." + +"An' do you think that I'm sufferin' nothin' on that account?" asked +his companion; "only you haven't three big stacks of hay waitin' for a +failure, as I have." + +"That's bekase I have no meadow on my farm," replied Cooney; "otherwise +I would be in the hay trade as well as yourself." + +"Well, God help us, Cooney! every one has their misfortunes as well as +you and I; sure enough, it's a bitther business to see how every thing's +thrivin'--hay, oats, and whate! why they'll be for a song: may I never +get a bad shillin', but the poor 'ill be paid for takin' them! that's +the bitther pass things will come to; maurone ok! but it's a black +lookout!" + +"An' this rain, too," said Cooney, "so soft, and even, and small, and +warm, that it's playin' the very devil. Nothin' could stand it. Why it +ud make a rotten twig grow if it was put into the ground." + +"Divil a one o' me would like to make the third," said Murray, "for +'fraid I might have the misfortune to succeed. Death alive! Only think +of my four arks, of meal, an' my three stacks of hay, an' divil a pile +to come out of them for another twelve months!" + +"It's bad, too bad, I allow," said the other; "still let us not despair, +man alive; who knows but the saison may change for the worse yet. +Whish!" he exclaimed, slapping the side of his thigh, "hould up your +head, Jemmy, I have thought of it; I have thought of it." + +"You have thought of what, Cooney?" + +"Why, death alive, man, sure there's plenty of time, God be praised for +it, for the--murdher, why didn't we think of it before? ha, ha, ha!" + +"For the what, man? don't keep us longin' for it." + +"Why for the pratie crops to fail still; sure it's only the beginning +o' May now, and who knows but we might have the happiness to see a right +good general failure of the praties still? Eh? ha, ha, ha!" + +"Upon my sounds, Cooney, you have taken a good deal of weight off of me. +Faith we have the lookout of a bad potato crop yet, sure enough. How is +the wind? Don't you think you feel a little dry bitin' in it, as if it +came from the aist?" + +"Why, then, in regard of the dead calm that's in it, I can't exactly +say--but, let me see--you're right, divil a doubt of it; faith it is, +sure enough; bravo, Jemmy, who knows but all may go wrong wid the crops +yet." + +"At all events, let us have a glass on the head of it, and we'll drink +to the failure of the potato craps, and God prosper the aist wind, for +it's the best for you an' me, Cooney, that's goin'. Come up to the house +above, and we'll have a glass on the head of it." + +The fastidious reader may doubt whether any two men, no matter how +griping or rapacious, could prevail upon themselves to express to each +other sentiments so openly inimical to all human sympathy. In holding +this dialogue, however, the men were only thinking aloud, and giving +utterance to the wishes which every inhuman knave of their kind feels. +In compliance, however, with the objections which maybe brought against +the probability of the above dialogue, we will now give the one which +did actually occur, and then appeal to our readers whether the first is +not much more in keeping with the character of the speakers--which ought +always to be a writer's great object--than the second. Now, the reader +already knows that each of these men had three or four large arks of +meal laid past until the arrival of a failure in the crops and a season +of famine, and that Murray had three large stacks of hay in the hope of +a similar failure in the meadow crop. + +"Good-morrow, Jemmy." + +"Good-morrow kindly, Cooney; isn't this a fine saison, the Lord be +praised!" + +"A glorious saison, blessed be His name! I don't think ever I remimber a +finer promise of the craps." + +"Throth, nor I, the meadows is a miracle to look at." + +"Divil a thing else--but the white, an' oats, an' early potatoes, beat +anything ever was seen." + +"Throth, the poor will have them for a song, Jemmy." + +"Ay, or for less, Cooney; they'll be paid for takin' them." + +"It's enough to raise one's heart, Jemmy, just to think of it." + +"Why then it is that, an', for the same raison, come up to the house +above, and we'll have a sup on the head of it; sure, it's no harm to +drink success to the craps, and may God prevent a failure, any how." + +"Divil a bit." + +Now, we simply ask the reader which dialogue is in the more appropriate +keeping with the characters of honest, candid Jemmy and Cooney? + +"And now," proceeded Cooney, "regard-in' this match between your +youngest daughter Margaret, and my son Toal." + +"Why, as for myself," replied Murray, "sorra much of objection I have +aginst it, barrin' his figure; if he was about a foot and a half +higher, and a little betther made--God pardon me, an' blessed be the +maker--there would, at all events, be less difficulty in the business, +especially with Peggy herself." + +"But couldn't you bring her about?" + +"I did my endayvors, Cooney; you may take my word I did." + +"Well, an' is she not softenin' at all?" + +"Upon my sounds, Cooney, I cannot say she is. If I could only get her to +spake one sairious word on the subject, I might have some chance; but I +cannot, Cooney; I think both you an' little Toal had betther give it up. +I doubt there's no chance." + +"Faith an' the more will be her loss. I tell you, Jemmy, that he'd outdo +either you or me as a meal man. What more would you want?" + +"He's cute enough, I know that." + +"I tell you you don't know the half of it. It's the man that can make +the money for her that you want." + +"But aginst that, you know, it's Peggy an' not me that's to marry him. +Now, you know that women often--though not always, I grant--wish to +have something in the appearance of their husband that they needn't be +ashamed to look at." + +"That's the only objection that can bo brought against him. He's the boy +can make the money; I'm a fool to him. I'll tell you what, Jemmy Murray, +may I never go home, but he'd skin a flint. Did you hear anything? Now!" + +Murray, who appeared to be getting somewhat tired of this topic, replied +rather hastily-- + +"Why, Cooney Finnigan, if he could skin the devil himself and ait him +afterwards, she wouldn't have him. She has refused some of the best +looking young men in the parish, widout either rhyme or raison, an' I'm +sure she's not goin' to take your leprechaun of a son, that you might +run a five-gallon keg between his knees. Sure, bad luck to the thing his +legs resemble but a pair of raipin' hooks, wid their backs outwards. Let +us pass this subject, and come in till we drink a glass together." + +"And so you call my son a leprechaun, and he has legs like raipin' +hooks!" + +"Ha, ha, ha! Come in, man alive; never mind little Toal." + +"Like raipin' hooks! I'll tell you what, Jemmy, I say now in sincerity, +that there is every prospect of a plentiful sayson; and that there may, +I pray God this day; meadows an' all--O above all, the meadows, for I'm +not in the hay business myself." + +"So," said Murray, laughing, "you would cut off your nose to vex your +face." + +"I would any day, even if should suffer myself by it; and now good-bye, +Jemmy Murray, to the dioual I pitch the whole thing! Rapin' hooks!" +And as he spoke, off went the furious little extortioner, irretrievably +offended. + +The subject of Margaret's marriage, however, was on that precise period +one on which her father and friends had felt and expressed much concern. +Many proposals had been made for her hand during Art's apprenticeship; +but each and all not only without success, but without either hope or +encouragement. Her family were surprised and grieved at this, and the +more so, because they could not divine the cause of it. Upon the subject +of her attachment to Maguire, she not only preserved an inviolable +silence herself, but exacted a solemn promise from her lover that he +should not disclose it to any human being. Her motive, she said, for +keeping their affection and engagement to each other secret, was to +avoid being harassed at home by her friends and family, who, being once +aware of the relation in which she stood towards Art, would naturally +give her little peace. She knew very well that her relations would not +consent to such a union, and, in point of mere prudence and forethought, +her conduct was right, for she certainly avoided much intemperate +remonstrance, as afterwards proved to be the case when she mentioned it. +Her father on this occasion having amused them at home by relating the +tift which had taken place between Cooney Finnigan and himself, which +was received with abundant mirth by them all, especially by Margaret, +seriously introduced the subject of her marriage, and of a recent +proposal which had been made to her. + +"You are the only unmarried girl we have left now," he said, "and surely +you ought neither to be too proud nor too saucy to refuse such a match +as Mark Hanratty--a young man in as thrivin' a business as there is in +all Ballykeerin; hasn't he a good shop, good business, and a good back +of friends in the country that will stand to him, an' only see how he +has thruv these last couple o' years. What's come over you at all? or do +you ever intend to marry? you have refused every one for so far widout +either rhyme or raison. Why, Peggy, what father's timper could stand +this work?" + +"Ha, ha, ha! like raipin' hooks, father--an' so the little red rogue +couldn't bear that? well, at all events, the comparison's a good +one--sorra better; ha, ha, ha--reapin' hooks!" + +"Is that the answer you have for me?" + +"Answer!" said Margaret, feigning surprise, "what about?" + +"About Mark Hanmity." + +"Well, but sure if he's fond of me, hell have no objection to wait." + +"Ay, but if he does wait, will you have him?" + +"I didn't promise that, and, at any rate, I'd not like to be a +shopkeeper's wife." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, he'd be puttin' me behind the counter, and you know I'd be too +handsome for that; sure, there's Thogue Nugent that got the handsome +wife from Dublin, and of a fair, or market-day, for one that goes in to +buy anything, there goes ten in to look at her. Throth, I think he ought +to put her in the windy at once, just to save trouble, and give the +people room." + +"Ha, ha, ha! well, you're the dickens of a girl, sure enough; but come, +avourneen, don't be makin' me laugh now, but tell me what answer I'm to +give Mark." + +"Tell him to go to Dublin, like Thogue; he lives in the upper part of +the town, and Thogue in the lower, and then there will be a beauty in +each end of it." + +"Suppose I take it into my head to lose my temper, Peggy, maybe I'd make +you spake then?" + +"Well, will you give me a peck o' mail for widow Dolan?" + +"No, divil a dust." + +"Sure I'll pay you--ha, ha, ha!" + +"Sure you'll pay me! mavrone, but it's often you've said that afore, +and divil a cross o' Your coin ever we seen yet; faith, it's you that's +heavily in my debt, when I think of all ever you promised to pay me." + +"Very well, then; no meal, no answer." + +"And will you give me an answer if I give you the meal?" + +"Honor bright, didn't I say it." + +"Go an' get it yourself then, an' see now, don't do as you always do, +take double what you're allowed." + +Margiret, in direct violation of this paternal injunction, did most +unquestionably take near twice the stipulated quantity for the widow, +and, in order that there might be no countermand on the part of her +father, as sometimes happened, she sent it off with one of the servants +by a back way, so that he had no opportunity of seeing how far +her charity had carried her beyond the spirit and letter of her +instructions. + +"Well," said he, when she returned, "now for the answer; and before you +give it, think of the comfort you'll have with him--how fine and nicely +furnished his house is--he has carpets upon the rooms, ay, an' upon my +sounds, on the very stairs itself! faix it's you that will be in state. +Now, acushla, let us hear your answer." + +"It's very short, father; I won't have him." + +"Won't have him! and in the name of all that's unbiddable and undutiful, +who will you have, if one may ax that, or do you intend, to have any one +at all, or not?" + +"Let me see," she said, putting the side of her forefinger to her lips, +"what day is this? Thursday. Well, then, on this day month, father, I'll +tell my mother who I'll have, or, at any rate, who I'd wish to have; +but, in the mean time, nobody need ask me anything further about it till +then, for I won't give any other information on the subject." + +The father looked very seriously into the fire for a considerable time, +and was silent; he then drew his breath lengthily, tapped the table a +little with his fingers, and exclaimed--"A month! well, the time will +pass, and, as we must wait, why we must, that's all." + +Matters lay in this state until the third day before the expiration +of the appointed time, when Margaret, having received from Art secret +intelligence of his return, hastened to a spot agreed upon between them, +that they might consult each other upon what ought to be done under +circumstances so critical. + +After the usual preface to such tender discussions, Art listened with +a good deal of anxiety, but without the slightest doubt of her firmness +and attachment, to an account of the promise she had given her father. + +"Well, but, Margaret darlin'," said he, "what will happen if they +refuse?" + +"Surely, you know it is too late for them to refuse now; arn't we as +good as married--didn't we pass the Hand Promise--isn't our troth +plighted?" + +"I know that, but suppose they should still refuse, then what's to be +done? what are you and I to do?" + +"I must lave that to you, Art," she replied archly. + +"And it couldn't be in better hands, Margaret; if they refuse their +consent, there's nothing for it but a regular runaway, and that will +settle it." + +"You must think I'm very fond of you," she added playfully, "and I +suppose you do, too." + +"Margaret," said Art, and his face became instantly overshadowed with +seriousness and care, "the day may come when I'll feel how necessary you +will be to guide and support me." + +She looked quickly into his eyes, and saw that his mind appeared +disturbed and gloomy. + +"My dear Art," she asked, "what is the meaning of your words, and why is +there such sadness in your face?" + +"There ought not to be sadness in it," he said, "when I'm sure of +you--you will be my guardian angel may be yet." + +"Art, have you any particular meanin' in what you say?" + +"I'll tell you all," said he, "when we are married." + +Margaret was generous-minded, and, as the reader may yet acknowledge, +heroic; there was all the boldness and bravery of innocence about her, +and she could scarcely help attributing Art's last words to some fact +connected with his feelings, or, perhaps, to circumstances which his +generosity prevented him from disclosing. A thought struck her-- + +"Art," said she, "the sooner this is settled the better; as it is, if +you'll be guided by me, we won't let the sun set upon it; walk up with +me to my father's house, come in, and in the name of God, we'll leave +nothing unknown to him. He is a hard man, but he has a heart, and he is +better a thousand times than he is reported. I know it." + +"Come," said Art, "let us go; he may be richer, but there's the blood, +and the honesty, and good name of the Maguires against his wealth--" + +A gentle pressure on his arm, when he mentioned the word wealth, and he +was silent. + +"My darlin' Margaret," said he, "oh how unworthy I am of you!" + +"Now," said she, "lave me to manage this business my own way. Your good +sense will tell you when to spake; but whatever my father says, trate +him with respect--lave the rest to me." + +On entering, they found Murray and his wife in the little parlor--the +former smoking his pipe, and the latter darning a pair of stockings. + +"Father," said Margaret, "Art Maguire convoyed me home; but, indeed, I +must say, I was forced to ask him." + +"Art Maguire. Why, then, upon my sounds, Art, I'm glad to see you. An' +how are you, man alive? an' how is Frank, eh? As grave as a jidge, as +he always was--ha, ha, ha! Take a chair, Art, and be sittin'. Peggy, +gluntha me, remimber, you must have Art at your weddin'. It's now widin +three days of the time I'm to know who he is; and upon my sounds, I'm +like a hen on a hot griddle till I hear it." + +"You're not within three days, father." + +"But I say I am, accordin' to your own countin'." + +"You're not within three hours, father;"--her face 'glowed, and her +whole system became vivified with singular and startling energy as she +spoke;--"no, you are not within three hours, father; not within three +minutes, my dear father; for there stands the man," she said, pointing +to Art. She gave three or four loud hysterical sobs, and then stood +calm, looking not upon her father, but upon her lover; as much as to +say, Is this love, or is it not? + +Her mother, who was a quiet, inoffensive creature, without any principle +or opinion whatsoever at variance with those of her husband, rose upon +hearing this announcement; but so ambiguous were her motions, that +we question whether the most sagacious prophet of all antiquity could +anticipate from them the slightest possible clue to her opinion. The +husband, in fact, had not yet spoken, and until he had, the poor woman +did not know her own mind. Under any circumstances, it was difficult +exactly to comprehend her meaning. In fact, she could not speak three +words of common English, having probably never made the experiment a +dozen times in her life. Murray was struck for some time mute. + +"And is this the young man," said he, at length, "that has been the +mains of preventin' you from being so well married often and often +before now?" + +"No, indeed, father," she replied, "he was not the occasion of that; but +I was. I am betrothed to him, as he is to me, for five years." + +"And," said her father, "my consent to that marriage you will never +have; if you marry him, marry him, but you will marry him without my +blessin'." + +"Jemmy Murray," said Art, whose pride of family was fast rising, "who am +I, and who are you?" + +Margaret put her hand to his mouth, and said in a low voice-- + +"Art, if you love me, leave it to my management." + +"Ho, Jemmy," said the mother, addressing her husband, "only put +your ears to this! _Ho, dher manim_, this is that skamin' piece of +_feasthealagh_ (* nonesense) they call _grah_ (*love). Ho, by my +sowl, it shows what moseys they is to think that--what's this you call +it?--low-lov-loaf, or whatsomever the devil it is, has to do wid makin' +a young couple man and wife. Didn't I hate the ground you stud on when +I was married upon you? but I had the _airighid_. Ho, faix, I had the +shiners." + +"Divil a word o' lie in that, Madjey, asthore. You had the money, an' +I got it, and wern't we as happy, or ten times happier, than if we had +married for love?" + +"To be sartin we am; an' isn't we more unhappier now, nor if we had got +married for loaf, glory be to godness!" + +"Father," said Margaret, anxious to put an end to this ludicrous debate, +"this is the only man I will ever marry." + +"And by Him that made me," said her father, "you will never have my +consent to that marriage, nor my blessin'." + +"Art," said she, "not one word. Here, in the presence of my father and +mother, and in the presence of God himself, I say I will be your wife, +and only yours." + +"And," said her father, "see whether a blessin' will attend a marriage +where a child goes against the will of her parents." + +"I'm of age now to think and act for myself, father; an' you know this +is the first thing I ever disobeyed you in, an' I hope it 'ill be the +last. Am I goin' to marry one that's discreditable to have connected +with our family? So far from that, it is the credit that is comin' to +us. Is a respectable young man, without spot or stain on his name, with +the good-will of all that know him, and a good trade--is such a person, +father, so very high above us? Is one who has the blood of the great +Fermanagh Maguires in his veins not good enough for your daughter, +because you happen to have a few bits of metal that he has not? Father, +you will give us your consent an' your blessin' too; but remember that +whether you do, or whether you don't, I'll not break my vow; I'll marry +him." + +"Margaret," said the father, in a calm, collected voice, "put both +consent and blessin' out of the question; you will never have either +from me." + +"Ho _dher a Ihora heena_," exclaimed the mother, "I'm the boy for one +that will see the buckle crossed against them, or I'd die every day +this twelve months upon the top and tail o' Knockmany, through wind an' +weather. You darlin' scoundrel," she proceeded, addressing Art, in what +she intended to be violent abuse--"God condemn your sowl to happiness, +is I or am my husband to be whillebelewin' on your loaf? Eh, answer us +that, if you're not able, like a man, as you is?" + +Margaret, whose humor and sense of the ludicrous were exceedingly +strong, having seldom heard her mother so excited before, gave one arch +look at Art, who, on the contrary, felt perfectly confounded at the +woman's language, and in that look there was a kind of humorous entreaty +that he would depart. She nodded towards the door, and Art, having shook +hands with her, said-- + +"Good-by, Jemmy Murray, I hope you'll change your mind still; your +daughter never could got any one that loves her as I do, or that could +treat her with more tendherness and affection." + +"Be off, you darlin' vagabone," said Mrs. Murray, "the heavens be your +bed, you villain, why don't you stay where you is, an' not be malivogin +an undacent family this way." + +"Art Maguire," replied Murray, "you heard my intention, and I'll never +change it." Art then withdrew. + +Our readers may now anticipate the consequences of the preceding +conversation. Murray and his wife having persisted in their refusal to +sanction Margaret's marriage with Maguire, every argument and influence +having been resorted to in vain, Margaret and he made what is termed +a runaway match of it, that is, a rustic elopement, in which the young +couple go usually to the house of some friend, under the protection +of whose wife the female remains until her marriage, when the husband +brings her home. + +And now they commence life. No sooner were they united, than Art, +feeling what was due to her who had made such and so many sacrifices for +him, put his shoulder to the wheel with energy and vigor. Such aid as +his father could give him, he did give; that which stood him most in +stead, however, was the high character and unsullied reputation of his +own family. Margaret's conduct, which was looked upon as a proof of +great spirit and independence, rendered her, if possible, still better +loved by the people than before. But, as we said, there was every +confidence placed in Art, and the strongest hopes of his future success +and prosperity in life expressed by all who knew him; and this was +reasonable. Here was a young man of excellent conduct, a first-rate +workman, steady, industrious, quiet, and, above all things, sober; for +the three or four infractions of sobriety that took place during his +apprenticeship, had they even been generally known, would have been +reputed as nothing; the truth is, that both he and Margaret commenced +life, if not with a heavy purse, at least with each a light heart. He +immediately took a house in Ballykeerin, and, as it happened that a +man of his own trade, named Davis, died about the same time of lockjaw, +occasioned by a chisel wound in the ball of the thumb, as a natural +consequence, Art came in for a considerable portion of his business; +so true is it, that one man's misfortune is another man's making. His +father did all he could for him, and Margaret's sisters also gave them +some assistance, so that, ere the expiration of a year, they found +themselves better off than they had reason to expect, and, what crowned +their happiness--for they were happy--was the appearance of a lovely +boy, whom, after his father, they called. Arthur. Their hearts had not +much now to crave after--happiness was theirs, and health; and, to make +the picture still more complete, prosperity, as the legitimate reward +of Art's industry and close attention to business, was beginning to dawn +upon them. + +One morning, a few months after this time, as she sat with their lovely +babe in her arms, the little rogue playing with the tangles of her raven +hair, Art addressed her in the fulness of as affectionate a heart as +ever beat in a human bosom:-- + +"Well, Mag," said he, "are you sorry for not marryin' Mark Hanratty?" + +She looked at him, and then at their beautiful babe, which was his +image, and her lip quivered for a moment; she then smiled, and kissing +the infant, left a tear upon its face. + +He started, "My God, Margaret," said he, "what is this?" + +"If that happy tear," she replied, "is a proof of it, I am." + +Art stooped, and kissing her tenderly, said--"May God make me, and keep +me worthy of you, my darling wife!" + +"Still, Art," she continued, "there is one slight drawback upon my +happiness, and that is, when it comes into my mind that in marryin' you, +I didn't get a parent's blessin'; it sometimes makes my mind sad, and I +can't help feelin' so." + +"I could wish you had got it myself," replied her husband, "but you know +it can't be remedied now." + +"At all events," she said, "let us live so as that we may desarve it; it +was my first and last offence towards my father and mother." + +"And it's very few could say as much, Mag, dear; but don't think of it, +sure, may be, he may come about yet." + +"I can hardly hope that," she replied, "after the priest failin'." + +"Well, but," replied her husband, taking up the child in his arms, "who +knows what this little man may do for us--who knows, some day, but we'll +send a little messenger to his grandfather for a blessin' for his mammy +that he won't have the heart to refuse." + +This opened a gleam of satisfaction in her mind. She and her husband +having once more kissed the little fellow, exchanged glances of +affection, and he withdrew to his workshop. + +Every week and month henceforth added to their comfort. Art advanced in +life, in respectability, and independence; he was, indeed, a pattern +to all tradesmen who wish to maintain in the world such a character +as enforces esteem and praise; his industry was incessant, he was ever +engaged in something calculated to advance himself; up early and +down late was his constant practice--no man could exceed, him in +punctuality--his word was sacred--whatever he said was done; and so +general were his habits of industry, integrity, and extreme good conduct +appreciated, that he was mentioned as a fresh instance of the high +character sustained by all who had the old blood of the Fermanagh +Maguires in their veins. In this way he proceeded, happy in the +affections of his admirable wife--happy in two lovely children--happy in +his circumstances--in short, every way happy, when, to still add to that +happiness, on the night of the very day that closed the term of his oath +against liquor--that closed the seventh year--his wife presented him +with their third child, and second daughter. + +In Ireland there is generally a very festive spirit prevalent during +christenings, weddings, or other social meetings of a similar nature; +and so strongly is this spirit felt, that it is--or was, I should rather +say--not at all an unusual thing for a man, when taking an oath +against liquor, to except christenings or weddings, and very frequently +funerals, as well as Christmas and Easter. Every one acquainted with +the country knows this, and no one need be surprised at the delight with +which Art Maguire hailed this agreeable coincidence. Art, we have said +before, was naturally social, and, although he did most religiously +observe his oath, yet, since the truth must be told, we are bound +to admit that, on many and many an occasion, he did also most +unquestionably regret the restraint that he had placed upon himself with +regard to liquor. Whenever his friends were met together, whether at +fair, or market, wedding, christening, or during the usual festivals, it +is certain that a glass of punch or whiskey never crossed his nose +that he did not feel a secret hankering after it, and would often have +snuffed in the odor, or licked his lips at it, were it not that he +would have considered the act as a kind of misprision of perjury. Now, +however, that he was free, and about to have a christening in his house, +it was at least only reasonable that he should indulge in a glass, +if only for the sake of drinking the health of "the young lady." His +brother Frank happened to be in town that evening, and Art prevailed on +him to stop for the night. + +"You must stand for the young colleen, Frank," said he, "and who do you +think is to join you?" + +"Why, how could I guess?" replied Frank. + +"The sorra other but little Toal Finnigan, that thought to take Margaret +from me, you renumber." + +"I remimber he wanted to marry her, and I know that he's the most +revengeful and ill-minded little scoundrel on the face of the earth; if +ever there was a devil in a human bein', there's one in that misshapen +but sugary little vagabone. His father was bad enough when he was +alive, and worse than he ought to be, may God forgive him now, but this +spiteful skinflint, that's a curse to the poor of the country, as he is +their hatred, what could tempt you to ax him to stand for any child of +yours?" + +"He may be what he likes, Frank, but all I can say is, that I found +him civil and obligin', an' you know the devil's not so black as he's +painted." + +"I know no such thing, Art," replied the other; "for that matter, he may +be a great deal blacker; but still I'd advise you to have nothing to say +to Toal--he's a bad graft, egg and bird; but what civility did he ever +show you?" + +"Why, he--he's a devilish pleasant little fellow, any way, so he is; +throth it's he that spakes well of you, at any rate; if he was ten +times worse than he is, he has a tongue in his head that will gain him +friends." + +"I see, Art," said Frank, laughing, "he has been layin' it thick an' +sweet on you. My hand to you, there's not so sweet-tongued a knave in +the province; but mind, I put you on your guard--he's never pure honey +all out, unless where there's bitther hatred and revenge at the bottom +of it--that's well known, so be advised and keep him at a distance; have +nothin' to do or to say to him, and, as to havin' him for a godfather, +why I hardly think the child could thrive that he'd stand for." + +"It's too late for that now,", replied Art, "for I axed him betther than +three weeks agone." + +"An' did he consint?" + +"He did, to be sure." + +"Well, then, keep your word to him, of coorse; but, as soon as the +christenings over, drop him like a hot potato." + +"Why, thin, that's hard enough, Frank, so long as I find the crathur +civil." + +"Ay, but, Art, don't I tell you that it's his civility you should be +afeard of; throth, the same civility ought to get him kicked a dozen +times a day." + +"Faix and," said Art, "kicked or not, here he comes; whisht! don't be +oncivil to the little bachelor at any rate." + +"Oncivil, why should I? the little extortionin' vagabone never injured +or fleeced me; but, before he puts his nose into the house, let me +tell you wanst more, Art, that he never gets sweet upon any one that he +hasn't in hatred for them at the bottom; that's his carracther." + +"I know it is," said Art, "but, until I find it to be true, I'll take +the ginerous side, an' I won't believe it; he's a screw, I know, an' a +skinflint, an'--whisht! here he is." + +"Toal Finnigan, how are you?" said Art; "I was goin' to say how is every +tether length of you, only that I think it would be impossible to get a +tether short enough to measure you." + +"Ha, ha, ha, that's right good--divil a man livin' makes me laugh so +much as--why then, Frank Maguire too!--throth, Frank, I'm proud to see +you well--an' how are you, man? and--well, in throth I am happy to see +you lookin' so well, and in good health; an' whisper, Frank, it's your +own fau't that I'm not inquirin' for the wife and childre." + +"An' I can return the compliment, Toal; it's a shame for both of us to +be bachelors at this time o' day." + +"Ah," said the little fellow, "I wasn't Frank Maguire, one of the best +lookin' boys in the barony, an' the most respected, an' why not? Well, +divil a thing afther all like the ould blood, an' if I wanted a pure +dhrop of that same, maybe I don't know where to go to look for it--maybe +I don't, I say!" + +"It's Toal's fault that he wasn't married many a year ago," said Art; +"he refused more wives, Frank, than e'er a boy of his years from this to +Jinglety cooeh--divil a lie in it; sure he'll tell you himself." + +Now, as Toal is to appear occasionally, and to be alluded to from time +to time in this narrative, we shall give the reader a short sketch or +outline of his physical appearance and moral character. In three words, +then, he had all his father's vices multiplied tenfold, and not one of +his good qualities, such as they were; his hair was of that nondescript +color which partakes at once of the red, the fair, and the auburn; it +was a bad dirty dun, but harmonized with his complexion to a miracle. +That complexion, indeed, was no common one; as we said, it was one +of those which, no matter how frequently it might have been scrubbed, +always presented the undeniable evidences of dirt so thorougly ingrained +into the pores of the skin, that no process could remove it, short +of flaying him alive. His vile, dingy dun bristles stood out in all +directions from his head, which was so shaped as to defy admeasurement; +the little rascal's body was equally ill-made, and as for his limbs, +we have already described them, as reaping-hooks of flesh and blood, +terminated by a pair of lark-heeled feet, as flat as smoothing-irons. +Now, be it known, that notwithstanding these disadvantages, little Toal +looked upon himself as an Adonis upon a small scale, and did certainly +believe that scarcely any female on whom he threw his fascinating eye +could resist being enamored of him. This, of course, having become +generally known, was taken advantage of, and many a merry country girl +amused both herself and others at his expenses while he imagined her to +be perfectly serious. + +"Then how did you escape at all," said Frank--"you that the girls are so +fond of?" + +"You may well ax," said Toal; "but at any rate, it's the divil entirely +to have them too fond of you. There's raison in every thing, but wanst +a woman takes a strong fancy to the cut of your face, you're done for, +until you get rid of her. Throth I suffered as much persecution that way +as would make a good batch o' marthyrs. However, what can one do?" + +"It's a hard case, Toal," said Art; "an' I b'lieve you're as badly off, +if not worse, now than ever." + +"In that respect," replied Toal, "I'm ladin' the life of a murdherer. I +can't set my face out but there's a pursuit after me--chased an' hunted +like a bag fox; devil a lie I'm tellin' you." + +"But do you intend to marry still, Toal?" asked Frank; "bekaise if you +don't, it would be only raisonable for you to make it generally known +that your mind's made up to die a bachelor." + +"I wouldn't bring the penalty an' expenses of a wife an' family on me, +for the handsomest woman livin'," said Toal. "Oh no; the Lord in mercy +forbid that! Amin, I pray." + +"But," said Art, "is it fair play to the girls not to let that be +generally known, Toal?" + +"Hut," replied the other, "let them pick it out of their larnin', the +thieves. Sure they parsecuted me to sich a degree, that they desarve no +mercy at my hands. So, Art," he proceeded, "you've got another mouth to +feed! Oh, the Lord pity you! If you go on this way, what 'ill become of +you at last?" + +"Don't you know," replied Art, "that God always fits the back to the +burden, and that he never sends a mouth but he sends something to fill +it." + +The little extortioner shrugged his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows, +turned up his eyes--as much as to say, What a pretty notion of life you +have with such opinions as these! + +"Upon my word, Toal," said Art, "the young lady we've got home to us is +a beauty; at all events, her godfathers need not be ashamed of her." + +"If she's like her own father or mother," replied Toal, once more +resuming the sugar-candy style, "she can't be anything else than a +beauty, It's well known that sich a couple never stood undher the roof +of Aughindrummon Chapel, nor walked the street of Ballykeerin." + +Frank winked at Art, who, instead of returning the wink, as he ought +to have done, shut both his eyes, and then looked at Toal with an +expression of great compassion--as if he wished to say, Poor fellow, I +don't think he can be so bad-hearted as the world gives him credit for. + +"Come, Toal," he replied, laughing, "none of your bother now. Ay was +there, many a finer couple under the same roof, and on the same street; +so no palaver, my man; But are you prepared to stand for the girsha? You +know it's nearly a month since I axed you?" + +"To be sure I am; but who's the midwife?" + +"Ould Kate Sharpe; as lucky a woman as ever came about one's house." + +"Throth, then, I'm sorry for that," said Toal, "for she's a woman I +don't like; an' I now say beforehand, that devil a traneen she'll be the +betther of me, Art." + +"Settle that," replied Art, "between you; at all events, be ready on +Sunday next--the christenin's fixed for it." + +After some farther chat, Toal, who, we should have informed our readers, +had removed from his father's old residence into Ballykeerin, took his +departure, quite proud at the notion of being a godfather at all; for in +truth it was the first occasion on which he ever had an opportunity of +arriving at that honor. + +Art was a strictly conscientious man; so much so, indeed, that he never +defrauded a human being to the value of a farthing; and as for truth, +it was the standard principle of his whole life. Honesty, truth, and +sobriety are, indeed, the three great virtues upon which all that +is honorable, prosperous, and happy is founded. Art's conscientious +scruples were so strong, that although in point of fact the term of his +oath had expired at twelve o'clock in the forenoon, he would not permit +himself to taste a drop of spirits until after twelve at night. + +"It's best," said he to his brother, "to be on the safe side at all +events: a few hours is neither one way nor the other. We haven't now +more than a quarther to go, and then for a tight drop to wet my whistle, +an' dhrink the little girshas health an' her mother's. Throth I've put +in a good apprenticehip to sobriety, anyhow. Come, Madjey," he added, +addressing the servant-maid, "put down the kettle till we have a little +jorum of our own; Frank here and myself; and all of yez." + +"Very little jorum will go far wid me, you know, Art," replied his +brother; "an' if you take my advice, you'll not go beyond bounds +yourself either." + +"Throth, Frank, an' I'll not take either yours nor any other body's, +until little Kate's christened. I think that afther a fast of seven +years I'm entitled to a stretch." + +"Well, well," said his brother; "I see you're on for it; but as you said +yourself a while ago, it's best to be on the safe side, you know." + +"Why, dang it, Frank, sure you don't imagine I'm goin' to drink the town +dhry; there's raison in everything." + +At length the kettle was boiled, and the punch made; Art took his +tumbler in hand, and rose up; he looked at it, then glanced at his +brother, who observed that he got pale and agitated. + +"What ails you?" said he; "is there any thing wrong wid you?" + +"I'm thinkin'," replied Art, "of what I suffered wanst by it; an' +besides, it's so long since I tasted it, that somehow I jist feel for +all the world as if the oath was scarcely off of me yet, or as if I was +doin' what's not right." + +"That's mere weakness," said Frank; "but still, if you have any scruple, +don't drink it; I bekaise the truth is, Art, you couldn't have a scruple +that will do you more good than one against liquor." + +"Well, I'll only take this tumbler an' another to-night; and then we'll +go to bed, plase goodness." + +His agitation then passed away, and he drank a portion of the liquor. + +"I'm thinkin', Art," said Frank, "that it wouldn't be aisy to find two +men that has a betther right to be thankful to God for the good fortune +we've both had, than yourself and me. The Lord has been good, to me, for +I'm thrivin' to my heart's content, and savin' money every day." + +"And glory be to his holy name," said Art, looking with a strong sense +of religious feeling upward, "so am I; and if we both hould to this, +we'll die rich, plaise goodness. I have saved up very well, too; and +here I sit this night as happy a man as is in Europe. The world's +flowin' on me, an' I want for nothin'; I have good health, a clear +conscience, and everything that a man in my condition of life can stand +in need of, or wish for; glory be to God for it all!" + +"Amen," said Frank; "glory be to his name for it!" + +"But, Frank," said Art, "there's one thing that I often wonder at, an' +indeed so does every one a'most." + +"What is that, Art?" + +"Why, that you don't think o' marryin'. Sure you have good means to +keep a wife, and rear a family now; an' of coorse we all wonder that you +don't." + +"Indeed, to tell you the truth, Art, I don't know myself what's the +raison of it--the only wife I think of is my business; but any way, if +you was to see the patthern of married life there is undher the roof +wid me, you'd not be much in consate wid marriage yourself, if you war a +bachelor." + +"Why," inquired the other, "don't they agree?" + +"Ay do they, so well that they get sometimes into very close an' lovin' +grips togather; if ever there was a scald alive she's one o' them, an' +him that was wanst so careless and aisey-tempered, she has now made him +as bad as herself--has trained him regularly until he has a tongue that +would face a ridgment. Tut, sure divil a week that they don't flake one +another, an' half my time's, taken up reddin' them." + +"Did you ever happen to get the reddin' blow? eh? ha, ha, ha!" + +"No, not yet; but the truth is, Art, that an ill-tongued wife has driven +many a husband to ruin, an' only that I'm there to pay attention to the +business, he'd be a poor drunken beggarman long ago, an' all owin' to +her vile temper." + +"Does she dhrink?" + +"No, sorra drop--this wickedness all comes natural to her; she wouldn't +be aisy out of hot wather, and poor Jack's parboiled in it every day in +the year." + +"Well, it's I that have got the treasure, Frank; from the day that I +first saw her face till the minute we're spakin' in, I never knew her +temper to turn--always the same sweet word, the same flow of spirits, +and the same light laugh; her love an' affection for me an' the childher +there couldn't be language found for. Come, throth we'll drink her +health in another tumbler, and a speedy uprise to her, asthore machree +that she is, an' when I think of how she set every one of her people at +defiance, and took her lot wid myself so nobly, my heart burns wid love +for her, ay, I feel my very heart burnin' widin me." + +Two tumblers were again mixed, and Margaret's health was drunk. + +"Here's her health," said Art, "may God grant her long life and +happiness!" + +"Amen!" responded Frank, "an' may He grant that she'll never know a +sorrowful heart!" + +Art laid down his tumbler, and covered his eyes with his hands for a +minute or two. + +"I'm not ashamed, Frank," said he, "I'm not a bit ashamed of these +tears--she desarves them--where is her aiquil? oh, where is her +aiquil? It's she herself that has the tear for the distresses of her +fellow-creatures, an' the ready hand to relieve them; may the Almighty +shower down his blessins on her!" + +"Them tears do you credit," replied Frank, "and although I always +thought well of you, Art, and liked you betther than any other in the +family, although I didn't say much about it, still, I tell you, I think +betther of you this minute than I ever did in my life." + +"There's only one thing in the wide world that's throublin' her," +said Art, "an' that is, that she hadn't her parents' blessin' when she +married me, nor since--for ould Murray's as stiff-necked as a mule, an' +the more he's driven to do a thing the less he'll do it." + +"In that case," observed Frank, "the best plan is to let him alone; +maybe when it's not axed for he'll give it." + +"I wish he would," said Art, "for Margaret's sake; it would take away a +good deal of uneasiness from her mind." + +The conversation afterwards took several turns, and embraced a variety +of topics, till the second tumbler was finished. + +"Now," said Art, "as there's but the two of us, and in regard of the +occasion that's in it, throth we'll jist take one more a piece." + +"No," replied Frank, "I never go beyant two, and you said you wouldn't." + +"Hut, man, divil a matther for that; sure there's only ourselves two, +as I said, an' Where's the harm? Throth, it's a long time since I felt +myself so comfortable, an' besides, it's not every night we have you wid +us. Come, Frank, one more in honor of the occasion." + +"Another drop won't cross my lips this night," returned his brother, +firmly, "so you needn't be mixin' it." + +"Sorra foot you'll go to bed to-night till you take another; there, now +it's mixed, so you know you must take it now." + +"Not a drop." + +"Well, for the sake of poor little Kate, that you're to stand for; come, +Frank, death alive, man!" + +"Would my drinkin' it do Kate any good?" + +"Hut, man alive, sure if one was to lay down the law that way upon every +thing, they might as well be out of the world at wanst; come, Frank."' + +"No, Art, I said I wouldn't, and I won't break my word." + +"But, sure, that's only a trifle; take the liquor; the sorra betther +tumbler of punch ever was made: it's Barney Scaddhan's whiskey."* + + * Scaddhan, a herring, a humorous nickname bestowed + upon him, because he made the foundation of his fortune + by selling herrings. + +"An' if Barney Scaddhan keeps good whiskey, is that any rason why +I should break my word, or would you have me get dhrunk because his +liquor's betther than another man's?" + +"Well, for the sake of poor Margaret, then, an' she so fond o' you; +sure many a time she tould me that sorra brother-in-law ever she had she +likes so well, an' I know it's truth; that I may never handle a plane +but it is; dang it, Frank, don't be so stiff." + +"I never was stiff, Art, but I always was, and always will be, firm, +when I know I'm in the right; as I said about the child, what good would +my drinkin' that tumbler of punch do Margaret? None in life; it would +do her no good, and it would do myself harm. Sure, we did drink her +health." + +"An' is that your respect for her?" said Art, in a huff, "if that's it, +why--" + +"There's not a man livin' respects her more highly, or knows her worth +betther than I do," replied Frank, interrupting him, "but I simply ax +you, Art, what mark of true respect would the fact of my drinkin' that +tumbler of punch be to her? The world's full of these foolish errors, +and bad ould customs, and the sooner they're laid aside, an' proper ones +put in their place, the betther." + +"Oh, very well, Frank, the sorra one o' me will ask you to take it agin; +I only say, that if I was in your house, as you are in mine, I wouldn't +break squares about a beggarly tumbler of punch." + +"So much the worse, Art, I would rather you would; there, now, you +have taken your third tumbler, yet you said when we sat down that you'd +confine yourself to two; is that keepin' your word? I know you may call +breakin' it now a trifle, but I tell you, that when a man begins to +break his word in trifles, he'll soon go on to greater things, and maybe +end without much regardin' it in any thing." + +"You don't mane to say, Frank, or to hint, that ever I'd come to sich a +state as that I wouldn't regard my word." + +"I do not; but even if I did, by followin' up this coorse you'd put +yourself in the right way of comin' to it." + +"Throth, I'll not let this other one be lost either," he added, drawing +over to him the tumbler which he had filled for his brother; "I've an +addition to my family--the child an' mother doin' bravely, an' didn't +taste a dhrop these seven long years; here's your health, at all events, +Frank, an' may the Lord put it into your heart to marry a wife, an' be +as happy as I am. Here, Madgey, come here, I say; take that whiskey an' +sugar, an' mix yourselves a jorum; it's far in the night, but no matther +for that--an' see, before you mix it, go an' bring my own darlin' Art, +till he dhrinks his mother's health." + +"Why now, Art," began his brother, "is it possible that you can have the +conscience to taich the poor boy sich a cursed habit so soon? What +are you about this minute but trainin' him up to what may be his own +destruction yet?" + +"Come now, Frank, none of your moralizin'," the truth is, that the punch +was beginning rapidly to affect his head; "none of your moralizin', +throth it's a preacher you ought to be, or a lawyer, to lay down the +law. Here, Madgey, bring him to me; that's my son, that there isn't the +like of in Ballykeerin, any way. Eh, Frank, it's ashamed of him I ought +to be, isn't it? Kiss me, Art, and then kiss your uncle Frank, the best +uncle that ever broke the world's bread is the same Frank--that's a good +boy, Art; come now, drink your darlin' mother's health in this glass of +brave punch; my mother's health, say, long life an' happiness to her! +that's a man, toss it off at wanst, bravo; arra, Frank, didn't he do +that manly? the Lord love him, where 'ud you get sich a fine swaddy as +he is of his age? Oh, Frank, what 'ud become of me if anything happened +that boy? it's a mad-house would hould me soon. May the Lord in heaven +save and guard him from all evil and clanger!" + +Frank saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him at such a +moment, for the truth is, intoxication was setting in fast, and all his +influence over him was gone. + +"Here, Atty, before you go to bed agin, jist a weeshy sup more to drink +your little sisther's health; sure Kate Sharpe brought you home a little +sisther, Atty." + +"The boy's head will not be able to stand so much," said Frank; "you +will make him tipsy." + +"Divil a tipsy; sure it's only a mere draineen." + +He then made the little fellow drink the baby's health, after which he +was despatched to bed. + +"Throth, it's in for a penny in for a pound wid myself. I know, Frank, +that--that there's something or other wrong wid my head, or at any rate +wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin'. Is everything movin', +Frank?" + +"You think so," said Frank, "because you're fast getting tipsy--if you +arn't tipsy all out." + +"Well, then, if I'm tip--tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by +another tumbler. Come, Frank, here's the ould blood of Ireland--the +Maguires of Fermanagh! And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become +you to drink that toast, than to be sittin' there like an oracle, as you +are; for upon my sowl, you're nearly as bad. But, Frank." + +"Well, Art." + +"Isn't little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow--that is--is--if +he was well made. 'There never stood,' says he, 'sich a couple in the +chapel of--of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up or +down the street of Ballykeerin--that's the chat,' says he: an' whisper, +Frank, ne--neither did there. Whe--where is Margaret's aiquil, I'd--I'd +like to know? an' as for me, I'll measure myself across the shouldhers +aginst e'er a--a man, woman, or child in--in the parish. Co--come here, +now, Frank, till I me--measure the small o' my leg ag--aginst yours; +or if--if that makes you afeard, I'll measure the--the ball of my leg +aginst the ball of yours. There's a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist +look at it." + +"I see it; it is a powerful wrist." + +"But feel it." + +"Tut, Art, sure I see it." + +"D--n it, man, jist feel it--feel the breadth of--of that bone. +Augh--that's the--the wrist; so anyhow, here's little Toal Finnigan's +health, an' I don't care what they say, I like little Toal, an' I will +like little Toal; bekaise--aise if--if he was the divil, as--as they say +he is, in disguise--ha, ha, ha! he has a civil tongue in his head." + +He then commenced and launched out into the most extravagant praises of +himself, his wife, his children; and from these he passed to the ould +blood of Ireland, and the Fermanagh Maguires. + +"Where," he said, "whe--where is there in the country, or anywhere else, +a family that has sich blood as ours in their veins? Very well; an' +aren't we proud of it, as we have a right to be? Where's the Maguire +that would do a mane or shabby act? tha--that's what I'd like to know. +Isn't the word of a Maguire looked upon as aiquil to--to an--another +man's oath; an' where's the man of them that was--as ever known to break +it? Eh Frank? No; stead--ed--steady's the word wid the Maguires, and +honor bright." + +Frank was about to remind him that he had in his own person given a +proof that night that a Maguire could break his word, and commit +a disreputable action besides; but as he saw it was useless, he +judiciously declined then making any observation whatsoever upon it. + +After a good deal of entreaty, Frank succeeded in prevailing on him to +go to bed; in which, however, he failed, until Art had inflicted on +him three woful songs, each immensely long, and sung in that peculiarly +fascinating drawl, which is always produced by intoxication. At length, +and when the night was more than half spent, he assisted him to bed--a +task of very considerable difficulty, were it not that it was relieved +by his receiving from the tipsy man several admirable precepts, and an +abundance of excellent advice, touching his conduct in the world; not +forgetting religion, on which he dwelt with a maudlin solemnity of +manner, that was, or would have been to strangers, extremely ludicrous. +Frank, however, could not look upon it with levity. He understood +his brother's character and foibles too well, and feared that +notwithstanding his many admirable qualities, his vanity and want of +firmness, or, in other words, of self-dependence, might overbalance them +all. + +The next morning his brother Frank was obliged to leave betimes, and +consequently had no opportunity of advising or remonstrating with him. +On rising, he felt sick and feverish, and incapable of going into his +workshop. The accession made to his family being known, several of his +neighbors came in to inquire after the health of his wife and infant; +and as Art, when left to his own guidance, had never been remarkable +for keeping a secret, he made no scruple of telling them that he had +got drunk the night before, and was, of course, quite out of order that +morning. Among the rest, the first to come in was little Toal Finnigan, +who, in addition to his other virtues, possessed a hardness of head--by +which we mean a capacity for bearing drink--that no liquor, or no +quantity of liquor, could overcome. + +"Well," said Toal, "sure it's very reasonable that you should be out of +ordher; after bein' seven years from it, it doesn't come so natural to +you as it would do. Howandiver, you know that there's but the one cure +for it--a hair of the same dog that bit you; and if you're afeared to +take the same hair by yourself, why I'll take a tuft of it wid you, +an' we'll dhrink the wife's health--my ould sweetheart--and the little +sthranger's." + +"Throth I believe you're right," said Art, "in regard to the cure; so +in the name of goodness we'll have a gauliogue to begin the day wid, an' +set the hair straight on us." + +During that day, Art was neither drunk nor sober, but halfway between +the two states. He went to his workshop about two o'clock; but his +journeymen and apprentices could smell the strong whiskey off him, and +perceive an occasional thickness of pronunciation in his speech, which +a good deal surprised them. When evening came, however, his neighbors, +whom he had asked in, did not neglect to attend; the bottle was again +produced, and poor Art, the principle of restraint having now been +removed, re-enacted much the same scene as on the preceding night, with +this exception only, that he was now encouraged instead of being checked +or reproved. + +There were now only three days to elapse until the following Sabbath, +on which day the child was to be baptized; one of them, that is, the one +following his first intoxication with Frank, was lost to him, for, as +we have said, though not precisely drunk, he was not in a condition to +work, nor properly to give directions. The next he felt himself in much +the same state, but with still less of regret. + +"The truth is," said he, "I won't be rightly able to do any thing till +afther this christenin', so that I may set down the remaindher o' the +week as lost; well, sure that won't break me at any rate. It's long +since I lost a week before, and we must only make up for it; afther the +christenin' I'll work double tides." + +This was all very plausible reasoning, but very fallacious +notwithstanding; indeed, it is this description of logic which conceals +the full extent of a man's errors from, himself, and which has sent +thousands forward on their career to ruin. Had Art, for instance, been +guided by his steady and excellent brother, or, what would have been +better still, by his own good sense and firmness, he would have got up +the next morning in health, with an easy mind, and a clear conscience, +and been able to resume his work as usual. Instead of that, the +night's debauch produced its natural consequences, feverishness and +indisposition, which, by the aid of a bad proverb, and worse company, +were removed by the very cause which produced them. The second night's +debauch lost the following day, and then, forsooth, the week was nearly +gone, and it wasn't worth while to change the system, as if it was ever +too soon to mend, or as if even a single day's work were not a matter of +importance to a mechanic. Let any man who feels himself reasoning as Art +Maguire did, rest assured that there is an evil principle within him, +which, unless he strangle it by prompt firmness, and a strong conviction +of moral duty, will ultimately be his destruction. + +There was once a lake, surrounded by very beautiful scenery, to which +its waters gave a fine and picturesque effect. This lake was situated on +an elevated part of the country, and a little below it, facing the +west, was a precipice, which terminated a lovely valley, that gradually +expanded until it was lost in the rich campaign country below. From this +lake there was no outlet of water whatsoever, but its shores at the same +time were rich and green, having been all along devoted to pasture. +Now, it so happened that a boy, whose daily occupation was to tend his +master's sheep, went one day when the winds were strong, to the edge of +the lake, on the side to which they blew, and began to amuse himself by +making a small channel in the soft earth with his naked foot. This small +identation was gradually made larger and larger by the waters--whenever +the wind blew strongly in that direction--until, in the course of time, +it changed into a deep chasm, which wore away the earth that intervened +between the lake and the precipice. The result may be easily guessed. +When the last portion of the earth gave way, the waters of the lake +precipitated themselves upon the beautiful and peaceful glen, carrying +death and destruction in their course, and leaving nothing but a dark +unsightly morass behind them. So is it with the mind of man. When +he gives the first slight assent to a wrong tendency, or a vicious +resolution, he resembles the shepherd's boy, who, unconscious of the +consequences that followed, made the first small channel in the earth +with his naked foot. The vice or the passion will enlarge itself by +degrees until all power of resistance is removed; and the heart becomes +a victim to the impetuosity of an evil principle to which no assent of +the will ever should have been given. + +Art, as we have said, lost the week, and then came Sunday for the +christening. On that day, of course, an extra cup was but natural, +especially as it would put an end to his indulgence on the one hand, and +his idleness on the other. Monday morning would enable him to open a new +leaf, and as it was the last day--that is, Sunday was--why, dang it, +he would take a good honest jorum. Frank, who had a greater regard for +Art's character than it appeared Art himself had, Spoke to him privately +on the morning of the christening, as to the necessity and decency +of keeping himself sober on that day; but, alas! during this friendly +admonition he could perceive, that early as it was, his brother was +not exactly in a state of perfect sobriety. His remonstrances were very +unpalatable to Art, and as a consciousness of his conduct, added to the +nervousness produced by drink, had both combined to produce irritability +of temper, he addressed himself more harshly to his brother than he had +ever done in his life before. Frank, for the sake of peace, gave up the +task, although he saw clearly enough that the christening was likely to +terminate, at least so far as Art was concerned, in nothing less than +a drunken debauch. This, indeed, was true. Little Toal, who drank more +liquor than any two among them, and Frank himself, were the only sober +persons present, all the rest having successfully imitated the example +set them by Art, who was carried to bed at an early hour in the evening. +This was but an indifferent preparation for his resolution to commence +work on Monday morning, as the event proved. When the morning came, +he was incapable of work; a racking pain in the head, and sickness of +stomach, were the comfortable assurances of his inability. Here was +another day lost; but finding that it also was irretrievably gone, he +thought it would be no great harm to try the old cure--a hair of the +dog--as before, and it did not take much force of reasoning to persuade +himself to that course. In this manner he went on, losing day after day, +until another week was lost. At length he found himself in his workshop, +considerably wrecked and debilitated, striving with tremulous and +unsteady hands to compensate for his lost time; it was now, however, +too late--the evil habit had been contracted--the citadel had been +taken--the waters had been poisoned at their source--the small track +with the naked foot had been made. From this time forward he did little +but make resolutions to-day, which he broke tomorrow; in the course of +some time he began to drink with his own workmen, and even admitted his +apprentices to their potations. Toal Finnigan, and about six or eight +dissolute and drunken fellows, inhabitants of Ballykeerin, were his +constant companions, and never had they a drinking bout that he was +not sent for: sometimes they would meet in his own workshop, which was +turned into a tap-room, and there drink the better part of the day. Of +course the workmen could not be forgotten in their potations, and, as a +natural consequence, all work was suspended, business at a stand, time +lost, and morals corrupted. + +His companions now availed themselves of his foibles, winch they drew +out into more distinct relief. Joined to an overweening desire to +hear himself praised, was another weakness, which proved to be very +beneficial to his companions; this was a swaggering and consequential +determination, when tipsy, to pay the whole reckoning, and to treat +every one he knew. + +He was a Maguire--he was a gentleman--had the old blood in his veins, +and that he might never handle a plane, if any man present should pay a +shilling, so long as he was to the fore. This was an argument in which +he always had the best of it; his companions taking care, even if he +happened to forget it, that some chance word or hint should bring it to +his memory. + +"Here, Barney Scaddhan--Barney, I say, what's the reckonin', you sinner? +Now, Art Maguire, divil a penny of this you'll pay for--you're too +ginerous, an' have the heart of a prince." + +"And kind family for him to have the heart of a prince, sure we all know +what the Fermanagh Maguires wor; of coorse we won't let him pay." + +"Toal Finnigan, do you want me to rise my hand to you? I tell you that +a single man here won't pay a penny o' reckonin', while I'm to the good; +and, to make short work of it, by the contints o' the book, I'll strike +the first of ye that'll attempt it. Now!" + +"Faix, an' I for one," said Toal, "won't come undher your fist; it's +little whiskey ever I'd drink if I did." + +"Well, well," the others would exclaim, "that ends it; howendiver, never +mind, Art, I'll engage we'll have our revenge on you for that--the next +meetin' you won't carry it all your own way; we'll be as stiff as you'll +be stout, my boy, although you beat us out of it now." + +"Augh," another would say, in a whisper especially designed for him, "by +the livin' farmer there never was one, even of the Maguires, like him, +an' that's no lie." + +Art would then pay the reckoning with the air of a nobleman, or, if he +happened to be without money, he would order it to be scored to him, for +as yet his credit was good. + +It is wonderful to reflect how vanity blinds common sense, and turns +all the power of reason and judgment to nothing. Art was so thoroughly +infatuated by his own vanity, that he was utterly incapable of seeing +through the gross and selfish flattery with which they plied him. Nay, +when praising him, or when sticking him in for drink, as it is termed, +they have often laughed in his very face, so conscious were they that it +could be done with impunity. + +This course of life could not fail to produce suitable consequences to +his health, his reputation, and his business. His customers began to +find now that the man whose word had never been doubted, and whose +punctuality was proverbial, became so careless and negligent in +attending to his orders, that it was quite useless to rely upon his +promises, and, as a very natural consequence, they began to drop off +one after another, until he found to his cost that a great number of his +best and most respectable supporters ceased to employ him. + +When his workmen, too, saw that he had got into tippling and irregular +habits, and that his eye was not, as in the days of his industry, +over them, they naturally became careless and negligent, as did the +apprentices also. Nor was this all; the very individuals who had been +formerly remarkable for steadiness, industry, and sobriety--for Art +would then keep no other--were now, many of them, corrupted by his own +example, and addicted to idleness and drink. This placed him in a very +difficult position; for how, we ask, could he remonstrate with them so +long as he himself transgressed more flagrantly than they did? For this +reason he was often forced to connive at outbreaks of drunkenness and +gross cases of neglect, which no sober man would suffer in those whom he +employed. + +"Take care of your business, and your business will take care of you," +is a good and a wholesome proverb, that cannot bo too strongly impressed +on the minds of the working classes. Art began to feel surprised that +his business was declining, but as yet his good sense was strong enough +to point out to him the cause of it. His mind now became disturbed, for +while he felt conscious that his own neglect and habits of dissipation +occasioned it, he also felt that he was but a child in the strong grasp +of his own propensities. This was anything but a consoling reflection, +and so long as it lasted he was gloomy, morbid, and peevish; his +excellent wife was the first to remark this, and, indeed, was the first +that had occasion to remark it, for even in this stage of his life, the +man who had never spoken to her, or turned his eye upon her, but with +tenderness and affection, now began, especially when influenced by +drink, to give manifestations of temper that grieved her to the heart. +Abroad, however, he was the same good-humored fellow as ever, with a few +rare exceptions--when he got quarrelsome and fought with his companions. +His workmen all were perfectly aware of his accessibility to flattery, +and some of them were not slow to avail themselves of it: these were +the idle and unscrupulous, who, as they resembled himself, left nothing +unsaid or undone to maintain his good opinion, and they succeeded. His +business now declined so much, that he was obliged to dismiss some of +them, and, as if he had been fated to ruin, the honest and independent, +who scorned to flatter his weaknesses, were the very persons put out +of his employment, because their conduct was a silent censure upon his +habits, and the men he retained were those whom he himself had made +drunken and profligate by his example; so true is it that a drunkard is +his own enemy in a thousand ways. + +Here, then, is our old friend Art falling fast away from the proverbial +integrity of his family--his circumstances are rapidly declining--his +business running to a point--his reputation sullied, and his +temper becoming sharp and vehement; these are strong indications of +mismanagement, neglect, and folly, or, in one word, of a propensity to +drink. + +About a year and a half has now elapsed, and Art, in spite of several +most determined resolutions to reform, is getting still worse in every +respect. It is not to be supposed, however, that during this period he +has not had visitations of strong feeling--of repentance--remorse--or +that love of drink had so easy a victory over him as one would imagine. +No such thing. These internal struggles sometimes affected him even unto +agony, and he has frequently wept bitter tears on finding himself the +victim of this terrible habit. He had not, however, the courage to +look into his own condition with a firm eye, or to examine the state of +either his heart or his circumstances with the resolution of a man who +knows that he must suffer pain by the inspection. Art could not bear the +pain of such an examination, and, in order to avoid feeling it, he had +recourse to the oblivion of drink; not reflecting that the adoption of +every such remedy for care resembles the wisdom of the man, who, when +raging under the tortures of thirst, attempted to allay them by drinking +sea-water. Drink relieved him for a moment, but he soon found that in +his case the remedy was only another name for the disease. + +It is not necessary to assure our readers that during Art's unhappy +progress hitherto, his admirable brother Frank felt wrung to the heart +by his conduct. All that good advice, urged with good feeling and good +sense, could do, was tried on him, but to no purpose; he ultimately lost +his temper on being reasoned with, and flew into a passion with Frank, +whom he abused for interfering, as he called it, in business which did +not belong to him. Notwithstanding this bluster, however, there was no +man whom he feared so much; in fact, he dreaded his very appearance, and +would go any distance out of his way rather than come in contact with +him. He felt Frank's moral ascendency too keenly, and was too bitterly +sensible of the neglect with which he had treated his affectionate and +friendly admonitions, to meet him with composure. Indeed, we must say, +that, independently of his brother Frank, he was not left to his own +impulses, without many a friendly and sincere advice. The man had been +so highly respected--his name was so stainless--his conduct so good, +so blameless; he stood forth such an admirable pattern of industry, +punctuality, and sobriety, that his departure from all these virtues +occasioned general regret and sorrow. Every friend hoped that he +would pay attention to his advice, and every friend tried it, but, +unfortunately, every friend failed. Art, now beyond the reach of +reproof, acted as every man like him acts; he avoided those who, because +they felt an interest in his welfare, took the friendly liberty of +attempting to rescue him, and consequently associated only with those +who drank with him, flattered him, skulked upon him, and laughed at him. + +One friend, however, he had, who, above all others, first in place and +in importance, we cannot overlook--that friend was his admirable and +affectionate wife. Oh, in what language can we adequately describe +her natural and simple eloquence, her sweetness of disposition, her +tenderness, her delicacy of reproof, and her earnest struggles to win +back her husband from the habits which were destroying him! And in +the beginning she was often successful for a time, and many a tear of +transient repentance has she occasioned him to shed, when she succeeded +in touching his heart, and stirring his affection for her and for their +children. + +In circumstances similar to Art's, however, we first feel our own +errors, we then feel grateful to those who have the honesty to reprove +us for them: by and by, on finding that we are advancing on the wrong +path, we begin to disrelish the advice, as being only an unnecessary +infliction of pain; having got so far as to disrelish the advice, +we soon begin to disrelish the adviser; and ultimately, we become so +thoroughly wedded to our own selfish vices, as to hate every one who +would take us out of their trammels. + +When Art found that the world, as he said, was going against him, +instead of rallying, as he might, and ought to have done, he began +to abuse the world, and attribute to it all the misfortunes which he +himself, and not the world, had occasioned him. The world, in fact, +is nothing to any man but the reflex of himself; if you treat yourself +well, and put yourself out of the power of the world, the world will +treat you well, and respect you; but if you neglect yourself, do not at +all be surprised that the world and your friends will neglect you also. +So far the world acts with great justice and propriety, and takes +its cue from your own conduct; you cannot, therefore, blame the world +without first blaming yourself. + +Two years had now elapsed, and Art's business was nearly gone; he had +been obliged to discharge the drunken fellows we spoke of, but not until +they had assisted in a great measure to complete his ruin. Two years of +dissipation, neglect of business, and drunkenness, were quite sufficient +to make Art feel that it is a much easier thing to fall into poverty and +contempt, than to work a poor man's way, from early struggle and the tug +of life, to ease and independence. + +His establishment was now all but closed; the two apprentices had +scarcely anything to do, and, indeed, generally amused themselves in +the workshop by playing Spoil Five--a fact which was discovered by Art +himself, who came on them unexpectedly one day when tipsy; but, as he +happened to be in an extremely good humor, he sat down and took a hand +along with them. This was a new element of enjoyment to him, and instead +of reproving them for their dishonest conduct, he suffered himself to +be drawn into the habit of gambling, and so strongly did this grow upon +him, that from henceforth he refused to participate in any drinking +bout unless the parties were to play for the liquor. For this he had now +neither temper nor coolness; while drinking upon the ordinary plan +with his companions, he almost uniformly paid the reckoning from sheer +vanity; or, in other words, because they managed him; but now that it +depended upon what he considered to be skill, nothing ever put him +so completely out of temper as to be put in for it. This low gambling +became a passion with him; but it was a passion that proved to be the +fruitful cause of fights and quarrels without end. Being seldom either +cool or sober, he was a mere dupe in the hands of his companions; but +whether by fair play or foul, the moment he perceived that the game had +gone against him, that moment he generally charged his opponents with +dishonesty and fraud, and then commenced a fight. Many a time has +he gone home, beaten and bruised, and black, and cut, and every way +disfigured in these vile and blackguard contests; but so inveterately +had this passion for card-playing--that is, gambling for liquor--worked +itself upon him, that he could not suffer a single day to pass without +indulging in it. Defeat of any kind was a thing he could never think of; +but for a Maguire--one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--to be beaten +at a rascally game of Spoil Five, was not to be endured; the matter was +impossible, unless by foul play, and as there was only one method of +treating those who could stoop to the practice of foul play, why he +seldom lost any time in adopting it. This was to apply the fist, and as +he had generally three or four against him, and as, in most instances, +he was in a state of intoxication, it usually happened that he received +most punishment. + +Up to this moment we have not presented Art to our readers in any other +light than that of an ordinary drunkard, seen tipsy and staggering in +the streets, or singing as he frequently was, or fighting, or playing +cards in the public-houses. Heretofore he was not before the world, and +in everybody's eye; but he had now become so common a sight in the town +of Ballykeerin, that his drunkenness was no longer a matter of surprise +to its inhabitants. At the present stage of his life he could not bear +to see his brother Frank; and his own Margaret, although unchanged and. +loving as ever, was no longer to him the Margaret that she had been. +He felt how much he had despised her advice, neglected her comfort, and +forgotten the duties which both God and nature had imposed upon him, +with respect to her and their children. These feelings coming upon him +during short intervals of reflection, almost drove him mad, and he +has often come home to her and them in a frightful and terrible +consciousness that he had committed some great crime, and that she and +their children were involved in its consequences. + +"Margaret," he would say, "Margaret, what is it I've done aginst you and +the childre? I have done some great crime aginst you all, for surely if +I didn't, you wouldn't look as you do--Margaret, asthore, where is the +color that was in your cheeks? and my own Art here--that always pacifies +me when nobody else can--even Art doesn't look what he used to be." + +"Well, sure he will, Art, dear," she would reply; "now will you let me +help you to bed? it's late; it's near three o'clock; Oh Art, dear, if +you were----" + +"I won't go to bed--I'll stop here where I am, wid my head on the table, +till mornin'. Now do you know--come here, Margaret--let me hear you--do +you know, and are you sensible of the man you're married to?" + +"To be sure I am." + +"No, I tell you; I say you are not. There is but one person in the house +that knows that." + +"You're right, Art darlin'--you're right. Come here, Atty; go to your +father; you know what to say, avick." + +"Well, Art," he would continue, "do you know who your father is?" + +"Ay do I; he's one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--the greatest family +in the kingdom. Isn't that it?" + +"That's it, Atty darlin'--come an' kiss me for that; yes, I'm one of the +great Fermanagh Maguires. Isn't that a glorious thin', Atty?" + +"Now, Art, darlin', will you let me help you to bed--think of the hour +it is." + +"I won't go, I tell you. I'll sit here wid my head on the table all +night. Come here, Atty. Atty, it's wondherful how I love you--above all +creatures livin' do I love you. Sure I never refuse to do any thing for +you, Atty; do I now?" + +"Well, then, will you come to bed for me?" + +"To be sure I will, at wanst;" and the unhappy man instantly rose and +staggered into his bedroom, aided and supported by his wife and child; +for the latter lent whatever little assistance he could give to his +drunken father, whom he tenderly loved. + +His shop, however, is now closed, the apprentices are gone, and the last +miserable source of their support no longer exists. Poverty now sets +in, and want and destitution. He parts with his tools; but not for the +purpose of meeting the demands of his wife and children at home; no; +but for drink--drink--drink--drink. He is now in such a state that he +cannot, dares not, reflect, and consequently, drink is more necessary +to him than ever. His mind, however, is likely soon to be free from +the pain of thinking; for it is becoming gradually debauched and +brutified--is sinking, in fact, to the lowest and most pitiable state of +degradation. It was then, indeed, that he felt how the world deals with +a man who leaves himself depending on it. + + +[Illustration: PAGE AM1018-- They immediately expelled him] + + +His friends had now all abandoned him; decent people avoided him--he +had fallen long ago below pity, and was now an object of contempt. +His family at home were destitute; every day brought hunger--positive, +absolute want of food wherewith to support nature. His clothes were +reduced to tatters; so were those of his wife and children. His frame, +once so strong and athletic, was now wasted away to half its wonted +size; his hands were thin, tremulous, and flesh-less; his face pale and +emaciated; and his eye dead and stupid. He was now nearly alone in the +world. Low and profligate as were his drunken companions, yet even they +shunned him; and so contemptuously did they treat him, now that he was +no longer able to pay his way, or enable the scoundrels to swill at his +expense, that whenever he happened to enter Barney Scaddhan's tap, while +they were in it, they immediately expelled him without ceremony, or +Barney did it for them. He now hated home; there was nothing there for +him, but cold, naked, shivering destitution. The furniture had gone by +degrees for liquor; tables, chairs, kitchen utensils, bed and bedding, +with the exception of a miserable blanket for Margaret and the child, +had all been disposed of for about one-tenth part of their value. +Alas, what a change is this from comfort, industry, independence, and +respectability, to famine, wretchedness, and the utmost degradation! +Even Margaret, whose noble heart beat so often in sympathy with the +distresses of the poor, has scarcely any one now who will feel sympathy +with her own. Not that she was utterly abandoned by all. Many a time +have the neighbors, in a stealthy way, brought a little relief in the +shape of food, to her and her children. Sorry are we to say, however, +that there were in the town of Ballykeerin, persons whom she had herself +formerly relieved, and with whom the world went well since, who now +shut their eyes against her misery, and refused to assist her. Her lot, +indeed, was now a bitter one, and required all her patience, all her +fortitude to enable her to bear up under it. Her husband was sunk +down to a pitiable pitch, his mind consisting, as it were, only of two +elements, stupidity and ill-temper. Up until the disposal of all the +furniture, he had never raised his hand to her, or gone beyond verbal +abuse; now, however, his temper became violent and brutal. All sense +of shame--every pretext for decency--all notions of self-respect, were +gone, and nothing was left to sustain or check him. He could not look in +upon himself and find one spark of decent pride, or a single principle +left that contained the germ of his redemption. He now gave himself over +as utterly lost, and consequently felt no scruple to stoop to any +act, no matter how mean or contemptible. In the midst of all this +degradation, however, there was one recollection which he never gave up; +but alas, to what different and shameless purposes did he now prostitute +it! That which had been in his better days a principle of just pride, a +spur to industry, an impulse to honor, and a safeguard to integrity, had +now become the catchword of a mendicant--the cant or slang, as it +were, of an impostor. He was not ashamed to beg in its name--to ask +for whiskey in its name--and to sink, in its name, to the most sordid +supplications. + +"Will you stand the price of a glass? I'm Art Maguire; one of the great +Maguires of Fermanagh! Think of the blood of the Maguires, and stand +a glass. Barney Scaddhan won't trust me now; although many a pound and +penny of good money I left him." + +"Ay," the person accosted would reply, "an' so sign's on you; you would +be a different man to-day, had you visited Barney Scaddhan's seldomer, +or kept out of it altogether." + +"It's not a sarmon I want; will you stand the price of a glass?" + +"Not a drop." + +"Go to blazes, then, if you won't. I'm a betther man than ever you +wor, an' have betther blood in my veins. The great Fermanagh Maguires +forever!" + +But, hold--we must do the unfortunate man justice. Amidst all this +degradation, and crime, and wretchedness, there yet shone undimmed one +solitary virtue. This was an abstract but powerful affection for his +children, especially for his eldest son; now a fine boy about eight or +nine. In his worst and most outrageous moods--when all other influence +failed--when the voice of his own Margaret, whom he once loved--oh how +well! fell heedless upon his ears--when neither Frank, nor friend, nor +neighbor could manage nor soothe him--let but the finger of his boy +touch him, or a tone of his voice fall upon his ear, and he placed +himself in his hands, and did whatever the child wished him. + +One evening about this time, Margaret was sitting upon a small hassock +of straw, that had been made for little Art, when he began to walk. +It was winter, and there was no fire; a neighbor, however, had out of +charity lent her a few dipped rushes, that they might not be in utter +darkness. One of these was stuck against the wall, for they had no +candlestick; and oh, what a pitiable and melancholy spectacle did +its dim and feeble light present! There she sat, the young, virtuous, +charitable, and lovely Margaret of the early portion of our narrative, +surrounded by her almost naked children--herself with such thin and +scanty covering as would wring any heart but to know it. Where now was +her beauty? Where her mirth, cheerfulness, and all her lightness of +heart? Where? Let her ask that husband who once loved her so well, but +who loved his own vile excesses and headlong propensities better. There, +however, she sat, with a tattered cap on, through the rents of which her +raven hair, once so beautiful and glossy, came out in matted elf-locks, +and hung down about her thin and wasted neck. Her face was pale and +ghastly as death; her eyes were without fire--full of languor--full +of sorrow; and alas, beneath one of them, was too visible, by its +discoloration, the foul mark of her husband's brutality. To this had +their love, their tenderness, their affection come; and by what? Alas! +by the curse of liquor--the demon of drunkenness--and want of manly +resolution. She sat, as we have said, upon the little hassock, while +shivering on her bosom was a sickly-looking child, about a year old, to +whom she was vainly endeavoring to communicate some of her own natural +warmth. The others, three in number, were grouped together for the +same reason; for poor little Atty--who, though so very young, was his +mother's only support, and hope, and consolation--sat with an arm about +each, in order, as well as he could, to keep off the cold--the night +being stormy and bitter. Margaret sat rocking herself to and fro, as +those do who indulge in sorrow, and crooning for her infant the sweet +old air of "_Tha ma cullha's na dhuska me_," or "I am asleep and don't +waken me!"--a tender but melancholy air, which had something peculiarly +touching in it on the occasion in question. + +"Ah," she said, "I am asleep and don't waken me; if it wasn't for your +sakes, darlins, it's I that long to be in that sleep that we will +never waken from; but sure, lost in misery as we are, what could yez do +without me still?" + +"What do you mane, mammy?" said Atty; "sure doesn't everybody that goes +to sleep waken out of it?" + + +[Illustration: PAGE AM1019-- There's a sleep that nobody wakens from] + + +"No, darlin'; there's a sleep that nobody wakens from." + +"Dat quare sleep, mammy," said a little one. "Oh, but me's could, mammy; +will we eva have blankets?" + +The question, though simple, opened up the cheerless, the terrible +future to her view. She closed her eyes, put her hands on them, as if +she strove to shut it out, and shivered as much at the apprehension of +what was before her, as with the chilly blasts that swept through the +windowless house. + +"I hope so, dear," she replied; "for God is good." + +"And will he get us blankets, mammy?". + +"Yes, darlin', I hope so." + +"Me id rady he'd get us sometin' to ait fust, mammy; I'm starvin' wid +hungry;" and the poor child began to cry for food. + +The disconsolate mother was now assailed by the clamorous outcries of +nature's first want, that of food. She surveyed her beloved little brood +in the feeble light, and saw in all its horror the fearful impress of +famine stamped upon their emaciated features, and strangely lighting up +their little heavy eyes. She wrung her hands, and looking up silently to +heaven, wept aloud for some minutes. + +"Childre," she said at length, "have patience, poor things, an' you'll +soon get something to eat. I sent over Nanny Hart to my sisther's, an' +when she comes back yell get something;--so have patience, darlins, till +then." + +"But, mother," continued little Atty, who could not understand her +allusion to the sleep from which there is no awakening; "what kind of +sleep is it that people never waken from?" + +"The sleep that's in the grave, Atty, dear; death is the sleep I mean." + +"An' would you wish to die, mother?" + +"Only for your sake, Atty, and for the sake of the other darlins, if +it was the will of God, I would; and," she added, with a feeling of +indescribable anguish, "what have I now to live for but to see you all +about me in misery and sorrow!" + +The tears as she spoke ran silently, but bitterly, down her cheeks. + +"When I think of what your poor lost father was," she added, "when we +wor happy, and when he was good, and when I think of what he is now--oh, +my God, my God," she sobbed' out, "my manly young husband, what curse +has come over you that has brought you down to this! Curse! oh, fareer +gair, it's a curse that's too well known in the country--it's the curse +that laves many an industrious man's house as ours is this bitther +night--it's the curse that takes away good name and comfort, and honesty +(that's the only thing it has left us)--that takes away the strength of +both body and mind--that banishes dacency and shame--that laves many a +widow and orphan to the marcy of an unfeelin' world--that fills the +jail and the madhouse--that brings many a man an' woman to a disgraceful +death--an' that tempts us to the commission of every evil;--that curse, +darlins, is whiskey--drinkin' whiskey--an' it is drinkin' whiskey that +has left us as we are, and that has ruined your father, and destroyed +him forever." + +"Well, but there's no other curse over us, mother?" + +The mother paused a moment-- + +"No, darlin'," she replied; "not a curse--but my father and mother both +died, and did not give me their blessin'; but now, Atty, don't ask me +anything more about that, bekase I can't tell you." This she added from +a feeling of delicacy to her unhappy husband, whom, through all his +faults and vices, she constantly held up to her children as an object of +respect, affection, and obedience. + +Again the little ones were getting importunate for food, and their cries +were enough to touch any heart, much less that of a tender and loving +mother. Margaret herself felt that some unusual delay must have +occurred, or the messenger she sent to her sister must have long since +returned; just then a foot was heard outside the door, and there was an +impatient cessation of the cries, in the hope that it was the return +of Nanny Hart--the door opened, and Toal Finnigan entered this wretched +abode of sorrow and destitution. + +There was something peculiarly hateful about this man, but in the eyes +of Margaret there was something intensely so. She knew right well that +he had been the worst and most demoralizing companion her husband ever +associated with, and she had, besides, every reason to believe that, +were it not for his evil influence over the vain and wretched man, he +might have overcome his fatal propensity to tipple. She had often told +Art this; but little Toal's tongue was too sweet, when aided by his +dupe's vanity. Many a time had she observed a devilish leer of satanic +triumph in the misshapen little scoundrel's eye, when bringing home +her husband in a state of beastly intoxication, and for this reason, +independently of her knowledge of his vile and heartless disposition, +and infamous character, she detested him. After entering, he looked +about him, and even with the taint light of the rush she could mark that +his unnatural and revolting features were lit up with a hellish triumph. + +"Well, Margaret Murray," said he, "I believe you are now nearly as badly +off as you can be; your husband's past hope, and you are as low as a +human bein' ever was. I'm now satisfied; you refused to marry me--you +made a May-game of me--a laughin' stock of me, and your father tould my +father that I had legs like reapin' hooks! Now, from the day you refused +to marry me, I swore I'd never die till I'd have my revinge, and I have +it; who has the laugh now, Margaret Murray?" + +"You say," she replied calmly, "that I am as low as a human bein' can +be, but that's false, Toal Finnigan, for I thank God I have committed no +crime, and my name is pure and good, which is more than any one can say +for you; begone from my place." + +"I will," he replied, "but before I go jist let me tell you, that I have +the satisfaction to know that, if I'm not much mistaken, it was I that +was the principal means of leavin' you as you are, and your respectable +husband as he is; so my blessin' be wid you, an that's more than your +father left you. Raipin' hooks, indeed!" + +The little vile Brownie then disappeared. + +Margaret, the moment he was gone, immediately turned round, and going to +her knees, leaned, with her half-cold infant still in her arms, against +a creaking chair, and prayed with as much earnestness as a distracted +heart permitted her. The little ones, at her desire, also knelt, and in +a few minutes afterwards, when her drunken husband came home, he found +his miserable family, grouped as they were in their misery, worshipping +God in their own simple and touching manner. His entrance disturbed +them, for Margaret knew she must go through the usual ordeal to which +his nightly return was certain to expose her. + +"I want something to ait," said he. + +"Art, dear," she replied--and this was the worst word she ever uttered +against him--"Art, dear, I have nothing for you till by an' by; but I +will then." + +"Have you any money?" + +"Money, Art! oh, where would I get it? If I had money I wouldn't be +without something' for you to eat, or the childre here that tasted +nothin' since airly this mornin'." + +"Ah, you're a cursed useless wife," he replied, "you brought nothin' but +bad luck to me an' them; but how could you bring anything else, when you +didn't get your father's blessin'." + +"But, Art, don't you remember," she said meekly in reply, "you surely +can't forget for whose sake I lost it." + +"Well, he's fizzin' now, the hard-hearted ould scoundrel, for keepin' +it from you; he forgot who you wor married to, the extortin' ould +vagabone--to one of the great Fermanagh Maguires, an' he' not fit to +wipe their shoes. The curse o' heaven upon you an' him, wherever he is! +It was an unlucky day to me I ever seen the face of one of you--here, +Atty, I've some money; some strange fellow at the inn below stood to me +for the price of a naggin, an' that blasted Barney Scaddhan wouldn't let +me in, bekase, he said, I was a disgrace to his house, the scoundrel." + +"The same house was a black sight to you, Art." + +"Here, Atty, go off and, get me a naggin." + +"Wouldn't it be better for you to get something to eat, than to drink +it, Art." + +"None of your prate, I say, go off an' bring me a naggin o' whiskey, an' +don't let the grass grow under your feet." + +The children, whenever he came home, were awed into silence, but +although they durst not speak, there was an impatient voracity visible +in their poor features, and now wolfish little eyes, that was a terrible +thing to witness. Art took the money, and went away to bring his father +the whiskey. + +"What's the reason," said he, kindling into sudden fury, "that you +didn't provide something for me to eat? Eh? What's the reason?" and +he approached her in a menacing attitude. "You're a lazy, worthless +vagabone. Why didn't you get me something to ait, I say? I can't stand +this--I'm famished." + +"I sent to my sister's," she replied, laying-down the child; for she +feared that if he struck her and knocked her down, with the child in +her arms, it might be injured, probably killed, by the fall; "when the +messenger comes back from my sister's----" + +"D--n yourself and your sister," he replied, striking her a blow at +the same time upon the temple. She fell, and in an instant her face was +deluged with blood. + +"Ay, lie there," he continued, "the loss of the blood will cool you. +Hould your tongues, you devils, or I'll throw yez out of the house," he +exclaimed to the children, who burst into an uproar of grief on seeing +their "mammy," as they called her, lying bleeding and insensible. +"That's to taich her not to have something for me to ait. Ay," he +proceeded, with a hideous laugh--"ha, ha, ha! I'm a fine fellow--amn't +I? There she lies now, and yet she was wanst Margaret Murray!--my own +Margaret--that left them all for myself; but sure if she did, wasn't I +one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh?--Get up, Margaret; here, I'll +help you up, if the divil was in you!" + +He raised her as he spoke, and perceived that consciousness was +returning. The first thing she did was to put up her hand to her temple, +where she felt the warm blood. She gave him one look of profound sorrow. + +"Oh, Art dear," she exclaimed, "Art dear--" her voice failed her, but the +tears flowed in torrents down her cheeks. + +"Margaret," said he, "you needn't spake to me that way. You know any how +I'm damned--damned--lol de rol lol--tol de rol lol! ha, ha, ha! I have +no hope either here or hereafther--divil a morsel of hope. Isn't that +comfortable? eh?--ha, ha, ha"--another hideous laugh. "Well, no matter; +we'll dhrink it out, at all events. Where's Atty, wid the whiskey? Oh, +here he is! That's a good boy, Atty." + +"Oh, mammy darlin'," exclaimed the child, on seeing the blood streaming +from her temple--"mammy darlin', what happened you?" + +"I fell, Atty dear," she replied, "and was cut." + +"That's a lie, Atty; it was I, your fine chip of a father, that struck +her. Here's her health, at all events! I'll make one dhrink of it; hoch! +they may talk as they like, but I'll stick to Captain Whiskey." + +"Father," said the child, "will you come over and lie down upon the +straw, for your own me, for your own Atty; and then you'll fall into a +sound sleep?" + +"I will, Atty, for you--for you--I will, Atty; but mind, I wouldn't do +it for e'er another livin'." + +One day wid Captain Whiskey I wrastled a fall, But, t'aix, I was no +match for the Captain at all, Though the landlady's measures they wor +damnably small--But I'll thry him to morrow when I'm sober. + +"Come," said the child, "lie down here on the straw; my poor mammy says +we'll get clane straw to-morrow; and we'll be grand then." + +His father, who was now getting nearly helpless, went over and threw +himself upon some straw--thin and scanty and cold it was--or rather, +in stooping to throw himself on it he fell with what they call in the +country a soss; that is, he fell down in a state of utter helplessness; +his joints feeble and weak, and all his strength utterly prostrated. +Margaret, who in the meantime was striving to stop the effusion of blood +from her temple, by the application of cobwebs, of which there was no +scarcity in the house, now went over, and loosening his cravat, she got +together some old rags, of which she formed, as well as she could, a +pillow to support his head, in order to avoid the danger of his being +suffocated. + +"Poor Art," she exclaimed, "if you knew what you did, you would cut that +hand off you sooner than raise it to your own Margaret, as you used to +call me. It is pity that I feel for you, Art dear, but no anger; an' +God, who sees my heart, knows that." + +Now that he was settled, and her own temple bound up, the children once +more commenced their cry of famine; for nothing can suspend the stern +cravings of hunger, especially when fanged by the bitter consciousness +that there is no food to be had. Just then, however, the girl returned +from her sister's, loaded with oatmeal--a circumstance which changed the +cry of famine into one of joy. + +But now, what was to be done for fire, there was none in the house. + +"Here is half-a-crown," said the girl, "that she sent you; but she put +her hands acrass, and swore by the five crasses, that unless you left +Art at wanst, they'd never give you a rap farden's worth of assistance +agin, if you and they wor to die in the streets." + +"Leave him!" said Margaret; "oh never! When I took him, I took him for +betther an' for worse, and I'm not goin' to neglect my duty to him now, +because he's down. All the world has desarted him, but I'll never desart +him. Whatever may happen, Art dear--poor, lost Art--whatever may happen, +I'll live with you, beg with you, die with you; anything but desart +you." + +She then, after wiping the tears which accompanied her words, sent out +the girl, who bought some turf and milk, in order to provide a meal of +wholesome food for the craving children. + +"Now," said she to the girl, "what is to be done? for if poor Art +sees this meal in the morning, he will sell the best part of it to get +whiskey; for I need scarcely tell you," she added, striving to palliate +his conduct, "that he cannot do without it, however he might contrive to +do without his breakfast." But, indeed, this was true. So thoroughly was +he steeped in drunkenness--in the low, frequent, and insatiable appetite +for whiskey--that, like tobacco or snuff, it became an essential portion +of his life--a necessary-evil, without which he could scarcely exist. At +all events, the poor children had one comfortable meal, which made them +happy; the little stock that remained was stowed away in some nook or +other, where Art was not likely to find it; the girl went home, and we +were about to say that the rest of this miserable family went to bed; +but, alas! they had no bed to go to, with the exception of a little +straw, and a thin single blanket to cover them. + +If Margaret's conduct during these severe and terrible trials was not +noble and heroic, we know not what could be called so. The affection +which she exhibited towards her husband overcame everything. When Art +had got about half way in his mad and profligate career, her friends +offered to support her, if she would take refuge with them and abandon +him; but the admirable woman received the proposal as an insult; and the +reply she gave is much the same as the reader has heard from her lips, +with reference to the girl's message from her sister. + +Subsequently, they offered to take her and the children; but this also +she indignantly rejected. She could not leave him, she said, at the very +time when it was so necessary that her hands should be about him. What +might be the fate of such a man if he had none to take care of him? +No, this almost unexampled woman, rather than desert him in such +circumstances, voluntarily partook in all the wretchedness, destitution, +and incredible misery which his conduct inflicted on her, and did so +patiently, and without a murmur. + +In a few days after the night we have described, a man covered with +rags, without shoe, or stocking, or shirt, having on an old hat, through +the broken crown of which his hair, wefted with bits of straw, stood +out, his face shrunk and pale, his beard long and filthy, and his eyes +rayless and stupid--a man of this description, we say, with one child in +his arms, and two more accompanying him, might be seen begging +through the streets of Ballykeerin; yes, and often in such a state of +drunkenness as made it frightful to witness his staggering gait, lest he +might tumble over upon the infant, or let it fair out of his arms. This +man was Art Maguire; to such a destiny had he come, or rather had he +brought himself at last; Art Maguire--one of the great Maguires of +Fermanagh! + +But where is she--the attached, the indomitable in love--the patient, +the much enduring, the uncomplaining? Alas! she is at length separated +from him and them; her throbbing veins are hot and rife with fever--her +aching head is filled with images of despair and horror--she is calling +for her husband--her young and manly husband--and says she will not be +parted from him--she is also calling for her children, and demands to +have them. The love of the mother and of the wife is now furious; but, +thank God, the fury that stimulates it is that of disease, and not of +insanity. The trials and privations which could not overcome her noble +heart, overcame her physical frame, and on the day succeeding that woful +night she was seized with a heavy fever, and through the interference +of some respectable inhabitants of the town, was conveyed to the fever +hospital, where she now lies in a state of delirium. + +And Frank Maguire--the firm, the industrious, and independent--where is +he? Unable to bear the shame of his brother's degradation, he gave up +his partnership, and went to America, where he now is; but not without +having left in the hands of a friend something for his unfortunate +brother to remember him by; and it was this timely aid which for the +last three quarters of a year has been the sole means of keeping life in +his brother's family. + +Thus have we followed Art Maguire from his youth up to the present stage +of his life, attempting, as well as we could, to lay open to our readers +his good principles and his bad, together with the errors and ignorances +of those who had the first formation of his character--we mean his +parents and family. We have endeavored to trace, with as strict an +adherence to truth and nature as possible, the first struggles of a +heart naturally generous and good, with the evil habit which beset him, +as well as with the weaknesses by which that habit was set to work upon +his temperament. Whether we have done this so clearly and naturally +as to bring home conviction of its truth to such of our readers as may +resemble him in the materials which formed his moral constitution, and +consequently, to hold him up as an example to be avoided, it is not for +ourselves to say. If our readers think so, or rather feel so, then we +shall rest satisfied of having performed our task as we ought. + +Our task, however, is not accomplished. It is true, we have accompanied +him with pain and pity to penury, rags, and beggary--unreformed, +unrepenting, hardened, shameless, desperate. Do our readers now suppose +that there is anything in the man, or any principle external to him, +capable of regenerating and elevating a heart so utterly lost as his? + +But hush! what is this? How dark the moral clouds that have been hanging +over the country for a period far beyond the memory of man! how black +that dismal canopy which is only lit by fires that carry and shed around +them disease, famine, crime, madness, bloodshed, and death. How hot, +sultry, and enervating to the whole constitution of man, physically and +mentally, is the atmosphere we have been breathing so long! The miasma +of the swamp, the simoom of the desert, the merciless sirocco, +are healthful when compared to such an atmosphere. And, hark! what +formidable being is that who, with black expanded wings, flies about +from place to place, and from person to person, with a cup of fire in +his hands, which he applies to their eager lips? And what spell or +charm lies in that burning cup, which, no sooner do they taste than they +shout, clap their hands with exultation, and cry out, "We are happy! we +are happy!" Hark; he proclaims himself, and shouteth still louder than +they do; but they stop their ears, and will not listen; they shut their +eyes and will not see. What sayeth he? "I am the Angel of Intemperance, +Discord, and Destruction, who oppose myself to God and all his laws--to +man, and all that has been made for his good; my delight is in misery +and unhappiness, in crime, desolation, ruin, murder, and death in a +thousand shapes of vice and destitution. Such I am, such I shall be, for +behold, my dominion shall last forever!" + +But hush again! Look towards the south! What faint but beautiful light +is it, which, fairer than that of the morning, gradually breaketh upon +that dark sky? See how gently, but how steadily, its lustre enlarges +and expands! It is not the light of the sun, nor of the moon, nor of the +stars, neither is it the morning twilight, which heralds the approach of +day; no, but it is the serene effulgence which precedes and accompanies +a messenger from God, who is sent to bear a new principle of happiness +to man! This principle is itself an angelic spirit, and lo! how the sky +brightens, and the darkness flees away like a guilty thing before it! +Behold it on the verge of the horizon, which is now glowing with the +rosy hues of heaven--it advances, it proclaims its mission:--hark! + +"I am the Angel of Temperance, of Industry, of Peace! who oppose myself +to the Spirit of Evil and all his laws--I am the friend of man, and +conduct him to the true enjoyment of all that has been made for his +good. My mission is to banish misery, unhappiness, and crime, to save +mankind from desolation, ruin, murder, and death, in a thousand shapes +of vice and destitution." + +And now see how he advances in beauty and power, attended by knowledge, +health, and truth, while the harmonies of domestic life, of civil +concord, and social duty, accompany him, and make music in his path. But +where is the angel of intemperance, discord, and destruction? Hideous +monster, behold him! No longer great nor terrible, he flies, or rather +totters, from before his serene opponent--he shudders--he stutters and +hiccups in his howlings--his limbs are tremulous--his hands shake as +if with palsy--his eye is lustreless and bloodshot, and his ghastly +countenance the exponent of death. He flies, but not unaccompanied; +along with him are crime, poverty, hunger, idleness, his music the groan +of the murderer, the clanking of the madman's chain, filled up by the +report of the suicide's pistol, and the horrible yell of despair! And +now he and his evil spirits are gone, the moral atmosphere is bright and +unclouded, and the Angel of Temperance, Industry, and Peace goes abroad +throughout the land, fulfilling his beneficent mission, and diffusing +his own virtues into the hearts of a regenerated people! + +Leaving allegory, however, to the poets, it is impossible that, treating +of the subject which we have selected, we could, without seeming to +undervalue it, neglect to say a few words upon the most extraordinary +moral phenomenon, which, apart from the miraculous, the world ever saw; +we allude to the wonderful Temperance Movement, as it is called, which, +under the guiding hand of the Almighty, owes its visible power and +progress to the zeal and incredible exertions of one pious and humble +man--the Very Rev. Theobald Matthew, of Cork. When we consider the +general, the proverbial character, which our countrymen have, during +centuries, borne for love of drink, and their undeniable habits of +intemperance, we cannot but feel that the change which has taken place +is, indeed, surprising, to say the least of it. But, in addition to +this, when we also consider the natural temperament of the Irishman--his +social disposition--his wit, his humor, and his affection--all of which +are lit up by liquor--when we just reflect upon the exhilaration of +spirits produced by it--when we think upon the poverty, the distress, +and the misery which too generally constitute his wretched lot, and +which it will enable him, for a moment, to forget--and when we remember +that all his bargains were made over it--that he courted his sweetheart +over it--got married over it--wept for his dead over it--and generally +fought his enemy of another faction, or the Orangeman of another creed, +when under its influence:--when we pause over all these considerations, +we can see how many temptations our countrymen had to overcome in +renouncing it as they did; and we cannot help looking at it as a moral +miracle, utterly without parallel in the history of man. + +Now we are willing to give all possible credit, and praise, and honor to +Father Matthew; but we do not hesitate to say, that even he would have +failed in being, as he is, the great visible exponent of this admirable +principle, unless there had been other kindred principles in the +Irishman's heart, which recognized and clung to it. In other words it is +unquestionable, that had the religious and moral feelings of the Irish +people been neglected, the principle of temperance would never have +taken such deep root in the heart of the nation as it has done. Nay, it +could not; for does not every man of common sense know, that good moral +principles seldom grow in a bad moral soil, until it is cultivated for +their reception. It is, therefore, certainly a proof that the Roman +Catholic priesthood of Ireland had not neglected the religious +principles of the people. It may, I know, and it has been called a +superstitious contagion; but however that may be, so long as we have +such contagions among us, we will readily pardon the superstition. Let +superstition always assume a shape of such beneficence and virtue to +man, and we shall not quarrel with her for retaining the name. Such a +contagion could never be found among any people in whom there did not +exist predisposing qualities, ready to embrace and nurture the good +which came with it. + +Our argument, we know, may be met by saying that its chief influence was +exerted on those whose habits of dissipation, immorality, and irreligion +kept, them aloof from the religious instruction of the priest. But to +those who know the Irish heart, it is not necessary to say that many +a man addicted to drink is far from being free from the impressions of +religion, or uninfluenced by many a generous and noble virtue. Neither +does it follow that every such man has been neglected by his priest, or +left unadmonished of the consequences which attended his evil habit. +But how did it happen, according to that argument, that it was this +very class of persons--the habitual, or the frequent, or the occasional +drunkard--that first welcomed the spirit of temperance, and availed +themselves of its blessings? If there had not been the buried seeds of +neglected instruction lying in their hearts, it is very improbable that +they would have welcomed and embraced the principle as they did. On the +other hand, it is much more likely that they would have fled from, +and avoided a spirit which deprived them of the gratification of their +ruling and darling passion. Evil and good, we know, do not so readily +associate. + +Be this, however, as it may, we have only to state, in continuation +of our narrative, that at the period of Art Maguire's most lamentable +degradation, and while his admirable but unhappy wife was stretched upon +the burning bed of fever, the far low sounds of the Temperance Movement +were heard, and the pale but pure dawn of its distant light seen +at Ballykeerin. That a singular and novel spirit accompanied it, is +certain; and that it went about touching and healing with all the power +of an angel, is a matter not of history, but of direct knowledge and +immediate recollection. Nothing, indeed, was ever witnessed in any +country similar to it. Whereever it went, joy, acclamation, ecstasy +accompanied it; together with a sense of moral liberty, of perfect +freedom from the restraint, as it were, of some familiar devil, that had +kept its victims in its damnable bondage. Those who had sunk exhausted +before the terrible Molpch of Intemperance, and given themselves over +for lost, could now perceive that there was an ally at hand, that was +able to bring them succor, and drag them back from degradation and +despair, to peace and independence, from contempt and infamy, to respect +and praise. Nor was this all. It was not merely into the heart of the +sot and drunkard that it carried a refreshing consciousness of joy and +deliverance, but into all those hearts which his criminal indulgence had +filled with heaviness and sorrow. It had, to be sure, its dark side +to some--ay, to thousands. Those who lived by the vices +--the low indulgences and the ruinous excesses--of their +fellow-creatures--trembled and became aghast at its approach. The vulgar +and dishonest publican, who sold a _bona fide_ poison under a false +name; the low tavern-keeper; the proprietor of the dram-shop; of the +night-house; and the shebeen--all were struck with terror and dismay. +Their occupation was doomed to go. No more in the dishonest avarice of +gain where they to coax and jest with the foolish tradesman, until they +confirmed him in the depraved habit, and led him on, at his own expense, +and their profit, step by step, until the naked and shivering sot, now +utterly ruined, was kicked out, like Art Maguire, to make room for those +who were to tread in his steps, and share his fate. + +No more was the purity and inexperience of youth to be corrupted by evil +society, artfully introduced for the sordid purpose of making him spend +his money, at the expense of health, honesty, and good name. + +No more was the decent wife of the spendthrift tradesman, when forced by +stern necessity, and the cries of her children, to seek her husband in +the public house, of a Saturday night, anxious as she was to secure what +was left unspent of his week's wages, in order to procure to-morrow's +food--no more was she to be wheedled into the bar, to get the landlord's +or the landlady's treat, in order that the outworks of temperance, and +the principles of industry, perhaps of virtue, might be gradually broken +down, for the selfish and diabolical purpose of enabling her drunken +husband to spend a double share of his hardly-earned pittance. + +Nor more was the male servant, in whom every confidence was placed, to +be lured into these vile dens of infamy, that he might be fleeced or his +money, tutored into debauchery or dishonesty, or thrown into the society +of thieves and robbers, that he might become an accomplice in their +crimes, and enable them to rob his employer with safety. No more was the +female servant, on the other hand, to be made familiar with tippling, +or corrupted by evil company, until she became a worthless and degraded +creature, driven out of society, without reputation or means of +subsistence, and forced to sink to that last loathsome alternative of +profligacy which sends her, after a short and wicked course, to the +jeering experiments of the dissecting-room. + +Oh, no; those wretches who lived by depravity, debauchery, and +corruption, were alarmed almost into distraction by the approach +of temperance, for they knew it would cut off the sources of their +iniquitous gains, and strip them of the vile means of propagating +dishonesty and vice, by which they lived. But even this wretched class +were not without instances of great disinterestedness and virtue; +several of them closed their debasing establishments, forfeited their +ill-gotten means of living, and trusting to honesty and legitimate +industry, voluntarily assumed the badge of temperance, and joined its +peaceful and triumphant standard! + +Previous to this time, however, and, indeed, long before the joyful +sounds of its advancing motion were heard from afar, it is not to be +taken for granted that the drunkards of the parish of Ballykeerin Avere +left to the headlong impulses of their own evil propensities. Before Art +Maguire had fallen from his integrity and good name, there had not been +a more regular attendant at mass, or at his Easter and Christmas +duties, in the whole parish; in this respect he was a pattern, as Father +Costelloe, the priest, often said, to all who were anxious to lead a +decent and creditable life, forgetting their duty neither to God nor +man. A consciousness of his fall, however, made him ashamed in the +beginning to appear at mass, until he should decidedly reform, which he +proposed and resolved to do, or thought he resolved, from week to week, +and from day to day. How he wrought out these resolutions our readers +know too well; every day and every week only made him worse and worse, +until by degrees all thought of God, or prayer, or priest, abandoned +him, and he was left to swelter in misery among the very dregs of +his prevailing vice, hardened and obdurate. Many an admonition has he +received from Father Costelloe, especially before he become hopeless, +and many a time, when acknowledging his own inability to follow up his +purposes of amendment, has he been told by that good and Christian man, +that he must have recourse to better and higher means of support, and +remember that God will not withhold his grace from those who ask it +sincerely and aright. Art, however, could not do so, for although he had +transient awakenings of conscience, that were acute while they lasted, +yet he could not look up to God with a thorough and heartfelt resolution +of permanent reformation. The love of liquor, and the disinclination to +give it up, still lurked in his heart, and prevented him from setting +about his amendment in earnest. If they had not, he would have taken a +second oath, as his brother Frank often advised him to do, but without +effect. He still hoped to be able to practise moderation, and drink +within bounds, and consequently persuaded himself that total abstinence +was not necessary in his case. At length Father Costelloe, like all +those who were deeply anxious for his reformation, was looked upon as +an unwelcome adviser, whose Christian exhortations to a better course of +life were anything but agreeable, because he spoke truth; and so strong +did this feeling grow in him, that in his worst moments he would rather +sink into the earth than meet him: nay, a glimpse of him at any distance +was sure to make the unfortunate man hide himself in some hole or corner +until the other had passed, and all danger of coming under his reproof +was over. Art was still begging with his children, when, after a long +and dangerous illness, it pleased God to restore his wife to him and +them. So much pity, and interest, and respect did she excite during +her convalescence--for it was impossible that her virtues, even in the +lowest depths of her misery, could be altogether unknown--that the heads +of the hospital humanely proposed to give her some kind of situation in +it, as soon as she should regain sufficient strength to undertake its +duties. The mother's love, however, still prompted her to rejoin her +children, feeling as she did, and as she said, how doubly necessary now +her care and attention to them must be. She at length yielded to their +remonstrances, when they assured her that to return in her present weak +condition to her cold and desolate house, and the utter want of all +comfort which was to be found in it, might, and, in all probability, +would, be fatal to her; and that by thus exposing herself too soon to +the consequences of cold and destitution, she might leave her children +motherless. This argument prevailed, but in the meantime she stipulated +that her children and her husband, if the latter were in a state of +sufficient sobriety, should be permitted occasionally to see her, that +she might inquire into their situation, and know how they lived. This +was acceded to, and, by the aid of care and nourishing food, she soon +found herself beginning to regain her strength. + +In the meantime the Temperance movement was rapidly and triumphantly +approaching. In a town about fifteen miles distant there was a meeting +advertised to be held, at which the great apostle himself was to +administer the pledge; Father Costelloe announced it from the altar, and +earnestly recommended his parishioners to attend, and enrol themselves +under the blessed banner of Temperance, the sober man as well as the +drunkard. + +"It may be said," he observed, "that sober men have no necessity for +taking the pledge; and if one were certain that every sober man was +to remain sober during his whole life, there would not, indeed, be a +necessity for sober men to take it; but, alas! my friends, you know how +subject we are to those snares, and pitfalls, and temptations of life +by which our paths are continually beset. Who can say to-day that he +may not transgress the bounds of temperance before this day week? Your +condition in life is surrounded by inducements to drink. You scarcely +buy or sell a domestic animal in fair or market, that you are not +tempted to drink; you cannot attend a neighbor's funeral that you are +not tempted to drink--'tis the same at the wedding and the christening, +and in almost all the transactions of your lives. How then can you +answer for yourselves, especially when your spirits may happen to be +elevated, and your hearts glad? Oh! it is then, my friends, that the +tempter approaches you, and probably implants in your unguarded hearts +the germ of that accursed habit which has destroyed millions. How often +have you heard it said of many men, even within the range of your own +knowledge, 'Ah, he was an industrious, well-conducted, and respectable +man--until he took to drink!' Does not the prevalence of such a vile +habit, and the fact that so many sober men fall away from that virtue, +render the words that I have just uttered a melancholy proverb in the +country? Ah, there he is--in rags and misery; yet he was an industrious, +well-conducted, and respectable man once, that is--before he took to +drink! Prevention, my dear friends, is always better than cure, and in +binding yourselves by this most salutary obligation, you know not how +much calamity and suffering--how much general misery--how much disgrace +and crime you may avoid. And, besides, are we not to look beyond this +world? Is a crime which so greatly depraves the heart, and deadens its +power of receiving the wholesome impressions of religion and truth, not +one which involves our future happiness or misery? Ah, my dear brethren, +it is indeed a great and a cross popular error to say that sober men +should not take this pledge. I hope I have satisfied you that it is a +duty they owe themselves to take it, so long as they feel that they are +frail creatures, and liable to sin and error; and not only themselves, +but their children, their friends, and all who might be affected, either +for better or worse, by their example. + +"There is another argument, however, which I cannot overlook, while +dwelling upon this important subject. We know that the drunkard, if God +should, through the instrumentality of this great and glorious movement, +put the wish for amendment into his heart, still feels checked and +deterred by a sense of shame; because, the truth is, if none attended +these meetings but such men, that very fact alone would prove a great +obstruction in the way of their reformation. Many, too many, are +drunkards; but every man is not an open drunkard, and hundreds, nay, +thousands, would say, 'By attending these meetings of drunken men, I +acknowledge myself to be a drunkard also;' hence they will probably +decline going through shame, and consequently miss the opportunity of +retrieving themselves. Now, I say, my friends, it is the duty of sober +men to deprive them of this argument, and by an act, which, after all, +involves nothing of self-denial, but still an act of great generosity, +to enable them to enter into this wholesome obligation, without being +openly exposed to the consequences of having acknowledged that they were +intemperate." + +He then announced the time and place of the meeting, which was in the +neighboring town of Drumnabrogue, and concluded by again exhorting +them all, without distinction, to attend it and take the pledge. His +exhortations were not without effect; many of his parishioners did +attend, and among them some of Art's former dissolute companions. + +Art himself, when spoken to, and pressed to go, hiccuped and laughed +at the notion of any such pledge reforming him; a strong proof that +all hope of recovering himself, or of regaining his freedom from +drunkenness, had long ago deserted him. This, if anything further was +necessary to do so, completed the scene of his moral prostration and +infamy. Margaret, who was still in the hospital, now sought to avail +herself of the opportunity which presented itself, by reasoning with, +and urging him to go, but, like all others, her arguments were laughed +at, and Art expressed contempt for her, Father Matthew, and all the +meetings that had yet taken place. + +"Will takin' the pledge," he asked her, "put a shirt to my back, a thing +I almost forget the use of, or a good coat? Will it put a dacent house +over my head, a good bed under me, and a warm pair of blankets on us to +keep us from shiverin', an' coughin', an' barkin' the whole night long +in the could? + +"No, faith, I'll not give up the whiskey, for it has one comfort, it +makes me sleep in defiance o' wind and weather; it's the only friend I +have left now--it's my shirt--its my coat--my shoes and stockin's--my +house--my blankets--my coach--my carriage--it makes me a nobleman, a +lord; but, anyhow, sure I'm as good, ay, by the mortual, and better, +for amn't I one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh! Whish, the ou--ould +blood forever, and to the divil wid their meetins!" + +"Art," said his wife, "I believe if you took the pledge that it would +give you all you say, and more; for it would bring you back the respect +and good-will of the people, that you've long lost." + +"To the divil wid the people! I'll tell you what, if takin' the pledge +reforms Mechil Gam, the crooked disciple that he is, or Tom Whiskey, +mind--mind me--I say if it reforms them, or young Barney Scaddhan, thin +you may spake up for it, an' may be, I'll listen to you." + +At length the meeting took place, and the three men alluded to by Art, +attended it as they said they would; each returned home with his pledge; +they rose up the next morning, and on that night went to bed sober. +This was repeated day after day, week after week, month after month, and +still nothing characterized them but sobriety, peace, and industry. + +Unfortunately, so far as Art Maguire was concerned, it was out of his +power, as it was out of that of hundreds, to derive any benefit from +the example which some of his old hard-drinking associates had so +unexpectedly set both him and them. No meeting had since occurred within +seventy or eighty miles of Ballykeerin, and yet the contagion of good +example had spread through that and the adjoining parishes in a manner +that was without precedent. In fact, the people murmured, became +impatient, and, ere long, demanded from their respective pastors +that another meeting should be held, to afford them an opportunity of +publicly receiving the pledge; and for that purpose they besought the +Rev. gentlemen to ask Father Matthew to visit Ballykeerin. This wish +was complied with, and Father Matthew consented, though at considerable +inconvenience to himself, and appointed a day for the purpose specified. +This was about three or four months after the meeting that was held in +the neighboring town already alluded to. + +For the last six weeks Margaret had been able to discharge the duties of +an humble situation in the hospital, on the condition that she should +at least once a day see her children. Poor as was the situation in +question, it enabled her to contribute much more to their comfort, than +she could if she had resided with them, or, in other words, begged with +them; for to that, had she returned home, it must have come; and, as the +winter was excessively severe, this would have killed her, enfeebled as +she had been by a long and oppressive fever. Her own good sense taught +her to see this, and the destitution of her children and husband--to +feel it. In this condition then were they--depending on the scanty aid +which her poor exertions could afford them, eked out by the miserable +pittance that he extorted as a beggar--when the intelligence arrived +that the great Apostle of Temperance had appointed a day on which to +hold a teetotal meeting in the town of Ballykeerin. + +It is utterly unaccountable how the approach of Father Matthew, and of +these great meetings, stirred society into a state of such extraordinary +activity, not only in behalf of temperance, but also of many other +virtues; so true is it, that when one healthy association is struck it +awakens all those that are kindred to it into new life. In addition to a +love of sobriety, the people felt their hearts touched, as it were, by +a new spirit, into kindness and charity, and a disposition to discharge +promptly and with good-will all brotherly and neighborly offices. +Harmony, therefore, civil, social, and domestic, accompanied the +temperance movement wherever it went, and accompanies it still wherever +it goes; for, like every true blessing, it never comes alone, but brings +several others in its train. + +The morning in question, though cold, was dry and bright; a small +platform had been raised at the edge of the market-house, which was open +on one side, and on it Father Matthew was to stand. By this simple means +he would be protected from rain, should any fall, and was sufficiently +accessible to prevent any extraordinary crush among the postulants. +But how will we attempt to describe the appearance which the town of +Ballykeerin presented on the morning of this memorable and auspicious +day? And above all, in what terms shall we paint the surprise, the +wonder, the astonishment with which they listened to the music of the +teetotal band, which, as if by magic, had been formed in the town of +Drumnabogue, where, only a few months before, the meeting of which we +have spoken had been held. Indeed, among all the proofs of national +advantages which the temperance movement has brought out, we are not to +forget those which it has bestowed on the country--by teaching us what +a wonderful capacity for music, and what a remarkable degree of +intellectual power, the lower classes of our countrymen are endowed +with, and can manifest when moved by adequate principles. Early as +daybreak the roads leading to Ballykeerin presented a living stream of +people listening onwards towards the great rendezvous; but so much +did they differ in their aspect from almost any other assemblage of +Irishmen, that, to a person ignorant of their purpose, it would be +difficult, if not impossible, to guess the cause, not that moved them in +such multitudes towards the same direction, but that marked them by such +peculiar characteristics. We have seen Irishmen and Irishwomen going to +a country race in the summer months, when labor there was none; we +have seen them going to meetings of festivity and amusement of all +descriptions;--to fairs, to weddings, to dances--but we must confess, +that notwithstanding all our experience and intercourse with them, we +never witnessed anything at all resembling their manner and bearing on +this occasion. There was undoubtedly upon them, and among them, all the +delightful enjoyment of a festival spirit; they were easy, cheerful, +agreeable, and social; but, in addition to this, there was clearly +visible an expression of feeling that was new even to themselves, as +well as to the spectators. But how shall we characterize this feeling? +It was certainly not at variance with the cheerfulness which they felt, +but, at the same time, it shed over it a serene solemnity of manner +which communicated a moral grandeur to the whole proceeding that fell +little short of sublimity. This was a principle of simple virtue upon +which all were equal; but it was more than that, it was at once a +manifestation of humility, and an exertion of faith in the aid and +support of the Almighty, by whose grace those earnest but humble people +felt and trusted that they would be supported. And who can say that +their simplicity of heart--their unaffected humility, and their firmness +of faith have not been amply rewarded, and triumphantly confirmed by the +steadfastness with which they have been, with extremely few exceptions, +faithful to their pledge. + +About nine o'clock the town of Ballykeerin was crowded with a multitude +such as had never certainly met in it before. All, from the rustic +middle classes down, were there. The crowd was, indeed, immense, yet, +notwithstanding their numbers, one could easily mark the peculiar class +for whose sake principally the meeting had been called together. + +There was the red-faced farmer of substance, whose sunburnt cheeks, and +red side-neck, were scorched into a color that disputed its healthy hue +with the deeper purple tint of strong and abundant drink. + +"Such a man," an acute observer would say, "eats well, and drinks well, +but is very likely to pop off some day, without a minute's warning, or +saying good-by to his friends." + +Again, there was the pale and emaciated drunkard, whose feeble and +tottering gait, and trembling hands, were sufficiently indicative of his +broken-down constitution, and probably of his anxiety to be enabled to +make some compensation to the world, or some provision on the part of +his own soul, to balance the consequences of an ill-spent life, during +which morals were laughed at, and health destroyed. + +There was also the healthy-looking drunkard of small means, who, had he +been in circumstances to do so, would have gone to bed drunk every night +in the year. He is not able, from the narrowness of his circumstances, +to drink himself into apoplexy on the one hand, or debility on the +other; but he is able, notwithstanding, to drink the clothes off his +back, and the consequence is, that he stands before you as ragged, +able-bodied, and thumping a specimen of ebriety as you could wish to +see during a week's journey. There were, in fact, the vestiges of +drunkenness in all their repulsive features, and unhealthy variety. + +There stood the grog-drinker with his blotched face in full flower, his +eye glazed in his head, and his protuberant paunch projecting over his +shrunk and diminished limbs. + +The tippling tradesman too was there, pale and sickly-looking, his thin +and over-worn garments evidently insufficient to keep out the chill of +morning, and prevent him from shivering every now and then, as if he +were afflicted with the ague. + +In another direction might be seen the servant out of place, known by +the natty knot of his white cravat, as well as by the smartness with +which he wears his dress, buttoned up as it is, and coaxed about him +with all the ingenuity which experience and necessity bring to the aid +of vanity. His napeless hat is severely brushed in order to give the +subsoil an appearance of the nap which is gone, but it won't do; every +one sees that his intention is excellent, were it possible for address +and industry to work it out. This is not the case, however, and the hat +is consequently a clear exponent of his principles and position, taste +and skill while he was sober--vain pride and trying poverty now in his +drunkenness. + +The reckless-looking sailor was also there (but with a serious air now), +who, having been discharged for drunkenness, and refused employment +everywhere else, for the same reason, was obliged to return home, and +remain a burden upon his friends. He, too, has caught this healthy +epidemic, and the consequence is, that he will once more gain +employment, for the production of his medal will be accepted as a +welcome proof of his reformation. + +And there was there, what was better still, the unfortunate female, the +victim of passion and profligacy, conscious of her past life, and almost +ashamed in the open day to look around her. Poor thing! how her heart, +that was once innocent and pure, now trembles within a bosom where +there is awakened many a painful recollection of early youth, and the +happiness of home, before that unfortunate night, when, thrown off +her guard by accursed liquor, she ceased to rank among the pure and +virtuous. Yes, all these, and a much greater variety, were here actuated +by the noble resolution to abandon forever the evil courses, the vices, +and the profligacy into which they were first driven by the effects of +drink. + +The crowd was, indeed, immense, many having come a distance of twenty, +thirty, some forty, and not a few fifty miles, in order to free +themselves, by this simple process, from the influence of the +destructive habit which either was leading, or had led them, to ruin. +Of course it is not to be supposed that among such a vast multitude +of people there were not, as there always is, a great number of those +vagabond impostors who go about from place to place, for the purpose of +extorting charity from the simple and credulous, especially when under +the influence of liquor. All this class hated the temperance movement, +because they knew right well that sobriety in the people was there +greatest enemy; the lame, the blind, the maimed, the deaf, and the dumb, +were there in strong muster, and with their characteristic ingenuity +did everything in their power, under the pretence of zeal and religious +enthusiasm, to throw discredit upon the whole proceedings. It was this +vile crew, who, by having recourse to the aid of mock miracles, fancied +they could turn the matter into derision and contempt, and who, by +affecting to be cured of their complaints, with a view of having +their own imposture, when detected, imputed to want of power in Father +Matthew;--it was this vile crew, we say, that first circulated the +notion that he could perform miracles. Unfortunately, many of the +ignorant among the people did in the beginning believe that he possessed +this power, until he himself, with his characteristic candor, disclaimed +it. For a short time the idea of this slightly injured the cause, and +afforded to its enemies some silly and senseless arguments, which, in +lieu of better, they were glad to bring against it. + +At length Father Matthew, accompanied by several other clergymen and +gentlemen, made his appearance on the platform; then was the rush, the +stretching of necks, and the bitter crushing, accompanied by devices +and manoeuvres of all kinds, to catch a glimpse of him. The windows were +crowded by the more respectable classes, who were eager to witness the +effects of this great and sober enthusiasm among the lower classes. The +proceedings, however, were very simple. He first addressed them in +a plain and appropriate discourse, admirably displaying the very +description of eloquence which was best adapted to his auditory. This +being concluded, he commenced distributing the medal, for which every +one who received it, gave a shilling, the latter at the same time +repeating the following words: "I promise, so long as I shall continue +a member of the Teetotal Temperance Society, to abstain from all +intoxicating liquors, unless recommended for medical purposes, and to +discourage by all means in my power the practice of intoxication in +others." Father Matthew then said, "May God bless you, and enable you to +keep your promise!" + +Such was the simple ceremony by which millions have been rescued from +those terrible evils that have so long cursed and afflicted society in +this country. + +In this large concourse there stood one individual, who presented in his +person such symptoms of a low, grovelling, and unremitting indulgence in +drink, as were strikingly observable even amidst the mass of misery and +wretchedness that was there congregated. It is rarely, even in a life, +that an object in human shape, encompassed and pervaded by so many of +the fearful results of habitual drunkenness, comes beneath observation. +Sometimes we may see it in a great city, when we feel puzzled, by the +almost total absence of reason in the countenance, to know whether the +utter indifference to nakedness and the elements, be the consequence of +drunken destitution, or pure idiocy. To this questionable appearance had +the individual we speak of come. The day was now nearly past, and the +crowd had considerably diminished, when this man, approaching Father +Matthew, knelt down, and clasping his skeleton hands, exclaimed-- + +"Father, I'm afeard I cannot trust myself." + +"Who can?" said Father Matthew; "it is not in yourself you are to place +confidence, but in God, who will support you, and grant you strength, if +you ask for it sincerely and humbly." + +These words, uttered in tones of true Christian charity, gave comfort to +the doubting heart of the miserable creature, who said-- + +"I would wish to take the pledge, if I had money; but I doubt it's too +late--too late for me! Oh, if I thought it wasn't!" + +"It's never too late to repent," replied the other, "or to return from +evil to good. If you feel your heart inclined to the right I course, do +not let want of money prevent you from pledging yourself to sobriety and +temperance." + +"In God's name, then, I will take it," he replied; and immediately +repeated the simple words which constitute the necessary form. + +"May God bless you," said Father Matthew, placing his hand on his head, +"and enable you to keep your promise!" + +This man, our readers already guess, was Art Maguire. + +Having thus taken the medal, and pledged himself to sobriety, and a +total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors, his first feeling was +very difficult to describe. Father Matthew's words, though few and +brief, had sunk deep into his heart, and penetrated his whole spirit. +He had been for many a long day the jest and jibe of all who knew him; +because they looked upon his recovery as a hopeless thing, and spoke to +him accordingly in a tone of contempt and scorn--a lesson to us that we +never should deal harshly with the miserable. Nor, however, he had been +addressed in accents of kindness, and in a voice that proclaimed an +interest in his welfare. This, as we said, added to the impressive +spirit that prevailed around, touched him, and he hurried home. + +On reaching his almost empty house, he found Margaret and the children +there before him; she having come to see how the poor things fared--but +being quite ignorant of what had just taken place with regard to her +husband. + +"Art," said she, with her usual affectionate manner; "you will want +something to eat; for if you're not hungry, your looks! belie you very +much. I have brought something for you and these creatures." + +Art looked at her, then at their children, then at the utter desolation +of the house, and spreading his two hands over his face, he wept aloud. +This was repentance. Margaret in exceeding surprise, rose and approached +him:-- + +"Art dear," she said, "in the name of God, what's the matter?" + +"Maybe my father's sick, mother," said little Atty; "sure, father, if +you are, I an' the rest will go out ourselves, an' you can stay at home; +but we needn't go this day, for my mammy brought us as much as will put +us over it." + +To neither the mother nor child did he make any reply; but wept on and +sobbed as if his heart would break. + +"Oh my God, my God," he exclaimed bitterly, "what have I brought you to, +my darlin' wife and childre, that I loved a thousand times betther than +my own heart? Oh, what have I brought you to?" + +"Art," said his wife, and her eye kindled, "in the name of the heavenly +God, is this sorrow for the life you led?" + +"Ah, Margaret darlin'," he said, still sobbing; "it's long since I ought +to a felt it; but how can I look back on that woful life? Oh my God, my +God! what have I done, an' what have I brought on you!" + +"Art," she said, "say to me that you're sorry for it; only let my ears +hear you saying the words." + +"Oh, Margaret dear," he sobbed, "from my heart--from the core of my +unhappy heart--I am sorry--sorry for it all." + +"Then there's hope," she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and looking up +to heaven, "there is hope--for him--for him--for us all! Oh my heart," +she exclaimed, quickly, "what is this?" and she scarcely uttered the +words, when she sank upon the ground insensible--sudden joy being +sometimes as dangerous as sudden grief. + +Art, who now forgot his own sorrow in apprehension for her, raised her +up, assisted by little Atty, who, as did the rest of the children, cried +bitterly, on seeing his mother's eyes shut, her arms hanging lifelessly +by her side, and herself without motion. Water, however, was brought +by Atty; her face sprinkled, and a little put to her lips, and with +difficulty down her throat. At length she gave a long deep-drawn sigh, +and opening her eyes, she looked tenderly into her husband's face-- + +"Art dear," she said, in a feeble voice, "did I hear it right? And you +said you were sorry?" + +"From my heart I am, Margaret dear," he replied; "oh, if you knew what I +feel this minute!" + +She looked on him again, and her pale face was lit up with a smile of +almost ineffable happiness. + +"Kiss me," said she; "we are both young yet, Art dear, and we will gain +our lost ground wanst more." + +While she spoke, the tears of delight fell in torrents down her cheeks. +Art kissed her tenderly, and immediately pulling out the medal, showed +it to her. + +She took the medal, and after looking at it, and reading the +inscription-- + +"Well, Art," she said, "you never broke your oath--that's one comfort." + +"No," he replied; "nor I'll never break this; if I do," he added +fervently, and impetuously, "may God mark me out for misery and +misfortune!" + +"Whisht, dear," she replied; "don't give way to these curses--they sarve +no purpose, Art. But I'm so happy this day!" + +"An' is my father never to be drunk any more, mammy?" asked the little +ones, joyfully; "an he'll never be angry wid you, nor bate you any +more?" + +"Whisht, darlins," she exclaimed; "don't be spakin' about that; sure +your poor father never beat me, only when he didn't know what he was +doin'. Never mention it again, one of you." + +"Ah, Margaret," said Art, now thoroughly awakened, "what recompense can +I ever make you, for the treatment I gave you? Oh, how can I think of +it, or look back upon it?" + +His voice almost failed him, as he uttered the last words; but his +affectionate wife stooped and kissing away the tears from his cheeks, +said-- + +"Don't, Art dear; sure this now is not a time to cry;" and yet her own +tears were flowing;--"isn't our own love come back to us? won't we now +have peace? won't we get industrious, and be respected again?" + +"Ah, Margaret darling," he replied, "your love never left you; so don't +put yourself in; but as for me--oh, what have I done? and what have I +brought you to?" + +"Well, now, thanks be to the Almighty, all's right. Here's something for +you to ait; you must want it." + +"But," he replied, "did these poor crathurs get anything? bekase if they +didn't, I'll taste nothin' till they do." + +"They did indeed," said Margaret; and all the little ones came joyfully +about him, to assure him that they had been fed, and were not hungry. + +The first feeling Art now experienced on going abroad was shame--a +deep and overwhelming sense of shame; shame at the meanness of his past +conduct--shame at his miserable and unsightly appearance--shame at all +he had done, and at all he had left undone. What course now, however, +was he to adopt? Being no longer stupified and besotted by liquor, into +a state partly apathetic, partly drunken, and wholly shameless, he could +not bear the notion of resuming his habits of mendicancy. The decent but +not the empty and senseless, pride of his family was now reawakened in +him, and he felt, besides, that labor and occupation were absolutely +necessary to enable him to bear up against the incessant craving which +he felt for the pernicious stimulant. So strongly did this beset him, +that he suffered severely from frequent attacks of tremor and sensations +that resembled fits of incipient distraction. Nothing, therefore, +remained for him but close employment, that would keep both mind and +body engaged. + +When the fact of his having taken the pledge became generally known, +it excited less astonishment than a person might imagine; in truth, the +astonishment would have been greater, had he refused to take it at all, +so predominant and full of enthusiasm was the spirit of temperance at +that period. One feeling, however, prevailed with respect to him, which +was, that privation of his favorite stimulant would kill him--that his +physical system, already so much exhausted and enfeebled, would, break +down---and that poor Art would soon go the way of all drunkards. + +On the third evening after he had taken the pledge, he went down to the +man who had succeeded himself in his trade, and who, by the way, had +been formerly one of his own journeymen, of the very men who, while he +was running his career of dissipation, refused to flatter his vanity, +or make one in his excesses, and who was, moreover, one of the very +individuals he had dismissed. To this man he went, and thus accosted +him--his name was Owen Gallagher. + +"Owen," said he, "I trust in God that I have gained a great victory of +late." + +The man understood him perfectly well, and replied-- + +"I hope so, Art; I hear you have taken the pledge." + +"Belyin' on God's help, I have." + +"Well," replied Owen, "you couldn't rely on betther help." + +"No," said Art, "I know I could not; but, Owen, I ran a wild and a +terrible race of it--I'm grieved an' shamed to think--even to think of +it." + +"An' that's a good sign, Art, there couldn't be betther; for unless a +man's heart is sorry for his faults, and ashamed of them too, it's not +likely he'll give them over." + +"I can't bear to walk the streets," continued Art, "nor to rise my head; +but still something must be done for the poor wife and childre." + +"Ah, Art," replied Owen, "that is the wife! The goold of Europe isn't +value for her; an' that's what every one knows." + +"But who knows it, an' feels it as I do?" said Art, "or who has the +right either? howandiver, as I said, something must be done; Owen, will +you venture to give me employment? I know I'm in bad trim to come into a +dacent workshop, but you know necessity has no law;--it isn't my clo'es +that will work, but myself; an', indeed, if you do employ me, it's not +much I'll be able to do this many a day; but the truth is, if I don't +get something to keep me busy, I doubt I won't be able to stand against +what I feel both in my mind and body." + +These words were uttered with such an air of deep sorrow and perfect +sincerity as affected Gallagher very much. + +"Art," said he, "there was no man so great a gainer by the unfortunate +coorse you tuck as I was, for you know I came into the best part of your +business; God forbid then that I should refuse you work, especially as +you have turned over a new lafe;--or to lend you a helpin' hand either, +now that I know it will do you and your family good, and won't go to the +public-house. Come wid me." + +He took down his hat as he spoke, and brought Art up to one of +those general shops that are to be found in every country town like +Ballykeerin. + +"Mr. Trimble," said he, "Art Maguire wants a plain substantial suit o' +clothes, that will be chape an' wear well, an' I'll be accountable for +them; Art, sir, has taken the pledge, an' is goin' to turn over a new +lafe, an' be as he wanst was, I hope." + +"And there is no man," said the worthy shopkeeper, "in the town of +Ballykeerin that felt more satisfaction than I did when I heard he had +taken it. I know what he wants, and what you want for him, and he shall +have it both cheap and good." + +Such was the respect paid to those who nobly resolved to overcome their +besetting sin of drink, and its consequent poverty or profligacy, +that the knowledge alone that they had taken the pledge, gained them +immediate good-will, as it was entitled to do. This, to be sure, was in +Art's favor; but there was about him, independently of this, a serious +spirit of awakened resolution and sincerity which carried immediate +conviction along with it. + +"This little matter," said the honest carpenter, with natural +consideration for Art, "will, of coorse, rest between you an' me, Mr. +Trimble." + +"I understand your feeling, Owen," said he, "and I can't but admire it; +it does honor to your heart." + +"Hut," said Gallagher, "it's nothin'; sure it's jist what Art would do +for myself, if we wor to change places." + +Thus it is with the world, and ever will be so, till human nature +changes. Art had taken the first step towards his reformation, and Owen +felt that he was sincere; this step, therefore, even slight as it was, +sufficed to satisfy his old friend that he would be safe in aiding him. +Gallagher's generosity, however, did not stop here; the assistance which +he gave Art, though a matter of secrecy between themselves, was soon +visible in Art's appearance, and that of his poor family. Good fortune, +however, did not stop here; in about a week after this, when Art was +plainly but comfortably dressed, and working with Gallagher, feeble as +he was, upon journeyman's wages, there came a letter from his brother +Frank, enclosing ten pounds for the use of his wife and children. It +was directed to a friend in Ballykeerin, who was instructed to apply it +according to his own discretion, and the wants of his family, only by +no means to permit a single shilling of it to reach his hands, unless on +the condition that he had altogether given up liquor. This seemed to Art +like a proof that God had rewarded him for the step he had taken; in +a few weeks it was wonderful how much comfort he and his family had +contrived to get about them. Margaret was a most admirable manager, +and a great economist, and with her domestic knowledge and good sense, +things went on beyond their hopes. + +Art again was up early and down late--for his strength, by the aid of +wholesome and regular food, and an easy mind, was fast returning to +him--although we must add here, that he never regained the healthy and +powerful constitution which he had lost. His reputation, too, was fast +returning; many a friendly salutation he received from those, who, +in his degradation, would pass him by with either ridicule or solemn +contempt. + +Nothing in this world teaches a man such well-remembered lessons of +life as severe experience. Art, although far, very far removed from his +former independence, yet, perhaps, might be said never to have enjoyed +so much peace of mind, or so strong a sense of comfort, as he did now in +his humble place with his family. The contrast between his past misery, +and the present limited independence which he enjoyed, if it could +be called independence, filled his heart with a more vivid feeling of +thankfulness than he had ever known. He had now a bed to sleep on, +with _bona fide_ blankets--he had a chair to sit on--a fire on his +hearth--and food, though plain, to eat; so had his wife, so had his +children; he had also very passable clothes to his back, that kept him +warm and comfortable, and prevented him from shivering like a reed in +the blast; so had his wife, and so had his children. But he had more +than this, for he had health, a good conscience, and a returning +reputation. People now addressed him as an equal, as a man, as an +individual who constituted a portion of society; then, again, he loved +his wife as before, and lived with her in a spirit of affection equal to +any they had ever felt. Why, this was, to a man who suffered what he and +his family had suffered, perfect luxury. + +In truth, Art now wondered at the life he had led,--he could not +understand it; why he should have suffered himself, for the sake of +a vile and questionable enjoyment--if enjoyment that could be called, +which was no enjoyment--at least for the sake of a demoralizing and +degrading habit, to fall down under the feet as it were, under the +evil tongues, and the sneers--of those who constituted his world--the +inhabitants of Ballykeerin--was now, that he had got rid of the +thraldom, perfectly a mystery to him. Be this as it may, since he had +regenerated his own character, the world was just as ready to take him +up as it had been to lay him down. + +Nothing in life gives a man such an inclination for active industry as +to find that he is prospering; he has then heart and spirits to work, +and does work blithely and cheerfully; so was it with Art. He and his +employer were admirably adapted for each other, both being extremely +well-tempered, honest, and first-rate workmen. About the expiration of +the first twelve months, Art had begun to excite a good deal of interest +in the town of Ballykeerin, an interest which was beginning to affect +Owen Gallagher himself in a beneficial way. He was now pointed out to +strangers as the man, who, almost naked, used to stand drunk and begging +upon the bridge of Ballykeerin, surrounded by his starving and equally +naked children. In fact, he began to get a name, quite a reputation for +the triumph which he had achieved over drunkenness; and on this account +Owen Gallagher, when it was generally known in the country that Art +worked with him, found his business so rapidly extending, that he was +obliged, from time to time, to increase the number of hands in his +establishment. Art felt this, and being now aware that his position in +life was, in fact, more favorable for industrious exertion than ever, +resolved to give up journey work, and once more, if only for the +novelty of the thing, to set up for himself. Owen Gallagher, on hearing +this from his own lips, said he could not, nor would not blame him, but, +he added-- + +"I'll tell you what we can do, Art--come into partnership wid me, for I +think as we're gettin' an so well together, it 'ud be a pity, almost a +sin, to part; join me, and I'll give you one-third of the business,"--by +which he meant the profits of it. + +"Begad," replied Art, laughing, "it's as much for the novelty of the +thing I'm doin' it as any thing else; I think it 'ud be like a dhrame to +me, if I was to find myself and my family as we wor before." And so they +parted. + +It is unnecessary here to repeat what we have already detailed +concerning the progress of his early prosperity; it is sufficient, we +trust, to tell our readers that he rose into rapid independence, and +that he owed all his success to the victory that he had obtained over +himself. His name was now far and near, and so popular had he become, +that no teetotaller would employ any other carpenter. This, at length, +began to make him proud, and to feel that his having given up drink, +instead of being simply a duty to himself and his family, was altogether +an act of great voluntary virtue on his part. + +"Few men," he said, "would do it, an' may be, afther all, if I hadn't +the ould blood in my veins--if I wasn't one of the great Fermanagh +Maguires, I would never a' done it." + +He was now not only a vehement Teetotaller, but an unsparing enemy to +all who drank even in moderation; so much so, indeed, that whenever +a man came to get work done with him, the first question he asked him +was--"Are you a Teetotaller?" If the man answered "No," his reply was, +"Well, I'm sorry for that, bekase I couldn't wid a safe conscience do +your work; but you can go to Owen Gallagher, and he will do it for you +as well as any man livin'." + +This, to be sure, was the abuse of the principle; but we all know that +the best things may be abused. He was, in fact, outrageous in defence of +Teetotalism; attended all its meetings; subscribed for Band-money; and +was by far the most active member in the whole town of Ballykeerin. It +was not simply that he forgot his former poverty; he forgot himself. +At every procession he was to be seen, mounted on a spanking horse, +ridiculously over-dressed--the man, we mean, not the horse--flaunting +with ribands, and quite puffed up at the position to which he had raised +himself. + +This certainly was not the humble and thankful feeling with which he +ought to have borne his prosperity. The truth, however, was, that Art, +in all this parade, was not in the beginning acting upon those broad, +open principles of honesty, which, in the transactions of business, had +characterized his whole life. He was now influenced by his foibles--by +his vanity--and by his ridiculous love of praise. Nor, perhaps, would +these have been called into action, were it not through the intervention +of his old friend and pot companion, Toal Finnigan. Toal, be it known +to the reader, the moment he heard that Art had become a Teetotaller, +immediately became one himself, and by this means their intimacy was +once more renewed; that is to say, they spoke in friendly terms whenever +they met--but no entreaty or persuasion could ever induce Toal to enter +Art's house; and the reader need not be told why. At all events, Toal, +soon after he joined it, put himself forward in the Teetotal Movement +with such prominence, that Art, who did not wish to be outdone in +anything, began to get jealous of him. Hence his ridiculous exhibitions +of himself in every manner that could attract notice, or throw +little Toal into the shade; and hence also the still more senseless +determination not to work for any but a Teetotaller; for in this, +too, Toal had set him the example. Toal, the knave, on becoming a +Teetotaller, immediately resolved to turn it to account; but Art, +provided he could show off, and cut a conspicuous figure in a +procession, had no dishonest motive in what he did; and this was +the difference between them. For instance, on going up the town of +Ballykeerin, you might see over the door of a middle-sized house, +"Teetotal Meal Shop. N. B.--None but Teetotallers need come here." + +Now every one knew Toal too well not to understand this; for the truth +is, that maugre his sign, he never refused his meal or other goods to +any one that had money to pay for them. + +One evening about this time, Art was seated in his own parlor--for he +now had a parlor, and was in a state of prosperity far beyond anything +he had ever experienced before--Margaret and the children were with him; +and as he smoked his pipe, he could not help making an observation or +two upon the wonderful change which so short a time had brought about. + +"Well, Margaret," said he, "isn't this wondherful, dear? look at the +comfort we have now about us, and think of--; but troth I don't like to +think of it at all." + +"I never can," she replied, "without a troubled and a sinkin' heart; +but, Art, don't you remember when I wanst wished you to become a +Teetotaller, the answer you made me?" + +"May be I do; what was it?" + +"Why, you axed me--and you were makin' game of it at the time--whether +Teetotallism would put a shirt or a coat to your back--a house over your +head--give you a bed to lie on, or blankets to keep you and the childre +from shiverin', an' coughin', an' barkin' in the could of the night? +Don't you remember sayin' this?" + +"I think I do; ay, I remember something about it now. Didn't I say that +whiskey was my coach an' my carriage, an' that it made me a lord?" + +"You did; well, now what do you say? Hasn't Teetotallism bate you in +your own argument? Hasn't it given you a shirt an' a coat to your back, +a good bed to lie on, a house over your head? In short, now, Art, hasn't +it given you all you said, an' more than ever you expected? eh, now?" + +"I give in, Margaret--you have me there; but," he proceeded, "it's not +every man could pull himself up as I did; eh?" + +"Oh, for God's sake, Art, don't begin to put any trust in your own mere +strength, nor don't be boasting of what you did, the way you do; sure, +we ought always to be very humble and thankful to God for what he has +done for us; is there anything comes to us only through him?" + +"I'm takin' no pride to myself," said Art, "divil a taste; but this I +know, talk as you will, there's always somethin' in the ould blood." + +"Now, Art," she replied, smiling, "do you know I could answer you on +that subject if I liked?" + +"You could," said Art; "come, then, let us hear your answer--come +now--ha, ha, ha!" + +She became grave, but complacent, as she spoke. "Well, then, Art," said +she, "where was the ould blood when you fell so low? If it was the ould +blood that riz you up, remember it was the ould blood that put you down. +You drank more whiskey," she added, "upon the head of the ould blood +of Ireland, and the great Fermanagh Maguires, than you did on all other +subjects put together. No, Art dear, let us not trust to ould blood or +young blood, but let us trust to the grace o' God, an' ax it from our +hearts out." + +"Well, but arn't we in great comfort now?" + +"We are," she replied, "thank the Giver of all good for it; may God +continue it to us, and grant it to last!" + +"Last! why wouldn't it last, woman alive? Well, begad, after all, 'tis +not every other man, any way--" + +"Whisht, now," said Margaret, interrupting him, "you're beginnin' to +praise yourself." + +"Well, I won't then; I'm going down the town to have a glass or two o' +cordial wid young Tom Whiskey, in Barney Scaddhan's." + +"Art," she replied, somewhat solemnly, "the very name of Barney Scaddhan +sickens me. I know we ought to forgive every one, as we hope to be +forgiven ourselves; but still, Art, if I was in your shoes, the sorra +foot ever I'd put inside his door. Think of the way he trated you; ah, +Art acushla, where's the pride of the ould blood now?" + +"Hut, woman, divil a one o' me ever could keep in bad feelin' to any +one. Troth, Barney of late's as civil a crature as there's alive; sure +what you spake of was all my own fault and not his; I'll be back in an +hour or so." + +"Well," said his wife, "there's one thing, Art, that every one knows." + +"What is that, Margaret?" + +"Why, that a man's never safe in bad company." + +"But sure, what harm can they do me, when we drink nothing that can +injure us?" + +"Well, then," said she, "as that's the case, can't you as well stay with +good company as bad?" + +"I'll not be away more than an hour." + +"Then, since you will go, Art, listen to me; you'll be apt to meet Toal +Finnigan there; now, as you love me and your childre, an' as you wish +to avoid evil and misfortune, don't do any one thing that he proposes to +you: I've often tould you that he's your bitterest enemy." + +"I know you did; but sure, wanst a woman takes a pick (pique) aginst a +man she'll never forgive him. In about an hour mind." He then went out. + +The fact is, that some few of those who began to feel irksome under the +Obligation--by which I mean the knaves and hypocrites, for it is not +to be supposed that among such an incredible multitude as joined the +movement there were none of this description--some few, I say, were in +the habit of resorting to Barney Scaddhan's for the social purpose of +taking a glass of the true Teetotal cordial together. This drinking of +cordial was most earnestly promoted by the class of low and dishonest +publicans whom we have already described, and no wonder that it was so; +in the first place, it's sale is more profitable than that of whiskey +itself, and, in the second place, these fellows know by experience that +it is the worst enemy that teetolism has, very few having ever strongly +addicted themselves to cordial, who do not ultimately break the pledge, +and resume the use of intoxicating liquor. This fact was well known at +the time, for Father Costelloe, who did every thing that man could do to +extend and confirm the principle of temperance, had put his parishioners +on their guard against the use of this deleterious trash. Consequently, +very few of the Ballykeerin men, either in town or parish, would taste +it; when they stood in need of anything to quench their thirst, or +nourish them, they confined themselves to water, milk, or coffee. +Scarcely any one, therefore, with the exception of the knaves and +hypocrites, tampered with themselves by drinking it. + +The crew whom Art went to meet on the night in question consisted of +about half a dozen, who, when they had been in the habit of drinking +whiskey, were hardened and unprincipled men--profligates in every +sense--fellows that, like Toal Finnigan, now adhered to teetotalism from +sordid motives only, or, in other words, because they thought they +could improve their business by it. It is true, they were suspected +and avoided by the honest teetotallers, who wondered very much that Art +Maguire, after the treatment he had formerly received at their hands, +should be mean enough, they said, ever "to be hail fellow well met" with +them again. But Art, alas! in spite of all his dignity of old blood, and +his rodomontade about the Fermanagh Maguires, was utterly deficient in +that decent pride which makes a man respect himself, and prevents him +from committing a mean action. + +For a considerable time before his arrival, there were assembled in +Barney Scaddhan's tap, Tom Whiskey, Jerry Shannon, Jack Mooney, Toal +Finnigan, and the decoy duck, young Barney Scaddhan himself, who merely +became a teetotaller that he might be able to lure his brethren in to +spend their money in drinking cordial. + +"I wondher Art's not here before now," observed Tom Whiskey; "blood +alive, didn't he get on well afther joinin' the 'totallers?" + +"Faix, it's a miracle," replied Jerry Shannon, "there's not a more +'spbnsible man in Ballykeerin, he has quite a Protestant look;--ha, ha, +ha!" + +"Divil a sich a pest ever this house had as the same Art when he was a +blackguard," said young Scaddhan; "there was no keepin' him out of it, +but constantly spungin' upon the dacent people that wor dhrmkin' in it." + +"Many a good pound and penny he left you for all that, Barney, my lad," +said Mooney; "and purty tratement you gave him when his money was gone." + +"Ay, an' we'd give you the same," returned Scaddhan, "if your's was +gone, too; ha, ha, ha! it's not moneyless vagabones we want here." + +"No," said Shannon, "you first make them moneyless vagabones, an' then +you kick them out o' doors, as you did him." + +"Exactly," said the hardened miscreant, "that's the way we live; when we +get the skin off the cat, then we throw out the carcass." + +"Why, dang it, man," said Whiskey, "would you expect honest Barney here, +or his still honester ould rip of a father, bad as they are, to give us +drink for nothing?" + +"Now," said Finnigan, who had not yet spoken, "yez are talkin' about Art +Maguire, and I'll tell yez what I could do; I could bend my finger that +way, an' make him folly me over the parish." + +"And how could you do that?" asked Whiskey. + +"By soodherin' him--by ticklin' his empty pride--by dwellin' on the ould +blood of Ireland, the great Fermanagh Maguires--or by tellin' him that +he's betther than any one else, and could do what nobody else could." + +"Could you make him drunk to-night?" asked Shannon. + +"Ay," said Toal, "an' will, too, as ever you seen him in your lives; only +whin I'm praisin' him do some of you oppose me, an' if I propose any +thing to be done, do you all either support me in it, or go aginst me, +accordin' as you see he may take it." + +"Well, then," said Mooney, "in ordher to put you in spirits, go off, +Barney, an' slip a glass o' whiskey a piece into this cordial, jist to +tighten it a bit--ha, ha, ha!" + +"Ay," said Tom Whiskey, "till we dhrink success to teetotalism, ha, ha, +ha!" + +"Suppose you do him in the cordial," said Shannon. + +"Never mind," replied Toal; "I'll first soften him a little on the +cordial, and then make him tip the punch openly and before faces, like a +man." + +"Troth, it's a sin," observed Moonoy, who began to disrelish the +project; "if it was only on account of his wife an' childre." + +Toal twisted his misshapen mouth into still greater deformity at this +observation-- + +"Well," said he, "no matter, it'll only be a good joke; Art is a dacent +fellow, and afther this night we won't repate it. Maybe," he continued +"I may find it necessary to vex him, an' if I do, remember you won't let +him get at me, or my bread's baked." + +This they all promised, and the words were scarcely concluded, when Art +entered and joined them. As a great portion of their conversation did +not bear upon the subject matter of this narrative, it is therefore +unnecessary to record it. After about two hours, during which Art had +unconsciously drunk at least three glasses of whiskey, disguised in +cordial, the topic artfully introduced by Toal was the Temperance +Movement. + +"As for my part," said he, "I'm half ashamed that I ever joined it. As I +was never drunk, where was the use of it? Besides, it's an unmanly thing +for any one to have it to say that he's not able to keep himself sober, +barrin' he takes an oath, or the pledge." + +"And why did you take it then?" said Art. + +"Bekaise I was a fool," replied Toal; "devil a thing else." + +"It's many a good man's case," observed Art in reply, "to take an oath +against liquor, or a pledge aither, an' no disparagement to any man that +does it." + +"He's a betther man that can keep himself sober widout it," said Toal +dryly. + +"What do you mane by a betther man?" asked Art, somewhat significantly; +"let us hear that first, Toal." + +"Don't be talking' about betther men here," said Jerry Shannon; "I tell +you, Toal, there's a man in this room, and when you get me a betther +man in the town of Ballykeerin, I'll take a glass of punch wid you, or a +pair o' them, in spite of all the pledges in Europe!" + +"And who is that, Jerry," said Toal. + +"There he sits," replied Jerry, putting his extended palm upon Art's +shoulder and clapping it. + +"May the divil fly away wid you," replied Toal; "did you think me a +manus, that I'd go to put Art Maguire wid any man that I know? Art +Maguire indeed! Now, Jerry, my throoper, do you think I'm come to this +time o' day, not to know that there's no man in Ballykeerin, or the +parish it stands in--an' that's a bigger word--that could be called a +betther man that Art Maguire?" + +"Come, boys," said Art, "none of your nonsense. Sich as I am, be the +same good or bad, I'll stand the next trate, an' devilish fine strong +cordial it is." + +"Why, then, I don't think myself it's so good," replied young Scaddhan; +"troth it's waiker than we usually have it; an' the taste somehow isn't +exactly to my plaisin'." + +"Very well," said Art; "if you have any that 'ill plaise yourself +betther, get it; but in the mane time bring us a round o' this, an' +we'll be satisfied." + +"Art Maguire," Toal proceeded, "you were ever and always a man out o' +the common coorse." + +"Now, Toal, you're beginnin'," said Art; "ha, ha, ha--well, any way, how +is that!" + +"Bekaise the divil a taste o' fear or terror ever was in your +constitution. When Art, boys, was at school--sure he an' I wor +schoolfellows--if he tuck a thing into his head, no matter what, jist +out of a whim, he'd do it, if the divil was at the back door, or the +whole world goin' to stop him." + +"Throth, Toal, I must say there's a great deal o' thruth in that. Divil +a one livin' knows me betther than Toal Finigan, sure enough, boys." + +"Arra, Art, do you remember the day you crossed the weir, below Tom +Booth's," pursued Toal, "when the river was up, and the wather jist +intherin' your mouth?" + +"That was the day Peggy Booth fainted, when she thought I was gone; +begad, an' I was near it." + +"The very day." + +"That may be all thrue enough," observed Tom Whiskey; "still I think +I know Art this many a year, and I can't say I ever seen any of these +great doing's. I jist seen him as aisy put from a thing, and as much +afeard of the tongues of the nabors, or of the world, as another." + +"He never cared a damn for either o' them, for all that," returned +Toal; "that is, mind, if he tuck a thing into his head; ay, an' I'll go +farther--divil a rap ever he cared for them, one way or other. No, the +man has no fear of any kind in him." + +"Why, Toal," said Mooney, "whether he cares for them or not, I think is +aisily decided; and whether he's the great man you make him. Let us hear +what he says himself upon it, and then we'll know." + +"Very well, then," replied Toal; "what do you say yourself, Art? Am I +right, or am I wrong?" + +"You're right, Toal, sure enough; if it went to that, I don't care a +curse about the world, or all Ballykeerin along wid it. I've a good +business, and can set the world at defiance. If the people didn't want +me, they wouldn't come to me." + +"Come, Toal," said Jerry; "here--I'll hould you a pound note"--and lie +pulled out one as he spoke--"that I'll propose a thing he won't do." + +"Aha--thank you for nothing, my customer--I won't take that bait," +replied the other; "but listen--is it a thing that he can do?" + +"It is," replied Jerry; "and what's more, every man in the room can do +it, as well as Art, if he wishes." + +"He can?" + +"He can." + +"Here," said Toal, clapping down his pound. "Jack Mooney, put these in +your pocket till this matther's decided. Now, Jerry, let us hear it." + +"I will;--he won't drink two tumblers of punch, runnin'; that is, one +afther the other." + +"No," observed Art, "I will not; do you want me to break the pledge?" + +"Sure," said Jerry, "this is not breaking the pledge--it's only for a +wager." + +"No matther," said Art; "it's a thing I won't do." + +"I'll tell you what, Jerry," said Toal, "I'll hould you another pound +now, that I do a thing to-night that Art won't do; an' that, like your +own wager, every one in the room can do." + +"Done," said the other, taking out the pound note, and placing it in +Mooney's hand--Toal following his example. + +"Scaddhan," said Toal, "go an' bring me two tumblers of good strong +punch. I'm a Totaller as well as Art, boys. Be off, Scaddhan." + +"By Japers," said Tom Whiskey, as if to himself--looking at the same +time as if he were perfectly amazed at the circumstance--"the little +fellow has more spunk than Maguire, ould blood an' all! Oh, holy Moses; +afther that, what will the world come to!" + +Art heard the soliloquy of Whiskey, and looked about him with an air of +peculiar meaning. His pride--his shallow, weak, contemptible pride, was +up, while the honest pride that is never separated from firmness and +integrity, was cast aside and forgotten. Scaddhan came in, and placing +the two tumblers before Toal, that worthy immediately emptied first one +of them, and then the other. + +"The last two pounds are yours," said Jerry; "Mooney, give them to him." + +Art, whose heart was still smarting under the artful soliloquy of Tom +Whiskey, now started to his feet, and exclaimed-- + +"No, Jerry, the money's not his yet. Barney, bring in two tumblers. What +one may do another may do; and as Jerry says, why it's only for a wager. +At any rate, for one o' my blood was never done out, and never will." + +"By Japers," said Whiskey, "I knew he wouldn't let himself be bate. I +knew when it came to the push he wouldn't." + +"Well, Barney," said Toal, "don't make them strong for him, for they +might get into his head; he hasn't a good head anyway--let them be +rather wake, Barney." + +"No," said Art, "let them be as strong as his, and stronger, Barney; and +lose no time about it." + +"I had better color them," said Barney, "an' the people about the place +'ll think it's cordial still." + +"Color the devil," replied Art; "put no colorin' on them. Do you think +I'm afeard of any one, or any colors?" + +"You afeard of any one," exclaimed Tom Whiskey; "one o' the ould +Maguires afeard! ha, ha, ha!--that 'ud be good!" + +Art, when the tumblers came in, drank off first one, which he had no +sooner emptied, than he shivered into pieces against the grate; he then +emptied the other, which shared the same fate. + +"Now," said he to Barney, "bring me a third one; I'll let yez see what a +Maguire is." + +The third, on making its appearance, was immediately drained, and +shivered like the others--for the consciousness of acting-wrong, in +spite of his own resolution, almost drove him mad. Of what occurred +subsequently in the public house, it is not necessary to give any +account, especially as we must follow Art home--simply premising, before +we do so, that the fact of "Art Maguire having broken the pledge," had +been known that very night to almost all Ballykeerin--thanks to the +industry of Toal Finnigan, and his other friends. + +His unhappy wife, after their conversation that evening, experienced one +of those strange, unaccountable presentiments or impressions which every +one, more or less, has frequently felt. Until lately, he had not often +gone out at night, because it was not until lately that the clique began +to reassemble in Barney Scaddhan's. 'Tis true the feeling on her part +was involuntary, but on that very account it was the more distressing; +her principal apprehension of danger to him was occasioned by his +intimacy with Toal Finnigan, who, in spite of all her warnings and +admonitions, contrived, by the sweetness of his tongue, to hold his +ground with him, and maintain his good opinion. Indeed, any one who +could flatter, wheedle, and play upon his vanity successfully, was +sure to do this; but nobody could do it with such adroitness as Toal +Finnigan. + +It is wonderful how impressions are caught by the young from those who +are older and have more experience than themselves. Little Atty, who had +heard the conversation already detailed, begged his mammy not to send +him to bed that night until his father would come home, especially +as Mat Mulrennan, an in-door apprentice, who had been permitted that +evening to go to see his family, had not returned, and he wished, he +said, to sit up and let him in. The mother was rather satisfied than +otherwise, that the boy should sit up with her, especially as all the +other children and the servants had gone to bed. + +"Mammy," said the boy, "isn't it a great comfort for us to be as we are +now, and to know that my father can never get drunk again?" + +"It is indeed, Atty;" and yet she said so; with a doubting, if not an +apprehensive heart. + +"He'll never beat you more, mammy, now?" + +"No, darlin'; nor he never did, barrin' when he didn't know what he was +doin'." + +"That is when he was drunk, mammy?" + +"Yes, Atty dear." + +"Well, isn't it a great thing that he can never get drunk any more, +mammy; and never beat you any more; and isn't it curious too, how he +never bate me?" + +"You, darlin'? oh, no, he would rather cut his arm off than rise it to +you, Atty dear; and it's well that you are so good a boy as you are--for +I'm afeard, Atty, that even if you deserved to be corrected, he wouldn't +do it." + +"But what 'ud we all do widout my father, mammy? If anything happened to +him I think I'd die. I'd like to die if he was to go." + +"Why, darlin'?" + +"Bekase, you know, he'd go to heaven, and I'd like to be wid him; sure +he'd miss me--his own Atty--wherever he'd be." + +"And so you'd lave me and your sisters, Atty, and go to heaven with your +father!" + +The boy seemed perplexed; he looked affectionately at his mother, and +said-- + +"No, mammy, I wouldn't wish to lave you, for then you'd have no son at +all; no, I wouldn't lave you--I don't know what I'd do--I'd like to stay +wid you, and I'd like to go wid him, I'd--" + +"Well, darlin', you won't be put to that trial this many a long day, I +hope." + +Just then voices were heard at the door, which both recognized as those +of Art and Mat Mulrennan the apprentice. + +"Now, darlin'," said the mother, who observed that the child was pale +and drowsy-looking, "you may go to bed, I see you are sleepy, Atty, not +bein' accustomed to sit up so late; kiss me, an' good-night." He then +kissed her, and sought the room where he slept. + +Margaret, after the boy had gone, listened a moment, and became deadly +pale, but she uttered no exclamation; on the contrary, she set her +teeth, and compressed her lips closely together, put her hand on the +upper part of her forehead, and rose to go to the door. She was not yet +certain, but a dreadful terror was over her--Could it be possible that +he was drunk?--she opened it, and the next moment her husband, in a +state of wild intoxication, different from any in which she had ever +seen him, come in. He was furious, but his fury appeared to have been +directed against the apprentice, in consequence of having returned home +so late. + +On witnessing with her own eyes the condition in which he returned, all +her presentiments flashed on her, and her heart sank down into a state +of instant hopelessness and misery. + +"Savior of the world!" she exclaimed, "I and my childre are lost; now, +indeed, are we hopeless--oh, never till now, never till now!" She wept +bitterly. + +"What are you cryin' for now?" said he; "what are you cryin' for, I +say?" he repeated, stamping his feet madly as he spoke; "stop at wanst, +I'll have no cry--cryin' what--at--somever." + +She instantly dried her eyes. + +"Wha--what kep that blasted whelp, Mul--Mulrennan, out till now, I say?" + +"I don't know indeed, Art." + +"You--you don't! you kno--know noth-in'; An' now I'll have a smash, by +the--the holy man, I'll--I'll smash every thing in--in the house." + +He then took up a chair, which, by one blow against the floor, he +crashed to pieces. + +"Now," said he, "tha--that's number one; whe--where's that whelp, +Mul--Mulrennan, till I pay--pay him for stayin' out so--so late. Send +him here, send the ska-min' sco--scoundrel here, I bid you.". Margaret, +naturally dreading violence, went to get little Atty to pacify him, as +well as to intercede for the apprentice; she immediately returned, and +told him the latter was coming. Art, in the mean time, stood a little +beyond the fireplace, with a small beach chair in his hand which he had +made for Atty, when the boy was only a couple of years old, but which +had been given to the other children in succession. He had been first +about to break it also, but on looking at it, he paused and said-- + +"Not this--this is Atty's, and I won't break it." + +At that moment Mulrennan entered the room, with Atty behind him, but +he had scarcely done so, when Art with all his strength flung the hard +beach chair at his head; the lad, naturally anxious to avoid it, started +to one side out of its way, and Atty, while in the act of stretching out +his arms to run to his father, received the blow which had been designed +for the other. It struck him a little above the temple, and he fell, +but was not cut. The mother, on witnessing the act, raised her arms and +shrieked, but on hearing the heavy, but dull and terrible sound of the +blow against the poor boy's head, the shriek was suspended when half +uttered, and she stood, her arms still stretched out, and bent a little +upwards, as if she would have supplicated heaven to avert it;--her mouth +was half open--her eyes apparently enlarged, and starting as if it +were out of their sockets; there she stood--for a short time so full +of horror as to be incapable properly of comprehending what had taken +place. At length this momentary paralysis of thought passed away, and +with all the tender terrors of affection awakened in her heart, she +rushed to the insensible boy. Oh, heavy and miserable night! What pen +can portray, what language describe, or what imagination conceive, the +anguish, the agony of that loving mother, when, on raising her sweet, +and beautiful, and most affectionate boy from the ground whereon he lay, +that fair head, with its flaxen locks like silk, fell utterly helpless +now to this side, and now to that! + +"Art Maguire," she said, "fly, fly,"--and she gave him one look; but, +great God! what an object presented itself to her at that moment. A man +stood before her absolutely hideous with horror; his face but a minute +ago so healthy and high-colored, now ghastly as that of a corpse, his +hands held up and clenched, his eyes frightful, his lips drawn back, +and his teeth locked with strong and convulsive agony. He uttered not +a word, but stood with his wild and gleaming eyes riveted, as if by the +force of some awful spell, upon his insensible son, his only one, if he +was then even that. All at once he fell down without sense or motion, +as if a bullet had gone through his heart or his brain, and there lay as +insensible as the boy he had loved so well. + +All this passed so rapidly that the apprentice, who seemed also to have +been paralyzed, had not presence of mind to do any thing but look from +one person to another with terror and alarm. + +"Go," said Margaret, at length, "wake up the girls, and then fly--oh, +fly--for the doctor." + +The two servant maids, however, had heard enough in her own wild shriek +to bring them to this woful scene. They entered as she spoke, and, aided +by the apprentice, succeeded with some difficulty in laying their master +on his bed, which was in a back room off the parlor. + +"In God's name, what is all this?" asked one of them, on looking at the +insensible bodies of the father and son. + +"Help me," Margaret replied, not heeding the question, "help me to lay +the treasure of my heart--my breakin' heart--upon his own little bed +within, he will not long use it--tendherly, Peggy, oh, Peggy dear, +tendherly to the broken flower--broken--broken--broken, never to rise +his fair head again; oh, he is dead," she said, in a calm low voice, +"my heart tells me that he is dead--see how his limbs hang, how lifeless +they hang. My treasure--our treasure--our sweet, lovin', and only little +man--our only son sure--our only son is dead--and where, oh, where, is +the mother's pride out of him now--where is my pride out of him now?" + +They laid him gently and tenderly--for even the servants loved him as +if he had been a relation--upon the white counterpane of his own little +crib, where he had slept many a sweet and innocent sleep, and played +many a lightsome and innocent play with his little sisters. His mother +felt for his pulse, but she could feel no pulse, she kissed his passive +lips, and then--oh, woful alternative of affliction!--she turned to his +equally insensible father. + +"Oh, ma'am," said one of the girls, who had gone over to look at Art; +"oh, for God's sake, ma'am, come here--here is blood comin' out of the +masther's mouth." + +She was at the bedside in an instant, and there, to deepen her +sufferings almost beyond the power of human fortitude, she saw the blood +oozing slowly out of his mouth. Both the servants were now weeping and +sobbing as if their hearts would break. + +"Oh, mistress dear," one of them exclaimed, seizing her affectionately +by both hands, and looking almost distractedly into her face, "oh, +mistress dear, what did you ever do to desarve this?" + +"I don't know, Peggy," she replied, "unless it was settin' my father's +commands, and my mother's at defiance; I disobeyed them both, and they +died without blessin' either me or mine. But oh," she said, clasping +her hands, "how can one poor wake woman's heart stand all this--a double +death--husband and son--son and husband--and I'm but one woman, one +poor, feeble, weak woman--but sure," she added, dropping on her knees, +"the Lord will support me. I am punished, and I hope forgiven, and he +will now support me." + +She then briefly, but distractedly, entreated the divine support, and +rose once more with a heart, the fibres of which were pulled asunder, as +it were, between husband and son, each of whose lips she kissed, having +wiped the blood from those of her husband, with a singular blending +together of tenderness, distraction and despair. She went from the one +to the other, wringing her hands in dry agony, feeling for life in +their hearts and pulses, and kissing their lips with an expression of +hopelessness so pitiable and mournful, that the grief of the servants +was occasioned more by her sufferings than by the double catastrophe +that had occurred. + +The doctor's house, as it happened, was not far from theirs, and in a +very brief period he arrived. + +"Heavens! Mrs. Maguire, what has happened?" said he, looking on the two +apparently inanimate bodies with alarm. + +"His father," she said, pointing to the boy, "being in a state of drink, +threw a little beech chair at the apprentice here, he stepped aside, as +was natural, and the blow struck my treasure there," she said, holding +her hand over the spot where he was struck, but not on it; "but, doctor, +look at his father, the blood is trickling out of his mouth." + +The doctor, after examining into the state of both, told her not to +despair-- + +"Your husband," said he, "who is only in a fit, has broken a +blood-vessel, I think some small blood-vessel is broken; but as for the +boy, I can as yet pronounce no certain opinion upon him. It will be a +satisfaction to you, however, to know that he is not dead, but only in a +heavy stupor occasioned by the blow." + +It was now that her tears began to flow, and copiously and bitterly they +did flow; but as there was still hope, her grief, though bitter, was not +that of despair. Ere many minutes, the doctor's opinion respecting one +of them, at least, was verified. Art opened his eyes, looked wildly +about him, and the doctor instantly signed to his wife to calm the +violence of her sorrow, and she was calm. + +"Margaret," said he, "where's Atty? bring him to me--bring him to me!" + +"Your son was hurt," replied the doctor, "and has just gone to sleep." + +"He is dead," said Art, "he is dead, he will never waken from that +sleep--and it was I that killed him!" + +"Don't disturb yourself," said the doctor, "as you value your own life +and his; you yourself have broken a blood-vessel, and there is nothing +for you now but quiet and ease." + +"He is dead," said his father, "he is dead, and it was I that killed +him; or, if he's not dead, I must hear it from his mother's lips." + +"Art, darlin', he is not dead, but he is very much hurted," she replied; +"Art, as you love him, and me, and us all, be guided by the doctor." + +"He is not dead," said the doctor; "severely hurt he is, but not dead. +Of that you may rest assured." + +So far as regarded Art, the doctor was right; he had broken only a small +blood vessel, and the moment the consequences of his fit had passed away, +he was able to get up, and walk about with very little diminution of his +strength. + +To prevent him from seeing his son, or to conceal the boy's state from +him, was impossible. He no sooner rose than with trembling hands, a +frightful terror of what was before him, he went to the little bed on +which the being dearest to him on earth lay. He stood for a moment, +and looked down upon the boy's beautiful, but motionless face; he first +stooped, and putting his mouth to the child's ear said-- + +"Atty, Atty"--he then shook his head; "you see," he added, addressing +those who stood about him, "that he doesn't hear me--no, he doesn't hear +me--that ear was never deaf to me before, but it's deaf now;" he then +seized his hand, and raised it, but it was insensible to his touch, and +would have fallen on the bed had he let it go. "You see," he proceeded, +"that his hand doesn't know mine any longer! Oh, no, why should it? this +is the hand that laid our flower low, so why should he acknowledge it? +yet surely he would forgive his father, if he knew it--oh, he would +forgive that father, that ever and always loved him--loved him--loved +him, oh, that's a wake word, a poor wake word. Well," he went on, "I +will kiss his lips, his blessed lips--oh, many an' many a kiss, many a +sweet and innocent kiss--did I get from them lips, Atty dear, with those +little arms, that are now so helpless, clasped about my neck." He then +kissed him again and again, but the blessed child's lips did not return +the embrace that had never been refused before. "Now," said he, "you all +see that--you all see that he won't kiss me again, and that is bekaise +he can't do it; Atty, Atty," he said, "won't you speak to me? it's I, +Atty, sure it's I, Atty dear, your lovin' father, that's callin' you to +spake to him. Atty dear, won't you spake to me--do you hear my voice, +_asthore machree_--do you hear your father's voice, that's callin' +on you to forgive him?" He paused for a short time, but the child lay +insensible and still. + +At this moment there was no dry eye present; the very doctor wept. +Margaret's grief was loud; she felt every source of love and tenderness +for their only boy opened in her unhappy and breaking heart, and was +inconsolable: but then compassion for her husband was strong as +her grief. She ran to Art, she flung her arms about his neck, and +exclaimed-- + +"Oh, Art dear, Art dear, be consoled: take consolation if you can, or +you will break my heart. Forgive you asthore! you, you that would shed +your blood for him! don't you know he would forgive you? Sure, I forgive +you--his mother, his poor, distracted, heart-broken mother forgives +you--in his name I forgive you." She then threw herself beside the body +of their child, and shouted out--"Atty, our blessed treasure, I have +forgiven your father for you--in your blessed name, and in the name of +the merciful God that you are now with, I have forgiven your unhappy +find heart-broken father--as you would do, if you could, our lost +treasure, as you would do." + +"Oh," said his father vehemently distracted with his horrible +affliction; "if there was but any one fault of his that I could remimber +now, any one failin' that our treasure had--if I could think of a single +spot upon his little heart, it would relieve me; but, no, no, there's +nothin' of that kind to renumber aginst him. Oh, if he wasn't what he +was--if he wasn't what he was--we might have some little consolation; +but now we've none; we've none--none!" + +As he spoke and wept, which he did with the bitterest anguish of +despair, his grief assumed a character that was fearful from the inward +effusion of blood, which caused him from time to time to throw it up in +red mouthfuls, and when remonstrated with by the doctor upon the danger +of allowing himself to be overcome by such excitement-- + +"I don't care," he shouted, "if it's my heart's blood, I would shed it +at any time for him; I don't care about life now; what 'ud it be to me +without my son? widout you, Atty dear, what is the world or all +that's in it to me now! An' when I think of who it was that cut you +down--cursed be the hand that gave you that unlucky blow, cursed may +it be--cursed be them that tempted me to drink--cursed may the drink be +that made me as I was, and cursed of God may I be that--" + +"Art, Art," exclaimed Margaret, "any thing but that, remember there's a +God above--don't blasphame;--we have enough to suffer widout havin' to +answer for that." + +He paused at her words, and as soon as the paroxysm was over, he sunk +by fits into a gloomy silence, or walked from room to room, wringing +his hands and beating his head, in a state of furious distraction, very +nearly bordering on insanity. + +The next morning, we need scarcely assure our readers, that, as the +newspapers have it, a great and painful sensation had been produced +through the town of Bally-keerin by the circumstances which we have +related:-- + +"Art Maguire had broken the pledge, gone home drunk, and killed his only +son by the blow of an iron bar on the, head; the crowner had been sent +for, an' plaise God we'll have a full account of it all." + +In part of this, however, common fame, as she usually is, was mistaken; +the boy was not killed, neither did he then die. On the third day, about +eight o'clock in the evening, he opened his eyes, and his mother, who +was scarcely ever a moment from his bedside, having observed the fact, +approached him with hopes almost as deep as those of heaven itself in +her heart, and in a voice soft and affectionate as ever melted into a +human ear-- + +"Atty, treasure of my heart, how do you feel?" + +The child made no reply, but as his eye had not met hers, and as she had +whispered very low, it was likely, she thought, that he had not heard +her. + +"I will bring his father," said she, "for if he will know or spake to +any one, he will, spake to him." + +She found Art walking about, as he had done almost ever since the +unhappy accident, and running to him with a gush of joyful tears, she +threw her arms about his neck, and kissing him, said-- + +"Blessed be the Almighty, Art--" but she paused, "oh, great God, Art, +what is this! merciful heaven, do I smell whiskey on you?" + +"You do," he replied, "it's in vain, I can't live--I'd die widout it; +it's in vain, Margaret, to spake--if I don't get it to deaden my grief +I'll die: but, what wor you goin' to tell me?" he added eagerly. + +She burst into tears. + +"Oh, Art," said she, "how my heart has sunk in spite of the good news I +have for you." + +"In God's name," he asked, "what is it? is our darlin' betther?" + +"He is," she replied, "he has opened his eyes this minute, and I want +you to spake to him." + +They both entered stealthily, and to their inexpressible delight heard +the child's voice; they paused,--breathlessly paused,--and heard him +utter, in a low sweet voice, the following words-- + +"Daddy, won't you come to bed wid me, wid your own Atty?" + +This he repeated twice or thrice before they approached him, but when +they did, although his eye turned from one to another, it was vacant, +and betrayed no signs whatsoever of recognition. + +Their hearts sank again, but the mother, whose hope was strong and +active as her affection, said-- + +"Blessed be the Almighty that he is able even to spake but he's not well +enough to know us yet." + +This was unhappily too true, for although they spoke to him, and placed +themselves before him by turns, yet it was all in vain; the child knew +neither them nor any one else. Such, in fact, was now their calamity, +as a few weeks proved. The father by that unhappy blow did not kill +his body, but he killed his mind; he arose from his bed a mild, placid, +harmless idiot, silent and inoffensive--the only words he was almost +heard to utter, with rare exceptions, being those which had been in his +mind when he was dealt the woful blow:--"Daddy, won't you come to bed +wid me, wid your own Atty?" And these he pronounced as correctly as +ever, uttering them with the same emphasis of affection which had marked +them before his early reason had been so unhappily destroyed. Now, even +up to that period, and in spite of this great calamity, it was not +too late for Art Maguire to retrieve himself, or still to maintain the +position which he had regained. The misfortune which befell his +child ought to have shocked him into an invincible detestation of all +intoxicating liquors, as it would most men; instead of that, however, +it drove him back to them. He had contracted a pernicious habit of +diminishing the importance of first errors, because they appeared +trivial in themselves; he had never permitted himself to reason against +his propensities, unless through the indulgent medium of his own vanity, +or an overweening presumption in the confidence of his moral strength, +contrary to the impressive experience of his real weakness. His virtues +were many, and his foibles few; yet few as they were, our readers +perceive that, in consequence of his indulging them, they proved the +bane of his life and happiness. They need not be surprised, then, to +hear that from the want of any self-sustaining power in himself he fell +into the use of liquor again; he said he could not live without it, but +then he did not make the experiment; for he took every sophistry that +appeared to make in his favor for granted. He lived, if it could be +called life, for two years and a half after this melancholy accident, +but without the spring or energy necessary to maintain his position, or +conduct his business, which declined as rapidly as he did himself. He +and his family were once more reduced to absolute beggary, until in the +course of events they found a poorhouse to receive them. Art was seldom +without a reason to justify his conduct, and it mattered not how feeble +that reason might be, he always deemed it sufficiently strong to satisfy +himself. For instance, he had often told his wife that if Atty had +recovered, sound in body and mind, he had determined never again to +taste liquor; "but," said he, "when I seen my darlin's mind gone, I +couldn't stand it widout the drop of drink to keep my heart an' spirits +up." He died of consumption in the workhouse of Ballykeerin, and there +could not be a stronger proof of the fallacy with which he reasoned than +the gratifying fact, that he had not been more than two months dead, +when his son recovered his reason, to the inexpressible joy of his +mother; so that had he followed up his own sense of what was right, he +would have lived to see his most sanguine wishes, with regard to +his son, accomplished, and perhaps have still been able to enjoy a +comparatively long and happy life. + +On the morning of the day on which he died, although not suffering much +from pain, he seemed to feel an impression that his end was at hand. It +is due to him to say here, that he had for months before his death been +deeply and sincerely penitent, and that he was not only sensible of the +vanity and errors which had occasioned his fall from integrity, and cut +him off in the prime of life, but also felt his heart sustained by +the divine consolations of religion. Father Costello was earnest and +unremitting in his spiritual attentions to him, and certainly had the +gratification of knowing that he felt death to be in his case not merely +a release from all his cares and sorrows, but a passport into that life +where the weary are at rest. + +About twelve o'clock in the forenoon he asked to see his wife--his own +Margaret--and his children, but, above all, his blessed Atty--for such +was the epithet he had ever annexed to his name since the night of the +melancholy accident. In a few minutes the sorrowful group appeared, his +mother leading the unconscious boy by the hand, for he knew not where he +was. Art lay, or rather reclined, on the bed, supported by two bolsters; +his visage was pale, but the general expression of his face was calm, +mild, and sorrowful; although his words were distinct, his voice was +low and feeble, and every now and then impeded by a short catch--for to +cough he was literally unable. + +"Margaret," said he, "come to me, come to me now," and he feebly +received her hand in his; "I feel that afther all the warfare of this +poor life, afther all our love and our sorrow, I am goin' to part wid +you and our childhre at last." + +"Oh, Art, darlin', I can think of nothing now, asthore, but our love," +she replied, bursting into a flood of tears, in which she was joined by +the children--Atty, the unconscious Atty, only excepted. + +"An' I can think of little else," said he, "than our sorrows and +sufferins, an' all the woful evil that I brought upon you and them." + +"Darlin'," she replied, "it's a consolation to yourself, as it is to us, +that whatever your errors wor, you've repented for them; death is not +frightful to you, glory be to God!" + +"No," said he, looking upwards, and clasping his worn hands; "I am +resigned to the will of my good and merciful God, for in him is my hope +an' trust. Christ, by his precious blood, has taken away my sins, for +you know I have been a great sinner;" he then closed his eyes for a few +minutes, but his lips were moving as if in prayer. "Yes, Margaret," he +again proceeded, "I am goin' to lave you all at last; I feel it--I +can't say that I'll love you no more, for I think that even in heaven +I couldn't forget you; but I'll never more lave you a sore heart, as +I often did--I'll never bring the bitther tear to your eye--the hue +of care to your face, or the pang of grief an' misery to your heart +again--thank God I will not; all my follies, all my weaknesses, and all +my crimes--" + +"Art," said his wife, wringing her hands, and sobbing as if her heart +would break, "if you wish me to be firm, and to set our childre an +example of courage, now that it's so much wanted, oh, don't spake as you +do--my heart cannot stand it." + +"Well, no," said he, "I won't; but when I think of what I might be this +day, and of what I am--when I think of what you and our childre might +be--an' when I see what you are--and all through my means--when I think +of this, Margaret dear, an' that I'm torn away from you and them in the +very prime of life--but," he added, turning hastily from that view of +his situation, "God is good an' merciful, an' that is my hope." + +"Let it be so, Art dear," replied Margaret; "as for us, God will take +care of us, and in him we will put our trust, too; remimber that he is +the God and father of the widow an' the orphan." + +He here appeared to be getting very weak, but in a minute or two he +rallied a little, and said, while his eye, which was now becoming heavy, +sought about until it became fixed upon his son-- + +"Margaret, bring him to me." + +She took the boy by the hand, and led him over to the bedside. + +"Put his hand in mine," said he, "put his blessed hand in mine." + +She did so, and Art looked long and steadily upon the face of his child. + +"Margaret," said he, "you know that durin' all my wild and sinful +coorses, I always wore the lock of hair you gave me when we wor young +next my heart--my poor weak heart." + +Margaret buried her face in her hands, and for some time could not +reply. + +"I don't wish, darlin'," said he, "to cause you sorrow--you will have +too much of that; but I ax it as a favor--the last from my lips--that +you will now cut off a lock of his hair--his hair fair--an' put it along +with your own upon my heart; it's all I'll have of you both in the grave +where I'll sleep; and, Margaret, do it now--oh, do it soon." + +Margaret, who always carried scissors hanging by her pocket, took them +out, and cutting a long abundant lock of the boy's hair, she tenderly +placed it where he wished, in a little three-cornered bit of black silk +that was suspended from his neck, and lay upon his heart. + +"Is it done?" said he. + +"It is done," she replied as well as she could! + +"This, you know, is to lie on my heart," said he, "when I'm in my grave; +you won't forget that!" + +"No--oh, no, no; but, merciful God, support me! for Art, my husband, my +life, I don't know how I'll part with you." + +"Well, may God bless you forever, my darlin' wife, and support you and +my orphans! Bring them here." + +They were then brought over, and in a very feeble voice he blessed them +also. + +"Now, forgive me all," said he, "forgive ME ALL!" + +But, indeed, we cannot paint the tenderness and indescribable affliction +of his wife and children while uttering their forgiveness of all his +offences against them, as he himself termed it. In the meantime he kept +his son close by him, nor would he suffer him to go one moment from his +reach. + +"Atty," said he, in a low voice, which was rapidly sinking;--"put his +cheek over to mine"--he added to his wife, "then raise my right arm, an' +put it about his neck;--Atty," he proceeded, "won't you give me one last +word before I depart?" + +His wife observed that as he spoke a large tear trickled down his cheek. +Now, the boy was never in the habit of speaking when he was spoken to, +or of speaking at all, with the exception of the words we have already +given. On this occasion, however, whether the matter was a coincidence +or not, it is difficult to say, he said in a quiet, low voice, as if +imitating his father's-- + +"Daddy, won't you come to bed for me, for your own Atty?" + +The reply was very low, but still quite audible-- + +"Yes, darlin', I--I will--I will for you, Atty." + +The child said no more, neither did his father, and when the sorrowing +wife, struck by the stillness which for a minute or two succeeded the +words, went to remove the boy, she found that his father's spirit had +gone to that world where, we firmly trust, his errors, and follies, and +sins have been forgiven. While taking the boy away, she looked upon +her husband's face, and there still lay the large tear of love and +repentance--she stooped down--she kissed it--and it was no longer there. + +There is now little to be added, unless to inform those who may take +an interest in the fate of his wife and children, that his son soon +afterwards was perfectly restored to the use of his reason, and that in +the month of last September he was apprenticed in the city of Dublin to +a respectable trade, where he is conducting himself with steadiness and +propriety; and we trust, that, should he ever read this truthful account +of his unhappy father, he will imitate his virtues, and learn to +avoid the vanities and weaknesses by which he brought his family to +destitution and misery, and himself to a premature grave. With respect +to his brother Frank, whom his irreclaimable dissipation drove out of +the country, we are able to gratify our readers by saying that he got +happily married in America, where he is now a wealthy man, in prosperous +business and very highly respected. + +Margaret, in consequence of her admirable character, was appointed to +the situation of head nurse in the Ballykeerin Hospital, and it will not +surprise our readers to hear that she gains and retains the respect and +good-will of all who know her, and that the emoluments of her situation +are sufficient, through her prudence and economy, to keep her children +comfortable and happy. + +Kind reader, is it necessary that we should recapitulate the moral we +proposed to show' in this true but melancholy narrative? We trust not. +If it be not sufficiently obvious, we can only say it was our earnest +intention that it should be so. At all events, whether you be +a Teetotaller, or a man carried away by the pernicious love of +intoxicating liquors, think upon the fate of Art Maguire, and do not +imitate the errors of his life, as you find them laid before you in this +simple narrative of "The Broken Pledge." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phelim O'toole's Courtship and Other +Stories, by William Carleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHELIM O'TOOLE'S COURTSHIP *** + +***** This file should be named 16019.txt or 16019.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1/16019/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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