HANDY ANDY

A Tale of Irish Life

IN TWO VOLUMES--VOLUME TWO

THE COLLECTED WRITINGS OF SAMUEL LOVER (V. 4)

[Illustration: Tom Organ Loftus' Coldairian System]

[Illustration: Tom Connor's Cat]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME TWO

Tom Organ Loftus' Coldairian System

Tom Connor's Cat

Andy's Cooking Extraordinary

Tom Organ Loftus and the Duke

The Abduction

A Crack Shot

The Challenge

The Party at Killarney

_Etched by W. H. W. Bicknell from drawings by Samuel Lover_

CHAPTER XXII

The night was pitch dark, and on rounding the adjacent corner no vehiclecould be seen; but a peculiar whistle from Dick was answered by the soundof approaching wheels and the rapid footfalls of a horse, mingled with thelight rattle of a smart gig. On the vehicle coming up, Dick took hislittle mare, that was blacker than the night, by the head, the apron ofthe gig was thrown down, and out jumped a smart servant-boy. 

"You have the horse ready, too, Billy?"

"Yis, sir, " said Billy, touching his hat. 

"Then follow, and keep up with me, remember. "

"Yis, sir. "

"Come to her head, here, " and he patted the little mare's neck as he spokewith a caressing "whoa, " which was answered by a low neigh ofsatisfaction, while the impatient pawing of her fore foot showed theanimal's desire to start. "What an impatient little devil she is, " saidDick, as he mounted the gig; "I'll get in first, Murphy, as I'm going todrive. Now up with you--hook on the apron--that's it--are you all right?"

"Quite, " said Murphy. 

"Then you be into your saddle and after us, Billy, " said Dick; "and nowlet her go. "

Billy gave the little black mare her head, and away she went, at aslapping pace, the fire from the road answering the rapid strokes of hernimble feet. The servant then mounted a horse which was tied to aneighbouring palisade, and had to gallop for it to come up with hismaster, who was driving with a swiftness almost fearful, considering thedarkness of the night and the narrowness of the road he had to traverse, for he was making the best of his course by cross-ways to an adjacentroadside inn, where some non-resident electors were expected to arrivethat night by a coach from Dublin; for the county town had every nook andcranny occupied, and this inn was the nearest point where they could getany accommodation. 

Now don't suppose that they were electors whom Murphy and Dick in theirzeal for their party were going over to greet with hearty welcomes andbring up to the poll the next day. By no means. They were the friends ofthe opposite party, and it was with the design of retarding theirmovements that this night's excursion was undertaken. These electors werea batch of plain citizens from Dublin, whom the Scatterbrain interest hadinduced to leave the peace and quiet of the city to tempt the wilds of thecountry at that wildest of times--during a contested election; and a nightcoach was freighted inside and out with the worthy cits, whose aggregatevoices would be of immense importance the next day; for the contest wasclose, the county nearly polled out, and but two days more for thestruggle. Now, to intercept these plain unsuspecting men was the object ofMurphy, whose well-supplied information had discovered to him this plan ofthe enemy, which he set about countermining. As they rattled over therough by-roads, many a laugh did the merry attorney and the untameableDick the Devil exchange, as the probable success of their scheme wascanvassed, and fresh expedients devised to meet the possible impedimentswhich might interrupt them. As they topped a hill Murphy pointed out tohis companion a moving light in the plain beneath. 

"That's the coach, Dick--there are the lamps, we're just in time--spindown the hill, my boy--let me get in as they're at supper, and 'faiththey'll want it, after coming off a coach such a night as this, to saynothing of some of them being aldermen in expectancy perhaps, and ofcourse obliged to play trencher-men as often as they can, as a requisiterehearsal for the parts they must hereafter fill. "

In fifteen minutes more Dick pulled up before a small cabin within aquarter of a mile of the inn, and the mounted servant tapped at the door, which was immediately opened, and a peasant, advancing to the gig, returned the civil salutation with which Dick greeted his approach. 

"I wanted to be sure you were ready, Barny. "

"Oh, do you think I'd fail you, Misther Dick, your honour?"

"I thought you might be asleep, Barny. "

"Not when you bid me wake, sir; and there's a nice fire ready for you, andas fine a dhrop o' _potteen_ as ever tickled your tongue, sir. "

"You're the lad, Barny!--good fellow--I'll be back with you by-and-by;"and off whipped Dick again. 

After going about a quarter of a mile further, he pulled up, alighted withMurphy from the gig, unharnessed the little black mare, and thenoverturned the gig into the ditch. 

"That's as natural as life, " said Dick. 

"What an escape of my neck I've had!" said Murphy. 

"Are you much hurt?" said Dick. 

"A trifle lame only, " said Murphy, laughing and limping. 

"There was a great _boccagh_ [Footnote: Lame beggar. ] lost in you, Murphy. Wait; let me rub a handful of mud on your face--there--you have avery upset look, 'pon my soul, " said Dick, as he flashed the light of hislantern on him for a moment, and laughed at Murphy scooping the mud out ofhis eye, where Dick had purposely planted it. 

"Devil take you, " said Murtough; "that's too natural. "

"There's nothing like looking your part, " said Dick. 

"Well, I may as well complete my attire, " said Murtough, so he lay down inthe road and took a roll in the mud; "that will do, " said he; "and now, Dick, go back to Barny and the mountain dew, while I storm the camp of thePhilistines. I think in a couple of hours you may be on the look-out forme; I'll signal you from the window, so now good bye;" and Murphy, leadingthe mare, proceeded to the inn, while Dick, with a parting "Luck to you, my boy, " turned back to the cottage of Barny. 

The coach had set down six inside and ten out passengers (all voters)about ten minutes before Murphy marched up to the inn door, leading theblack mare, and calling "ostler" most lustily. His call being answered for"the beast, " "the man" next demanded attention; and the landlord wonderedall the wonders he could cram into a short speech, at seeing MistherMurphy, sure, at such a time; and the sonsy landlady, too, was alllamentations for his illigant coat and his poor eye, sure, all ruined withthe mud:--and what was it at all? an upset, was it? oh, wirra! and wasn'tit lucky he wasn't killed, and they without a spare bed to lay him outdacent if he was--sure, wouldn't it be horrid for his body to be only onsthraw in the barn, instead of the best feather-bed in the house; and, indeed, he'd be welcome to it, only the gintlemen from town had them allengaged. 

"Well, dead or alive, I must stay here to-night, Mrs. Kelly, at allevents. "

"And what will you do for a bed?"

"A shake down in the parlour, or a stretch on a sofa, will do; my gig isstuck fast in a ditch--my mare tired--ten miles from home--cold night, andmy knee hurt. " Murphy limped as he spoke. 

"Oh! your poor knee, " said Mrs. Kelly; "I'll put a dhrop o' whisky andbrown paper on it, sure--"

"And what gentlemen are these, Mrs. Kelly, who have so filled your house?"

"Gintlemen that came by the coach a while agone, and supping in theparlour now, sure. "

"Would you give my compliments, and ask would they allow me, under thepresent peculiar circumstances, to join them? and in the meantime, sendsomebody down the road to take the cushions out of my gig; for there is nouse in attempting to get the gig out till morning. "

"Sartinly, Misther Murphy, we'll send for the cushions; but as for thegentlemen, they are all on the other side. "

"What other side?"

"The Honourable's voters, sure. "

"Pooh! is that all?" said Murphy, --"I don't mind that, I've no objectionon that account; besides, _they_ need not know who _I_ am, " andhe gave the landlord a knowing wink, to which the landlord as knowinglyreturned another. 

The message to the gentlemen was delivered, and Murphy was immediatelyrequested to join their party; this was all he wanted, and he played offhis powers of diversion on the innocent citizens so successfully, thatbefore supper was half over they thought themselves in luck to have fallenin with such a chance acquaintance. Murphy fired away jokes, repartees, anecdotes, and country gossip, to their delight; and when the eatableswere disposed of, he started them on the punch-drinking tack afterwards socleverly, that he hoped to see three parts of them tipsy before theyretired to rest. 

"Do you feel your knee better now, sir?" asked one of the party, ofMurphy. 

"Considerably, thank you; whisky punch, sir, is about the best cure forbruises or dislocations a man can take. "

"I doubt that, sir, " said a little matter-of-fact man, who had nowinterposed his reasonable doubts for the twentieth time during Murphy'svarious extravagant declarations, and the interruption only made Murphyromance the more. 

"_You_ speak of your fiery _Dublin_ stuff, sir; but our countrywhisky is as mild as milk, and far more wholesome; then, sir, our fine airalone would cure half the complaints without a grain of physic. "

"I doubt that, sir!" said the little man. 

"I assure you, sir, a friend of my own from town came down here lastspring on crutches, and from merely following a light whisky diet andsleeping with his window open, he was able to dance at the race ball in afortnight; as for this knee of mine, it's a trifle, though it was a badupset too. "

"How did it happen, sir? Was it your horse--or your harness--or your gig--or--"

"None o' them, sir; it was a _Banshee_. "

"A Banshee!" said the little man; "what's that?"

"A peculiar sort of supernatural creature that is common here, sir. Shewas squatted down on one side of the road, and my mare shied at her, andbeing a spirited little thing, she attempted to jump the ditch and missedit in the dark. "

"Jump a ditch, with a gig after her, sir?" said the little man. 

"Oh, common enough to do that here, sir; she'd have done it easy in thedaylight, but she could not measure her distance in the dark, and bang shewent into the ditch: but it's a trifle, after all. I am generally run overfour or five times a year. "

"And you alive to tell it!" said the little man, incredulously. 

"It's hard to kill us here, sir, we are used to accidents. "

"Well, the worst accident I ever heard of, " said one of the citizens, "happened to a friend of mine, who went to visit a friend of his on aSunday, and all the family happened to be at church; so on driving intothe yard there was no one to take his horse, therefore he undertook theoffice of ostler himself, but being unused to the duty, he mostincautiously took off the horse's bridle before unyoking him from his gig, and the animal, making a furious plunge forward--my friend being beforehim at the time--the shaft of the gig was driven through his body, andinto the coach-house gate behind him, and stuck so fast that the horsecould not drag it out after; and in this dreadful situation they remaineduntil the family returned from church, and saw the awful occurrence. Aservant was despatched for a doctor, and the shaft was disengaged, anddrawn out of the man's body--just at the pit of the stomach; he was laidon a bed, and every one thought of course he must die at once, but hedidn't; and the doctor came next day, and he wasn't dead--did what hecould for him--and, to make a long story short, sir, the man recovered. "

"Pooh! pooh!" said the diminutive doubter. 

"It's true, " said the narrator. 

"I make no doubt of it, sir, " said Murphy; "I know a more extraordinarycase of recovery myself. "

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said the cit; "I have not finished my story yet, for the most extraordinary part of the story remains to be told; myfriend, sir, was a very sickly man before the accident happened--a_very_ sickly man, and after that accident he became a hale healthyman. What do you think of that, sir?"

"It does not surprise me in the least, sir, " said Murphy; "I can accountfor it readily. "

"Well, sir, I never heard It accounted for, though I know it to be true; Ishould like to hear how you account for it?"

"Very simply, sir, " said Murphy; "don't you perceive the man discovereda _mine_ of health by a _shaft_ being sunk in the _pit_ of his stomach?"

Murphy's punning solution of the cause of cure was merrily received by thecompany, whose critical taste was not of that affected nature whichdespises _jeu de mots_, and _will not_ be satisfied under a_jeu d'esprit_; the little doubting man alone refused to be pleased. 

"I doubt the value of a pun always, sir. Dr. Johnson said, sir--"

"I know, " said Murphy; "that the man who would make a pun would pick apocket; that's old, sir, --but is dearly remembered by all those who cannotmake puns themselves. "

"Exactly, " said one of the party they called Wiggins. "It is the old storyof the fox and the grapes. Did you ever hear, sir, the story of the foxand the grapes? The fox one day was--"

"Yes, yes, " said Murphy, who, fond of absurdity as he was, could_not_ stand the fox and the grapes by way of something new. 

"They're sour, said the fox. "

"Yes, " said Murphy, "a capital story. "

"Oh, them fables is so good!" said Wiggins. 

"All nonsense!" said the diminutive contradictor. 

"Nonsense, nothing but nonsense; the ridiculous stuff of birds and beastsspeaking! As if any one could believe such stuff. "

"I do--firmly--for one, " said Murphy. 

"You do?" said the little man. 

"I do--and do you know why?"

"I cannot indeed conceive, " said the little man, with a bitter grin. 

"It is, sir, because I myself know a case that occurred in this verycountry of a similar nature. "

"Do you want to make me believe you knew a fox that spoke, sir?" said themannikin, almost rising into anger. 

"Many, sir, " said Murphy, "many. "

"Well! after that!" said the little man. 

"But the case I immediately allude to is not of a fox, but a cat, " saidMurphy. 

"A cat? Oh, yes--to be sure--a cat speak, indeed!" said the littlegentleman. 

"It is a fact, sir, " said Murphy; "and if the company would not object tomy relating the story, I will state the particulars. "

The proposal was received with acclamation; and Murphy, in great enjoymentof the little man's annoyance, cleared his throat, and made all thepreparatory demonstrations of a regular _raconteur_; but, before hebegan, he recommended the gentlemen to mix fresh tumblers all round thatthey might have nothing to do but listen and drink silently. "For of allthings in the world, " said Murtough, "I hate a song or a story to beinterrupted by the rattle of spoons. "

They obeyed; and while they are mixing their punch, we will just turn overa fresh page, and devote a new Chapter to the following

MARVELLOUS LEGEND

CHAPTER XXIII

MURTOUGH MURPHY'S STORY; BEING YE MARVELLOUS LEGEND OF TOM CONNOR'S CAT

"There was a man in these parts, sir, you must know, called Tom Connor, and he had a cat that was equal to any dozen of rat-traps, and he wasproud of the baste, and with rayson; for she was worth her weight in gooldto him in saving his sacks of meal from the thievery of the rats and mice;for Tom was an extensive dealer in corn, and influenced the rise and fallof that article in the market, to the extent of a full dozen of sacks at atime, which he either kept or sold, as the spirit of free trade ormonopoly came over him. Indeed, at one time, Tom had serious thoughts ofapplying to the government for a military force to protect his granarywhen there was a threatened famine in the county. "

"Pooh! pooh! sir, " said the matter-of-fact little man: "as if a dozensacks could be of the smallest consequence in a whole county--pooh! pooh!"

"Well, sir, " said Murphy, "I can't help if you don't believe; but it'struth what I am telling you, and pray don't interrupt me, though you maynot believe; by the time the story's done you'll have heard more wonderfulthings than _that_, --and besides, remember you're a stranger in theseparts, and have no notion of the extraordinary things, physical, metaphysical, and magical, which constitute the idiosyncrasy of ruraldestiny. "

The little man did not know the meaning of Murphy's last sentence--norMurphy either; but, having stopped the little man's throat with big words, he proceeded--

"This cat, sir, you must know, was a great pet, and was so up toeverything, that Tom swore she was a'most like a Christian, only shecouldn't speak, and had so sensible a look in her eyes, that he was sartinsure the cat knew every word that was said to her. Well, she used to sitby him at breakfast every morning, and the eloquent cock of her tail, asshe used to rub against his leg, said, 'Give me some milk, Tom Connor, ' asplain as print, and the plenitude of her purr afterwards spoke a gratitudebeyond language. Well, one morning, Tom was going to the neighbouring townto market, and he had promised the wife to bring home shoes to thechildre' out o' the price of the corn; and sure enough, before he sat downto breakfast, there was Tom taking the measure of the children's feet, bycutting notches on a bit of stick; and the wife gave him so many cautionsabout getting a 'nate fit' for 'Billy's purty feet, ' that Tom, in hisanxiety to nick the closest possible measure, cut off the child's toe. That disturbed the harmony of the party, and Tom was obliged to breakfastalone, while the mother was endeavouring to cure Billy; in short, tryingto make a _heal_ of his _toe_. Well, sir, all the time Tom wastaking measure for the shoes, the cat was observing him with that luminouspeculiarity of eye for which her tribe is remarkable; and when Tom satdown to breakfast the cat rubbed up against him more vigorously thanusual; but Tom, being bewildered between his expected gain in corn and thepositive loss of his child's toe, kept never minding her, until the cat, with a sort of caterwauling growl, gave Tom a dab of her claws, that wentclean through his leathers, and a little further. 'Wow!' says Tom, with ajump, clapping his hand on the part, and rubbing it, 'by this and that, you drew the blood out o' me, ' says Tom; 'you wicked divil--tish!--goalong!' says he, making a kick at her. With that the cat gave areproachful look at him, and her eyes glared just like a pair ofmail-coach lamps in a fog. With that, sir, the cat, with a mysterious_'mi-ow'_ fixed a most penetrating glance on Tom, and distinctly utteredhis name. 

"Tom felt every hair on his head as stiff as a pump-handle; and scarcelycrediting his ears, he returned a searching look at the cat, who veryquietly proceeded in a sort of nasal twang--

"'Tom Connor, ' says she. 

"'The Lord be good to me!' says Tom, 'if it isn't spakin' she is!'

"'Tom Connor, ' says she again. 

"'Yes, ma'am, ' says Tom. 

"'Come here, ' says she; 'whisper--I want to talk to you, Tom, ' says she, 'the laste taste in private, ' says she--rising on her hams, and beckoninghim with her paw out o' the door, with a wink and a toss o' the headaiqual to a milliner. 

"Well, as you may suppose, Tom didn't know whether he was on his head orhis heels, but he followed the cat, and off she went and squatted herselfunder the edge of a little paddock at the back of Tom's house; and as hecame round the corner, she held up her paw again, and laid it on hermouth, as much as to say, 'Be cautious, Tom. ' Well, divil a word Tom couldsay at all, with the fright, so up he goes to the cat, and says she--

"'Tom, ' says she, 'I have a great respect for you, and there's something Imust tell you, becase you're losing character with your neighbours, ' saysshe, 'by your goin's on, ' says she, 'and it's out o' the respect that Ihave for you, that I must tell you, ' says she. 

"'Thank you, ma'am, ' says Tom. 

"'You're goin' off to the town, ' says she, 'to buy shoes for thechildre', ' says she, 'and never thought o' gettin' me a pair. '

"'You!' says Tom. "

"'Yis, me, Tom Connor, ' says she; 'and the neighbours wondhers that arespectable man like you allows your cat to go about the counthrybarefutted, ' says she. "

"'Is it a cat to ware shoes?' says Tom. "

"'Why not?' says she; 'doesn't horses ware shoes?--and I have a prettierfoot than a horse, I hope, ' says she, with a toss of her head. "

"'Faix, she spakes like a woman; so proud of her feet, ' says Tom tohimself, astonished, as you may suppose, but pretending never to think itremarkable all the time; and so he went on discoursin'; and says he, 'It'sthrue for you, ma'am, ' says he, 'that horses wares shoes--but that standsto rayson, ma'am, you see--seeing the hardship their feet has to gothrough on the hard roads. '"

"'And how do you know what hardship my feet has to go through?' says thecat, mighty sharp. "

"'But, ma'am, ' says Tom, 'I don't well see how you could fasten a shoe onyou, ' says he. "

"'Lave that to me, ' says the cat. "

"'Did any one ever stick walnut shells on you, pussy?' says Tom, with agrin. "

"'Don't be disrespectful, Tom Connor, ' says the cat, with a frown. "

"'I ax your pard'n, ma'am, ' says he, 'but as for the horses you worspakin' about wearin' shoes, you know their shoes is fastened on withnails, and how would your shoes be fastened on?'"

"'Ah, you stupid thief!' says she, 'haven't I illigant nails o' my own?'and with that she gave him a dab of her claw, that made him roar. "

"'Ow! murdher!' says he. "

"'Now, no more of your palaver, Misther Connor, ' says the cat; 'just beoff and get me the shoes. '"

"'Tare an' ouns!' says Tom, 'what'll become o' me if I'm to get shoes formy cats?' says he, 'for you increase your family four times a year, andyou have six or seven every time, ' says he; 'and then you must all havetwo pair a piece--wirra! wirra!--I'll be ruined in shoe-leather, ' saysTom. 

"'No more o' your stuff, ' says the cat; 'don't be stand in' here undherthe hedge talkin', or we'll lose our karacthers--for I've remarked yourwife is jealous, Tom. '

"'Pon my sowl, that's thrue, ' says Tom, with a smirk. 

"'More fool she, ' says the cat, 'for, 'pon my conscience, Tom, you're asugly as if you wor bespoke. '

"Off ran the cat with these words, leaving Tom in amazement. He saidnothing to the family, for fear of fright'ning them, and off he went tothe _town_ as he _pretended_--for he saw the cat watching himthrough a hole in the hedge; but when he came to a turn at the end of theroad, the dickings a mind he minded the market, good or bad, but went offto Squire Botherum's, the magisthrit, to sware examinations agen the cat. "

"Pooh! pooh!--nonsense!!" broke in the little man, who had listened thusfar to Murtough with an expression of mingled wonder and contempt, whilethe rest of the party willingly gave up the reins to nonsense, and enjoyedMurtough's Legend and their companion's more absurd common sense. 

"Don't interrupt him, Goggins, " said Mister Wiggins. 

"How can you listen to such nonsense?" returned Goggins. "Swearexaminations against a cat, indeed! pooh! pooh!"

"My dear sir, " said Murtough, "remember this is a fair story, and that thecountry all around here is full of enchantment. As I was telling you, Tomwent off to swear examinations. "

"Ay, ay!" shouted all but Goggins; "go on with the story. "

"And when Tom was asked to relate the events of the morning, which broughthim before Squire Botherum, his brain was so bewildered between his corn, and his cat, and his child's toe, that he made a very confused account ofit. 

"'Begin your story from the beginning, ' said the magistrate to Tom. 

"'Well, your honour, ' says Tom, 'I was goin' to market this mornin', tosell the child's corn--I beg your pard'n--my own toes, I mane, sir. '

"'Sell your toes!' said the Squire. 

"'No, sir, takin' the cat to market, I mane--'

"'Take a cat to market!' said the Squire. 'You're drunk, man. '

"'No, your honour, only confused a little; for when the toes began tospake to me--the cat, I mane--I was bothered clane--'

"'The cat speak to you!' said the Squire. 'Phew! worse than before--you'redrunk, Tom. '

"'No, your honour; it's on the strength of the cat I come to spake toyou--'

"'I think it's on the strength of a pint of whisky, Tom--'

"'By the vartue o' my oath, your honour, it's nothin' but the cat. ' And soTom then told him all about the affair, and the Squire was regularlyastonished. Just then the bishop of the diocese and the priest of theparish happened to call in, and heard the story; and the bishop and thepriest had a tough argument for two hours on the subject; the formerswearing she must be a witch; but the priest denying _that_, andmaintaining she was _only_ enchanted; and that part of the argumentwas afterwards referred to the primate, and subsequently to the conclaveat Rome; but the Pope declined interfering about cats, saying he had quiteenough to do minding his own bulls. 

"'In the meantime, what are we to do with the cat?' says Botherum. 

"'Burn her, ' says the bishop, 'she's a witch. '

"_Only_ enchanted, ' said the priest--'and the ecclesiastical courtmaintains that--'

"'Bother the ecclesiastical court!' said the magistrate; 'I can onlyproceed on the statutes;' and with that he pulled down all the law-booksin his library, and hunted the laws from Queen Elizabeth down, and hefound that they made laws against everything in Ireland, _except acat_. The devil a thing escaped them but a cat, which did _not_come within the meaning of any act of parliament:--_the cats only hadescaped_. 

"'There's the alien act, to be sure, ' said the magistrate, 'and perhapsshe's a French spy, in disguise. '

"'She spakes like a French spy, sure enough, ' says Tom; 'and she wasmissin', I remember, all last Spy-Wednesday. '

"'That's suspicious, ' says the squire--'but conviction might be difficult;and I have a fresh idea, ' says Botherum. 

"''Faith, it won't keep fresh long, this hot weather, ' says Tom; 'so yourhonour had betther make use of it at wanst. '

"'Right, ' says Botherum, --'we'll make her subject to the game laws; we'llhunt her, ' says he. 

"'Ow!--elegant!' says Tom;--'we'll have a brave run out of her. '

"'Meet me at the cross roads, ' says the Squire, 'in the morning, and I'llhave the hounds ready. '

"'Well, off Tom went home; and he was racking his brain what excuse hecould make to the cat for not bringing the shoes; and at last he hit oneoff, just as he saw her cantering up to him, half-a-mile before he gothome. 

"'Where's the shoes, Tom?' says she. 

"'I have not got them to-day, ma'am, ' says he. 

"'Is that the way you keep your promise, Tom?' says she;--'I'll tell youwhat it is, Tom--I'll tare the eyes out o' the childre' if you don't getme shoes. '

"'Whisht! whisht!' says Tom, frightened out of his life for his children'seyes. 'Don't be in a passion, pussy. The shoemaker said he had not a shoein his shop, nor a last that would make one to fit you; and he says, Imust bring you into the town for him to take your measure. '

"'And when am I to go?' says the cat, looking savage. 

"'To-morrow, ' says Tom. 

"'It's well you said that, Tom, ' said the cat, 'or the devil an eye I'dleave in your family this night'--and off she hopped. 

"Tom thrimbled at the wicked look she gave. 

"'Remember!' says she, over the hedge, with a bitter caterwaul. 

"'Never fear, ' says Tom. Well, sure enough, the next mornin' there wasthe cat at cock-crow, licking herself as nate as a new pin, to go into thetown, and out came Tom with a bag undher his arm, and the cat afther him. 

"'Now git into this, and I'll carry you into the town, ' says Tom, openingthe bag. 

"'Sure I can walk with you, ' says the cat. 

"'Oh, that wouldn't do, ' says Tom; 'the people in the town is curious andslandherous people, and sure it would rise ugly remarks if I was seen witha cat afther me:--a dog is a man's companion by nature, but cats does notstand to rayson. '

"Well, the cat, seeing there was no use in argument, got into the bag, andoff Tom set to the cross roads with the bag over his shoulder, and he cameup, _quite innocent-like_, to the corner, where the Squire, and hishuntsman, and the hounds, and a pack o' people were waitin'. Out came theSquire on a sudden, just as if it was all by accident. 

"'God save you, Tom, ' says he. 

"'God save you kindly, sir, ' says Tom. 

"'What's that bag you have at your back?' says the Squire. 

"'Oh, nothin' at all, sir, ' says Tom--makin' a face all the time, as muchas to say, I have her safe. 

"'Oh, there's something in that bag, I think, ' says the Squire; 'and youmust let me see it. '

"'If you bethray me, Tom Connor, ' says the cat in a low voice, 'by thisand that I'll never spake to you again!'

"'Pon my honour, sir, ' said Tom, with a wink and a twitch of his thumbtowards the bag, 'I haven't anything in it. '

"'I have been missing my praties of late, ' says the Squire; 'and I'd justlike to examine that bag, ' says he. 

"'Is it doubting my charackther you'd be, sir?' says Tom, pretending to bein a passion. 

"'Tom, your sowl!' says the voice in the sack, '_if you let the cat outof the bag_, I'll murther you. '

"'An honest man would make no objection to be sarched, ' said the Squire;'and I insist on it, ' says he, laying hold o' the bag, and Tom purtendingto fight all the time; but, my jewel! before two minutes, they shook thecat out o' the bag, sure enough, and off she went with her tail as big asa sweeping brush, and the Squire, with a thundering view halloo after her, clapt the dogs at her heels, and away they went for the bare life. Neverwas there seen such running as that day--the cat made for a shaking bog, the loneliest place in the whole country, and there the riders were allthrown out, barrin' the huntsman, who had a web-footed horse on purposefor soft places; and the priest, whose horse could go anywhere by reasonof the priest's blessing; and, sure enough, the huntsman and his riverencestuck to the hunt like wax; and just as the cat got on the border of thebog, they saw her give a twist as the foremost dog closed with her, for hegave her a nip in the flank. Still she went on, however, and headed themwell, towards an old mud cabin in the middle of the bog, and there theysaw her jump in at the window, and up came the dogs the next minit, andgathered round the house with the most horrid howling ever was heard. Thehuntsman alighted, and went into the house to turn the cat out again, whenwhat should he see but an old hag lying in bed in the corner?

"'Did you see a cat come in here?' says he. 

"'Oh, no--o--o--o!' squealed the old hag, in a trembling voice; 'there'sno cat here, ' says she. 

"'Yelp, yelp, yelp!' went the dogs outside. 

"'Oh, keep the dogs out o' this, ' says the old hag--'oh--o--o--o!' and thehuntsman saw her eyes glare under the blanket, just like a cat's. 

"'Hillo!' says the huntsman, pulling down the blanket--and what should hesee but the old hag's flank all in a gore of blood. 

"'Ow, ow! you old divil--is it you? you ould cat!' says he, opening thedoor. 

"In rushed the dogs--up jumped the old hag, and changing into a cat beforetheir eyes, out she darted through the window again, and made another runfor it; but she couldn't escape, and the dogs gobbled her while you couldsay 'Jack Robinson. ' But the most remarkable part of this extraordinarystory, gentlemen, is, that the pack was ruined from that day out; forafter having eaten the enchanted cat, _the devil a thing they would everhunt afterwards but mice. _"

CHAPTER XXIV

Murphy's story was received with acclamation by all but the little man. 

"That is all a pack of nonsense, " said he. 

"Well, you're welcome to it, sir, " said Murphy, "and if I had greaternonsense you should have it; but seriously, sir, I again must beg you toremember that the country all around here abounds in enchantment; scarcelya night passes without some fairy frolic; but, however you may doubt thewonderful fact of the cat speaking, I wonder you are not impressed withthe points of moral in which the story abounds--"

"Fiddlestick!" said the miniature snarler. 

"First, the little touch about the corn monopoly [1]--then maternal vanitychastised by the loss of the child's toe--then Tom's familiarity with hiscat, showing the danger arising from a man making too free with his femaledomestics--the historical point about the penal laws--the fatal results ofletting the cat out o' the bag, with the curious final fact in naturalhistory. "

[1][Footnote: Handy Andy was written when the "vexed question" of the"Corn Laws" was the all-absorbing subject of discussion. ]

"It's all nonsense, " said the little man, "and I am ashamed of myself forbeing such a fool as to sit--alistening to such stuff instead of going tobed, after the fatigue of my journey and the necessity of rising earlyto-morrow, to be in good time at the polling. "

"Oh! then you're going to the election, sir?" said Murphy. 

"Yes, sir--there's some sense in _that_--and _you_, gentlemen, remember we must be _all_ up early--and I recommend you to follow myexample. "

The little man rang the bell--the bootjack and slippers were called for, and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking _gossoon_ entered with abootjack under his arm, but no slippers. 

"Didn't I say slippers?" said the little man. 

"You did, sir. "

"Where are they, sir?"

"The masther says there isn't any, if you plaze, sir. "

"No slippers! and you call this an inn? Oh!--well, 'what can't be curedmust be endured'--hold me the bootjack, sir. "

The gossoon obeyed--the little man inserted his heel in the cleft, but, onattempting to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly went heels over headbackward. Murphy caught him and put him on his legs again. "Heads up, soldiers, " exclaimed Murtough; "I thought you were drinking too much. "

"Sir, I'm not intoxicated!" said the mannikin, snappishly. "It is thefault of that vile bootjack--what sort of a thing is that you havebrought?" added he in a rage to the _gossoon_. 

"It's the bootjack, sir; only one o' the horns is gone, you see, " and heheld up to view a rough piece of board with an angular slit in it, but oneof "the horns, " as he called it, had been broken off at the top, leavingthe article useless. 

"How dare you bring such a thing as _that_?" said the little man, ina great rage. 

"Why, sir, you ax'd for a bootjack, sure, and I brought you the best Ihad--and it's not my fault it's bruk, so it is, for it wasn't me bruk it, but Biddy batin' the cock. "

"Beating the cock!" repeated the little man in surprise. "Bless me! beat acock with a bootjack!--what savages!"

"Oh, it's not the _hen_ cock I mane, sir, " said the gossoon, "but thebeer cock--she was batin' the cock into the barrel, sir, wid the bootjack, sir. "

"That was decidedly wrong, " said Murphy; "a bootjack is better suited to aheel-tap than a full measure. "

"She was tapping the beer, you mean?" said the little man. 

"Faix, she wasn't tapping it at all, sir, but hittin' it very hard, shewas, and that's the way she bruk it. "

"Barbarians!" exclaimed the little man; "using a bootjack instead of ahammer!"

"Sure the hammer was gone to the priest, sir; bekase he wanted it for thecrucifixion. "

"The crucifixion!" exclaimed the little man, horrified; "is it possiblethey crucify people?"

"Oh no, sir!" said the gossoon, grinning, "it's the picthure I main, sir--an illigant picthure that is hung up in the chapel, and he wanted a hammerto dhrive the nails--"

"Oh, a _picture_ of the crucifixion, " said the little man. 

"Yes, sure, sir--the alther-piece, that was althered for to fit to theplace, for it was too big when it came down from Dublin, so they cut offthe sides where the sojers was, bekase it stopt out the windows, andwouldn't lave a bit o' light for his riverence to read mass; and sure thesojers were no loss out o' the alther-piece, and was hung up afther in thevesthery, and serve them right, the blackguards. But it was sore agen ourwill to cut off the ladies at the bottom, that was cryin' and roarin'; butgreat good luck, the head o' the Blessed Virgin was presarved in thecorner, and sure it's beautiful to see the tears runnin' down her face, just over the hole in the wall for the holy wather--which is remarkable. "

The gossoon was much offended by the laughter that followed his account ofthe altar-piece, which he had no intention of making irreverential, andsuddenly became silent, with a muttered "More shame for yiz;" and as hisbootjack was impracticable, he was sent off with orders for the chamber-maid to supply bed candles immediately. 

The party soon separated for their various dormitories, the little manleaving sundry charges to call them early in the morning, and to be sureto have hot water ready for shaving, and, without fail, to have theirboots polished in time and left at their room doors;--to all whichinjunctions he severally received the answer of--"Certainly, sir;" and asthe bed-room doors were slapped-to, one by one, the last sound of theretiring party was the snappish voice of the indefatigable little man, shouting, ere he shut his door, --"Early--early--don't forget, MistressKelly--_early!_"

A shake-down for Murphy in the parlour was hastily prepared; and afterMrs. Kelly was assured by Murtough that he was quite comfortable, andperfectly content with his accommodation, for which she made scores ofapologies, with lamentations it was not better, &c. , &c. , the wholehousehold retired to rest, and in about a quarter of an hour the inn wasin perfect silence. 

Then Murtough cautiously opened his door, and after listening for someminutes, and being satisfied he was the only watcher under the roof, hegently opened one of the parlour windows and gave the preconcerted signalwhich he and Dick had agreed upon. Dick was under the window immediately, and after exchanging a few words with Murtough, the latter withdrew, andtaking off his boots, and screening with his hand the light of a candle hecarried, he cautiously ascended the stairs, and proceeded stealthily alongthe corridor of the dormitory, where, from the chambers on each side, aconcert of snoring began to be executed, and at all the doors stood theboots and shoes of the inmates awaiting the aid of Day and Martin in themorning. But, oh! innocent calf-skins--destined to a far different fate--not Day and Martin, but Dick the Devil and Company are in wait for you. Murphy collected as many as he could carry under his arms and descendedwith them to the parlour window, where they were transferred to Dick, whocarried them directly to the horse-pond which lay behind the inn, andthere committed them to the deep. After a few journeys up and down stairs, Murtough had left the electors without a morsel of sole or upper leather, and was satisfied that a considerable delay, if not a prevention of theirappearance at the poll on the morrow, would be the consequence. 

"There, Dick, " said Murphy, "is the last of them, " as he handed the littleman's shoes out of the window, --"and now, to save appearances, you musttake mine too--for I must be without boots as well as the rest in themorning. What fun I shall have when the uproar begins--don't you envy me, Dick? There, be off now: but hark 'e, notwithstanding you take away myboots, you need not throw them into the horse-pond. "

"'Faith, an' I will, " said Dick, dragging them out of his hands; "'t wouldnot be honourable, if I didn't--I'd give two pair of boots for the funyou'll have. "

"Nonsense, Dick--Dick, I say--my boots!"

"Honour!" cried Dick, as he vanished round the corner. 

"That devil will keep his word, " muttered Murphy, as he closed the window--"I may bid good bye to that pair of boots--bad luck to him!" And yet themerry attorney could not help laughing at Dick making him a sufferer byhis own trick. 

Dick _did_ keep his word; and after, with particular delight, sinkingMurphy's boots with the rest, he, as it was preconcerted, returned to thecottage of Barny, and with his assistance drew the upset gig from theditch, and with a second set of harness, provided for the occasion, yokedthe servant's horse to the vehicle and drove home. 

Murphy, meanwhile, was bent on more mischief at the inn; and lest the lossof the boots and shoes might not be productive of sufficient impediment tothe movements of the enemy, he determined on venturing a step further. Theheavy sleeping of the weary and tipsy travellers enabled him to entertheir chambers unobserved, and over the garments they had taken off hepoured the contents of the water-jug and water-bottle he found in eachroom, and then laying the empty bottle and a tumbler on a chair besideeach sleeper's bed, he made it appear as if the drunken men had been dryin the night, and, in their endeavours to cool their thirst, had upset thewater over their own clothes. The clothes of the little man, inparticular, Murphy took especial delight in sousing more profusely thanhis neighbour's, and not content with taking his shoes, burnt hisstockings, and left the ashes in the dish of the candlestick, with just asmuch unconsumed as would show what they had been. He then retired to theparlour, and with many an internal chuckle at the thought of the morning'shubbub, threw off his clothes and flinging himself on the shake-down Mrs. Kelly had provided for him, was soon wrapt in the profoundest slumber, from which he never awoke until the morning uproar of the inn aroused him. He jumped from his lair and rushed to the scene of action, to soar in thestorm of his own raising; and to make it more apparent that he had been asgreat a sufferer as the rest, he only threw a quilt over his shoulders anddid not draw on his stockings. In this plight he scaled the stairs andjoined the storming party, where the little man was leading the forlornhope, with his candlestick in one hand and the remnant of his burntstocking between the finger and thumb of the other. 

"Look at that, sir!" he cried, as he held it up to the landlord. 

The landlord could only stare. 

"Bless me!" cried Murphy, "how drunk you must have been to mistake yourstocking for an extinguisher!"

"Drunk, sir--I wasn't drunk!"

"It looks very like it, " said Murphy, who did not wait for an answer, butbustled off to another party who was wringing out his inexpressibles atthe door of his bed-room, and swearing at the gossoon that he _must_have his boots. 

"I never seen them, sir, " said the boy. 

"I left them at my door, " said the man. 

"So did I leave mine, " said Murphy, "and here I am barefooted--it is mostextraordinary. "

"Has the house been robbed?" said the innocent elector. 

"Not a one o' me knows, sir!" said the boy; "but how could it be robbedand the doors all fast this mornin'?"

The landlady now appeared, and fired at the word "robbed!"

"Robbed, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Kelly; "no, sir--no one was ever robbed inmy house--my house is respectable and responsible, sir--a vartuous house--none o' your rantipole places, sir, I'd have you to know, but decent andwell behaved, and the house was as quiet as a lamb all night. "

"Certainly, Mrs. Kelly, " said Murphy--"not a more respectable house inIreland--I'll vouch for that. "

"You're a gentleman, Misther Murphy, " said Mrs. Kelly, who turned down thepassage, uttering indignant ejaculations in a sort of snorting manner, while her words of anger were returned by Murphy with expressions ofsoothing and condolence as he followed her down-stairs. 

The storm still continued above, and while there they shouted and sworeand complained, Murphy gave _his_ notion of the catastrophe to thelandlady below, inferring that the men were drunk and poured the waterover their own clothes. To repeat this idea to themselves he re-ascended, but the men were incredulous. The little man he found buttoning on a pairof black gaiters, the only serviceable decency he had at his command, which only rendered his denuded state more ludicrous. To him Murphyasserted his belief that the whole affair was enchantment, and ventured tohope the small individual would have more faith in fairy machinations forthe future; to which the little abortion only returned his usual "Pho!pho! nonsense!"

Through all this scene of uproar, as Murphy passed to and fro, whenever heencountered the landlord, that worthy individual threw him a knowing look;and the exclamation of, "Oh, Misther Murphy--by dad!" given in a lowchuckling tone, insinuated that the landlord not only smoked but enjoyedthe joke. 

"You must lend me a pair of boots, Kelly!" said Murtough. 

"To be sure, sir--ha! ha! ha!--but you are the quare man, MistherMurphy--"

"Send down the road and get my gig out of the ditch. "

"To be sure, sir. Poor devils! purty hands they got into, " and off wentthe landlord, with a chuckle. 

The messengers sent for the gig returned, declaring there was no gig to beseen anywhere. 

Murphy affected great surprise at the intelligence--again went among thebamboozled electors, who were all obliged to go to bed for want ofclothes; and his bitter lamentations over the loss of his gig almostreconciled them to their minor troubles. 

To the fears they expressed that they should not be able to reach the townin time for polling that day, Murphy told them to set their minds at rest, for they would be in time on the next. 

He then borrowed a saddle as well as the pair of boots from the landlord, and the little black mare bore Murphy triumphantly back to the town, afterhe had securely impounded Scatterbrain's voters, who were anxiously andhourly expected by their friends. Still they came not. At last, HandyAndy, who happened to be in town with Scatterbrain, was despatched tohurry them, and his orders were not to come back without them. 

Handy, on his arrival at the inn, found the electors in bed, and all thefires in the house employed in drying their clothes. The little man, wrapped in a blanket, was superintending the cooking of his own before thekitchen grate; there hung his garments on some cross sticks suspended by astring, after the fashion of a roasting-jack, which the small gentlemanturned before a blazing turf fire; and beside this contrivance of hisswung a goodly joint of meat, which a bouncing kitchen wench came over tobaste now and then. 

Andy was answering some questions of the inquisitive little man, when thekitchen maid, handing the basting-ladle to Andy, begged him to do a goodturn and just to baste the beef for her, for that her heart was broke withall she had to do, cooking dinner for so many. 

Andy, always ready to oblige, consented, and plied the ladle activelybetween the troublesome queries of the little man; but at last, gettingconfused with some very crabbed questions put to him, Andy becamecompletely bothered, and lifting a brimming ladle of dripping, poured itover the little man's coat instead of the beef. 

A roar from the proprietor of the clothes followed, and he implanted akick at such advantage upon Andy, that he upset him into the dripping-pan;and Andy, in his fall, endeavouring to support himself, caught at thesuspended articles above him, and the clothes, and the beef, and Andy, allswam in gravy. 

[Illustration: Andy's Cooking extraordinary]

CHAPTER XXV

While disaster and hubbub were rife below, the electors up-stairs wereholding a council whether it would not be better to send back the"Honourable's" messenger to the town and request a supply of shoes, whichthey had no other means of getting. The debate was of an odd sort; theywere all in their several beds at the time, and roared at each otherthrough their doors, which were purposely left open that they might enjoyeach other's conversation; number seven replied to number three, andclaimed respect to his arguments on the score of seniority; the blue roomwas completely controverted by the yellow; and the double-bedded roomwould, of course, have had superior weight in the argument, only thateverything it said was lost by the two honourable members speakingtogether. The French king used to hold a council called a "bed ofjustice, " in which neither justice nor a bed had anything to do, so thatthis Irish conference better deserved the title than any council theBourbon ever assembled. The debate having concluded, and the questionbeing put and carried, the usher of the black counterpane was desired toget out of bed, and, wrapped in the robe of office whence he derived histitle, to go down-stairs and call the "Honourable's" messenger to the "barof the house, " and there order him a pint of porter, for refreshment afterhis ride; and forthwith to send him back again to the town for a supply ofshoes. 

The house was unanimous in voting the supplies. The usher reached thekitchen and found Andy in his shirt sleeves, scraping the dripping fromhis livery with an old knife, whose hackled edge considerably assistedAndy's own ingenuity in the tearing of his coat in many places, while thelittle man made no effort towards the repair of his garment, but held itup before him, and regarded it with a piteous look. 

To the usher of the black counterpane's question, whether Andy was the"Honourable's messenger, " Andy replied in the affirmative; but to thedesire expressed, that he would ride back to the town, Andy returned adecided negative. 

"My ordhers is not to go back without you, " said Andy. 

"But we have no shoes, " said the usher; "and cannot go until we get some. "

"My ordher is not to go back without you. "

"But if we can't go?"

"Well, then, I can't go back, that's all, " said Andy. 

The usher, the landlord, and the landlady all hammered away at Andy for along time, in vain trying to convince him he ought to return, as he wasdesired; still Andy stuck to the letter of his orders, and said he oftengot into trouble for not doing _exactly_ what he was bid, and that hewas bid "not to go back without them, and he would not--so he wouldn't--divil a fut. "

At last, however, Andy was made to understand the propriety of riding backto the town; and was desired to go as fast as his horse could carry him, to gallop every foot of the way; but Andy did no such thing; he hadreceived a good thrashing once for being caught galloping his master'shorse on the road, and he had no intention of running the risk a secondtime, because "_the stranger_" told him to do so. "What does he knowabout it?" said Andy to himself; "'faith, it's fair and aisy I'll go, andnot disthress the horse to plaze any one. " So he went back his ten milesat a reasonable pace only; and when he appeared without the electors, astorm burst on poor Andy. 

"There! I knew how it would be, " said he, "and not my fault at all. "

"Weren't you told not to return without them?"

"But wait till I tell you how it was, sure;" and then Andy began anaccount of the condition in which the voters lay at the inn but betweenthe impatience of those who heard, and the confused manner of Andy'srecital, it was some time before matters were explained; and then Andy wasdesired to ride back to the inn again, to tell the electors shoes shouldbe forwarded after him in a post-chaise, and requesting their utmostexertions in hastening over to the town, for that the election was goingagainst them. Andy returned to the inn; and this time, under orders fromhead quarters, galloped in good earnest, and brought in his horse smokinghot, and indicating lameness. The day was wearing apace, and it was solate when the electors were enabled to start that the polling-booths wereclosed before they could leave the town; and in many of these booths therequisite number of electors had not been polled that day to keep themopen; so that the next day nearly all those outlying electors, about whomthere had been so much trouble and expense, would be of no avail. Thus, Murphy's trick was quite successful, and the poor pickled electors weredriven back to their inn in dudgeon. 

Andy, when he went to the stable to saddle his steed, for a return toNeck-or-Nothing Hall, found him dead lame, so that to ride him better thantwelve miles home was impossible. Andy was obliged to leave him where hewas, and trudge it to the hall; for all the horses in Kelly's stables wereknocked up with their day's work. 

As it was shorter by four miles across the country than by the road, Andypursued the former course; and as he knew the country well, the shades ofevening, which were now closing round, did not deter him in the least. Andy was not very fresh for the journey to be sure, for he had riddenupwards of thirty miles that day, so the merry whistle, which is soconstantly heard from the lively Irish pedestrian, did not while away thetedium of his walk. It was night when Andy was breasting up a low ridge ofhills, which lay between him and the end of his journey; and when insilence and darkness he topped the ascent, he threw himself on someheather to rest and take breath. His attention was suddenly caught by asmall blue flame, which flickered now and then on the face of the hill, not very far from him; and Andy's fears of fairies and goblins camecrowding upon him thick and fast. He wished to rise, but could not; hiseye continued to be strained with the fascination of fear in the directionhe saw the fire, and sought to pierce the gloom through which, atintervals, the small point of flame flashed brightly and sunk again, making the darkness seem deeper. Andy lay in perfect stillness, and in thesilence, which was unbroken even by his own breathing, he thought he heardvoices underground. He trembled from head to foot, for he was certain theywere the voices of the fairies, whom he firmly believed to inhabit thehills. 

"Oh! murdher, what'll I do?" thought Andy to himself: "sure I heerd often, if once you were within the sound of their voices, you could never get outo' their power. Oh! if I could only say a _pather_ and _ave_, but I forget my prayers with the fright. Hail, Mary! The king o' thefairies lives in these hills, I know--and his house is undher me thisminit, and I on the roof of it--I'll never get down again--I'll never getdown again--they'll make me slater to the fairies; and sure enough Iremember me, the hill is all covered with flat stones they call fairyslates. Oh! I am ruined--God be praised!" Here he blessed himself, andlaid his head close to the earth. "Guardian angels--I hear their voicessingin' a dhrinking song--Oh! if I had a dhrop o' water myself, for mymouth is as dhry as a lime-burner's wig--and I on the top o' their house--see--there's the little blaze again--I wondher is their chimbley afire--Oh! murther, I'll die o' thirst--Oh! if I had only one dhrop o' wather--I wish it would rain or hail--Hail, Mary, full o' grace--whisht!what's that?" Andy crouched lower than before, as he saw a figure risefrom the earth, and attain a height which Andy computed to be somethingabout twenty feet; his heart shrank to the size of a nut-shell, as hebeheld the monster expand to his full dimensions; and at the same moment, a second, equally large, emerged from the ground. 

Now, as fairies are notoriously little people, Andy changed his opinion ofthe parties into whose power he had fallen, and saw clearly they weregiants, not fairies, of whom he was about to become the victim. He wouldhave ejaculated a prayer for mercy, had not terror rendered himspeechless, as the remembrance of all the giants he had ever heard of, from the days of Jack and the Bean-stalk down, came into his head; butthough his sense of speaking was gone, that of hearing was painfullyacute, and he heard one of the giants say--

"That pot is not big enough. "

"Oh! it howlds as much as we want, " replied the other. 

"O Lord, " thought Andy; "they've got their pot ready for cooking. "

"What keeps him?" said the first giant. 

"Oh! he's not far off, " said the second. 

A clammy shivering came over Andy. 

"I'm hungry, " said the first, and he hiccupped as he spoke. 

"It's only a false appetite you have, " said the second, "you're drunk. "

This was a new light to Andy, for he thought giants were too strong to getdrunk. "I could ate a young child, without parsley and butther, " said thedrunken giant. Andy gave a faint spasmodic kick. 

"And it's as hot as ---- down there, " said the giant. 

Andy trembled at the horrid word he heard. 

"No wonder, " said the second giant; "for I can see the flame popping outat the top of the chimbley; that's bad: I hope no one will see it, or itmight give them warning. Bad luck to that young divil for making the fireso sthrong. "

What a dreadful hearing this was for Andy: young devils to make theirfires; there was no doubt what place they were dwelling in. "Thunder andturf!" said the drunken giant; "I wish I had a slice of--"

Andy did not hear what he wished a slice of, for the night wind sweptacross the heath at the moment, and carried away the monster's disgustingwords on its pure breath. 

"Well, I'd rather have--" said the other giant; and again Andy lost whathis atrocious desires were--"than all the other slices in the world. Whata lovely round shoulder she has, and the nice round ankle of her--"

The word "ankle" showed at once it was a woman of whom he spoke, and Andyshuddered. "The monsters! to eat a woman. "

"What a fool you are to be in love, " said the drunken giant with severalhiccups, showing the increase of his inebriation. 

"Is that what the brutes call love, " thought Andy, "to ate a woman?"

"I wish she was bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, " said the secondgiant. Of this speech Andy heard only "bone" and "flesh, " and had greatdifficulty in maintaining the serenity of his diaphragm. 

The conversation of the giants was now more frequently interrupted by thewind which was rising, and only broken sentences reached Andy, whosesenses became clearer the longer he remained in a state of safety; at lasthe heard the name of Squire Egan distinctly pass between the giants. 

"So they know Squire Egan, " thought Andy. 

The first giant gave a drunken laugh at the mention of Squire Egan's name, and exclaimed--

"Don't be afraid of him (_hiccup_); I have him undher my thumb(_hiccup_). I can crush him when I plase. "

"O! my poor owld masther!" mentally ejaculated Andy. 

Another break in their conversation occurred, and the next name Andyoverheard was "O'Grady. "

"The big bully!" said the second giant. 

"They know the whole country, " thought Andy. 

"But tell me, what was that you said to him at the election?" said thedrunken one. 

The word "election" recalled Andy to the business of this earth backagain; and it struck upon his hitherto bewildered sensorium that giantscould have nothing to do with elections, and he knew he never saw themthere; and, as the thought struck him, it seemed as if the giantsdiminished in size, and did not appear _quite_ so big. 

"Sure you know, " said the second. 

"Well, I'd like to hear it again, " said the drunken one (_hiccup_). 

"The big bully says to me, 'Have you a lease?' says he; 'No, ' says I; 'butI have an article!' 'What article?' says he; 'It's a fine brassblunderbuss, ' says I, 'and _I'd like to see the man would dispute thetitle!_'"

The drunken listener chuckled, and the words broke the spell ofsupernatural terror which had hung over Andy; he knew, by the words ofthe speaker, it was the bully joker of the election was present, whobrowbeat O'Grady and out-quibbled the agent about the oath of allegiance;and the voice of the other he soon recognised for that of Larry Hogan. So now his giants were diminished into mortal men--the pot, which hadbeen mentioned to the terror of his soul, was for the making of whiskyinstead of human broth--and the "hell" he thought his giants inhabitedwas but a private still. Andy felt as if a mountain had been lifted fromhis heart when he found it was but mortals he had to deal with; for Andywas not deficient in courage when it was but thews and sinews like hisown he had to encounter. He still lay concealed, however, for smugglersmight not wish their private haunt to be discovered, and it was possibleAndy would be voted one too many in the company should he announce himself;and with such odds as two to one against him he thought he had better bequiet. Besides, his curiosity became excited when he found them speakingof his old master, Egan, and his present one, O'Grady; and as a woman hadbeen alluded to, and odd words caught up here and there, he became anxiousto hear more of their conversation. 

"So you're in love, " said Larry, with a hiccup, to our friend of theblunderbuss; "ha! ha! ha! you big fool. "

"Well, you old thief, don't you like a purty girl yourself?"

"I did, when I was young and foolish. "

"'Faith, then, you're young and foolish at that rate yet, for you're arogue with the girls, Larry, " said the other, giving him a slap on theback. 

"Not I! not I!" said Larry, in a manner expressive of his not beingdispleased with the charge of gallantry; "he! he! he!--how do you know, eh?" (_Hiccup_. ) "Sure, I know myself; but as I wos telling you, if Icould only lay howld of--" here his voice became inaudible to Andy, andthe rest of the sentence was lost. 

Andy's curiosity was great. "Who could the girl be?"

"And you'd carry her off?" said Larry. 

"I would, " said the other; "I'm only afraid o' Squire Egan. "

At this announcement of the intention of "carrying her off, " coupled withthe fear of "Squire Egan, " Andy's anxiety to hear the name of the personbecame so intense that he crawled cautiously a little nearer to thespeakers. 

"I tell you again, " said Larry, "I can settle _him_ aisy (_hiccup_)--he's undher my thumb (_hiccup_). "

"Be aisy, " said the other, contemptuously, who thought this was a meredrunken delusion of Larry's. 

"I tell you I'm his masther!" said Larry, with a drunken flourish of hisarm; and he continued bragging of his power over the Squire in variousejaculations, the exact meaning of which our friend of the blunderbusscould not fathom, but Andy heard enough to show him that the discovery ofthe post-office affair was what Larry alluded to. 

That Larry, a close, cunning, circumventing rascal, should so far betraythe source of his power over Egan may seem strange; but be it rememberedLarry was drunk, a state of weakness which his caution generally guardedhim from falling into, but which being in, his foible was bragging of hisinfluence, and so running the risk of losing it. 

The men continued to talk together for some time, and the tenour of theconversation was, that Larry assured his companion he might carry off thegirl without fear of Egan, but her name Andy could not discover. His ownname he heard more than once, and voluptuous raptures poured forth aboutlovely lips and hips and ankles from the herculean knight of theblunderbuss, amidst the maudlin admiration and hiccups of Larry, whocontinued to brag of his power, and profess his readiness to stand by hisfriend in carrying off the girl. 

"Then, " said the Hercules, with an oath, "I'll soon have you in my arms, my lovely--"

The name was lost again. 

Their colloquy was now interrupted by the approach of a man and woman, theformer being the person for whose appearance Larry made so many inquirieswhen he first appeared to Andy as the hungry giant; the other was thesister of the knight of the blunderbuss. Larry having hiccupped his angeragainst the man for making them wait so long for the bacon, the woman saidhe should not wait longer without his supper now, for that she would godown and fry the rashers immediately. She then disappeared through theground, and the men all followed. 

Andy drew his breath freely once more, and with caution raised himselfgradually from the ground with a careful circumspection, lest any of thesubterranean community might be watchers on the hill; and when he wassatisfied he was free from observation, he stole away from the spot withstealthy steps for about twenty paces, and there, as well as the darknesswould permit, after taking such landmarks as would help him to retrace hisway to the still, if requisite, he dashed down the hill at the top of hisspeed. This pace he did not moderate until he had placed nearly a milebetween him and the scene of his adventure; he then paced slowly to regainhis breath. His head was in a strange whirl; mischief was threatenedagainst some one of whose name he was ignorant; Squire Egan was declaredto be in the power of an old rascal; this grieved Andy most of all, for hefelt _he_ was the cause of his old master's dilemma. 

"Oh! to think I should bring him into trouble, " said Andy, "the kind andgood masther he was to me ever, and I live to tell it like a blackguard--throth I'd rather be hanged any day than the masther would come tothrouble--maybe if I gave myself up and was hanged like a man at once, that would settle it; 'faith, if I thought it would, I'd do it sooner thanSquire Egan should come to throuble!" and poor Andy spoke just what hefelt. "Or would it do to kill that blackguard Hogan? _sure they could dono more than hang me afther_, and that would save the masther, and beall one to me, for they often towld me I'd be hanged. [1] But then there'smy sowl, " said Andy, and he paused at the thought--, "if they hanged mefor the letthers, it would be only for a mistake, and sure then I'd have achance o' glory; for sure I might go to glory through a mistake; but if Ikilled a man on purpose, sure it would be slappin' the gates of Heaven inmy own face. Faix, I'll spake to Father Blake about it. " [2]

[1][Footnote: How often has the sanguinary penal code of past yearssuggested this reflection and provoked the guilt it was meant to awe!Happily, now our laws are milder, and more protective from theirmildness. ]

[2][Footnote: In the foregoing passage, Andy stumbles on uttering a quaintpleasantry, for it is partly true as well as droll--the notion of a mangaining Paradise through a mistake. Our intentions too seldom lead usthere, but rather tend the other way, for a certain place is said to bepaved with "good" ones, and surely "bad" ones would not lead us upwards. Then the phrase of a man "slapping the gates of Heaven in his own face, "is one of those wild poetic figures of speech in which the Irish peasantryoften indulge. The phrase "slapping the door" is every-day and common; butwhen applied to "the gates of Heaven, " and "in a man's own face, " thecommon phrase becomes fine. But how often the commonest things becomepoetry by the fitness of their application, though poetasters and peopleof small minds think greatness of thought lies in big words. ]

CHAPTER XXVI

The following day was that eventful one which should witness the returnof either Edward Egan, Esq. , or the Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain asmember for the county. There was no doubt in any reasonable man's mind asto the real majority of Egan, but the numbers were sufficiently close togive the sheriff an opportunity of doing a bit of business to oblige hisfriends, and therefore he declared the Honourable Sackville Scatterbrainduly elected. Great was the uproar; the people hissed, and hooted, andgroaned, for which the Honourable Sackville very good-naturedly returnedthem his thanks. Murphy snapped his fingers in the sheriff's face, andtold them his honourable friend should not long remain member, for that hemust be unseated on petition, and that he would prove the return mostcorrupt, with which words he again snapped his fingers in the sheriff'sface. 

The sheriff threatened to read the riot act if such conduct was repeated. 

Egan took off his hat, and thanked him for his _honourable, upright, andimpartial_ conduct, whereupon all Egan's friends took off their hatsalso, and made profound bows to the functionary, and then laughed mostuproariously. Counter laughs were returned from the opposite party, whobegged to remind the Eganites of the old saying, "that they might laughwho win. " A cross-fire of sarcasms was kept up amidst the two parties asthey were crushing forward out of the courthouse; and at the door, beforeentering his carriage, Scatterbrain very politely addressed Egan, andtrusted that, though they had met as rivals on the hustings, theynevertheless parted friends, and expressing the highest respect for thesquire, offered his hand in amity. 

Egan, equally good-hearted as his opponent, shook his hand cordially;declaring he attributed to him none of the blame which attached to otherpersons. "Besides, my dear sir, " said Egan, laughing, "I should be a veryill-natured person to grudge you so small an indulgence as being member ofparliament _for a month or so_. "

Scatterbrain returned the laugh, good-humouredly, and replied that, "atall events, he _had_ the seat. "

"Yes, my dear sir, " said Egan, "and make the most of it _while_ youhave it. In short, I shall owe you an obligation when I go over to St. Stephen's, for you will have just _aired my seat_ for me--good bye. "

They parted with smiles, and drove to their respective homes; but as evendoubtful possession is preferable to expectation for the time being, it iscertain that Neck-or-Nothing Hall rang with more merriment that night onthe reality of the present, than Merryvale did on the hope of the future. 

Even O'Grady, as he lay with his wounded arm on the sofa, found morehealing in the triumph of the hour than from all the medicaments of theforegoing week, and insisted on going down-stairs and joining the party atsupper. 

"Gusty, dear, " said his wife, "you know the doctor said--"

"Hang the doctor!"

"Your arm, my love. "

"I wish you'd leave off pitying my arm, and have some compassion on mystomach. "

"The doctor said--"

"There are oysters in the house; I'll do myself more good by the use of anoyster-knife than all the lancets in the College of Surgeons. "

"But your wound, dear?"

"Are they Carlingfords or Poldoodies?"

"So fresh, love. "

"So much the better. "

"Your wound I mean, dear?"

"Nicely opened. "

"Only dressed an hour ago?"

"With some mustard, pepper, and vinegar. "

"Indeed, Gusty, if you take my advice--"

"I'd rather have oysters any day. "

O'Grady sat up on the sofa as he spoke and requested his wife to say nomore about the matter, but put on his cravat. While she was getting itfrom his wardrobe, his mind wandered from supper to the pension, which helooked upon as secure now that Scatterbrain was returned; and oyster-banksgave place to the Bank of Ireland, which rose in a pleasing image beforeO'Grady's imagination. The wife now returned with the cravat, stilldreading the result of eating to her husband, and her mind occupied whollywith the thought of supper, while O'Grady was wrapt in visions of apension. 

"You won't take it, Gusty, dear, " said his wife with all the insinuationof manner she could command. 

"Won't I, 'faith?" said O'Grady. "Maybe you think I don't want it?"

"Indeed, I don't, dear. "

"Are you mad, woman? Is it taking leave of the few senses you ever had youare?"

"'T won't agree with you. "

"Won't it? just wait till I'm tried. "

"Well, love, how much do you expect to be allowed?"

"Why I can't expect much just yet--we must begin gently--feel the pulsefirst; but I should hope, by way of start, that six or seven hundred--"

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed his wife, dropping the cravat from her hands. "What the devil is the woman shouting at?" said O'Grady. 

"Six or seven hundred!!!" exclaimed Mrs. O'Grady; "my dear, there's not asmuch in the house. "

"No, nor has not been for many a long day; I know that as well as you, "said O'Grady; "but I hope we shall get as much for all that. "

"My dear, where could you get them?" asked the wife, timidly, who began tothink his head was a little light. 

"From the treasury, to be sure. "

"The treasury, my dear?" said the wife, still at fault; "how could you getoysters from the treasury?"

"Oysters!" exclaimed O'Grady, whose turn it was now to wonder, "who talksof oysters?"

"My dear, I thought you said you'd eat six or seven hundred of oysters!"

"Pooh! pooh! woman; it is of the pension I'm talking--six or seven hundredpounds--pounds--cash--per annum; now I suppose you'll put on my cravat. Ithink a man may be allowed to eat his supper who expects six hundred ayear. "

A great many people besides O'Grady order suppers, and dinners too, on theexpectation of less than six hundred a year. Perhaps there is no moreactive agent for sending people into the Insolvent Court than theaforesaid "_expectation_. "

O'Grady went down-stairs, and was heartily welcomed by Scatterbrain on hisre-appearance from his sick-room; but Mrs. O'Grady suggested that, forfear any excess would send him back there for a longer time, a verymoderate indulgence at the table should suffice. She begged the honourablemember to back her argument, which he did; and O'Grady promisedtemperance, but begged the immediate appearance of the oysters, for heexperienced that eager desire which delicate health so often prompts forsome particular food. 

Andy was laying the table at the time, and was ordered to expedite mattersas much as possible. 

"Yis, ma'am. "

"You're sure the oysters are all good, Andy?"

"Sartin, ma'am. "

"Because the last oysters you know--"

"Oh, yis, ma'am--were bad, ma'am--bekase they had their mouths all open. Iremember, ma'am; but when I'm towld a thing once, I never forget it again;and you towld me when they opened their mouths once they were no good. Soyou see, ma'am, I'll never bring up bad oysthers again, ma'am. "

"Very good, Andy; and you have kept them in a cool place, I hope. "

"Faix, they're cowld enough where I put them, ma'am. "

"Very well; bring them up at once. "

Off went Andy, and returned with all the haste he could with a large dishheaped up with oysters. 

O'Grady rubbed his hands with the impatience of a true lover of thecrustaceous delicacy, and Scatterbrain, eager to help him, flourished hisoyster-knife; but before he had time to commence operations the olfactorynerves of the company gave evidence that the oysters were rathersuspicious; every one began sniffing, and a universal "Oh dear!" ran roundthe table. 

"Don't you smell it, Furlong?" said Scatterbrain, who was so lost inlooking at Augusta's mustachios that he did not mind anything else. 

"Isn't it horrid?" said O'Grady, with a look of disgust. 

Furlong thought he alluded to the mustachio, and replied with an assurancethat he "liked it of all things. "

"Like it?" said O'Grady; "you've a queer taste. What do _you_ thinkof it, miss?" added he to Augusta, "it's just under your nose. " Furlongthought this rather personal, even from a father. 

"I'll try my knife on one, " said Scatterbrain, with a flourish of theoyster-knife, which Furlong thought resembled the preliminary trial of abarber's razor. 

Furlong thought this worse than O'Grady; but he hesitated to reply to hischief, and an _honourable_ into the bargain. 

In the meantime, Scatterbrain opened an oyster, which Furlong, in hisembarrassment and annoyance, did not perceive. 

"Cut off the beard, " said O'Grady, "I don't like it. "

This nearly made Furlong speak, but, considering O'Grady's temper andill-health, he hesitated, till he saw Augusta rubbing her eye, inconsequence of a small splinter of the oyster-shell having struck it fromScatterbrain's mismanagement of his knife; but Furlong thought she wascrying, and then he could be silent no longer; he went over to where shesat, and with a very affectionate demonstration in his action, said, "Never mind them, dear Gussy--never mind--don't cwy--I love her dearlittle moustachios, I do. " He gave a gentle pat on the back of the neck ashe spoke, and it was returned by an uncommonly smart box on the ear fromthe young lady, and the whole party looked thunderstruck. "Dear Gussy"cried for spite, and stamped her way out of the room, followed by Furlong. 

"Let them go, " said O'Grady; "they'll make it up outside. "

"These oysters are all bad, " said Scatterbrain. 

O'Grady began to swear at his disappointment--he had set his heart onoysters. Mrs. O'Grady rang the bell--Andy appeared. 

"How dare you bring up such oysters as these?" roared O'Grady. 

"The misthris ordhered them, sir. "

"I told you never to bring up bad oysters, " said she. 

"Them's not bad, ma'am, " said Andy, "Have you a nose?" says O'Grady. 

"Yes, sir. "

"And can't you smell them, then?"

"Faix, I smelt them for the last three days, sir. "

"And how could you say they were good, then?" asked his mistress. 

"Sure you tould me, ma'am, that if they didn't open their mouths they weregood, and I'll be on my book oath them oysters never opened their mouthssince I had them, for I laid them on a coolflag in the kitchen and put thejack-weight over them. "

Notwithstanding O'Grady's rage, Scatterbrain could not help roaring withlaughter at Andy's novel contrivance for keeping oysters fresh. Andy wasdesired to take the "ancient and fish-like smell" out of the room, amidstjeers and abuse; and, as he fumbled his way to the kitchen in the dark, lamenting the hard fate of servants, who can never give satisfaction, though they do everything they are bid, he went head over heelsdown-stairs, which event was reported to the whole house as soon as ithappened, by the enormous clatter of the broken dish, the oysters, andAndy, as they all rolled one over the other to the bottom. 

O'Grady, having missed the cool supper he intended, and had longed for, was put into a rage by the disappointment; and as hunger with O'Grady wasonly to be appeased by broiled bones, accordingly, against all theendeavours of everybody, the bells rang violently through the house, andthe ogre-like cry of "broiled bones!" resounded high and low. 

The reader is sufficiently well acquainted with O'Grady by this time toknow, that of course, when once he had determined to have his broiledbone, nothing on the face of the earth could prevent it but the want ofanything to broil, or the immediate want of his teeth; and as hismasticators were in order, and something in the house which could carrymustard and pepper, the invalid primed and loaded himself with as muchcombustible matter as exploded in a fever the next day. 

The supper-party, however, in the hope of getting him to bed, separatedsoon; and as Scatterbrain and Furlong were to start early in the morningfor Dublin, the necessity of their retiring to rest was pleaded. Thehonourable member had not been long in his room when he heard a tap at hisdoor, and his order to "come in" was followed by the appearance of HandyAndy. 

"I found somethin' on the road nigh the town to-day, sir, and I thought itmight be yours, maybe, " said Andy, producing a small pocket-book. 

The honourable member disavowed the ownership. 

"Well, there's something else I want to speak to your honour about. "

"What is it, Handy?"

"I want your honour to see the account of the money your honour gave methat I spint at the _shebeen_ [Footnote: Low publick house. ] upon the'lecthors that couldn't be accommodated at Mrs. Fay's. "

"Oh! never mind it, Andy; if there's anything over, keep it yourself. "

"Thank your honour, but I must make the account all the same, if youplaze, for I'm going to Father Blake, to my duty, [Footnote: Confession. ]soon, and I must have my conscience as clear as I can, and I wouldn't liketo be keeping money back. "

"But if I give you the money, what matter?"

"I'd rather you'd just look over this little bit of a count, if youplaze, " said Andy, producing a dirty piece of paper, with some nearlyinscrutable hieroglyphics upon it. Scatterbrain commenced an examinationof this literary phenomenon from sheer curiosity, asking Andy at the sametime if _he_ wrote it. 

"Yis, sir, " said Andy; "but you see the man couldn't keep the count of thepiper's dhrink at all, it was so confusin', and so I was obliged to payhim for that every time the piper dhrunk, and keep it separate, and the'lecthors that got their dinner afther the bill was made out I put downmyself too, and that's it you see, sir, both ating and dhrinkin'. "

 To Dhrinkin A blind piper everry day wan and in Pens six dais 0 16 6 To atein four Tin Illikthurs And Thare 1 8 8 horses on Chewsdai 0 14 0 --------- Toe til 2 19 4 Lan lord Bil For All Be four 7 17 8-1/2 --------- 10 18 12-1/2

"Then I owe you money, instead of your having a balance in hand, Andy, "said the member. 

"Oh, no matter, your honour; it's not for that I showed you the account. "

"It's very like it, though, " said Scatterbrain, laughing; "here, Andy, here are a couple of pounds for you, take them, Andy--take it and be off;your bill is worth the money, " and Scatterbrain closed the door on thegreat accountant. 

Andy next went to Furlong's room, to know if the pocket-book belonged tohim; it did not, but Furlong, though he disclaimed the ownership, had thatsmall curiosity which prompts little minds to pry into what does notbelong to them, and taking the pocket-book into his hands, he opened it, and fumbled over its leaves; in the doing of which a small piece of foldedpaper fell from one of the pockets unnoticed by the impertinent inquisitoror Andy, to whom he returned the book when he had gratified his senselesscuriosity. Andy withdrew, Furlong retired to rest; and as it was in thegrey of an autumnal morning he dressed himself, the paper still remainedunobserved: so that the housemaid, on setting the room to rights, foundit, and fancying Miss Augusta was the proper person to confide Mr. Furlong's stray papers to, she handed that young lady the manuscript whichbore the following copy of verses:--

I CAN NE'ER FORGET THEE

I

 It is the chime, the hour draws near When you and I must sever; Alas, it must be many a year, And it _may_ be for ever! How long till we shall meet again! How short since first I met thee! How brief the bliss--how long the pain-- For I can ne'er forget thee. 

II

 You said my heart was cold and stern; You doubted love when strongest: In future days you'll live to learn Proud hearts can love the longest. Oh! sometimes think, when press'd to hear, When flippant tongues beset thee, That _all_ must love thee, when thou'rt near, But _one_ will ne'er forget thee!

III

 The changeful sand doth only know The shallow tide and latest; The rocks have mark'd its highest flow, The deepest and the greatest; And deeper still the flood-marks grow:-- So, since the hour I met thee, The more the tide of time doth flow, The less can I forget thee!

When Augusta saw the lines, she was charmed. She discovered her Furlong tobe a poet! That the lines were his there was no doubt--they were _foundin his room, _ and of course they _must_ be his, just as partialcritics say certain Irish airs must be English, because they are to befound in Queen Elizabeth's music-book. 

Augusta was so charmed with the lines that she amused herself for a longtime in hiding them under the sofa-cushion and making her pet dog find andfetch them. Her pleasure, however, was interrupted by her sister Charlotteremarking, when the lines were shown to her in triumph, that the writingwas not Furlong's, but in a lady's hand. 

Even as beer is suddenly soured by thunder, so the electric influence ofCharlotte's words converted all Augusta had been brewing to acidity;jealousy stung her like a wasp, and she boxed her dog's ears as he wasbarking for another run with the verses. 

"A _lady's_ hand?" said Augusta, snatching the paper from her sister;"I declare if it ain't! the wretch--so he receives lines from ladies. "

"I think I know the hand, too, " said Charlotte. 

"You do?" exclaimed Augusta, with flashing eyes. 

"Yes, I'm certain it is Fanny Dawson's writing. "

"So it is, " said Augusta, looking at the paper as if her eyes could haveburnt it; "to be sure--he was there before he came here. "

"Only for two days, " said Charlotte, trying to slake the flame she hadraised. 

"But I've heard that girl always makes conquests at first sight, " returnedAugusta, half crying; "and what do I see here? some words in pencil. "

The words were so faint as to be scarcely perceptible, but Augustadeciphered them; they were written on the margin, beside a circumflexwhich embraced the last four lines of the second verse, so that it stoodthus:--

[Sidenote: Dearest, I will. ]

 Oh! sometimes think, when press'd to hear, When flippant tongues beset thee, That _all_ must love thee when thou'rt near, But _one_ will ne'er forget thee!

"Will you, indeed?" said Augusta, crushing the paper in her hand, andbiting it; "but I must not destroy it--I must keep it to prove histreachery to his face. " She threw herself on the sofa as she spoke, andgave vent to an outpour of spiteful tears. 

CHAPTER XXVII

How many chapters have been written about love verses--and how many moremight be written!--might, would, could, should, or ought to be written!--I will venture to say, _will_ be written! I have a mind to fulfil myown prophecy and write one myself; but no--my story must go on. However, I_will_ say, that it is quite curious in how many ways the same littlebit of paper may influence different people: the poem whose literary meritmay be small becomes precious when some valued hand has transcribed thelines; and the verses whose measure and meaning viewed in type might winfavour and yield pleasure, shoot poison from their very sweetness, whenread in some particular hand and under particular circumstances. It was sowith the copy of verses Augusta had just read--they were Fanny Dawson'smanuscript--that was certain--and found in the room of Augusta's lover;therefore Augusta was wretched. But these same lines had given exquisitepleasure to another person, who was now nearly as miserable as Augusta inhaving lost them. It is possible the reader guesses that person to beEdward O'Connor, for it was he who had lost the pocket-book in which those(to him) precious lines were contained; and if the little case had heldall the bank-notes he ever owned in his life, their loss would have beenregarded less than that bit of manuscript, which had often yielded_him_ the most exquisite pleasure, and was now inflicting on Augustathe bitterest anguish. To make this intelligible to the reader, it isnecessary to explain under what circumstances the lines were written. Atone time, Edward, doubting the likelihood of making his way at home, wasabout to go to India and push his fortunes there; and at that period, those lines, breathing of farewell--implying the dread of rivals duringabsence--and imploring remembrance of his eternal love, were written andgiven to Fanny; and she, with that delicacy of contrivance so peculiarly awoman's, hit upon the expedient of copying his own verses and sending themto him in her writing, as an indication that the spirit of the lines washer own. 

But Edward saw that his father, who was advanced in years, looked upon aseparation from his son as an eternal one, and the thought gave so muchpain, that Edward gave up the idea of expatriation. Shortly after, however, the misunderstanding with Major Dawson took place, and Fanny andEdward were as much severed as if dwelling in different zones. Under suchcircumstances, those lines were peculiarly precious, and many a kiss hadEdward impressed upon them, though Augusta thought them fitter for theexercise of her teeth than her lips. In fact, Edward did little else thanthink of Fanny; and it is possible his passion might have degenerated intomere love-sickness, and enfeebled him, had not his desire of provinghimself worthy of his mistress spurred him to exertion, in the hope offuture distinction. But still the tone of tender lament pervaded all hispoems, and the same pocket-book whence the verses which caused so muchcommotion fell contained the following also, showing how entirely Fannypossessed his heart and occupied his thoughts:--

WHEN THE SUN SINKS TO REST

I

 When the sun sinks to rest, And the star of the west Sheds its soft silver light o'er the sea; What sweet thoughts arise, As the dim twilight dies-- For then I am thinking of thee! Oh! then crowding fast Come the joys of the past, Through the dimness of days long gone by, Like the stars peeping out, Through the darkness about, From the soft silent depth of the sky. 

II

 And thus, as the night Grows more lovely and bright With the clust'ring of planet and star, So this darkness of mine Wins a radiance divine From the light that still lingers afar. Then welcome the night, With its soft holy light! In its silence my heart is more free The rude world to forget, Where no pleasure I've met Since the hour that I parted from thee. 

But we must leave love verses, and ask pardon for the few remarks whichthe subject tempted, and pursue our story. 

The first prompting of Augusta's anger, when she had recovered her burstof passion, was to write "_such a letter_" to Furlong--and she spenthalf a day at the work; but she could not please herself--she tore twentyat least, and determined, at last, not to write at all, but just wait tillhe returned and overwhelm him with reproaches. But, though she could notcompose a letter, she composed herself by the endeavour, which acted as asort of safety-valve to let off the superabundant steam; and it iswonderful how general is this result of sitting down to write angryletters: people vent themselves of their spleen on the uncomplainingpaper, which silently receives words a listener would not. With a pen forour second, desperate satisfaction is obtained with only an effusion ofink, and when once the pent-up bitterness has oozed out in all theblackness of that fluid--most appropriately made of the best galls--thetime so spent, and the "letting of words, " if I may use the phrase, hascooled our judgment and our passions together; and the first letter istorn: 't is _too_ severe; we write a second; we blot and interlinetill it is nearly illegible; we begin a third; till at last we are tiredout with our own angry feelings, and throw our scribbling by with a"Pshaw! what's the use of it?" or, "It's not worth my notice;" or, stillbetter, arrive at the conclusion, that we preserve our own dignity best bywriting without temper, though we may be called upon to be severe. 

Furlong at this time was on his road to Dublin in happy unconsciousness ofAugusta's rage against him, and planning what pretty little present heshould send her specially, for his head was naturally running on suchmatters, as he had quantities of commissions to execute in the millineryline for Mrs. O'Grady, who thought it high time to be getting up Augusta'swedding-dresses, and Andy was to be despatched the following day to Dublinto take charge of a cargo of bandboxes back from that city to Neck-or-Nothing Hall. Furlong had received a thousand charges from the ladies, "tobe sure to lose no time" in doing his devoir in their behalf, and heobeyed so strictly, and was so active in laying milliners and mercersunder contributions, that Andy was enabled to start the day after hisarrival, sorely against Andy's will, for he would gladly have remainedamidst the beauty and grandeur and wonders of Dublin, which struck himdumb for the day he was amongst them, but gave him food for conversationfor many a day after. Furlong, after racking his invention about thesouvenir to his "dear Gussy, " at length fixed on a fan, as the mostsuitable gift; for Gussy had been quizzed at home about "blushing, " andall that sort of thing, and the puerile perceptions of the _attache_saw something very smart in sending her wherewith "to hide her blushes. "Then the fan was the very pink of fans; it had quivers and arrows upon it, and bunches of hearts looped up in azure festoons, and doves perched uponthem; though Augusta's little sister, who was too young to know whathearts and doves were, when she saw them for the first time, said theywere pretty little birds picking at apples. The fan was packed up in anice case, and then on scented note paper did the dear dandy indite a bitof namby-pamby badinage to his fair one, which he thought excessivelyclever:--

"DEAR DUCKY DARLING, --You know how naughty they are in quizzing you abouta little something, _I won't say what, _ you will guess, I dare say--but I send you a little toy, _I won't say what, _ on which Cupid mightwrite this label after the doctor's fashion, 'To be used occasionally, when the patient is much troubled with the symptoms. '

"Ever, ever, ever yours, "P. S. Take care how you open it. "

"J. F. "

Such was the note that Handy Andy was given, with particular injunctionsto deliver it the first thing on his arrival at the Hall to Miss Augusta, and to be sure to take most particular care of the little case; all whichAndy faithfully promised to do. But Andy's usual destiny prevailed, and anunfortunate exchange of parcels quite upset all Furlong's sweet littleplan of his pretty present and his ingenious note: for as Andy was justtaking his departure, Furlong said he might as well leave something forhim at Reade's, the cutler, as he passed through College Green, and hehanded him a case of razors which wanted setting, which Andy popped intohis pocket, and as the fan case and that of the razors were much of asize, and both folded up, Andy left the fan at the cutler's and took thecase of razors by way of present to Augusta. Fancy the rage of a younglady with a very fine pair of _moustachios_ getting such a souvenirfrom her lover, with a note, too, every word of which applied to a beardand a razor, as patly as to a blush and a fan--and this, too, when herjealousy was aroused and his fidelity more than doubtful in herestimation. 

Great was the row in Neck-or-Nothing Hall; and when, after three days, Furlong came down, the nature of his reception may be better imagined thandescribed. It was a difficult matter, through the storm which raged aroundhim, to explain all the circumstances satisfactorily, but, by dint of hardwork, the verses were at length disclaimed, the razors disavowed, and Andyat last sent for to "clear matters up. "

Andy was a hopeful subject for such a purpose, and by his blunderinganswers nearly set them all by the ears again; the upshot of the affairwas, that Andy, used as he was to good scoldings, never had such a torrentof abuse poured on him in his life, and the affair ended in Andy beingdismissed from Neck-or-Nothing Hall on the instant; so he relinquished hisgreasy livery for his own rags again, and trudged homewards to hismother's cabin. 

"She'll be as mad as a hatter with me, " said Andy; "bad luck to them forrazhirs, they cut me out o' my place: but I often heard cowld steel isunlucky, and sure I know it now. Oh! but I'm always unfort'nate in havingcruked messages. Well, it can't be helped; and one good thing at allevents is, I'll have time enough now to go and spake to Father Blake;" andwith this sorry piece of satisfaction poor Andy contented himself. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Father Blake, of whom Andy spoke, was more familiarly known by thename of Father Phil, by which title Andy himself would have named him, hadhe been telling how Father Phil cleared a fair, or equally "leathered"both the belligerent parties in a faction-fight, or turned out thecontents (or malcontents) of a public-house at an improper hour; but whenhe spoke of his Reverence respecting ghostly matters, the importance ofthe subject begot higher consideration for the man, and the familiar"Father Phil" was dropped for the more respectful title of Father Blake. By either title, or in whatever capacity, the worthy Father had greatinfluence over his parish, and there was a free-and-easy way with him, even in doing the most solemn duties, which agreed wonderfully with thedevil-may-care spirit of Paddy. Stiff and starched formality in any way isrepugnant to the very nature of Irishmen; and I believe one of the surestways of converting all Ireland from the Romish faith would be found, if wecould only manage to have her mass celebrated with the dry coldness of theReformation. This may seem ridiculous at first sight, and I grant it is agrotesque way of viewing the subject, but yet there may be truth in it;and to consider it for a moment seriously, look at the fact, that thenorth of Ireland is the stronghold of Protestantism, and that the north isthe _least_ Irish portion of the island. There is a strong admixtureof Scotch there, and all who know the country will admit that there isnearly as much difference between men from the north and south of Irelandas from different countries. The Northerns retain much of the coldformality and unbending hardness of the stranger-settlers from whom theyare descended, while the Southerns exhibit that warm-hearted, lively, andpoetical temperament for which the country is celebrated. The prevailingnational characteristics of Ireland are not to be found in the north, where Protestantism flourishes; they are to be found in the south andwest, where it has never taken root. And though it has never seemed tostrike theologians, that in their very natures some people are moreadapted to receive one faith than another, yet I believe it to be true, and perhaps not quite unworthy of consideration. There are forms, it istrue, and many in the Romish church, but they are not _cold_ forms, but _attractive_ rather, to a sensitive people; besides, I believethose very forms, when observed the least formally, are the mostinfluential on the Irish; and perhaps the splendours of a High Mass in thegorgeous temple of the Holy City would appeal less to the affections of anIrish peasant than the service he witnesses in some half-thatched ruin bya lone hillside, familiarly hurried through by a priest who has sharpenedhis appetite by a mountain ride of some fifteen miles, and is saying mass(for the third time most likely) before breakfast, which consummation ofhis morning's exercise he is anxious to arrive at. 

It was just in such a chapel, and under such circumstances, that FatherBlake was celebrating the mass at which Andy was present, and after whichhe hoped to obtain a word of advice from the worthy Father, who was muchmore sought after on such occasions than his more sedate superior whopresided over the spiritual welfare of the parish--and whose solemncelebration of the mass was by no means so agreeable as the lighterservice of Father Phil. The Rev. Dominick Dowling was austere and long-winded; _his_ mass had an oppressive effect on his congregation, andfrom the kneeling multitude might be seen eyes fearfully looking up fromunder bent brows, and low breathings and subdued groans often rose abovethe silence of his congregation, who felt like sinners, and whoseimaginations were filled with the thoughts of Heaven's anger; while thegood-humoured face of the light-hearted Father Phil produced acorresponding brightness on the looks of his hearers, who turned up theirwhole faces in trustfulness to the mercy of that Heaven whose propitiatoryoffering their pastor was making for them in cheerful tones, whichassociated well with thoughts of pardon and salvation. 

Father Dominick poured forth his spiritual influence like a strong darkstream that swept down the hearer--hopelessly struggling to keep his headabove the torrent, and dreading to be overwhelmed at the next word. FatherPhil's religion bubbled out like a mountain rill--bright, musical, andrefreshing. Father Dominick's people had decidedly need of cork jackets;Father Phil's might drink and be refreshed. 

But with all this intrinsic worth, he was, at the same time, a strange manin exterior manners; for, with an abundance of real piety, he had anabruptness of delivery and a strange way of mixing up an occasional remarkto his congregation in the midst of the celebration of the mass, whichmight well startle a stranger; but this very want of formality made himbeloved by the people, and they would do ten times as much for Father Philas for Father Dominick. 

On the Sunday in question, when Andy attended the chapel, Father Philintended delivering an address to his flock from the altar, urging them tothe necessity of bestirring themselves in the repairs of the chapel, whichwas in a very dilapidated condition, and at one end let in the rainthrough its worn-out thatch. A subscription was necessary; and to raisethis among a very impoverished people was no easy matter. The weatherhappened to be unfavourable, which was most favourable to Father Phil'spurpose, for the rain dropped its arguments through the roof upon thekneeling people below in the most convincing manner; and as theyendeavoured to get out of the wet, they pressed round the altar as much asthey could, for which they were reproved very smartly by his Reverence inthe very midst of the mass, and these interruptions occurred sometimes inthe most serious places, producing a ludicrous effect, of which the worthyFather was quite unconscious in his great anxiety to make the peoplerepair the chapel. 

A big woman was elbowing her way towards the rails of the altar, andFather Phil, casting a sidelong glance at her, sent her to the right-about, while he interrupted his appeal to Heaven to address her thus:--_"Agnus Dei_--you'd better jump over the rails of the althar, Ithink. Go along out o' that, there's plenty o' room in the chapel belowthere. "

Then he would turn to the altar, and proceed with the service, tillturning again to the congregation he perceived some fresh offender. 

_"Orate, fratres!_--will you mind what I say to you and go along outof that? there's room below there. Thrue for you, Mrs. Finn--it's a shamefor him to be thramplin' on you. Go along, Darby Casy, down there, andkneel in the rain; it's a pity you haven't a dacent woman's cloak undheryou indeed!--_Orate, fratres!_"

Then would the service proceed again, and while he prayed in silence atthe altar, the shuffling of feet edging out of the rain would disturb him, and casting a backward glance, he would say--

"I hear you there--can't you be quiet and not be disturbin' the mass, youhaythens?"

Again he proceeded in silence, till the crying of a child interrupted him. He looked round quickly. 

"You'd better kill the child, I think, thramplin' on him, Lavery. Go outo' that--your conduct is scandalous--_Dominus vobiscum!_" Again heturned to pray, and after some time he made an interval in the service toaddress his congregation on the subject of the repairs, and produced apaper containing the names of subscribers to that pious work who hadalready contributed, by way of example to those who had not. 

"Here it is, " said Father Phil, "here it is, and no denying it--down inblack and white; but if they who give are down in black, how much blackerare those who have not given at all!--but I hope they will be ashamed ofthemselves when I howld up those to honour who have contributed to theuphowlding of the house of God. And isn't it ashamed o' yourselves youought to be, to leave His house in such a condition--and doesn't it raina'most every Sunday, as if He wished to remind you of your duty? aren'tyou wet to the skin a'most every Sunday? Oh, God is good to you! to putyou in mind of your duty, giving you such bitther cowlds that you arecoughing and sneezin' every Sunday to that degree that you can't hear theblessed mass for a comfort and a benefit to you; and so you'll go onsneezin' until you put a good thatch on the place, and prevent theappearance of the evidence from Heaven against you every Sunday, which iscondemning you before your faces, and behind your backs too, for don't Isee this minit a strame o' wather that might turn a mill running downMicky Mackavoy's back, between the collar of his coat and his shirt?"

Here a laugh ensued at the expense of Micky Mackavoy, who certainly_was_ under a very heavy drip from the imperfect roof. 

"And is it laughing you are, you haythens?" said Father Phil, reprovingthe merriment which he himself had purposely created, _that he mightreprove it_. "Laughing is it you are--at your backslidings andinsensibility to the honour of God--laughing, because when you come hereto be _saved_ you are _lost_ intirely with the wet; and how, Iask you, are my words of comfort to enter your hearts, when the rain ispouring down your backs at the same time? Sure I have no chance of turningyour hearts while you are undher rain that might turn a mill--but once puta good roof on the house, and I will inundate you with piety! Maybe it'sFather Dominick you would like to have coming among you, who would grindyour hearts to powdher with his heavy words. " (Here a low murmur ofdissent ran through the throng. ) "Ha! ha! so you wouldn't like it, I see. Very well, very well--take care then, for if I find you insensible to mymoderate reproofs, you hard-hearted haythens--you malefacthors and cruelpersecuthors, that won't put your hands in your pockets, because your mildand quiet poor fool of a pasthor has no tongue in his head!--I say yourmild, quiet, poor fool of a pasthor (for I know my own faults, partly, Godforgive me!), and I can't spake to you as you deserve, you hard-livingvagabones, that are as insensible to your duties as you are to theweather. I wish it was sugar or salt you were made of, and then the rainmight melt you if I couldn't: but no--them naked rafthers grin in yourface to no purpose--you chate the house of God; but take care, maybe youwon't chate the divil so aisy"--(here there was a sensation). "Ha! ha!that makes you open your ears, does it? More shame for you; you ought todespise that dirty enemy of man, and depend on something betther--but Isee I must call you to a sense of your situation with the bottomless pitundher you, and no roof over you. Oh dear! dear! dear!--I'm ashamed ofyou--troth, if I had time and sthraw enough, I'd rather thatch the placemyself than lose my time talking to you; sure the place is more like astable than a chapel. Oh, think of that!--the house of God to be like astable!--for though our Redeemer, in his humility, was born in a stable, that is no reason why you are to keep his house always like one. 

"And now I will read you the list of subscribers, and it will make youashamed when you hear the names of several good and worthy Protestants inthe parish, and out of it, too, who have given more than the Catholics. "

He then proceeded to read the following list, which he interlardedcopiously with observations of his own; making _vivâ voce_ marginalnotes as it were upon the subscribers, which were not unfrequentlyanswered by the persons so noticed, from the body of the chapel, andlaughter was often the consequence of these rejoinders, which Father Philnever permitted to pass without a retort. Nor must all this be consideredin the least irreverent. A certain period is allowed between twoparticular portions of the mass, when the priest may address hiscongregation on any public matter: an approaching pattern, or fair, or thelike; in which, exhortations to propriety of conduct, or warnings againstfaction fights, &c. , are his themes. Then they only listen in reverence. But when a subscription for such an object as that already mentioned isunder discussion, the flock consider themselves entitled to "put in aword" in case of necessity. 

This preliminary hint is given to the reader, that he may better enterinto the spirit of Father Phil's

SUBSCRIPTION LISTFOR THE REPAIRS AND ENLARGEMENT OF BALLY-SLOUGHGUTPHERY CHAPEL

 £ s. D. PHILIP BLAKE, P. P. Micky Hicky 0 7 6 "He might as well have made ten shillings: but half a loaf is betther than no bread. "

 "Plase your reverence, " says Mick, from the body of the chapel, "sure seven and six-pence is more than the half of ten shillings. " (_A laugh_. )

 "Oh! how witty you are. 'Faith, if you knew your duty as well as your arithmetic, it would be betther for you, Micky. "

 Here the Father turned the laugh against Mick. 

 £ s. D. Bill Riley 0 3 4 "Of course he means to subscribe again. 

 £ s. D. John Dwyer 0 15 0 "That's something like! I'll be bound he's only keeping back the odd five shillings for a brush full o' paint for the althar; it's as black as a crow, instead o' being as white as a dove. "

 He then hurried over rapidly some small subscribers as follows:--

 Peter Heffernan 0 1 8 James Murphy 0 2 6 Mat Donovan 0 1 3 Luke Dannely 0 3 0 Jack Quigly 0 2 1 Pat Finnegan 0 2 2 Edward O'Connor, Esq. 2 0 0 "There's for you! Edward O'Connor, Esq. , _a Protestant in the parish_--Two pounds!"

 "Long life to him, " cried a voice in the chapel. 

 "Amen, " said Father Phil; "I'm not ashamed to be clerk to so good a prayer. 

 Nicholas Fagan 0 2 6 Young Nicholas Fagan 0 5 0 "Young Nick is better than owld Nick, you see. "

 The congregation honoured the Father's demand on their risibility. 

 £ s. D. Tim Doyle 0 7 6 Owny Doyl 1 0 0 "Well done, Owny na Coppal--you deserve to prosper for you make good use of your thrivings. 

 £ s. D. Simon Leary 0 2 6 Bridget Murphy 0 10 0 "You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, Simon: a lone widow woman gives more than you. "

 Simon answered, "I have a large family, sir, and she has no childhre. "

 "That's not her fault, " said the priest--"and maybe she'll mend o' that yet. " This excited much merriment, for the widow was buxom, and had recently buried an old husband, and, by all accounts, was cocking her cap at a handsome young fellow in the parish. 

 £ s. D. Judy Moylan 0 5 0 Very good, Judy; the women are behaving like gentlemen; they'll have their reward in the next world. 

 Pat Finnerty 0 3 4 "I'm not sure if it is 8s. 4d. Or 3s. 4d. , for the figure is blotted-- but I believe it is 8s. 4d. "

 "It was three and four pince I gave your reverence, " said Pat from the crowd. 

 "Well, Pat, as I said eight and four pence you must not let me go back o' my word, so bring me five shillings next week. "

 "Sure you wouldn't have me pay for a blot, sir?"

 "Yes, I would--that's the rule of back-mannon, you know, Pat. When I hit the blot, you pay for it. "

 Here his reverence turned round, as if looking for some one, and called out, "Rafferty! Rafferty! Rafferty! Where are you, Rafferty?"

 An old grey-headed man appeared, bearing a large plate, and Father Phil continued--

 "There now, be active--I'm sending him among you, good people, and such as cannot give as much as you would like to be read before your neighbours, give what little you can towards the repairs, and I will continue to read out the names by way of encouragement to you, and the next name I see is that of Squire Egan. Long life to him! £ s. D. Squire Egan 5 0 0 "Squire Egan--five pounds-- listen to that--five pounds--a Protestant in the parish--five pounds! 'Faith, the Protestants will make you ashamed of yourselves, if we don't take care. £ s. D. Mrs. Flanagan 2 0 0 "Not her own parish, either--a kind lady. 

 £ s. D. James Milligan of Roundtown 1 0 0 "And here I must remark that the people of Roundtown have not been backward in coming forward on this occasion. I have a long list from Roundtown--I will read it separate. " He then proceeded at a great pace, jumbling the town and the pounds and the people in a most extraordinary manner: "James Milligan of Roundtown, one pound; Darby Daly of Roundtown, one pound; Sam Finnigan of Roundtown, one pound; James Casey of Roundpound, one town; Kit Dwyer of Townpound, one round--pound I mane; Pat Roundpound--Pounden, I mane--Pat Pounden a pound of Poundtown also--there's an example for you!--but what are you about, Rafferty? _I don't like the sound of that plate of yours_;-- you are not a good gleaner--go up first into the gallery there, where I see so many good-looking bonnets--I suppose they will give something to keep their bonnets out of the rain, for the wet will be into the gallery next Sunday if they don't. I think that is Kitty Crow I see, getting her bit of silver ready; them ribbons of yours cost a trifle, Kitty. Well, good Christians, here is more of the subscription for you. £ s. D. Matthew Lavery 0 2 6 "_He_ doesn't belong to Roundtown--Roundtown will be renowned in future ages for the support of the Church. Mark my words--Roundtown will prosper from this day out--Roundtown will be a rising place. 

 Mark Hennessy 0 2 6 Luke Clancy 0 2 6 John Doolin 0 2 6 "One would think they all agreed only to give two and sixpence apiece. And they comfortable men, too! And look at their names--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the names of the Blessed Evangelists, and only ten shillings among them! Oh, they are apostles not worthy of the name--we'll call them the _Poor Apostles_ from this out" (here a low laugh ran through the chapel)-- "Do you hear that, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? 'Faith! I can tell you that name will stick to you. '" (Here the laugh was louder. )

 A voice, when the laugh subsided, exclaimed, "I'll make it ten shillin's, your reverence. "

 "Who's that?" said Father Phil. 

 "Hennessy, your reverence. "

 "Very well, Mark. I suppose Matthew, Luke, and John will follow your example?"

 "We will, your reverence. "

 "Ah! I thought you made a mistake; we'll call you now the _Faithful Apostles_--and I think the change in the name is better than seven and sixpence apiece to you. 

 "I see you in the gallery there, Rafferty. What do you pass that well-dressed woman for?--thry back --ha!--see that--she had her money ready if you only asked for it--don't go by that other woman there--oh, oh!--So you won't give anything, ma'am. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. There is a woman with an elegant sthraw bonnet, and she won't give a farthing. Well now--afther that--remember--I give it from the althar, that _from this day out sthraw bonnets pay fi'penny pieces. _

 £ s. D. Thomas Durfy, Esq. 1 0 0 "It's not his parish and he's a brave gentleman. 

 £ s. D. Miss Fanny Dawson 1 0 0 "_A Protestant out of the parish_, and a sweet young lady, God bless her! Oh, 'faith, the Protestants is shaming you!!!

 £ s. D. Dennis Fannin 0 7 6 "Very good, indeed, for a working mason. "

 Jemmy Riley 0 5 0 "Not bad for a hedge-carpenther. "

"I gave you ten, plaze, your reverence, " shouted Jemmy, "and by the sametoken, you may remember it was on the Nativity of the Blessed Vargin, sir, I gave you the second five shillin's. "

"So you did, Jemmy, " cried Father Phil--"I put a little cross before it, to remind me of it; but I was in a hurry to make a sick call when you gaveit to me, and forgot it after: and indeed myself doesn't know what I didwith that same five shillings. "

Here a pallid woman, who was kneeling near the rails of the altar, utteredan impassioned blessing, and exclaimed, "Oh, that was the very fiveshillings, I'm sure, you gave to me that very day, to buy some littlecomforts for my poor husband, who was dying in the fever!"--and the poorwoman burst into loud sobs as she spoke. 

A deep thrill of emotion ran through the flock as this accidental proof oftheir poor pastor's beneficence burst upon them; and as an affectionatemurmur began to rise above the silence which that emotion produced, theburly Father Philip blushed like a girl at this publication of hischarity, and even at the foot of that altar where he stood, felt somethinglike shame in being discovered in the commission of that virtue so highlycommended by the Holy One to whose worship the altar was raised. Heuttered a hasty "Whisht--whisht!" and waved with his outstretched handshis flock into silence. 

In an instant one of those sudden changes common to an Irish assembly, andscarcely credible to a stranger, took place. The multitude was hushed--thegrotesque of the subscription list had passed away and was forgotten, andthat same man and that same multitude stood in altered relations--_they_ were again a reverent flock, and _he_ once more a solemnpastor; the natural play of his nation's mirthful sarcasm was absorbed ina moment in the sacredness of his office; and with a solemnity befittingthe highest occasion, he placed his hands together before his breast, andraising his eyes to Heaven he poured forth his sweet voice, with a tone ofthe deepest devotion, in that reverential call to prayer, "_Orate_, _fratres_. "

The sound of a multitude gently kneeling down followed, like the softbreaking of a quiet sea on a sandy beach; and when Father Philip turned tothe altar to pray, his pent-up feelings found vent in tears; and while heprayed, he wept. 

I believe such scenes as this are not of unfrequent occurrence in Ireland;that country so long-suffering, so much maligned, and so littleunderstood. 

Suppose the foregoing scene to have been only described antecedent to thewoman in the outbreak of her gratitude revealing the priest's charity, from which he recoiled, --suppose the mirthfulness of the incidents arisingfrom reading the subscription-list--a mirthfulness bordering on theludicrous--to have been recorded, and nothing more, a stranger would beinclined to believe, and pardonable in the belief, that the Irish andtheir priesthood were rather prone to be irreverent; but observe, underthis exterior, the deep sources of feeling that lie hidden and wait butthe wand of divination to be revealed. In a thousand similar ways are theactions and the motives of the Irish understood by those who are carelessof them; or worse, misrepresented by those whose interest, and too often_business_, it is to malign them. 

Father Phil could proceed no further with the reading of the subscription-list, but finished the office of the mass with unusual solemnity. But ifthe incident just recorded abridged his address, and the publication ofdonors' names by way of stimulus to the less active, it produced a greateffect on those who had but smaller donations to drop into the plate; andthe grey-headed collector, who could have numbered the scanty coin beforethe bereaved widow had revealed the pastor's charity, had to struggle hisway afterwards through the eagerly outstretched hands that showered theirhard-earned pence upon the plate, which was borne back to the altar heapedwith contributions, heaped as it had not been seen for many a day. Thestudied excitement of their pride and their shame--and both are activeagents in the Irish nature--was less successful than the accidental appealto their affections. 

Oh! rulers of Ireland, why have you not sooner learned to _lead_ thatpeople by love, whom all your severity has been unable to _drive_?[Footnote: When this passage was written Ireland was disturbed (as she hastoo often been) by special parliamentary provocation:--the vexatiousvigilance of legislative lynxes--the peevishness of paltry persecutors. ]

When the mass was over, Andy waited at the door of the chapel to catch"his riverence" coming out, and obtain his advice about what he overheardfrom Larry Hogan; and Father Phil was accordingly accosted by Andy just ashe was going to get into his saddle to ride over to breakfast with one ofthe neighbouring farmers, who was holding the priest's stirrup at themoment. The extreme urgency of Andy's manner, as he pressed up to thepastor's side, made the latter pause and inquire what he wanted. "I wantto get some advice from your riverence, " said Andy. 

"'Faith, then, the advice I give you is never to stop a hungry man when heis going to refresh himself, " said Father Phil, who had quite recoveredhis usual cheerfulness, and threw his leg over his little grey hack as hespoke. "How could you be so unreasonable as to expect me to stop herelistening to your case, and giving you advice indeed, when I have saidthree masses [Footnote: The office of the mass must be performed fasting. ]this morning, and rode three miles; how could you be so unreasonable, Isay?"

"I ax your riverence's pardon, " said Andy; "I wouldn't have taken theliberty, only the thing is mighty particular intirely. "

"Well, I tell you again, never ask a hungry man advice; for he is likelyto cut his advice on the patthern of his stomach, and it's empty adviceyou'll get. Did you never hear that a 'hungry stomach has no ears'?"

The farmer who was to have the honour of the priest's company to breakfastexhibited rather more impatience than the good-humoured Father Phil, andreproved Andy for his conduct. 

"But it's so particular, " said Andy. 

"I wondher you would dar' to stop his riverence, and he black fastin'. Go'long wid you!"

"Come over to my house in the course of the week, and speak to me, " saidFather Phil, riding away. 

Andy still persevered, and taking advantage of the absence of the farmer, who was mounting his own nag at the moment, said the matter of which hewished to speak involved the interests of Squire Egan, or he would not"make so bowld. "

This altered the matter; and Father Phil desired Andy to follow him to thefarm-house of John Dwyer, where he would speak to him after he hadbreakfasted. 

CHAPTER XXIX

John Dwyer's house was a scene of activity that day, for not only was thepriest to breakfast there--always an affair of honour--but a grand dinnerwas also preparing on a large scale; for a wedding-feast was to be held inthe house, in honour of Matty Dwyer's nuptials, which were to becelebrated that day with a neighbouring young farmer, rather well to do inthe world. The match had been on and off for some time, for John Dwyer waswhat is commonly called a "close-fisted fellow, " and his would-be son-in-law could not bring him to what he considered proper terms, and thoughMatty liked young Casey, and he was fond of her, they both agreed not tolet old Jack Dwyer have the best of the bargain in portioning off hisdaughter, who, having a spice of her father in her, was just as fond of_number one_ as old Jack himself. And here it is worthy of remark, that, though the Irish are so prone in general to early and improvidentmarriages, no people are closer in their nuptial barter, when they are ina condition to make marriage a profitable contract. Repeated meetingsbetween the elders of families take place, and acute arguments ensue, properly to equalise the worldly goods to be given on both sides. Pots andpans are balanced against pails and churns, cows against horses, a slip ofbog against a gravel-pit, or a patch of meadow against a bit of a quarry;a little lime-kiln sometimes burns stronger than the flame of Cupid--thedoves of Venus herself are but crows in comparison with a good flock ofgeese--and a love-sick sigh less touching than the healthy grunt of a goodpig; indeed, the last-named gentleman is a most useful agent in thistraffic, for when matters are nearly poised, the balance is often adjustedby a grunter or two thrown into either scale. While matters are thus in astate of debate, quarrels sometimes occur between the lovers thegentleman's caution sometimes takes alarm, and more frequently the lady'spride is aroused at the too obvious preference given to worldly gain overheavenly beauty; Cupid shies at Mammon, and Hymen is upset and left in themire. 

I remember hearing of an instance of this nature, when the lady gave her_ci-devant_ lover an ingenious reproof, after they had been separatedsome time, when a marriage-bargain was broken off, because the lover couldnot obtain from the girl's father a certain brown filly as part of herdowry. The damsel, after the lapse of some weeks, met her swain at aneighbouring fair, and the flame of love still smouldering in his heartwas re-illumined by the sight of his charmer, who, on the contrary, hadbecome quite disgusted with _him_ for his too obvious preference ofprofit to true affection. He addressed her softly in a tent, and asked herto dance, but was most astonished at her returning him a look of vacantwonder, which tacitly implied, _"Who are you?"_ as plain as lookscould speak. 

"Arrah, Mary, " exclaimed the youth. 

"Sir!!!"--answered Mary, with what heroines call "ineffable disdain. "

"Why one would think you didn't know me!"

"If I ever had the honour of your acquaintance, sir, " answered Mary, "Iforget you entirely. "

"Forget me, Mary?--arrah be aisy--is it forget the man that was courtin'and in love with you?"

"You're under a mistake, young man, " said Mary, with a curl of her rosylip, which displayed the pearly teeth to whose beauty her woman's naturerejoiced that the recreant lover was not yet insensible--"You're under amistake, young man, " and her heightened colour made her eye flash morebrightly as she spoke--"you're quite under a mistake--no one was ever inlove with _me_;" and she laid signal emphasis on the word. "There wasa dirty mane blackguard, indeed, once _in love with my father's brownfilly, _ but I forget him intirely. "

Mary tossed her head proudly as she spoke, and her filly-fancying admirer, reeling under the reproof she inflicted, sneaked from the tent, while Marystood up and danced with a more open-hearted lover, whose earnest eyecould see more charms in one lovely woman than all the horses of Arabia. 

But no such result as this was likely to take place in Matty Dwyer's case;she and her lover agreed with one another on the settlement to be made, and old Jack was not to be allowed an inch over what was considered aneven bargain. At length all matters were agreed upon, the wedding-dayfixed, and the guests invited; yet still both parties were not satisfied, but young Casey thought he should be put into absolute possession of acertain little farm and cottage, and have the lease looked over to see allwas right (for Jack Dwyer was considered rather slippery), while old Jackthought it time enough to give him possession and the lease and hisdaughter altogether. 

However, matters had gone so far that, as the reader has seen, thewedding-feast was prepared, the guests invited, and Father Phil on thespot to help James and Matty (in the facetious parlance of Paddy) to "tiewith their tongues what they could not undo with their teeth. "

When the priest had done breakfast, the arrival of Andy was announced tohim, and Andy was admitted to a private audience with Father Phil, theparticulars of which must not be disclosed; for in short, Andy made aregular confession before the Father, and, we know, confessions must beheld sacred; but we may say that Andy confided the whole post-officeaffair to the pastor--told him how Larry Hogan had contrived to worm thataffair out of him, and by his devilish artifice had, as Andy feared, contrived to implicate Squire Egan in the transaction, and, by threateninga disclosure, got the worthy Squire into his villanous power. Andy, underthe solemn queries of the priest, positively denied having said one wordto Hogan to criminate the Squire, and that Hogan could only infer theSquire's guilt; upon which Father Phil, having perfectly satisfiedhimself, told Andy to make his mind easy, for that he would secure theSquire from any harm, and he moreover praised Andy for the fidelity hedisplayed to the interests of his old master, and declared he was sopleased with him, that he would desire Jack Dwyer to ask him to dinner. "And that will be no blind nut, let me tell you, " said Father Phil--"awedding dinner, you lucky dog--'lashings [Footnote: Overflowing abundance, and plenty left after. ] and lavings, ' and no end of dancing afther!"

Andy was accordingly bidden to the bridal feast, to which the guests beganalready to gather thick and fast. They strolled about the field before thehouse, basked in groups in the sunshine, or lay in the shade under thehedges, where hints of future marriages were given to many a pretty girl, and to nudges and pinches were returned small screams suggestive ofadditional assault--and inviting denials of "Indeed I won't, " and thatcrowning provocative to riotous conduct, "Behave yourself. "

In the meantime, the barn was laid out with long planks, supported onbarrels or big stones, which planks, when covered with clean cloths, madea goodly board, that soon began to be covered with ample wooden dishes ofcorned beef, roasted geese, boiled chickens and bacon, and intermediatestacks of cabbage and huge bowls of potatoes, all sending up their wreathsof smoke to the rafters of the barn, soon to become hotter from the crowdof guests, who, when the word was given, rushed to the onslaught withright good will. 

The dinner was later than the hour named, and the delay arose from theabsence of one who, of all others, ought to have been present, namely, thebridegroom. But James Casey was missing, and Jack Dwyer had been closetedfrom time to time with several long-headed greybeards, canvassing theoccurrence, and wondering at the default on the bridegroom's part. Theperson who might have been supposed to bear this default the worstsupported it better than any one. Matty was all life and spirits, andhelped in making the feast ready, as if nothing wrong had happened; andshe backed Father Phil's argument to sit down to dinner at once;--"that ifJames Casey was not there, that was no reason dinner should be spoiled, he'd be there soon enough; besides, if he didn't arrive in time, it wasbetter he should have good meat cold, than everybody have hot meatspoiled: the ducks would be done to cindhers, the beef boiled to rags, andthe chickens be all in jommethry. "

So down they sat to dinner: its heat, its mirth, its clatter, and its goodcheer we will not attempt to describe; suffice it to say, the viands weregood, the guests hungry, and the drink unexceptionable; and Father Phil, no bad judge of such matters, declared he never pronounced grace over abetter spread. But still, in the midst of the good cheer, neighbours (thewomen particularly) would suggest to each other the "wondher" where thebridegroom could be; and even within ear-shot of the bride elect, thelow-voiced whisper ran, of "Where in the world is James Casey?"

Still the bride kept up her smiles, and cheerfully returned the healthsthat were drunk to her; but old Jack was not unmoved; a cloud hung on hisbrow, which grew darker and darker as the hour advanced, and thebridegroom yet tarried. The board was cleared of the eatables, and thecopious jugs of punch going their round; but the usual toast of the unitedhealths of the happy pair could not be given, for one of them was absent. Father Phil hardly knew what to do; for even his overflowing cheerfulnessbegan to forsake him, and a certain air of embarrassment began to pervadethe whole assembly, till Jack Dwyer could bear it no longer, and, standingup, he thus addressed the company:--

"Friends and neighbours, you see the disgrace that's put on me and mychild. "

A murmur of "No, no!" ran round the board. 

"I say, yis. "

"He'll come yet, sir, " said a voice. 

"No, he won't, " said Jack, "I see he won't--I know he won't. He wanted tohave everything all his own way, and he thinks to disgrace me in doingwhat he likes, but he shan't"; and he struck the table fiercely as hespoke; for Jack, when once his blood was up, was a man of desperatedetermination. "He's a greedy chap, the same James Casey, and he loves hisbargain betther than he loves you, Matty, so don't look glum about whatI'm saying: I say he's greedy: he's just the fellow that, if you gave himthe roof off your house, would ax you for the rails before your door; andhe goes back of his bargain now, bekase I would not let him have it allhis own way, and puts the disgrace on me, thinkin' I'll give in to him, through that same; but I won't. And I tell you what it is, friends andneighbours; here's the lease of the three-cornered field below there, " andhe held up a parchment as he spoke, "and a snug cottage on it, and it'sall ready for the girl to walk into with the man that will have her; andif there's a man among you here that's willing, let him say the word now, and I'll give her to him!"

The girl could not resist an exclamation of surprise, which her fatherhushed by a word and look so peremptory, that she saw remonstrance was invain, and a silence of some moments ensued; for it was rather startling, this immediate offer of a girl who had been so strangely slighted, and themen were not quite prepared to make advances, until they knew somethingmore of the why and wherefore of her sweetheart's desertion. 

"Are yiz all dumb?" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. "Faix, it's not every daya snug little field and cottage and a good-looking girl falls in a man'sway. I say again, I'll give her and the lase to the man that will say theword. "

Still no one spoke, and Andy began to think they were using Jack Dwyer andhis daughter very ill, but what business had _he_ to think ofoffering himself, "a poor devil like him"? But, the silence stillcontinuing, Andy took heart of grace; and as the profit and pleasure of asnug match and a handsome wife flushed upon him, he got up and said, "Would I do, sir?"

Every one was taken by surprise, even old Jack himself; and Matty couldnot suppress a faint exclamation, which every one but Andy understood tomean "she didn't like it at all, " but which Andy interpreted quite theother way, and he grinned his loutish admiration of Matty, who turned awayher head from him in sheer distaste, which action Andy took for merecoyness. 

Jack was in a dilemma, for Andy was just the last man he would have chosenas a husband for his daughter; but what could he do? he was taken at hisword, and even at the worst he was determined that some one should marrythe girl out of hand, and show Casey the "disgrace should not be put onhim"; but, anxious to have another chance, he stammered something aboutthe fairness of "letting the girl choose, " and that "some one else mightwish to spake"; but the end of all was, that no one rose to rival Andy, and Father Phil bore witness to the satisfaction he had that day infinding so much uprightness and fidelity in "the boy"; that he had raisedhis character much in his estimation by his conduct that day; and if hewas a little giddy betimes, there was nothing like a wife to steady him;and if he was rather poor, sure Jack Dwyer could mend that. 

"Then come up here, " says Jack; and Andy left his place at the very end ofthe board and marched up to the head, amidst clapping of hands andthumping of the table, and laughing and shouting. 

"Silence!" cried Father Phil, "this is no laughing matther, but a seriousengagement--and, John Dwyer, I tell you--and you Andy Rooney, that girlmust not be married against her own free-will; but if she has noobjection, well and good. "

"My will is her pleasure, I know, " said Jack, resolutely. 

To the surprise of every one, Matty said, "Oh, I'll take the boy with allmy heart!"

Handy Andy threw his arms round her neck and gave her a most vigoroussalute which came smacking off, and thereupon arose a hilarious shoutwhich made the old rafters of the barn ring again. 

"There's the lase for you, " said Jack, handing the parchment to Andy, whowas now installed in the place of honour beside the bride elect at thehead of the table, and the punch circulated rapidly in filling to thedouble toast of health, happiness, and prosperity to the "happy pair"; andafter some few more circuits of the enlivening liquor had been performed, the women retired to the dwelling-house, whose sanded parlour was put inimmediate readiness for the celebration of the nuptial knot between Mattyand the adventurous Andy. 

In half an hour the ceremony was performed, and the rites and blessings ofthe Church dispensed between two people, who, an hour before, had neverlooked on each other with thoughts of matrimony. 

Under such circumstances it was wonderful with what lightness of spiritMatty went through the honours consequent on a peasant bridal in Ireland:these, it is needless to detail; our limits would not permit; but sufficeit to say, that a rattling country-dance was led off by Andy and Matty inthe barn, intermediate jigs were indulged in by the "picked dancers" ofthe parish, while the country dancers were resting and making love (ifmaking love can be called rest) in the corners, and that the pipers andpunch-makers had quite enough to do until the night was far spent, and itwas considered time for the bride and bridegroom to be escorted by achosen party of friends to the little cottage which was to be their futurehome. The pipers stood at the threshold of Jack Dwyer, and his daughterdeparted from under the "roof-tree" to the tune of "Joy be with you"; andthen the lilters, heading the body-guard of the bride, plied drone andchanter right merrily until she had entered her new home, thanked her oldfriends (who did all the established civilities, and cracked all the usualjokes attendant on the occasion); and Andy bolted the door of the snugcottage of which he had so suddenly become master, and placed a seat forthe bride beside the fire, requesting _"Miss Dwyer"_ to sit down--forAndy could not bring himself to call her "Matty" yet--and found himself inan awkward position in being "lord and master" of a girl he considered sofar above him a few hours before; Matty sat quiet, and looked at the fire. 

"It's very quare, isn't it?" says Andy with a grin, looking at hertenderly, and twiddling his thumbs. 

"What's quare?" inquired Matty, very drily. 

"The estate, " responded Andy. 

"What estate?" asked Matty. 

"Your estate and my estate, " said Andy. 

"Sure you don't call the three-cornered field my father gave us an estate, you fool?" answered Matty. 

"Oh no, " said Andy. "I mane the blessed and holy estate of matrimony thepriest put us in possession of;" and Andy drew a stool near the heiress, on the strength of the hit he thought he had made. 

"Sit at the other side of the fire, " said Matty, very coldly. 

"Yes, miss, " responded Andy, very respectfully; and in shoving his seatbackwards the legs of the stool caught in the earthen floor, and Andytumbled heels over head. 

Matty laughed while Andy was picking himself up with increased confusionat this mishap; for even amidst rustics there is nothing more humiliatingthan a lover placing himself in a ridiculous position at the moment he isdoing his best to make himself agreeable. 

"It is well your coat's not new, " said Matty, with a contemptuous look atHandy's weather-beaten vestment. 

"I hope I'll soon have a betther, " said Andy, a little piqued, with allhis reverence for the heiress, at this allusion to his poverty. "But sureit wasn't the coat you married, but the man that's in it; and sure I'lltake off my clothes as soon as you please, Matty, my dear--Miss Dwyer, Imane--I beg your pardon. "

"You had better wait till you get better, " answered Matty, very drily. "You know the old saying, 'Don't throw out your dirty wather until you getin fresh. '"

"Ah, darlin', don't be cruel to me!" said Andy, in a supplicating tone. "Iknow I'm not desarvin' of you, but sure I did not make so bowld as to makeup to you until I seen that nobody else would have you. "

"Nobody else have me!" exclaimed Matty, as her eyes flashed with anger. 

"I beg your pardon, miss, " said poor Andy, who in the extremity of his ownhumility had committed such an offence against Matty's pride. "I onlymeant that--"

"Say no more about it, " said Matty, who recovered her equanimity. "Didn'tmy father give you the lase of the field and house?"

"Yis, miss. "

"You had better let me keep it then; 'twill be safer with me than you. "

"Sartainly, " said Andy, who drew the lease from his pocket and handed itto her, and--as he was near to her--he attempted a little familiarity, which Matty repelled very unequivocally. 

"Arrah! is it jokes you are crackin'?" said Andy, with a grin, advancingto renew his fondling. 

"I tell you what it is, " said Matty, jumping up, "I'll crack your head ifyou don't behave yourself!" and she seized the stool on which she had beensitting, and brandished it in a very amazonian fashion. 

"Oh, wirra! wirra!" said Andy, in amaze--"aren't you my wife?"

"_Your_ wife!" retorted Matty, with a very devil in her eye--"_Your_ wife, indeed, you great _omadhaun_; why, then, had youthe brass to think I'd put up with _you_?"

"Arrah, then, why did you marry me?" said Andy, in a pitiful argumentativewhine. 

"Why did I marry you?" retorted Matty--"Didn't I know betther than refuseyou, when my father said the word _when the divil was busy with him_?Why did I marry you?--it's a pity I didn't refuse, and be murthered thatnight, maybe, as soon as the people's backs was turned. Oh, it's littleyou know of owld Jack Dwyer, or you wouldn't ask me that; but, though I'mafraid of him, I'm not afraid of you--so stand off I tell you. "

"Oh, Blessed Virgin!" cried Andy; "and what will be the end of it?"

There was a tapping at the door as he spoke. 

"You'll soon see what will be the end of it, " said Matty, as she walkedacross the cabin and opened to the knock. 

James Casey entered and clasped Matty in his arms; and half a dozenathletic fellows and one old and debauched-looking man followed, and thedoor was immediately closed after their entry. 

Andy stood in amazement while Casey and Matty caressed each other; and theold man said in a voice tremulous with intoxication, "A very pretty filly, by jingo!"

"I lost no time the minute I got your message, Matty, " said Casey, "andhere's the Father ready to join us. "

"Ay, ay, " cackled the old reprobate--"hammer and tongs!--strike while theiron's hot!--I'm the boy for a short job"; and he pulled a greasy bookfrom his pocket as he spoke. 

This was a degraded clergyman, known in Ireland under the title of"Couple-Beggar, " who is ready to perform irregular marriages on suchurgent occasions as the present; and Matty had contrived to inform JamesCasey of the desperate turn affairs had taken at home, and recommended himto adopt the present plan, and so defeat the violent measure of her fatherby one still more so. 

A scene of uproar now ensued, for Andy did not take matters quietly, butmade a pretty considerable row, which was speedily quelled, however, byCasey's bodyguard, who tied Andy neck and heels, and in that helplessstate he witnessed the marriage ceremony performed by the "couple-beggar, "between Casey and the girl he had looked upon as his own five minutesbefore. 

In vain did he raise his voice against the proceeding; the "couple-beggar"smothered his objections in ribald jests. 

"You can't take her from me, I tell you, " cried Andy. 

"No; but we can take you from her, " said the "couple-beggar"; and, at thewords, Casey's friends dragged Andy from the cottage, bidding a rollickingadieu to their triumphant companion, who bolted the door after them andbecame possessor of the wife and property poor Andy thought he hadsecured. 

To guard against an immediate alarm being given, Andy was warned on painof death to be silent as his captors bore him along, and he took them tobe too much men of their word to doubt they would keep their promise. Theybore him through a lonely by-lane for some time, and on arriving at thestump of an old tree, bound him securely to it, and left him to pass hiswedding-night in the tight embraces of hemp. 

CHAPTER XXX

The news of Andy's wedding, so strange in itself, and being celebratedbefore so many, spread over the country like wildfire, and made the talkof half the barony for the next day, and the question, "_Arrah, did youhear of the wondherful wedding?_" was asked in high-road and by-road, --and scarcely a _boreen_ whose hedges had not borne witness to thisstartling matrimonial intelligence. The story, like all other stories, ofcourse got twisted into various strange shapes, and fanciful exaggerationsbecame grafted on the original stem, sufficiently grotesque in itself; andone of the versions set forth how old Jack Dwyer, the more to vex Casey, had given his daughter the greatest fortune that ever had been heard of inthe country. 

Now one of the open-eared people who had caught hold of the story by thisend happened to meet Andy's mother, and, with a congratulatory grin, beganwith "The top o' the mornin' to you, Mrs. Rooney, and sure I wish youjoy. "

"Och hone, and for why, dear?" answered Mrs. Rooney, "sure, it's nothin'but trouble and care I have, poor and in want, like me. "

"But sure you'll never be in want any more. "

"Arrah, who towld you so, agra?"

"Sure the boy will take care of you now, won't he?"

"What boy?"

"Andy, sure!"

"Andy!" replied his mother, in amazement. "Andy, indeed!--out o' place, and without a bawbee to bless himself with!--stayin' out all night, theblackguard!"

"By this and that, I don't think you know a word about it, " cried thefriend, whose turn it was for wonder now. 

"Don't I, indeed?" said Mrs. Rooney, huffed at having her word doubted, asshe thought. "I tell you he never _was_ at home last night, and maybeit's yourself was helping him, Micky Lavery, to keep his bad coorses--theslingein' dirty blackguard that he is. "

Micky Lavery set up a shout of laughter, which increased the ire of Mrs. Rooney, who would have passed on in dignified silence but that Micky heldher fast, and when he recovered breath enough to speak, he proceeded totell her about Andy's marriage, but in such a disjointed way, that it wassome time before Mrs. Rooney could comprehend him--for his interjectionallaughter at the capital joke it was, that she should be the last to knowit, and that he should have the luck to tell it, sometimes broke thethread of his story--and then his collateral observations so disfiguredthe tale, that its incomprehensibility became very much increased, untilat last Mrs. Rooney was driven to push him by direct questions. 

"For the tendher mercy, Micky Lavery, make me sinsible, and don'tdisthract me--is the boy married?"

"Yis, I tell you. "

"To Jack Dwyer's daughter?"

"Yis. "

"And gev him a fort'n'?"

"Gev him half his property, I tell you, and he'll have all when the owldman's dead. "

"Oh, more power to you, Andy!" cried his mother in delight: "it's you that_is_ the boy, and the best child that ever was! Half his property, you tell me, _Misther_ Lavery?" added she, getting distant and politethe moment she found herself mother to a rich man, and curtailing herfamiliarity with a poor one like Lavery. 

"Yes, _ma'am_, " said Lavery, touching his hat, "and the whole of itwhen the owld man dies. "

"Then indeed I wish him a happy relase!" [Footnote: A "happy release" isthe Irish phrase for departing this life] said Mrs. Rooney, piously--"notthat I owe the man any spite--but sure he'd be no loss--and it's a goodwish to any one, sure, to wish them in heaven. Good mornin', MistherLavery, " said Mrs. Rooney, with a patronising smile, and "going the roadwith a dignified air. "

Mick Lavery looked after her with mingled wonder and indignation. "Badluck to you, you owld sthrap!" he muttered between his teeth. "Howconsaited you are, all of a sudden--by Jakers, I'm sorry I towld you--cockyou up, indeed--put a beggar on horseback to be sure--humph!--the devilcut the tongue out o' me if ever I give any one good news again. I've amind to turn back and tell Tim Dooling his horse is in the pound. "

Mrs. Rooney continued her dignified pace as long as she was in sight ofLavery, but the moment an angle of the road screened her from hisobservation, off she set, running as hard as she could, to embrace herdarling Andy, and realise with her own eyes and ears all the good news shehad heard. She puffed out by the way many set phrases about the goodnessof Providence, and arranged at the same time sundry fine speeches to maketo the bride; so that the old lady's piety and flattery ran a strangecouple together along with herself; while mixed up with her prayers andher blarney, were certain speculations about Jack Dwyer--as to how long hecould _live_--and how much he might _leave_. 

It was in this frame of mind she reached the hill which commanded a viewof the three-cornered field and the snug cottage, and down she rushed toembrace her darling Andy and his gentle bride. Puffing and blowing like aporpoise, bang she went into the cottage, and Matty being the first personshe met, she flung herself upon her, and covered her with embraces andblessings. 

Matty, being taken by surprise, was some time before she could shake offthe old beldame's hateful caresses; but at last getting free and tuckingup her hair, which her imaginary mother-in-law had clawed about her ears, she exclaimed in no very gentle tones--

"Arrah, good woman, who axed for _your_ company--who are you atall?"

"Your mother-in-law, jewel!" cried the Widow Rooney, making anotheropen-armed rush at her beloved daughter-in-law; but Matty received thewidow's protruding mouth on her clenched fist instead of her lips, and the old woman's nose coming in for a share of Matty's knuckles, a ruby stream spurted forth, while all the colours of the rainbow dancedbefore Mrs. Rooney's eyes as she reeled backward on the floor. 

"Take that, you owld faggot!" cried Matty, as she shook Mrs. Rooney'stributary claret from the knuckles which had so scientifically tapped it, and wiped her hand in her apron. 

The old woman roared "millia' murthur" on the floor, and snuffled out adeprecatory question "if that was the proper way to be received in herson's house. "

"_Your_ son's house, indeed!" cried Matty. "Get out o' the place, youstack o' rags. "

"Oh, Andy! Andy!" cried the mother, gathering herself up. 

"Oh--that's it, is it!" cried Matty; "so it's Andy you want?"

"To be sure: why wouldn't I want him, you hussy? My boy! my darlin'! mybeauty!"

"Well, go look for him!" cried Matty, giving her a shove towards the door. "Well, now, do you think I'll be turned out of my son's house so quietlyas that, you unnatural baggage?" cried Mrs. Rooney, facing round, fiercely. Upon which a bitter altercation ensued between the women; in thecourse of which the widow soon learnt that Andy was not the possessor ofMatty's charms: whereupon the old woman, no longer having the fear ofdamaging her daughter-in-law's beauty before her eyes, tackled to for afight in right earnest, in the course of which some reprisals were made bythe widow in revenge for her broken nose; but Matty's youth and activity, joined to her Amazonian spirit, turned the tide in her favour, though, hadnot the old lady been blown by her long run, the victory would not havebeen so easy, for she was a tough customer, and _left_ Matty certainmarks of her favour that did not rub out in a hurry--while she took_away_ (as a keepsake) a handful of Matty's hair, by which she hadlong held on till a successful kick from the gentle bride finally ejectedMrs. Rooney from the house. 

Off she reeled, bleeding and roaring, and while on her approach she hadbeen blessing Heaven and inventing sweet speeches for Matty, on herretreat she was cursing fate and heaping all sorts of hard names on theAmazon she came to flatter. Alas, for the brevity of human exultation!

How fared it in the meantime with Andy? He, poor devil! had passed a coldnight, tied up to the old tree, and as the morning dawned, every objectappeared to him through the dim light in a distorted form; the gapinghollow of the old trunk to which he was bound seemed like a huge mouth, opening to swallow him, while the old knots looked like eyes, and thegnarled branches like claws, staring at and ready to tear him in pieces. 

A raven, perched above him on a lonely branch, croaked dismally, till Andyfancied he could hear words of reproach in the sounds, while a littletomtit chattered and twittered on a neighbouring bough, as if he enjoyedand approved of all the severe things the raven uttered. The little tomtitwas the worst of the two, just as the solemn reproof of the wise can bebetter borne than the impertinent remark of some chattering fool. To theseimaginary evils was added the reality of some enormous water-rats thatissued from an adjacent pool and began to eat Andy's hat and shoes, whichhad fallen off in his struggle with his captors; and all Andy's warningejaculations could not make the vermin abstain from his shoes and his hat, which, to judge from their eager eating, could not stay their stomachslong, so that Andy, as he looked on at the rapid demolition, began todread that they might transfer their favours from his attire to himself, until the tramp of approaching horses relieved his anxiety, and in a fewminutes two horsemen stood before him--they were Father Phil and SquireEgan. 

Great was the surprise of the Father to see the fellow he had married thenight before, and whom he supposed to be in the enjoyment of hishoneymoon, tied up to a tree and looking more dead than alive; and hisindignation knew no bounds when he heard that a "couple-beggar" had daredto celebrate the marriage ceremony, which fact came out in the course ofthe explanation Andy made of the desperate misadventure which had befallenhim; but all other grievances gave way in the eyes of Father Phil to the"couple-beggar. "

"A 'couple-beggar'!--the audacious vagabones!" he cried, while he and theSquire were engaged in loosing Andy's bonds. "A 'couple-beggar' in myparish! How fast they have tied him up, Squire!" he added, as heendeavoured to undo a knot. "A 'couple-beggar, ' indeed! I'll undo themarriage!--have you a knife about you, Squire?--the blessed and holy tieof matrimony!--it's a black knot, bad luck to it, and must be cut--takeyour leg out o' that now--and wait till I lay my hands on them--a'couple-beggar' indeed!"

"A desperate outrage this whole affair has been!" said the Squire. 

"But a 'couple-beggar, ' Squire. "

"His house broken into--"

"But a 'couple-beggar'--"

"His wife taken from him--"

"But a 'couple-beggar'--"

"The laws violated--"

"But _my dues_, Squire--think o' that!--what would become o'_them_, if 'couple-beggars' is allowed to show their audacious facesin the parish. Oh, wait till next Sunday, that's all--I'll have them upbefore the althar, and I'll make them beg God's pardon, and my pardon, andthe congregation's pardon, the audacious pair!" [Footnote: A man and womanwho had been united by a "couple-beggar" were called up one Sunday by thepriest in the face of the congregation, and summoned, as Father Philthreatens above, to beg God's pardon, and the priest's pardon, and thecongregation's pardon; but the woman stoutly refused the last condition. "I'll beg God's pardon and your Reverence's pardon, " she said, "but Iwon't beg the congregation's pardon. " "You won't?" says the priest. "Iwon't, " says she. "Oh you conthrairy baggage, " cried his Reverence: "takeher home out o' that, " said he to her husband who HAD humbled himself--"take her home, and leather her well--for she wants it; and if you don'tleather her, you'll be sorry--for if you don't make her afraid of you, she'll master YOU, too--take her home and leather her. "--FACT. ]

"It's an assault on Andy, " said the Squire. 

"It's a robbery on me, " said Father Phil. 

"Could you identify the men?" said the Squire. 

"Do you know the 'couple-beggar'?" said the priest. 

"Did James Casey lay his hands on you?" said the Squire; "for he's a goodman to have a warrant against. "

"Oh, Squire, Squire!" ejaculated Father Phil; "talking of laying hands on_him_ is it you are?--didn't that blackguard 'couple-beggar' lay hisdirty hands on a woman that my bran new benediction was upon! Sure, they'ddo anything after that!" By this time Andy was free, and having receivedthe Squire's directions to follow him to Merryvale, Father Phil and theworthy Squire were once more in their saddles and proceeded quietly tothe same place, the Squire silently considering the audacity of the_coup-de-main_ which robbed Andy of his wife, and his reverence puffingout his rosy cheeks and muttering sundry angry sentences, the onlyintelligible words of which were "couple-beggar. "

CHAPTER XXXI

Doubtless the reader has anticipated that the presence of Father Phil inthe company of the Squire at this immediate time was on account of thecommunication made by Andy about the post-office affair. Father Phil haddetermined to give the Squire freedom from the strategetic coil in whichLarry Hogan had ensnared him, and lost no time in setting about it; and itwas on his intended visit to Merryvale that he met its hospitable owner, and telling him there was a matter of some private importance he wished tocommunicate, suggested a quiet ride together; and this it was which led totheir traversing the lonely little lane where they discovered Andy, whosename was so principal in the revelations of that day. 

To the Squire those revelations were of the dearest importance; for theyrelieved his mind from a weight which had been oppressing it for sometime, and set his heart at rest. Egan, it must be remarked, was an oddmixture of courage and cowardice: undaunted by personal danger, butstrangely timorous where moral courage was required. A remarkable shyness, too, made him hesitate constantly in the utterance of a word which mightexplain away any difficulty in which he chanced to find himself; and thishelped to keep his tongue tied in the matter where Larry Hogan hadcontinued to make himself a bugbear. He had a horror, too, of beingthought capable of doing a dishonourable thing, and the shame he felt athaving peeped into a letter was so stinging, that the idea of asking anyone's advice in the dilemma in which he was placed made him recoil fromthe thought of such aid. Now, Father Phil had relieved him from thedifficulties his own weakness imposed; the subject had been forced uponhim; and once forced to speak he made a full acknowledgment of all thathad taken place; and when he found Andy had not borne witness against him, and that Larry Hogan only _inferred_ his participation in thetransaction, he saw on Father Phil's showing that he was not really inLarry Hogan's power; for though he admitted he had given Larry a trifle ofmoney from time to time when Larry asked for it, under the influence ofcertain innuendoes, yet that was no proof against him; and Father Phil'sadvice was to get Andy out of the way as soon as possible, and then to setLarry quietly at defiance--that is to say, in Father Phil's own words, "to keep never minding him. "

Now Andy not being encumbered with a wife (as fate had so ordained it)made the matter easier, and the Squire and the Father, as they rodetowards Merryvale together to dinner, agreed to pack off Andy withoutdelay, and thus place him beyond Hogan's power; and as Dick Dawson wasgoing to London with Murphy, to push the petition against Scatterbrain'sreturn, it was looked upon as a lucky chance, and Andy was at once namedto bear them company. 

"But you must not let Hogan know that Andy is sent away under yourpatronage, Squire, " said the Father, "for that would be presumptiveevidence you had an interest in his absence; and Hogan is the veryblackguard would see it fast enough, for he is a knowing rascal. "

"He's the deepest scoundrel I ever met, " said the Squire. 

"As knowing as a jailer, " said Father Phil. "A jailer, did I say--by dad, he bates any jailer I ever heard of--for that fellow is so 'cute, he_could keep Newgate with a book and eye. "_

"By-the-bye, there's one thing I forgot to tell you, respecting thoseletters I threw into the fire; for remember, Father, I only peeped into_one_ and destroyed the others; but one of the letters, I must tellyou, was directed to yourself. "

"'Faith, then, I forgive you that, Squire, " said Father Phil, "for I hateletters; but if you have any scruple of conscience on the subject, writeme one yourself, and that will do as well. "

The Squire could not help thinking the Father's mode of settling thedifficulty worthy of Handy Andy himself; but he did not tell the Fatherso. 

They had now reached Merryvale, where the good-humoured priest washeartily welcomed, and where Doctor Growling, Dick Dawson, and Murphy werealso guests at dinner. Great was the delight of the party at the historythey heard, when the cloth was drawn, of Andy's wedding, so much inkeeping with his former life and adventures, and Father Phil had anotheropportunity of venting his rage against the "couple-beggar. "

"That was but a slip-knot you tied, Father, " said the doctor. 

"Aye, aye! joke away, doctor. "

"Do you think, Father Phil, " said Murphy, "that _that_ marriage wasmade in heaven, where we are told marriages _are_ made?"

"I don't suppose it was, Mr. Murphy; for if it had it would have held uponearth. "

"Very well answered, Father, " said the Squire. 

"I don't know what other people think about matches being made in heaven, "said Growling, "but I have my suspicions they are sometimes made inanother place. "

"Oh, fie, doctor!" said Mrs. Egan. 

"The doctor, ma'am, is an old bachelor, " said Father Phil, "or he wouldn'tsay so. "

"Thank you, Father Phil, for so polite a speech. "

The doctor took his pencil from his pocket and began to write on a smallbit of paper, which the priest observing, asked him what he was about, "oris it writing a prescription you are, " said he, "for compounding bettermarriages than I can?"

"Something very naughty, I dare say, the doctor is doing, " said FannyDawson. 

"Judge for yourself, lady fair, " said the doctor, handing Fanny the slipof paper. 

Fanny looked at it for a moment and smiled, but declared it was verywicked indeed. 

"Then read it for the company, and condemn me out of your own prettymouth, Miss Dawson, " said the doctor. 

"It is too wicked. "

"If it is ever so wicked, " said Father Phil, "the wickedness will beneutralised by being read by an angel. "

"Well done, St. Omer's, " cried Murphy. 

"Really, Father, " said Fanny, blushing, "you are desperately gallantto-day, and just to shame you, and show how little of an angel I am, I_will_ read the doctor's epigram:--

 'Though matches are all made in heaven, they say, Yet Hymen, who mischief oft hatches, Sometimes deals with the house _t'other side of the way_, And _there_ they make _Lucifer_ matches. '"

"Oh, doctor! I'm afraid you are a woman-hater, " said Mrs. Egan. "Comeaway, Fanny, I am sure they want to get rid of us. "

"Yes, " said Fanny, rising and joining her sister, who was leaving theroom, "and now, after abusing poor Hymen, gentlemen, we leave you to yourfavourite worship of Bacchus. "

The departure of the ladies changed the conversation, and after thegentlemen had resumed their seats, the doctor asked Dick Dawson howsoon he intended going to London. 

"I start immediately, " said Dick. "Don't forget to give me that letter ofintroduction to your friend in Dublin, whom I long to know. "

"Who is he?" asked the Squire. 

"One Tom Loftus--or, as his friends call him, 'Piping Tom, ' from his vocalpowers; or, as some nickname him, '_Organ_ Loftus, ' from hisimitation of that instrument, which is an excessively comical piece ofcaricature. "

"Oh! I know him well, " said Father Phil. 

"How did you manage to become acquainted with him?" inquired the doctor, "for I did not think he lay much in your way. "

"It was _he_ became acquainted with me, " said Father Phil, "and thiswas the way of it--he was down on a visit betimes in the parish I was inbefore this, and his behaviour was so wild that I was obliged to make anallusion in the chapel to his indiscretions, and threaten to make hisconduct a subject of severe public censure if he did not mind his mannersa little better. Well, my dear, who should call on me on the Mondaymorning after but Misther Tom, all smiles and graces, and protesting hewas sorry he fell under my displeasure, and hoping I would never havecause to find fault with him again. Sure, I thought he was repenting ofhis misdeeds, and I said I was glad to hear such good words from him. 'A'then, Father, ' says he, 'I hear you have got a great curiosity fromDublin--a shower-bath, I hear?' So I said I had: and indeed, to be candid, I was as proud as a peacock of the same bath, which tickled my fancy whenI was once in town, and so I bought it. 'Would you show it to me?' sayshe. 'To be sure, ' says I, and off I went, like a fool, and put the watheron the top, and showed him how, when a string was pulled, down it came--and he pretended not clearly to understand the thing, and at lasthe said, 'Sure it's not into that sentry-box you get?' says he. 'Ohyes, ' said I, getting into it quite innocent; when, my dear, he slapsthe door and fastens it on me, and pulls the string and souses me with thewater, and I with my best suit of black on me. I roared and shouted insidewhile Misther Tom Loftus was screechin' laughing outside, and dancinground the room with delight. At last, when he could speak, he said, 'Now, Father, we're even, ' says he, 'for the abuse you gave me yesterday, ' andoff he ran. "

"That's just like him, " said old Growling, chuckling; "he's a queer devil. I remember on one occasion a poor dandy puppy, who was in the same officewith him--for Tom is in the Ordnance department, you must know--thispuppy, sir, wanted to go to the Ashbourne races and cut a figure in theeyes of a rich grocer's daughter he was sweet upon. "

"Being sweet upon a grocer's daughter, " said Murphy, "is like bringingcoals to Newcastle. "

"'Faith! it was coals to Newcastle with a vengeance, in the present case, for the girl would have nothing to say to him, and Tom had great delightwhenever he could annoy this poor fool in his love-making plots. So, whenhe came to Tom to ask for the loan of his horse, Tom said he should havehim _if he could make the smallest use of him_--'but I don't thinkyou can, ' said Tom. 'Leave that to me, ' said the youth. 'I don't think youcould make him go, ' said Tom. 'I'll buy a new pair of spurs, ' said thepuppy. 'Let them be handsome ones, ' said Tom. 'I was looking at a veryhandsome pair at Lamprey's, yesterday, ' said the young gentleman. 'Thenyou can buy them on your way to my stables, ' said Tom; and sure enough, sir, the youth laid out his money on a very costly pair of persuaders, andthen proceeded homewards with Tom. 'Now, with all your spurs, ' saidTom, 'I don't think you'll be able to make him go. ' 'Is he so veryvicious, then?' inquired the youth, who began to think of his neck. 'Onthe contrary, ' said Tom, 'he's perfectly quiet, but won't go for_you_, I'll bet a pound. ' 'Done!' said the youth. 'Well, try him, 'said Tom, as he threw open the stable door. 'He's lazy, I see, ' said theyouth; 'for he's lying down. ' 'Faith, he is, ' said Tom, 'and hasn't got upthese two days!' 'Get up, you brute!' said the innocent youth, giving asmart cut of his whip on the horse's flank; but the horse did not budge. '_Why, he's dead!_' says he. 'Yes, ' says Tom, 'since Monday last. SoI don't think you can make him go, and you've lost your bet!'"

"That was hardly a fair joke, " said the Squire. 

"Tom never stops to think of that, " returned the doctor; "he's the oddestfellow I ever knew. The last time I was in Dublin, I called on Tom andfound him one bitter cold and stormy morning standing at an open window, nearly quite undressed. On asking him what he was about, he said he was_getting up a bass voice_; that Mrs. Somebody, who gave good dinnersand bad concerts, was disappointed of her bass singer, 'and I think, ' saidTom, 'I'll be hoarse enough in the evening to take double B flat. Systemsare the fashion now, ' said he; 'there is the Logierian system and othersystems, and mine is the Cold-air-ian system, and the best in the worldfor getting up a bass voice. '"

"That was very original certainly, " said the Squire. 

"But did you ever hear of his adventure with the Duke of Wellington?" saidthe doctor. 

"The Duke!" they all exclaimed. 

"Yes--that is, when he was only Sir Arthur Wellesley. Well, I'll tellyou. "

"Stop, " said the Squire, "a fresh story requires a fresh bottle. Let mering for some claret. "

CHAPTER XXXII

The servant who brought in the claret announced at the same time thearrival of a fresh guest in the person of "Captain Moriarty, " who waswelcomed by most of the party by the name of Randal. The Squire regrettedhe was too late for dinner, inquiring at the same time if he would like tohave something to eat at the side-table; but Randal declined the offer, assuring the Squire he had got some refreshment during the day while hehad been out shooting; but as the sport led, him near Merryvale, and "hehad a great thirst upon him, " he did not know a better house in thecountry wherein to have "that same" satisfied. 

"Then you're just in time for some cool claret, " said the Squire; "so sitdown beside the doctor, for he must have the first glass and broach thebottle, before he broaches the story he's going to tell us--that's onlyfair. "

The doctor filled his glass, and tasted. "What a nice _'chateau, ''Margaux'_ must be, " said he, as he laid down his glass. "I should liketo be a tenant-at-will there, at a small rent. "

"And no taxes, " said Dick. 

"Except my duty to the claret, " replied the doctor. 

 'My favourite chateau, Is that of Margaux. '

"By-the-bye, talking of _chateau_, there's the big brewer over at thetown, who is anxious to affect gentility, and he heard some one use theword _chapeau_, and having found out it was the French for _hat_, he determined to show off on the earliest possible occasion, and selecteda public meeting of some sort to display his accomplishment. Taking somecause of objection to the proceedings, as an excuse for leaving themeeting, he said, 'Gentlemen, the fact is I can't agree with you, so I mayas well take my _chateau_ under my arm at once, and walk. '"

[Illustration: Tom Organ Loftus and the Duke]

"Is not that an invention of your own, doctor?" said the Squire. 

"I heard it for fact, " said Growling. 

"And 't is true, " added Murphy, "for I was present when he said it. And atan earlier part of the proceedings he suggested that the parish clerkshould read the resolutions, because he had a good '_laudable_voice. '"

"A parish clerk ought to have, " said the doctor--"eh, Father Phil?--'_Laudamus!_'"

"Leave your Latin, " said Dick, "and tell us that story you promised aboutthe Duke and Tom Loftus. "

"Right, Misther Dick, " said Father Phil. 

"The story, doctor, " said the Squire. 

"Oh, don't make such bones about it, " said Growling; "'tis but a trifleafter all; only it shows you what a queer and reckless rascal Tom is. Itold you he was called '_Organ_' Loftus by his friends, inconsequence of the imitation he makes of that instrument; and it certainlyis worth hearing and seeing, for your eyes have as much to do with theaffair as your ears. Tom plants himself on a high office-stool, before oneof those lofty desks with long rows of drawers down each side and a holebetween to put your legs under. Well, sir, Tom pulls out the top drawers, like the stops of an organ, and the lower ones by way of pedals: and thenhe begins thrashing the desk like the finger-board of an organ with hishands, while his feet kick away at the lower drawers as if he were thegreatest pedal performer out of Germany, and he emits a rapid successionof grunts and squeaks, producing a ludicrous reminiscence of theinstrument, which I defy any one to hear without laughing. Several sowsand an indefinite number of sucking pigs could not make a greater noise, and Tom himself declares he studied the instrument in a pigsty, which hemaintains gave the first notion of an organ. Well, sir, the youths in theoffice assist in 'doing the service, ' as they call it, that is, making animitation of the chanting and so forth in St. Patrick's Cathedral. "

"Oh, the haythens!" said Father Phil. 

"One does Spray, and another Weyman, and another Sir John Stevenson, andso on; and they go on responsing and singing 'Amen' till the OrdnanceOffice rings again. "

"Have they nothing better to do?" asked the Squire. 

"Very little but reading the papers, " said the doctor. 

"Well--Tom--you must know, sir--was transferred some time ago, by theinterest of many influential friends, to the London department; and thefame of his musical powers had gone before him from some of the Englishclerks in Ireland who had been advanced to the higher posts in Dublin, andkept up correspondence with their old friends in London; and it was notlong until Tom was requested to go through an anthem on the great office-desk. Tom was only too glad to be asked, and he kept the whole office in aroar for an hour with all the varieties of the instrument--from thediapason to the flute-stop--and the devil a more business was done in theoffice _that_ day, and Tom before long made the sober English fellowsas great idlers as the chaps in Dublin. Well--it was not long until asudden flush of business came upon the department, in consequence of theurgent preparations making for supplies to Spain, at the time the Duke wasgoing there to take the command of the army, and organ-playing was setaside for some days; but the fellows, after a week's abstinence, began toyearn for it and Tom was requested to 'do the service. ' Tom, nothingloath, threw aside his official papers, set up a big ledger before him, and commenced his legerdemain, as he called it, pulled out his stops, andbegan to work away like a weaver, while every now and then he swore at thebellows-blower for not giving him wind enough, whereupon the choristerswould kick the bellows-blower to accelerate his flatulency. Well, sir, they were in the middle of the service, and all the blackguards making theresponses in due season, when, just as Tom was quivering under aportentous grunt, which might have shamed the principal diapason ofHarlaem, and the subs were drawing out a resplendent 'A-a-a-men, ' the dooropened, and in walked a smart-looking gentleman, with rather a large noseand quick eye, which latter glanced round the office, where a suddenendeavour was made by everybody to get back to his place. The smartgentleman seemed rather surprised to see a little fat man blowing at adesk instead of the fire, and long Tom kicking, grunting, and squealinglike mad. The bellows-blower was so taken by surprise he couldn't stir, and Tom, having his back to them, did not see what had taken place, andwent on as if nothing had happened, till the smart gentleman went up tohim, and tapping on Tom's desk with a little riding-whip, he said, 'I'msorry to disturb you, sir, but I wish to know what you're about. ' 'We'redoing the service, sir, ' said Tom, no ways abashed at the sight of thestranger, for he did not know it was Sir Arthur Wellesley was talking tohim. 'Not the _public_ service, sir, ' said Sir Arthur. 'Yes, sir, 'said Tom, 'the service as by law established in the second year of thereign of King Edward the Sixth, ' and he favoured the future hero ofWaterloo with a touch of the organ. 'Who is the head of this office?'inquired Sir Arthur. Tom, with a very gracious bow, replied, 'I amprincipal organist, sir, and allow me to introduce you to the principalbellows-blower'--and he pointed to the poor little man who let thebellows fall from his hand as Sir Arthur fixed his eyes on him. Tomdid not perceive till now that all the clerks were taken with a sudden fitof industry, and were writing away for the bare life; and he cast a lookof surprise round the office while Sir Arthur was looking at the bellows-blower. One of the clerks made a wry face at Tom, which showed him all wasnot right. 'Is this the way His Majesty's service generally goes on here?'said Sir Arthur, sharply. No one answered; but Tom saw, by the long facesof the clerks and the short question of the visitor, that he was_somebody_. 

"'Some transports are waiting for ordnance stores, and I am referred tothis office, ' said Sir Arthur; 'can any one give me a satisfactoryanswer?'

"The senior clerk present (for the head of the office was absent) cameforward and said, 'I believe, sir----'

"'You _believe_, but you don't _know_, ' said Sir Arthur; 'so Imust wait for stores while you are playing tomfoolery here. I'll reportthis. ' Then producing a little tablet and a pencil, he turned to Tom andsaid, 'Favour me with your name, sir?'

"'I give you my honour, sir, ' said Tom. 

"'I'd rather you'd give me the stores, sir, --I'll trouble you for yourname?'

"'Upon my honour, sir, ' said Tom, again. 

"'You seem to have a great deal of that article on your hands, sir, ' saidSir Arthur: 'you're an Irishman, I suppose?'

"'Yes, sir, ' said Tom. 

"'I thought so. Your name?'

"'Loftus, sir. '

"'Ely family?'

"'No, sir. '

"'Glad of it. '

"He put up his tablet after writing the name. 

"'May I beg the favour to know, sir, ' said Tom, 'to whom I have the honourof addressing myself?' "'Sir Arthur Wellesley, sir. '

"'Oh! J---s!' cried Tom, 'I'm done!'

"Sir Arthur could not help laughing at the extraordinary change in Tom'scountenance; and Tom, taking advantage of this relaxation in his ironmanner, said in a most penitent tone, 'Oh, Sir Arthur Wellesley, onlyforgive me this time, and 'pon my _sowl_ says he--with the richestbrogue--'I'll play a _Te Deum_ for the first licking you give theFrench. ' Sir Arthur smiled and left the office. "

"Did he report as he threatened?" asked the Squire. 

"'Faith, he did. "

"And Tom?" inquired Dick. 

"Was sent back to Ireland, sir. "

"That was hard, after the Duke smiled at him, " said Murphy. 

"Well, he did not let him suffer in pocket; he was transferred at as agood a salary to a less important department, but you know the Duke hasbeen celebrated all his life for never overlooking a breach of duty. "

"And who can blame him?" said Moriarty. 

"One great advantage of the practice has been, " said the Squire, "that noman has been better served. I remember hearing a striking instance ofwhat, perhaps, might be called severe justice, which he exercised on ayoung and distinguished officer of artillery in Spain; and though onecannot help pitying the case of the gallant young fellow who was thesacrifice, yet the question of strict duty, _to the very word_, wasset at rest for ever under the Duke's command, and it saved much_after_-trouble by making every officer satisfied, however fiery hiscourage or tender his sense of being suspected of the white feather, thatimplicit obedience was the course he _must_ pursue. The case wasthis:--the army was going into action----" "What action was it?" inquiredFather Phil, with that remarkable alacrity which men of peace evince inhearing the fullest particulars about war, perhaps because it is forbiddento their cloth; one of the many instances of things acquiring a fictitiousvalue by being interdicted--just as Father Phil himself might have been aProtestant only for the penal laws. 

"I don't know what action it was, " said the Squire, "nor the officer'sname--for I don't set up for a military chronicler; but it was, as I havebeen telling you, going into action that the Duke posted an officer, withhis six guns, at a certain point, telling him to remain there until he hadorders from _him_. Away went the rest of the army, and the officerwas left doing nothing at all, which he didn't like; for he was one ofthose high-blooded gentlemen who are never so happy as when they aremaking other people miserable, and he was longing for the head of a Frenchcolumn to be hammering away at. In half an hour or so he heard the distantsound of action, and it approached nearer and nearer, until he heard itclose behind him; and he wondered rather that he was not invited to take ashare in it, when, pat to his thought, up came an _aide-de-camp_ at fullspeed, telling him that General Somebody ordered him to bring up his guns. The officer asked did not the order come from Lord Wellington? The_aide-de-camp_ said no, but from the General, whoever he was. The officerexplained that he was placed there by Lord Wellington, under command notto move, unless by _an order from himself_. The _aide-de-camp_ statedthat the General's entire brigade was being driven in and must beannihilated without the aid of the guns, and asked, 'would he let a wholebrigade be slaughtered?' in a tone which wounded the young soldier's pride, savouring, as he thought it did, of an imputation on his courage. He immediately ordered his guns to move and joined battle with the General;but while he was away, an _aide-de-camp_ from Lord Wellington rode up towhere the guns _had been posted, _ and, of course, no gun was to be had forthe service which Lord Wellington required. Well, the French were repulsed, as it happened; but the want of those six guns seriously marred apreconcerted movement of the Duke's, and the officer in command of them wasimmediately brought to a court-martial, and would have lost his commissionbut for the universal interest made in his favour by the general officersin consideration of his former meritorious conduct and distinguishedgallantry, and under the peculiar circumstances of the case. They did notbreak him, but he was suspended, and Lord Wellington sent him home toEngland. Almost every general officer in the army endeavoured to get hissentence revoked, lamenting the fate of a gallant fellow being sent awayfor a slight error in judgment while the army was in hot action butLord Wellington was inexorable saying he must make an example to securehimself in the perfect obedience of officers to their orders; and it hadthe effect. "

"Well, that's what I call hard!" said Dick. 

"My dear Dick, " said the Squire, "war is altogether a hard thing, and aman has no business to be a General who isn't as hard as his own roundshot. "

"And what became of the _dear_ young man?" said Father Phil, whoseemed much touched by the readiness with which the _dear_ young manset off to mow down the French. 

"I can tell you, " said Moriarty, "for I served with him afterwards in thePeninsula. He was let back after a year or so, and became so thorough adisciplinarian, that he swore, when once he was at his post 'They mightkill _his father_ before his face and he wouldn't budge until he hadorders. '"

"A most Christian resolution, " said the doctor. 

"Well, I can tell you, " said Moriarty, "of a Frenchman, who made a greaterbreach of discipline, and it was treated more leniently. I heard the storyfrom the man's own lips, and if I could only give you his voice andgesture and manner it would amuse you. What fellows those Frenchmen are, to be sure, for telling a story! they make a shrug or a wink have twentydifferent meanings, and their claws are most eloquent--one might say theytalk on their fingers--and their broken English, I think, helps them. "

"Then give the story, Randal, in his manner, " said Dick. "I have heard youimitate a Frenchman capitally. "

"Well, here goes, " said Moriarty "but let me wet my whistle with a glassof claret before I begin--a French story should have French wine. " Randaltossed off one glass, and filled a second by way of reserve, and thenbegan the French officer's story. 

"You see, sare, it vos ven in _Espagne_ de bivouac vos vairy ardindeet 'pon us, vor we coot naut get into de town at all, nevair, becosyou dam Ingelish keep all de town to yoursefs--vor we fall back at dattime becos we get not support--no _corps de reserve_, you perceive--so ve mek _retrograde_ movement--not _retreat_--no, no--but_retrograde_ movement. Vell--von night I was wit my picket guart, andit was raining like de devil, and de vind vos vinding up de valley, socold as noting at all, and de dark vos vot you could not see--no--not yournose bevore your face. Vell, I hear de tramp of horse, and I look into dedark--for ve vere vairy moche on the _qui vive_, because ve expec deIngelish to attaque de next day--but I see noting; but de tramp of horsecome closer and closer, and at last I ask, 'Who is dere?' and de tramp ofde horse stop. I run forward, and den I see Ingelish offisair ofcavallerie. I address him, and tell him he is in our lines, but I do notvant to mek him prisonair--for you must know dat he _vos_ prisonair, if I like, ven he vos vithin our line. He is very polite--he says, '_Bien obligé--bon enfant_;' and we tek off our hat to eachozer. 'I aff lost my roat, ' he say; and I say, 'Yais'--bote I villput him into his roat, and so I ask for a moment pardon, and go backto my _caporal_, and tell him to be on de _qui vive_ till I come back. De Ingelish offisair and me talk very plaisant vile we go togezer down deleetel roat, and ven we come to de turn, I say, '_Bon soir_, Monsieur leCapitaine--dat is your vay. ' He den tank me, vera moche like gentilman, and vish he coot mek me some return for my générosité, as he please to say--and I say, '_Bah!_ Ingelish gentilman vood do de same to French offisairwho lose his vay. ' 'Den come here, ' he say, '_bon enfant_, can you leaveyour post for 'aff an hour?' 'Leave my post?' I say. 'Yais, ' said he, 'Iknow your army has not moche provision lately, and maybe you are ongrie?''_Ma foi_, yais, ' said I; 'I aff naut slips to my eyes, nor meat to mystomach, for more dan fife days. ' 'Veil, _bon enfant_, ' he say, 'come visme, and I vill gif you good supper, goot vine, and goot velcome. ' 'Coot Ileave my post?' I say. He say, '_Bah! Caporal_ take care till you comeback. ' By gar, I coot naut resist--_he_ vos so _vairy_ moche gentilman and_I_ vos so ongrie--I go vis him--not fife hunder yarts--_ah! bon Dieu_--how nice! In de corner of a leetel ruin chapel dere is nice bitof fire, and hang on a string before it de half of a kid--_oh ciel!_de smell of de _ros-bif_ was so nice--I rub my hands to de fire--Isniff de _cuisine_--I see in anozer corner a couple bottles of wine--_sacré_! it vos all watair in my mouts! Ve sit down to suppair--I nevairdid ate so moche in my life. Ve did finish de bones, and vosh downall mid ver good wine--_excellent!_ Ve drink de toast--_à la gloire_--and we talk of de campaign. Ve drink _à la Patrie_, and den _I_ tink of_la belle France_ and _ma douce amie_--and _he_ fissel, 'Got safe de king. 'Ve den drink _à l'amitié_, and shek hands over dat fire in good frainship--dem two hands that might cross de swords in de morning. Yais, sair, dat was fine--'t was _galliard_--'t was _la vrai chivalrie_--two sojairennemi to share de same kid, drink de same wine, and talk like twofriends. Vell, I got den so sleepy, dat my eyes go blink, blink, and mygoot friend says to me, 'Sleep, old fellow; I know you aff got hard fareof late, and you are tired; sleep, all is quiet for to-night, and I willcall you before dawn. ' Sair, I vos _so_ tired, I forgot my duty, and falldown fast asleep. Veil, sair, in de night de pickets of de two armie getso close, and mix up, dat some shot gets fired, and in one moment all inconfusion. I am shake by de shoulder--I wake like from dream--I heardsharp _fusillade_--my friend cry, 'Fly to your post, it is attack!' Weexchange one shek of de hand, and I run off to my post. _Oh, ciel!_--it isdriven in--I see dem fly. _Oh, mon désespoir à ce moment-là!_ I am ruin--_déshonoré_--I rush to de front--I rally _mes braves_--ve stand!--veadvance!!--ve regain de post!!!--I am safe!!!! De _fusillade_ cease--it isonly an affair of outposts. I tink I am safe--I tink I am very fine fellow--but Monsieur _l'Aide-Major_ send for me and speak, 'Vere vos you lastnight, sair?' 'I mount guard by de mill. ' 'Are you sure?' '_Oui, monsieur. _' 'Vere vos you when your post vos attack?' I saw it vos no useto deny any longair, so I confess to him everyting. 'Sair, ' said he, 'yourally your men very good, _or you should be shot!_ Young man, remember, 'said he--I will never forget his vorts--'young man, _vine is goot--slip isgoot--goat is goot--but honners is betters!'"_

"A capital story, Randal, " cried Dick; "but how much of it did youinvent?"

"'Pon my life, it is as near the original as possible. "

"Besides, that is not a fair way of using a story, " said the doctor. "Youshould take a story as you get it, and not play the dissector upon it, mangling its poor body to discover the bit of embellishment; and as longas a _raconteur_ maintains _vraisemblance_, I contend you arebound to receive the whole as true. "

"A most author-like creed, doctor, " said Dick; "you are a story-telleryourself, and enter upon the defence of your craft with great spirit. "

"And justice, too, " said the Squire; "the doctor is quite right. "

"Don't suppose I can't see the little touches of the artist, " said thedoctor; "but so long as they are in keeping with the picture, I enjoythem; for instance, my friend Randal's touch of the Englishman'_fissling Got safe de King'_ is very happy--quite in character. "

"Well, good or bad, the story in substance is true, " said Randal, "andputs the Englishman in a fine point of view--a generous fellow, sharinghis supper with his enemy whose sword may be through his body in the nextmorning's 'affair. '"

"But the Frenchman was generous to him first, " remarked the Squire. 

"Certainly--I admit it, " said Randal. "In short, they were both finefellows. "

"Oh, sir, " said Father Phil, "the French are not deficient in a chivalrousspirit. I heard once a very pretty little bit of anecdote about the waythey behaved to one of our regiments on a retreat in Spain. "

"_Your_ regiments!" said Moriarty, who was rather fond of hittinghard at a priest when he could; "a regiment of friars is it?"

"No, captain, but of soldiers; and it's going through a river they were, and the French, taking advantage of their helpless condition, werepeppering away at them hard and fast. "

"Very generous indeed!" said Moriarty, laughing. 

"Let me finish my story, captain, before you quiz it. I say they werepeppering them sorely while they were crossing the river, until somewomen--the followers of the camp--ran down (poor creatures) to the shore, and the stream was so deep in the middle they could scarcely ford it; sosome dragoons who were galloping as hard as they could out of the firepulled up on seeing the condition of the women-kind, and each horsemantook up a woman behind him, though it diminished his own power of speedingfrom the danger. The moment the French saw this act of manly courtesy, they ceased firing, gave the dragoons a cheer, and as long as the womenwere within gunshot, not a trigger was pulled in the French line, butvolleys of cheers instead of ball-cartridge was sent after the brigadetill all the women were over. Now wasn't that generous?"

"'T was a handsome thing!" was the universal remark. 

"And 'faith I can tell you, Captain Moriarty, the army took advantage ofit; for there was a great struggle to have the pleasure of the ladies'company over the river. "

"I dare say, Father Phil, " said the Squire, laughing. 

"Throth, Squire, " said the _padre_, "fond of the girls as thesoldiers have the reputation of being, they never liked them better thanthat same day. "

"Yes, yes, " said Moriarty, a little piqued, for he rather affected the"dare-devil, "

"I see you mean to insinuate that we soldiers fear fire. "

"I did not say 'fear, ' captain--but they'd like to get out of it, for allthat, and small blame to them--aren't they flesh and blood likeourselves?"

"Not a bit like you, " said Moriarty. "You sleek and smooth gentlemen wholive in luxurious peace know little of a soldier's danger or feelings. "

"Captain, we all have our dangers to go through; and may be a priest hasas many as a soldier; and we only show a difference of taste, after all, in the selection. "

"Well, Father Blake, all I know is, that a true soldier fears nothing!"said Moriarty with energy. 

"Maybe so, " answered Father Phil, quietly. "It is quite clear, however, "said Murphy, "that war, with all its horrors, can call out occasionallythe finer feelings of our natures; but it is only such redeeming traits asthose we have heard which can reconcile us to it. I remember having heardan incident of war, myself, which affected me much, " said Murphy, whocaught the infection of military anecdote which circled the table; andindeed there is no more catching theme can be started among men, for itmay be remarked that whenever it is broached it flows on until it israther more than time to go to the ladies. 

"It was in the earlier portion of the memorable day of Waterloo, " saidMurphy, "that a young officer of the Guards received a wound which broughthim to the ground. His companions rushed on to seize some point whichtheir desperate valour was called on to carry, and he was left, utterlyunable to rise, for the wound was in his foot. He lay for some hours withthe thunder of that terrible day ringing around him, and many a rush ofhorse and foot had passed close beside him. Towards the close of the dayhe saw one of the Black Brunswick dragoons approaching, who drew rein ashis eye caught the young Guardsman, pale and almost fainting, on theground. He alighted, and finding he was not mortally wounded, assisted himto rise, lifted him into his saddle, and helped to support him there whilehe walked beside him to the English rear. The Brunswicker was an old man;his brow and moustache were grey; despair was in his sunken eye, and fromtime to time he looked up with an expression of the deepest yearning intothe face of the young soldier, who saw big tears rolling down theveteran's cheek while he gazed upon him. 'You seem in bitter sorrow, mykind friend, ' said the stripling. 'No wonder, ' answered the old man, witha hollow groan. 'I and my three boys were in the same regiment--they werealive the morning of Ligny--I am childless to-day. But I have revengedthem!' he said fiercely, and as he spoke he held out his sword, whichwas literally red with blood. 'But, oh! that will not bring me backmy boys!' he exclaimed, relapsing into his sorrow. 'My three gallantboys!'--and again he wept bitterly, till clearing his eyes from the tears, and looking up in the young soldier's handsome face, he said tenderly, 'You are like my youngest one, and I could not let you lie on the field. '"

Even the rollicking Murphy's eyes were moist as he recited this anecdote;and as for Father Phil, he was quite melted, ejaculating in an under tone, "Oh, my poor fellow! my poor fellow!"

"So there, " said Murphy, "is an example of a man, with revenge in hisheart, and his right arm tired with slaughter, suddenly melted intogentleness by a resemblance to his child. "

"'T is very touching, but very sad, " said the Squire. 

"My dear sir, " said the doctor, with his peculiar dryness, "sadness is theprincipal fruit which warfare must ever produce. You may talk of glory aslong as you like, but you cannot have your laurel without your cypress, and though you may select certain bits of sentiment out of a mass ofhorrors, if you allow me, I will give you one little story which shan'tkeep you long, and will serve as a commentary upon war and glory ingeneral. 

"At the peace of 1803, I happened to be travelling through a town inFrance where a certain count I knew resided. I waited upon him, andhe received me most cordially, and invited me to dinner. I made theexcuse that I was only _en route_, and supplied with but travelingcostume, and therefore not fit to present myself amongst the guestsof such a house as his. He assured me I should only meet his ownfamily, and pledged himself for Madame la Comtesse being willingto waive the ceremony of a _grande toilette_. I went to thehouse at the appointed hour, and as I passed through the hall I casta glance at the dining-room and saw a very long table laid. On arrivingat the reception-room, I taxed the count with having broken faithwith me, and was about making my excuses to the countess when she assuredme the count had dealt honestly by me, for that I was the only guest tojoin the family party. Well, we sat down to dinner, three-and-twentypersons; myself, the count and countess, and their _twenty children!_and a more lovely family I never saw; he a man in the vigour of life, shea still attractive woman, and these their offspring lining the table, where the happy eyes of father and mother glanced with pride and affectionfrom one side to the other on these future staffs of their old age. Well, the peace of Amiens was of short duration, and I saw no more of the counttill Napoleon's abdication. Then I visited France again, and saw my oldfriend. But it was a sad sight, sir, in that same house, where, littlemore than ten years before, I had seen the bloom and beauty of twentychildren, to sit down with _three_--all he had left him. His sons hadfallen in battle--his daughters had died widowed, leaving but orphans. Andthus it was all over France. While the public voice shouted 'Glory!'wailing was in her homes. Her temple of victory was filled with trophies, but her hearths were made desolate. "

"Still, sir, a true soldier fears nothing, " repeated Moriarty. 

"_Baithershin, _" said Father Phil. "'Faith I have been in places ofdanger you'd be glad to get out of, I can tell you, as bould as you are, captain. "

"You'll pardon me for doubting you, Father Blake, " said Moriarty, ratherhuffed. 

"'Faith then you wouldn't like to be where I was before I came here; thatis, in a mud cabin, where I was giving the last rites to six people dyingin the typhus fever. "

"Typhus!" exclaimed Moriarty, growing pale, and instinctively withdrawinghis chair as far as he could from the _padre_ beside whom he sat. 

"Ay, typhus, sir; most inveterate typhus. "

"Gracious Heaven!" said Moriarty, rising, "how can you do such a dreadfulthing as run the risk of bearing infection into society?"

"I thought soldiers were not afraid of anything, " said Father Phil, laughing at him; and the rest of the party joined in the merriment. 

"Fairly hit, Moriarty, " said Dick. 

"Nonsense, " said Moriarty; "when I spoke of danger, I meant such opendanger as--in short, not such insidious lurking abomination as infection;for I contend that--"

"Say no more, Randal, " said Growling, "you're done!--Father Phil hasfloored you. "

"I deny it, " said Moriarty, warmly; but the more he denied it, the moreevery one laughed at him. 

"You're more frightened than hurt, Moriarty, " said the Squire; "for thebest of the joke is, Father Phil wasn't in contact with typhus at all, butwas riding with me--and 'tis but a joke. "

Here they all roared at Moriarty, who was excessively angry, but felthimself in such a ridiculous position that he could not quarrel withanybody. 

"Pardon me, my dear captain, " said the Father; "I only wanted to show youthat a poor priest has to run the risk of his life just as much as theboldest soldier of them all. But don't you think, Squire, 't is time tojoin the ladies? I'm sure the tay will be tired waiting for us. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

Mrs. Egan was engaged in some needlework, and Fanny turning over theleaves of a music-book, and occasionally humming some bars of herfavourite songs, as the gentlemen came into the drawing-room. Fanny rosefrom the pianoforte as they entered. 

"Oh, Miss Dawson, " exclaimed Moriarty, "why tantalise us so much as to letus see you seated in that place where you can render so much delight, onlyto leave it as we enter?"

Fanny turned off the captain's flourishing speech with a few lively wordsand a smile, and took her seat at the tea-table to do the honours. "Thecaptain, " said Father Phil to the doctor, "is equally great in love orwar. "

"And knows about as little of one as the other, " said the doctor. "Hisattacks are too open. "

"And therefore easily foiled, " said Father Phil; "How that prettycreature, with the turn of a word and a curl of her lip, upset him thattime! Oh! what a powerful thing a woman's smile is, doctor? I oftencongratulate myself that my calling puts all such mundane follies andattractions out of my way, when I see and know what fools wise men aresometimes made by silly girls. Oh, it is fearful, doctor; though, ofcourse, part of the mysterious dispensation of an all-wise Providence. "

"That fools should have the mastery, is it?" inquired the doctor, drily, with a mischievous query in his eye as well. "Tut, tut, tut, doctor, "replied Father Phil, impatiently; "you know well enough what I mean, and Iwon't allow you to engage me in one of your ingenious battles of words. Ispeak of that wonderful influence of the weaker sex over the stronger, andhow the word of a rosy lip outweighs sometimes the resolves of a furrowedbrow; and how the--pooh! pooh! I'm making a fool of myself talking toyou--but to make a long story short, I would rather _wrastle_ out alogical dispute any day, or a tough argument of one of the fathers, thanrefute some absurdity which fell from a pretty mouth with a smile on it. "

"Oh, I quite agree with you, " said the doctor, grinning, "that the fathersare not half such dangerous customers as the daughters. "

"Ah, go along with you, doctor!" said Father Phil, with a good-humouredlaugh. "I see you are in one of your mischievous moods, and so I'll havenothing more to say to you. "

The Father turned away to join the Squire, while the doctor took a seatnear Fanny Dawson and enjoyed a quiet little bit of conversation with her, while Moriarty was turning over the leaves of her album; but the brow ofthe captain, who affected a taste in poetry, became knit, and his lipassumed a contemptuous curl, as he perused some lines, and asked Fannywhose was the composition. 

"I forget, " was Fanny's answer. 

"I don't wonder, " said Moriarty; "the author is not worth remembering, forthey are very rough. "

Fanny did not seem pleased with the criticism, and said that, when sung tothe measure of the air written down on the opposite page, they were veryflowing. 

"But the principal phrase, the _'refrain'_ I may say, is so vulgar, "added Moriarty, returning to the charge. "The gentleman says, 'What wouldyou do?' and the lady answers, 'That's what I'd do. ' Do you call thatpoetry?"

"I don't call _that_ poetry, " said Fanny, with some emphasis on theword; "but if you connect those two phrases with what is intermediatelywritten, and read all in the spirit of the entire of the verses, I thinkthere is poetry in them--but if not poetry, certainly feeling. "

"Can you tolerate '_That's what I'd do'?_--the pert answer of ahousemaid. "

"A phrase in itself homely, " answered Fanny, "may become elevated by theuse to which it is applied. "

"Quite true, Miss Dawson, " said the doctor, joining in the discussion. "But what are these lines which excite Randal's ire?"

"Here they are, " said Moriarty. "I will read them, if you allow me, andthen judge between Miss Dawson and me. 

 'What will you do, love, when I am going, With white sail flowing, The seas beyond? What will you do, love, when--'"

"Stop thief!--stop thief!" cried the doctor. "Why, you are robbing thepoet of his reputation as fast as you can. You don't attend to the rhythmof those lines--you don't give the ringing of the verse. "

"That's just what I have said in other words, " said Fanny. "When sung tothe melody, they are smooth. "

"But a good reader, Miss Dawson, " said the doctor, "will read verse withthe proper accent, just as a musician would divide it into bars; but myfriend Randal there, although he can tell a good story and hit off prosevery well, has no more notion of rhythm or poetry than new beer has of aholiday. "

"And why, pray, has not new beer a notion of a holiday?"

"Because, sir, it works of a Sunday. "

"Your _beer_ may be new, doctor, but your _joke_ is not--I haveseen it before in some old form. "

"Well, sir, if I found it in its old form, like a hare, and started itfresh, it may do for folks to run after as well as anything else. But youshan't escape your misdemeanour in mauling those verses as you have done, by finding fault with my joke _redevivus. _ You read those lines, sir, like a bellman, without any attention to metre. "

"To be sure, " said Father Phil, who had been listening for some time;"they have a ring in them--"

"Like a pig's nose, " said the doctor. 

"Ah, be aisy, " said Father Phil. "I say they have a ring in them like anowld Latin canticle--

 'What _will_ you _do, _ love, when I am _go_-ing, With white sail _flow_-ing, The says be_yond?_'

That's it!"

"To be sure, " said the doctor. "I vote for the Father's reading them outon the spot. "

"Pray, do, Mister Blake, " said Fanny. 

"Ah, Miss Dawson, what have I to do with reading love verses?"

"Take the book, sir, " said Growling, "and show me you have some faith inyour own sayings, by obeying a lady directly. "

"Pooh! pooh!" said the priest. 

"You _won't_ refuse me?" said Fanny, in a coaxing tone. 

"My dear Miss Dawson, " said the _padre. _

"_Father Phil!_" said Fanny, with one of her rosy smiles. 

"Oh, wow! wow! wow!" ejaculated the priest, in an amusing embarrassment, "I see you will make me do whatever you like. " So Father Phil gave therare example of a man acting up to his own theory, and could not resistthe demand that came from a pretty mouth. He took the book and read thelines with much feeling, but, with an observance of rhythm so grotesque, that it must be given in his own manner. 

WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE?

I

 "What _will_ you _do_, love, when I am _go_-ing, With white sail _flow_-ing, The seas be-_yond?_ What _will_ you _do_, love, when waves di-_vide_ us, And friends may chide us, For being _fond_?"

 "Though waves di-_vide_ us, and friends be _chi_-ding, In faith a-_bi_-ding, I'll still be true; And I'll pray for _thee_ on the stormy _o_-cean, In deep de-_vo_-tion, -- That's _what_ I'll do!"

II

 "What _would_ you _do_, love, if distant _ti_-dings Thy fond con-_fi_-dings Should under-_mine_ And I a-_bi_-ding 'neath sultry _skies_, Should think other _eyes_ Were as bright as _thine_?"

 "Oh, name it _not_; though guilt and _shame_ Were on thy _name_, I'd still be _true_; But that heart of _thine_, should another _share_ it, I could not _bear it_;-- What _would_ I do?"

III

 "What _would_ you do, when, home re-_turn_-ing, With hopes high _burn_-ing, With wealth for _you_, -- If my _bark_, that _bound_-ed o'er foreign _foam_, Should be lost near _home_, -- Ah, what _would_ you do?"

 "So them wert _spar_-d, I'd bless the _mor_-row, In want and _sor_-row, That left me _you_; And I'd welcome _thee_ from the wasting _bil_-low, My heart thy _pil_-low!-- THAT'S _what_ I'd do!"

[Footnote: NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION. --The foregoing dialogue andMoriarty's captious remarks were meant, when, they appeared in the firstedition, as a hit at a certain small critic--a would-be song-writer--whodoes ill-natured articles for the Reviews, and expressed himself verycontemptuously of my songs because of their simplicity; or, as he waspleased to phrase it, "I had a knack of putting common things together. "The song was written to illustrate my belief that the most common-placeexpression, _appropriately applied_, may successfully serve thepurposes of the lyric; and here experience has proved me right, for thisvery song of "What will you do?" (containing within it the other common-place, "That's what I'd do") has been received with special favour by thepublic, whose long-continued goodwill towards my compositions generally Igratefully acknowledge. ]

"Well done, _padre!_" said the doctor; "with good emphasis anddiscretion. "

"And now, my dear Miss Dawson, " said Father Phil, "since I've read thelines at your high bidding, will you sing them for me at my humbleasking?"

"Very antithetically put, indeed, " said Fanny; "but you must excuse me. "

"You said there was a tune to it?"

"Yes; but I promised Captain Moriarty to sing him _this_, " said Fanny, going over to the pianoforte, and laying her hand on an open music-book. 

"Thanks, Miss Dawson, " said Moriarty, following fast. 

Now, it was not that Fanny Dawson liked the captain that she was going tosing the song; but she thought he had been rather "_mobbed_" by thedoctor and the _padre_ about the reading of the verses, and it washer good breeding which made her pay this little attention to the worstedparty. She poured forth her sweet voice in a simple melody to thefollowing words:--

SAY NOT MY HEART IS COLD

I

 "Say not my heart is cold, Because of a silent tongue! The lute of faultless mould In silence oft hath hung. The fountain soonest spent Doth babble down the steep; But the stream that _ever_ went Is silent, strong, and deep. 

II

 "The charm of a secret life Is given to choicest things:-- Of flowers, the fragrance rife Is wafted on viewless wings; We see not the charmed air Bearing some witching sound; And ocean deep is where The pearl of price is found. 

III

 "Where are the stars by day? They burn, though all unseen! And love of purest ray Is like the stars, I ween: Unmark'd is the gentle light When the sunshine of joy appears, But ever, in sorrow's night, 'T will glitter upon thy tears!"

"Well, Randal, does that poem satisfy your critical taste?--of the singingthere can be but one opinion. "

"Yes, I think it pretty, " said Moriarty; "but there is one word in thelast verse I object to. "

"Which is that?" inquired Growling. 

"_Ween_" said the other, "'the stars, I ween, ' I object to. "

"Don't you see the meaning of that?" inquired the doctor. "I think it is avery happy allusion. "

"I don't see any allusion whatever, " said the critic. 

"Don't you see the poet alluded to the stars in the _milky_ way, andsays, therefore, 'The stars I _wean_'?"

"Bah! bah! doctor, " exclaimed the critical captain; "you are in one ofyour quizzing moods to-night, and it is in vain to expect a serious answerfrom you. " He turned on his heel as he spoke, and went away. 

"Moriarty, you know, Miss Dawson, is a man who affects a horror of puns, and therefore I always punish him with as many as I can, " said the doctor, who was left by Moriarty's sudden pique to the enjoyment of a pleasantchat with Fanny, and he was sorry when the hour arrived which disturbed itby the breaking up of the party and the departure of the guests. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

When the Widow Rooney was forcibly ejected from the house of Mrs. JamesCasey, and found that Andy was not the possessor of that lady's charms, she posted off to Neck-or-Nothing Hall, to hear the full and true accountof the transaction from Andy himself. On arriving at the old iron gate, and pulling the loud bell, she was spoken to through the bars by thesavage old janitor and told to "go out o' that. " Mrs. Rooney thought fatewas using her hard in decreeing she was to receive denial at every door, and endeavoured to obtain a parley with the gate-keeper, to which heseemed no way inclined. 

"My name's Rooney, sir?"

"There's plenty bad o' the name, " was the civil rejoinder. 

"And my son's in Squire O'Grady's sarvice, sir. "

"Oh--you're the mother of the beauty we call Handy, eh?"

"Yis, sir. "

"Well, he left the sarvice yistherday. "

"Is it lost the place?"

"Yis. "

"Oh dear! Ah, sir, let me up to the house and spake to his honour, andmaybe he'll take back the boy. "

"He doesn't want any more servants at all--for he's dead. "

"Is it Squire O'Grady dead?"

"Aye--did you never hear of a dead squire before?"

"What did he die of, sir?"

"Find out, " said the sulky brute, walking back into his den. 

It was true--the renowned O'Grady was no more. The fever which had set infrom his "broiled bones, " which he _would_ have in spite of anybody, was found difficult of abatement; and the impossibility of keeping himquiet, and his fits of passion, and consequent fresh supplies of "broiledbones, " rendered the malady unmanageable; and the very day after Andy hadleft the house the fever took a bad turn, and in four-and-twenty hours thestormy O'Grady was at peace. 

What a sudden change fell upon the house! All the wedding paraphernaliawhich had been brought down lay neglected in the rooms where it had beenthe object of the preceding day's admiration. The deep, absorbing, silentgrief of the wife, --the more audible sorrow of the girls, --the subduedwildness of the reckless boys, as they trod silently past the chamberwhere they no longer might dread reproof for their noise, --all this wasless touching than the effect the event had upon the old dowager mother. While the senses of others were stunned by the blow, hers became awakenedby the shock; all her absurd aberration passed away, and she sat inintellectual self-possession by the side of her son's death-bed, which shenever left until he was laid in his coffin. He was the first and last ofher sons. She had now none but grandchildren to look upon--theintermediate generation had passed away, and the gap yawned fearfullybefore her. It restored her, for the time, perfectly to her senses; andshe gave the necessary directions on the melancholy occasion, andsuperintended all the sad ceremonials befitting the time, with a calm anddignified resignation which impressed all around her with wonder andrespect. 

Superadded to the dismay which the death of the head of a familyproduces was the terrible fear which existed that O'Grady's bodywould be seized for debt--a barbarous practice, which, shame to say, is still permitted. This fear made great precaution necessary to preventpersons approaching the house, and accounts for the extra gruffness of thegate porter. The wild body-guard of the wild chief was on doubly activeduty; and after four-and-twenty hours had passed over the reckless boys, the interest they took in sharing and directing this watch and ward seemedto outweigh all sorrowful consideration for the death of their father. Asfor Gustavus, the consciousness of being now the master of Neck-or-NothingHall was apparent in a boy not yet fifteen; and not only in himself, butin the grey-headed retainers about him, this might be seen: there was ashade more of deference--the boy was merged in "_the young master_. "But we must leave the house of mourning for the present, and follow theWidow Rooney, who, as she tramped her way homeward, was increasing inhideousness of visage every hour. Her nose was twice its usual dimensions, and one eye was perfectly useless in showing her the road. At last, however, as evening was closing, she reached her cabin, and there wasAndy, arrived before her, and telling Oonah, his cousin, all hismisadventures of the preceding day. 

The history was stopped for a while by their mutual explanations andcondolences with Mrs. Rooney, on the "cruel way her poor face was used. "

"And who done it all?" said Oonah. 

"Who but that born divil, Matty Dwyer--and sure they towld me _you_were married to her, " said she to Andy. 

"So I was, " said Andy, beginning the account of his misfortunes afresh tohis mother, who from time to time would break in with indiscriminatemaledictions on Andy, as well as his forsworn damsel; and when theaccount was ended, she poured out a torrent of abuse upon her unfortunateforsaken son, which riveted him to the floor in utter amazement. 

"I thought I'd get pity here, at all events, " said poor Andy; "but insteado' that it's the worst word and the hardest name in your jaw you have forme. "

"And sarve you right, you dirty cur, " said his mother. "I ran off like afool when I heerd of your good fortune, and see the condition that baggageleft me in--my teeth knocked in and my eye knocked out, and all for yourfoolery, because you couldn't keep what you got. "

"Sure, mother, I tell you--"

"Howld your tongue, you _omadhaun!_ And then I go to Squire O'Grady'sto look for you, and there I hear you lost _that_ place, too. "

"Faix, it's little loss, " said Andy. 

"That's all you know about it, you goose; you lose the place just when theman's dead and you'd have had a shuit o' mournin'. Oh, you are the mostmisfortunate divil, Andy Rooney, this day in Ireland--why did I rear youat all?"

"Squire O'Grady dead!" said Andy, in surprise and also with regret for hislate master. 

"Yis--and you've lost the mournin'--augh!"

"Oh, the poor Squire!" said Andy. 

"The iligant new clothes!" grumbled Mrs. Rooney. "And then luck tumblesinto your way such as man never had; without a place, or a rap to blessyourself with, you get a rich man's daughter for your wife, and you lether slip through your fingers. "

"How could I help it?" said Andy. 

"Augh!--you bothered the job just the way you do everything, " said hismother. 

"Sure I was civil-spoken to her. "

"Augh!" said his mother. 

"And took no liberty. "

"You goose!"

"And called her Miss. "

"Oh, indeed you missed it altogether. "

"And said I wasn't desarvin' of her. "

"That was thrue--_but you should not have towld her so_. Make a womanthink you're betther than her, and she'll like you. "

"And sure, when I endayvoured to make myself agreeable to her----"

"_Endayvoured_!" repeated the old woman contemptuously. "_Endayvoured_, indeed! Why didn't you _make_ yourself agreeable at once, you poor dirtygoose?--no, but you went sneaking about it--I know as well as if I waslooking at you--you went sneakin' and snivelin' until the girl took adisgust to you; for there's nothing a woman despises so much asshilly-shallying. "

"Sure, you won't hear my defince, " said Andy. 

"Oh, indeed you're betther at defince than attack, " said his mother. 

"Sure, the first little civil'ty I wanted to pay to her, she took up thethree-legged stool to me. "

"The divil mend you! And what civil'ty did you offer her?"

"I made a grab at her cap, and I thought she'd have brained me. "

Oonah set up such a shout of laughter at Andy's notion of civility to agirl, that the conversation was stopped for some time, and her auntremonstrated with her at her want of common sense; or, as she said, hadn'tshe "more decency than to laugh at the poor fool's nonsense?"

"What could I do agen the three-legged stool?" said Andy. 

"Where was your _own_ legs, and your own arms, and your own eyes, andyour own tongue?--eh?"

"And sure I tell you it was all ready conthrived, and James Casey was sentfor, and came. "

"Yis, " said the mother, "but not for a long time, you towld me yourself;and what were you doing all that time? Sure, supposing you _wor_ onlya new acquaintance, any man worth a day's mate would have discoorsed herover in the time and made her sinsible he was the best of husbands. "

"I tell you she wouldn't let me have her ear at all, " said Andy. "Nor hercap either, " said Oonah, laughing. 

"And then Jim Casey kem. "

"And why did you let him in?"

"It was _she_ let him in, I tell you. "

"And why did you let her? He was on the wrong side of the door--that's the_outside_; and you on the right--that's the _inside_; and it was_your_ house, and she was _your_ wife, and you were her masther, and you had the rights of the church, and the rights of the law, and allthe rights on your side; barrin' right rayson--that you never had; andsure without _that_, what's the use of all the other rights in theworld?"

"Sure, hadn't he his friends, _sthrong_, outside?"

"No matther, if the door wasn't opened to them, for _then_ YOU wouldhave had a stronger friend than any o' them present among them. "

"Who?" inquired Andy. 

"The _hangman_" answered his mother; "for breaking doors is hangingmatther; and I say the presence of the hangman's always before people whenthey have such a job to do, and makes them think twice sometimes beforethey smash once; and so you had only to keep one woman's hands quiet. "

"Faix, some of them would smash a door as soon as not, " said Andy. 

"Well, then, you'd have the satisfaction of hanging them, " said themother, "and that would be some consolation. But even as it is, I'll havelaw for it--I will--for the property is yours, any how, though thegirl is gone--and indeed a brazen baggage she is, and is mighty heavy inthe hand. Oh, my poor eye!--it's like a coal of fire--but sure it wasworth the risk living with her for the sake of the purty property. Andsure I was thinkin' what a pleasure it would be living with you, andtachin' your wife housekeepin', and bringing up the young turkeys and thechildhre--but, och hone, you'll never do a bit o' good, you that got sitchcareful bringin' up, Andy Rooney! Didn't I tache you manners, you dirtyhanginbone blackguard? Didn't I tache you your blessed religion?--may thedivil sweep you! Did I ever prevent you from sharing the lavings of thepratees with the pig?--and didn't you often clane out the pot with him?and you're no good afther all. I've turned my honest penny by the pig, butI'll never make my money of _you_, Andy Rooney!"

There was some minutes' silence after this eloquent outbreak of Andy'smother, which was broken at last by Andy uttering a long sigh and anejaculation. 

"Och? it's a fine thing to be a gintleman, " said Andy. 

"Cock you up!" said his mother. "Maybe it's a gintleman you want to be;what puts that in your head, you _omadhaun_?"

"Why, because a gintleman has no hardships, compared with one of uz. Sure, if a gintleman was married, his wife wouldn't be tuk off from him the waymine was. "

"Not so soon, maybe, " said the mother, drily. 

"And if a gintleman brakes a horse's heart, he's only a '_bowldrider_, ' while a poor sarvant is a 'careless blackguard' for onlytaking a sweat out of him. If a gintleman dhrinks till he can't see a holein a laddher, he's only '_feesh_--but '_dhrunk_' is the word fora poor man. And if a gintleman kicks up a row, he's a 'fine speritedfellow, ' while a poor man is a 'disordherly vagabone' for the same;and the Justice axes the one to dinner and sends th' other to jail. Oh, faix, the law is a dainty lady; she takes people by the hand who canafford to wear gloves, but people with brown fists must keep theirdistance. "

"I often remark, " said his mother, "that fools spake mighty sinsiblebetimes; but their wisdom all goes with their gab. Why didn't you take abetther grip of your luck when you had it? You're wishing you wor agintleman, and yet when you had the best part of a gintleman (theproperty, I mane) put into your way, you let it slip through your fingers;and afther lettin' a fellow take a rich wife from you and turn you out ofyour own house, you sit down on a stool there, and begin to _wish_indeed!--you sneakin' fool--wish, indeed! Och! if you wish with one hand, and wash with th' other, which will be clane first--eh?"

"What could I do agen eight?" asked Andy. 

"Why did you let them in, I say again?" said the mother, quickly. 

"Sure the blame wasn't with me, " said Andy, "but with--"

"Whisht, whisht, you goose!" said his mother. "Av course you'll blameevery one and everything but yourself--'_The losing horse blames thesaddle_. '"

"Well, maybe it's all for the best, " said Andy, "afther all. "

"Augh, howld your tongue!"

"And if it _wasn't_ to be, how could it be?"

"Listen to him!"

"And Providence is over us all. "

"Oh! yis!" said the mother. "When fools make mistakes they lay theblame on Providence. How have you the impidence to talk o' Providencein that manner? _I'll_ tell you where the Providence was. Providencesent you to Jack Dwyer's, and kep Jim Casey away, and put the angerinto owld Jack's heart--that's what the Providence did!--and madethe opening for you to spake up, and gave you a wife--a wife with_property!_ Ah, there's where the Providence was!--and you werethe masther of a snug house--that was Providence! And wouldn't myselfhave been the one to be helping you in the farm--rearing the powlts, milkin' the cow, makin' the iligant butther, with lavings of butthermilkfor the pigs--the sow thriving, and the cocks and hens cheering yourheart with their cacklin'--the hank o' yarn on the wheel, and a hankof ingins up the chimbley--oh! there's where the Providence wouldhave been--that _would have been Providence indeed!_--but nevertell me that Providence turned you out of the house; _that_ was yourown _goostherumfoodle. _"

"Can't he take the law o' them, aunt?" inquired Oonah. 

"To be sure he can--and shall, too, " said the mother. "I'll be off to'torney Murphy to-morrow; I'll pursue her for my eye, and Andy for theproperty, and I'll put them all in Chancery, the villains!"

"It's Newgate they ought to be put in, " said Andy. 

"Tut, you fool, Chancery is worse than Newgate: for people sometimes getout of Newgate, but they never get out of Chancery, I hear. "

As Mrs. Rooney spoke, the latch of the door was raised, and a miserablyclad woman entered, closed the door immediately after her, and placed thebar against it. The action attracted the attention of all the inmates ofthe house, for the doors of the peasantry are universally "left on thelatch, " and never secured against intrusion until the family go to bed. 

"God save all here!" said the woman, as she approached the fire. 

"Oh, is that you, ragged Nance?" said Mrs. Rooney; for that was theunenviable but descriptive title the new-comer was known by: and thoughshe knew it for her _soubriquet_, yet she also knew Mrs. Rooneywould not call her by it if she were not in an ill temper, so shebegan humbly to explain the cause of her visit, when Mrs. Rooney broke ingruffly--

"Oh, you always make out a good rayson for coming; but we have nothing foryou to-night. "

"Throth, you do me wrong, " said the beggar, "if you think I came_shooling. _ [Footnote: Going on chance here and there, to pick upwhat one can. ] It's only to keep harm from the innocent girl here. "

"Arrah, what harm would happen her, woman?" returned the widow, savagely, rendered more morose by the humble bearing of her against whom shedirected her severity; as if she got more angry the less the poor creaturewould give her cause to justify her harshness. "Isn't she undher my roofhere?"

"But how long may she be left there?" asked the woman, significantly. 

"What do you mane, woman?"

"I mane there's a plan to carry her off from you to-night. "

Oonah grew pale with true terror, and the widow screeched, after the moreapproved manner of elderly ladies making believe they are very muchshocked, till Nance reminded her that crying would do no good, and that itwas requisite to make some preparation against the approaching danger. Various plans were hastily suggested, and as hastily relinquished, tillNance advised a measure which was deemed the best. It was to dress Andy infemale attire and let him be carried off in place of the girl. Andy roaredwith laughter at the notion of being made a girl of, and said the trickwould instantly be seen through. 

"Not if you act your part well; just keep down the giggle, jewel, and puton a moderate _phillelew, _ and do the thing nice and steady, andyou'll be the saving of your cousin here. "

"_You_ may deceive them with the dhress; and _I_ may doa bit of a small _shilloo, _ like a _colleen_ in disthress, and that's all very well, " said Andy, "as far as seeing and hearing goes;but when they come to grip me, sure they'll find out in a minute. "

"We'll stuff you out well with rags and sthraw, and they'll never know thediffer--besides, remember, the fellow that wants a girl never comes forher himself, [Footnote: This is mostly the case. ] but sends his friendsfor her, and they won't know the differ--besides, they're all dhrunk. "

"How do you know?"

"Because they're always dhrunk--that same crew; and if they're not dhrunkto-night, it's the first time in their lives they ever were sober. So makehaste, now, and put off your coat, till we make a purty young colleen outo' you. "

It occurred now to the widow that it was a service of great danger Andywas called on to perform; and with all her abuse of "_omadhaun_" shedid not like the notion of putting him in the way of losing his life, perhaps. 

"They'll murdher the boy, maybe, when they find out the chate, " said thewidow. 

"Not a bit, " said Nance. 

"And suppose they did, " said Andy, "I'd rather die, sure, than thedisgrace should fall upon Oonah, there. "

"God bless you, Andy dear!" said Oonah. "Sure, you have the kind heart, anyhow; but I wouldn't for the world hurt or harm should come to you on myaccount. "

"Oh, don't be afeard!" said Andy, cheerily; "divil a hair I value all theycan do; so dhress me up at once. "

After some more objections on the part of his mother, which Andyoverruled, the women all joined in making up Andy into as tempting animitation of feminality as they could contrive; but to bestow theroundness of outline on the angular form of Andy was no easy matter, and required more rags than the house afforded, so some straw wasindispensable, which the pig's bed only could supply. In the midst oftheir fears, the women could not help laughing as they effected somelikeness to their own forms, with their stuffing and padding; but to carryoff the width of Andy's shoulders required a very ample and voluptuousoutline indeed, and Andy could not help wishing the straw was a littlesweeter which they were packing under his nose. At last, however, aftersoaping down his straggling hair on his forehead, and tying a bonnet uponhis head to shade his face as much as possible, the disguise wascompleted, and the next move was to put Oonah in a place of safety. 

"Get upon the hurdle in the corner, under the thatch, " said Nance. 

"Oh, I'd be afeard o' my life to stay in the house at all. "

"You'd be safe enough, I tell you, " said Nance; "for once they see thatfine young woman there, " pointing to Andy, and laughing, "they'll besatisfied with the lob we've made for them. "

Oonah still expressed her fear of remaining in the cabin. 

"Then hide in the pratee-trench, behind the house. "

"That's better, " said Oonah. 

"And now I must be going, " said Nance; "for they must not see me when theycome. "

"Oh, don't leave me, Nance dear, " cried Oonah, "for I'm sure I'll faintwith the fright when I hear them coming, if some one is not with me. "

Nance yielded to Oonah's fears and entreaties, and with many a blessingand boundless thanks for the beggar-woman's kindness, Oonah led the way tothe little potato garden at the back of the house, and there the womensquatted themselves in one of the trenches and awaited the impendingevent. 

[Illustration: The Abduction]

It was not long in arriving. The tramp of approaching horses at a sharppace rang through the stillness of the night, and the women, crouchingflat beneath the overspreading branches of the potato tops, lay breathlessin the bottom of the trench, as the riders came up to the widow's cottageand entered. There they found the widow and her pseudo niece sitting atthe fire; and three drunken vagabonds, for the fourth was holding thehorses outside, cut some fantastic capers round the cabin, and making amock obeisance to the widow, the spokesman addressed her with--

"Your sarvant, ma'am!"

"Who are yiz at all, gintleman, that comes to my place at this time o'night, and what's your business?"

"We want the loan o' that young woman there, ma'am, " said the ruffian. 

Andy and his mother both uttered small squalls. 

"And as for who we are, ma'am, we're the blessed society of Saint Joseph, ma'am--our coat of arms is two heads upon one pillow, and our motty, 'Who's afraid?--Hurroo!'" shouted the savage, and he twirled his stick andcut another caper. Then coming up to Andy, he addressed him as "youngwoman, " and said there was a fine strapping fellow whose heart wasbreaking till he "rowled her in his arms. "

Andy and the mother both acted their parts very well. He rushed to thearms of the old woman for protection, and screeched small, while the widowshouted "_millia murther!_" at the top of her voice, and did not giveup her hold of the make-believe young woman until her cap was torn halfoff, and her hair streamed about her face. She called on all the saints inthe calendar, as she knelt in the middle of the floor and rocked to andfro, with her clasped hands raised to heaven, calling down curses on the"villains and robbers" that were tearing her child from her, while theythreatened to stop her breath altogether if she did not make less noise, and in the midst of the uproar dragged off Andy, whose strugglesand despair might have excited the suspicion of soberer men. Theylifted him up on a stout horse, in front of the most powerful manof the party, who gripped Andy hard round the middle and pushed hishorse to a hand gallop, followed by the rest of the party. The proximityof Andy to his _cavaliero_ made the latter sensible to the badodour of the pig's bed, which formed Andy's luxurious bust and bustle;but he attributed the unsavoury scent to a bad breath on the lady'spart, and would sometimes address his charge thus:--

"Young woman, if you plaze, would you turn your face th' other way;" thenin a side soliloquy, "By Jaker, I wondher at Jack's taste--she's a finelump of a girl, but her breath is murther intirely--phew--young woman, turn away your face, or by this and that I'll fall off the horse. I'veheerd of a bad breath that might knock a man down, but I never met it tillnow. Oh, murther! it's worse it's growin'--I suppose 't is the bumpin'she's gettin' that shakes the breath out of her sthrong--oh, there it isagain--phew!"

It was as well, perhaps, for the prosecution of the deceit, that thedistaste the fellow conceived for his charge prevented any closerapproaches to Andy's visage, which might have dispelled the illusion underwhich he still pushed forward to the hills and bumped poor Andy towardsthe termination of his ride. Keeping a sharp look-out as he went along, Andy soon was able to perceive they were making for that wild part of thehills where he had discovered the private still on the night of histemporary fright and imaginary rencontre with the giants, and theconversation he partly overheard all recurred to him, and he saw at oncethat Oonah was the person alluded to, whose name he could not catch, acircumstance that cost him many a conjecture in the interim. This gave hima clue to the persons into whose power he was about to fall, after havingso far defeated their scheme, and he saw he should have to deal with verydesperate and lawless parties. Remembering, moreover, the herculean frameof the inamorato, he calculated on an awful thrashing as the smallestpenalty he should have to pay for deceiving him, but was, nevertheless, determined to go through the adventure with a good heart, to make deceitserve his turn as long as he might, and at the last, if necessary, to makethe best fight he could. 

As it happened, luck favoured Andy in his adventure, for the hero of theblunderbuss (and he, it will be remembered, was the love-sick gentleman)drank profusely on the night in question, quaffing deep potations to thehealth of his Oonah, wishing luck to his friends and speed to theirhorses, and every now and then ascending the ladder from the cave, andlooking out for the approach of the party. On one of these occasions, fromthe unsteadiness of the ladder, or himself, or perhaps both, his footslipped, and he came to the ground with a heavy fall, in which his headreceived so severe a blow that he became insensible, and it was some timebefore his sister, who was an inhabitant of this den, could restore him toconsciousness. This she did, however, and the savage recovered all thesenses the whisky had left him; but still the stunning effect of the fallcooled his courage considerably, and, as it were, "bothered" him so, thathe felt much less of the "gallant gay Lothario" than he had done beforethe accident. 

The tramp of horses was heard overhead ere long, and _Shan More_, orBig John, as the Hercules was called, told Bridget to go up to "thedarlin', " and help her down. 

"For that's a blackguard laddher, " said he; "it turned undher me like aneel, bad luck to it!--tell her I'd go up myself, only the ground isslipping from undher me--and the laddher--"

Bridget went off, leaving Jack growling forth anathemas against theground and the ladder, and returned speedily with the mock-lady andher attendant squires. 

"Oh, my jewel!" roared Jack, as he caught sight of his prize. He scrambledup on his legs, and made a rush at Andy, who imitated a woman's scream andfright at the expected embrace; but it was with much greater difficulty hesuppressed his laughter at the headlong fall with which Big Jack plungedhis head into a heap of turf, [Footnote: Peat] and hugged a sack of maltwhich lay beside it. 

Andy endeavoured to overcome the provocation to merriment by screeching;and as Bridget caught the sound of this tendency towards laughter betweenthe screams, she thought it was the commencement of a fit of hysterics, and it accounted all the better for Andy's extravagant antics. 

"Oh, the craythur is frightened out of her life!" said Bridget. "Leave herto me, " said she to the men. "There, jewel machree!" she continued toAndy, soothingly, "don't take on you that way--don't be afeerd, you'reamong friends--Jack is only dhrunk dhrinking your health, darlin', but headores you. " Andy screeched. 

"But don't be afeerd, you'll be thrated tender, and he'll marry you, darlin', like an honest woman!"

Andy squalled. 

"But not to-night, jewel--don't be frightened. "

Andy gave a heavy sob at the respite. 

"Boys, will you lift Jack out o' the turf, and carry him up into the air?'t will be good for him, and this dacent girl will sleep with meto-night. "

Andy couldn't resist a laugh at this, and Bridget feared the girl wasgoing off into hysterics again. 

"Aisy, dear--aisy--sure you'll be safe with me. "

"Ow! ow! ow!" shouted Andy. 

"Oh, murther!" cried Bridget, "the sterricks will be the death of her!You blackguards, you frightened her coming up here, I'm sure. "

The men swore they behaved in the genteelest manner. "Well, take awayJack, and the girl shall have share of my bed for this night. "

Andy shook internally with laughter. 

"Dear, dear, how she thrimbles!" cried Bridget, "Don't be so frightful, _lanna machree_--there, now--they're taking Jack away, and you'realone with myself and will have a nice sleep. "

The men all the time were removing _Shan More_ to upper air; and thelast sounds they heard as they left the cave were the coaxing tones ofBridget's voice, inviting Andy, in the softest words, to go to bed. 

CHAPTER XXXV

The workshops of Neck-or-Nothing Hall rang with the sounds of occupationfor two days after the demise of its former master. The hoarse gratingsound of the saw, the whistling of the plane, and the stroke of the malletdenoted the presence of the carpenter; and the sharper clink of a hammertold of old Fogy, the family "milliner, " being at work; but it was not onmillinery Fogy was now employed, though neither was it legitimate tinker'swork. He was scrolling out with his shears, and beating into form, a plateof tin, to serve for the shield on O'Grady's coffin, which was to recordhis name, age, and day of departure; and this was the second plate onwhich the old man worked, for one was already finished in the corner. Whyare there two coffin-plates? Enter the carpenter's shop, and you will seethe answer in two coffins the carpenter has nearly completed. But why twocoffins for one death? Listen, reader, to a bit of Irish strategy. 

It has been stated that an apprehension was entertained of a seizure ofthe inanimate body of O'Grady for the debts it had contracted in life, andthe harpy nature of the money-lender from whom this movement was dreadedwarranted the fear. Had O'Grady been popular, such a measure on the partof a cruel creditor might have been defied, as the surrounding peasantrywould have risen _en masse_ to prevent it; but the hostile positionin which he had placed himself towards the people alienated the naturalaffection they are born with for their chiefs, and any partial defence thefew fierce retainers whom individual interest had attached to him couldhave made might have been insufficient; therefore, to save his father'sremains from the pollution (as the son considered) of a bailiff's touch, Gustavus determined to achieve by stratagem what he could not accomplishby force, and had two coffins constructed, the one to be filled withstones and straw, and sent out by the front entrance with all thedemonstration of a real funeral, and be given up to the attack it wasfeared would be made upon it while the other, put to its legitimate use, should be placed on a raft, and floated down the river to an ancientburial-ground which lay some miles below on the opposite bank. A facilityfor this was afforded by a branch of the river running up into the domain, as it will be remembered; and the scene of the bearish freaks played uponFurlong was to witness a trick of a more serious nature. 

While all these preparations were going forward, the "waking" was kept upin all the barbarous style of old times; eating and drinking in profusionwent on in the house, and the kitchen of the hall rang with joviality. Thefeats of sports and arms of the man who had passed away were lauded, andhis comparative achievements with those of his progenitors gave rise tomany a stirring anecdote; and bursts of barbarous exultation, or morebarbarous merriment, rang in the house of death. There was no lack ofwhisky to fire the brains of these revellers, for the standard of themeasurement of family grandeur was, too often, a liquid one in Ireland, even so recently as the time we speak of; and the dozens of wine wastedduring the life it helped to shorten, and the posthumous gallons consumedin toasting to the memory of the departed, were among the cherishedremembrances of hereditary honour. "There were two hogsheads of whiskydrank at my father's wake!" was but a moderate boast of a true Irishsquire, fifty years ago. 

And now the last night of the wake approached, and the retainersthronged to honour the obsequies of their departed chief with anincreased enthusiasm, which rose in proportion as the whisky gotlow; and songs in praise of their present occupation--that is, gettingdrunk--rang merrily round, and the sports of the field and the sorrows andjoys of love resounded; in short, the ruling passions of life figured inrhyme and music in honour of this occasion of death--and as death is themaker of widows, a very animated discussion on the subject of widowhoodarose, which afforded great scope for the rustic wits, and was crowned bythe song of "Widow Machree" being universally called for by the company;and a fine-looking fellow with a merry eye and large white teeth, which heamply displayed by a wide mouth, poured forth in cheery tones a prettylively air which suited well the humorous spirit of the words:--

WIDOW MACHREE

 "Widow _machree_, it's no wonder you frown, Och hone! widow machree: 'Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown, Och hone! widow machree. How altered your hair, With that close cap you wear-- 'Tis destroying your hair Which should be flowing free: Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl, Och hone! widow machree. 

 "Widow machree, now the summer is come, Och hone! widow machree; When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum! Och hone! widow machree. See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares-- Why even the bears Now in couples agree; And the mute little fish, Though they can't spake, they wish, Och hone! widow machree. 

 "Widow machree, and when winter comes in, Och hone! widow machree, To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone! widow machree, Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kittle sings songs Full of family glee, While alone with your cup, Like a hermit _you_ sup-- Och hone! widow machree. 

 "And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, Och hone! widow machree, But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, Och hone! widow machree. With such sins on your head, Sure your peace would be fled, Could you sleep in your bed, Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Crying, 'Och hone! widow machree. '

 "Then take my advice, darling widow machree, Och hone! widow machree, And with my advice, 'faith I wish you'd take me, Och hone! widow machree. You'd have me to desire Then to sit by the fire; And sure hope is no liar In whispering to me That the ghosts would depart, When you'd me near your heart, Och hone! widow machree. "

The singer was honoured with a round of applause, and his challenge foranother lay was readily answered, and mirth and music filled the night andushered in the dawn of the day which was to witness the melancholy sightof the master of an ample mansion being made the tenant of the "narrowhouse. "

In the evening of that day, however, the wail rose loud and long; themirth which "the waking" permits had passed away, and the _ulican_, or funeral cry, told that the lifeless chief was being borne from hishall. That wild cry was heard even by the party who were waiting to maketheir horrid seizure, and for _that_ party the stone-laden coffin wassent with a retinue of mourners through the old iron gate of the principalentrance, while the mortal remains were borne by a smaller party to theriver inlet and placed on the raft. Half an hour had witnessed a shamfight on the part of O'Grady's people with the bailiffs and theirfollowers, who made the seizure they intended, and locked up their prizein an old barn to which it had been conveyed, until some engagement on thepart of the heir should liberate it; while the aforesaid heir, as soon asthe shadows of evening had shrouded the river in obscurity, conveyed theremains, which the myrmidons of the law fancied they possessed, to itsquiet and lonely resting-place. The raft was taken in tow by a boatcarrying two of the boys, and pulled by four lusty retainers of thedeparted chief, while Gustavus himself stood on the raft, astride over thecoffin, and with an eel-spear, which had afforded him many a day's sport, performed the melancholy task of guiding it. It was a strangely painfulyet beautiful sight to behold the graceful figure of the fine boy engagedin this last sad duty; with dexterous energy he plied his spear, now onthis side and now on that, directing the course of the raft, or clearingit from the flaggers which interrupted its passage through the narrowinlet. This duty he had to attend to for some time, even after leavingthe little inlet; for the river was much overgrown with flaggersat this point, and the increasing darkness made the task more difficult. 

In the midst of all this action not one word was spoken, even the sturdyboatmen were mute, and the fall of the oar in the rowlock, the plash ofthe water, and the crushing sound of the yielding rushes as the "waterybier" made its way through them were the only sounds which broke thesilence. Still Gustavus betrayed no emotion; but by the time they reachedthe open stream, and that his personal exertion was no longer required, achange came over him. It was night, --the measured beat of the oars soundedlike a knell to him--there was darkness above him and death below, and hesank down upon the coffin, and plunging his face passionately between hishands, he wept bitterly. Sad were the thoughts that oppressed the brainand wrung the heart of the high-spirited boy. He felt that his dead fatherwas _escaping_, as it were, to the grave, --that even death did notterminate the consequences of an ill-spent life. He felt like a thief inthe night, even in the execution of his own stratagem, and the bitterthoughts of that sad and solemn time wrought a potent spell over after-years; that one hour of misery and disgrace influenced the entire of afuture life. 

On a small hill overhanging the river was the ruin of an ancient earlytemple of Christianity, and to its surrounding burial-ground a few of theretainers had been despatched to prepare a grave. They were engaged inthis task by the light of a torch made of bog-pine, when the flicker ofthe flame attracted the eye of a horseman who was riding slowly along theneighbouring road. Wondering what could be the cause of light in such aplace, he leaped the adjoining fence and rode up to the grave-yard. 

"What are you doing here?" he said to the labourers. They paused andlooked up, and the flash of the torch fell upon the features of EdwardO'Connor. "We're finishing your work, " said one of the men with maliciousearnestness. 

"My work?" repeated Edward. 

"Yes, " returned the man, more sternly than before--"this is the grave ofO'Grady. "

The words went like an ice-bolt through Edward's heart, and even by thetorchlight the tormentor could see his victim grew livid. 

The fellow who wounded so deeply one so generally beloved as EdwardO'Connor was a thorough ruffian. His answer to Edward's query sprang notfrom love of O'Grady, nor abhorrence of taking human life, but from theopportunity of retort which the occasion offered upon one who had oncechecked him in an act of brutality. 

Yet Edward O'Connor could not reply--it was a home thrust. The death ofO'Grady had weighed heavily upon him; for though O'Grady's wound had beengiven in honourable combat, provoked by his own fury, and not producingimmediate death; though that death had supervened upon the subsequentintractability of the patient; yet the fact that O'Grady had never been"up and doing" since the duel tended to give the impression that his woundwas the remote if not the immediate cause of his death, and thiscircumstance weighed heavily on Edward's spirits. His friends told him hefelt over keenly upon the subject, and that no one but himself couldentertain a question of _his_ total innocence of O'Grady's death; butwhen from the lips of a common peasant he got the answer he did, and_that_ beside the grave of his adversary, it will not be wondered atthat he reeled in his saddle. A cold shivering sickness came over him, andto avoid falling he alighted and leaned for support against his horse, which stooped, when freed from the restraint of the rein, to browse on therank verdure; and for a moment Edward envied the unconsciousness of theanimal against which he leaned. He pressed his forehead against thesaddle, and from the depth of a bleeding heart came up an agonisedexclamation. 

A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder as he spoke, and, turning round, hebeheld Mr. Bermingham. 

"What brings you here?" said the clergyman. 

"Accident, " answered Edward. "But why should I say accident?--it is by ahigher authority and a better--it is the will of Heaven. It is meant as abitter lesson to human pride: we make for ourselves laws of _honour_, and forget the laws of God!"

"Be calm, my young friend, " said the worthy pastor; "I cannot wonder youfeel deeply--but command yourself. " He pressed Edward's hand as he spokeand left him, for he knew that an agony so keen is not benefited bycompanionship. 

Mr. Bermingham was there by appointment to perform the burial service, andhe had not left Edward's side many minutes when a long wild whistle fromthe waters announced the arrival of the boat and raft, and the retainersran down to the river, leaving the pine-torch stuck in the upturned earth, waving its warm blaze over the cold grave. During the interval whichensued between the departure of the men and their reappearance, bearingthe body to its last resting-place, Mr. Bermingham spoke with EdwardO'Connor, and soothed him into a more tranquil bearing. When the coffincame within view he advanced to meet it, and began the sublime burial-service, which he repeated most impressively. When it was over, the mencommenced filling up the grave. As the clods fell upon the coffin, theysmote the hearts of the dead man's children; yet the boys stood upon theverge of the grave as long as a vestige of the tenement of their lostfather could be seen; but as soon as the coffin was hidden, they withdrewfrom the brink, and the younger boys, each taking hold of the hand of theeldest, seemed to imply the need of mutual dependence:--as if deathhad drawn closer the bond of brotherhood. 

There was no sincerer mourner at that place than Edward O'Connor, whostood aloof, in respect for the feelings of the children of the departedman, till the grave was quite filled up, and all were about to leave thespot; but then his feelings overmastered him, and, impelled by a torrentof contending emotions, he rushed forward, and throwing himself on hisknees before Gustavus, he held up his hands imploringly, and sobbed forth, "Forgive me!"

The astonished boy drew back. 

"Oh, forgive me!" repeated Edward--"I could not help it--it was forced onme--it was--"

As he struggled for utterance, even the rough retainers were touched, andone of them exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. O'Connor, it was a fair fight!"

"There!" exclaimed Edward--"you hear it! Oh, give me your hand inforgiveness!"

"I forgive you, " said the boy, "but do not ask me to give you my handto-night. "

"You are right" said Edward, springing to his feet--"you are right--youare a noble fellow; and now, remember my parting words, Gustavus:--Here, by the side of your father's grave, I pledge you my soul that through lifeand till death, in all extremity, Edward O'Connor is your sworn and trustyfriend. "

CHAPTER XXXVI

While the foregoing scene of sadness took place in the lone churchyard, unholy watch was kept over the second coffin by the myrmidons of the law. The usurer who made the seizure had brought down from Dublin three of themost determined bailiffs from amongst the tribe, and to their care wascommitted the keeping of the supposed body in the old barn. Associatedwith these worthies were a couple of ill-conditioned country blackguards, who, for the sake of a bottle of whisky, would keep company with Old Nickhimself, and who expected, moreover, to hear "a power o' news" from the"gentlemen" from Dublin, who, in their turn did not object to have theirguard strengthened, as their notions of a rescue in the country parts ofIreland were anything but agreeable. The night was cold, so, clearing awayfrom one end of the barn the sheaves of corn with which it was stored, they made a turf fire, stretched themselves on a good shake-down of strawbefore the cheering blaze, and circulated among them the whisky, of whichthey had a good store. A tap at the door announced a new-comer; but theDublin bailiffs, fearing a surprise, hesitated to open to the knock untiltheir country allies assured them it was a friend whose voice theyrecognised. The door was opened, and in walked Larry Hogan, to pick up hisshare of what was going, whatever it might be, saying--

"I thought you wor for keeping me out altogether. "

"The gintlemin from Dublin was afeard of what they call a riskya"(rescue), said the peasant, "till I told them 't was a friend. "

"Divil a riskya will come near you to-night, " said Larry, "you may makeyour minds aisy about that, for the people doesn't care enough about_his_ bones to get their own broke in savin' him, and no wondher. It's a lantherumswash bully he always was, quiet as he is now. And thereyou are, my bold squire, " said he, apostrophising the coffin which hadbeen thrown on a heap of sheaves. "Faix, it's a good kitchen you kep', anyhow, whenever you had it to spind; and indeed when you _hadn't_you spint it all the same, for the divil a much you cared how you got it;but death has made you pay the reckoning at last--that thing that filly-officers call the debt o' nature must be paid, whatever else you may owe. "

"Why, it's as good as a sarmon to hear you, " said one of the bailiffs. "OLarry, sir, discourses iligant, " said a peasant. 

"Tut, tut, tut, " said Larry, with affected modesty: "it's not what_I_ say, but I can tell you a thing that Docthor Growlin' put out onhim more nor a year ago, which was mighty 'cute. Scholars calls it an'epithet of dissipation, ' which means getting a man's tombstone ready forhim before he dies; and divil a more cutting thing was ever cut on atombstone than the doctor's rhyme; this is it--

 'Here lies O'Grady, that cantankerous creature, Who paid, as all must pay, the debt of nature; But, keeping to his general maxim still, Paid it--like other debts--against his will. '"

[Footnote: These bitter lines on a "bad pay" were written by a Dublinmedical wit of high repute, of whom Dr. Growling is a prototype. ]

"What do _you_ think o' that, Goggins?" inquired one bailiff from theother; "you're a judge o' po'thry. "

"It's _sevare, "_ answered Goggins, authoritatively, "but _coorse, _I wish you'd brile the rashers; I begin to feel the calls o' nature, as the poet says. "

This Mister Goggins was a character in his way. He had the greatestlonging to be thought a poet, put execrable couplets together sometimes, and always talked as fine as he could; and his mixture of sentimentality, with a large stock of blackguardism, produced a strange jumble. 

"The people here thought it nate, sir, " said Larry. 

"Oh, very well for the country!" said Goggins; "but 't wouldn't do fortown. "

"Misther Coggings knows best, " said the bailiff who first spoke, "for he'sa pote himself, and writes in the newspapers. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Larry. 

"Yes, " said Goggins, "sometimes I throw off little things for thenewspapers. There's a friend of mine you see, a gentleman connected withthe press, who is often in defficulties, and I give him a hint to keep outo' the way when he's in trouble, and he swears I've a genus for the muses, and encourages me--"

"Humph!" says Larry. 

"And puts my things in the paper, when he gets the editor's back turned, for the editor is a consaited chap that likes no one's po'thry but hisown; but never mind--if I ever get a writ against that chap, _won't_I sarve it!"

"And I dar say some day you will have it agen him, sir, " said Larry. 

"Sure of it, a'most, " said Goggins; "them litherary men is always indefficulties. "

"I wondher you'd be like them, then, and write at all, " said Larry. 

"Oh, as for me, it's only by way of amusement; attached as I am to thelegal profession, my time wouldn't permit; but I have been infected by thecompany I kept. The living images that creeps over a man sometimes isirresistible, and you have no pace till you get them out o' your head. "

"Oh, indeed, they are very throublesome, " says Larry, "and are thelitherary gintlemen, sir, as you call them, mostly that way?"

"To be sure; it is _that_ which makes a litherary man: his head isfull--teems with creation, sir. "

"Dear, dear!" said Larry. 

"And when once the itch of litherature comes over a man, nothing can cureit but the scratching of a pen. "

"But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any other way youcan. "

"To be sure, " said Goggins, "I have seen a litherary gentleman in asponging-house do crack things on the wall with a bit of burnt stick, rather than be idle--they must execute. "

"Ha!" says Larry. 

"Sometimes, in all their poverty and difficulty, I envy the 'fatalfatality, ' as the poet says, of such men in catching ideas. "

"That's the genteel name for it, " says Larry. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Goggins, enthusiastically, "I know the satisfaction ofcatching a man, but it's nothing at all compared to catching an idea. Forthe man, you see, can give hail and get off, but the idea is your own forever. And then a rhyme--when it has puzzled you all day, the pleasure youhave in _nabbing_ it at last!"

"Oh, it's po'thry you're spakin' about, " said Larry. 

"To be sure, " said Goggins; "do you think I'd throw away my time on prose?You're burning that bacon, Tim, " said he to his _sub_. 

"Poethry, agen the world!" continued he to Larry, "the Castilian sthraimefor me!--Hand us that whisky"--he put the bottle to his mouth and took aswig--"That's good--you do a bit of private here, I suspect, " said he, with a wink, pointing to the bottle. 

Larry returned a significant grin, but said nothing. Oh, don't be afraido' me--I would n't'peach--"

"Sure it's agen the law, and you're a gintleman o' the law, " said Larry. 

"That's no rule, " said Goggins: "the Lord Chief Justice always goes tobed, they say, with six tumblers o' potteen under his belt; and dhrink itmyself. "

"Arrah, how do you get it?" said Larry. 

"From a gentleman, a friend o' mine, in the Custom-house. "

"A-dad, that's quare, " said Larry, laughing. 

"Oh, we see queer things, I tell you, " said Goggins, "we gentlemen of thelaw. "

"To be sure you must, " returned Larry; "and mighty improvin' it must be. Did you ever catch a thief, sir?"

"My good man, you mistake my profession, " said Goggins, proudly; "we neverhave anything to do in the _criminal_ line, that's much beneath_us_. "

"I ax your pardon, sir. "

"No offence--no offence. "

"But it must be mighty improvin', I think, ketching of thieves, andfinding out their thricks and hidin'-places, and the like?"

"Yes, yes, " said Goggins, "good fun; though I don't do it, I know allabout it, and could tell queer things too. "

"Arrah, maybe you would, sir?" said Larry. 

"Maybe I will, after we nibble some rashers--will you take share?"

"Musha, long life to you, " said Larry, always willing to get whatever hecould. A repast was now made, more resembling a feast of savages roundtheir war-fire than any civilised meal; slices of bacon broiled in thefire, and eggs roasted in the turf-ashes. The viands were notobjectionable; but the cooking! Oh!--there was neither gridiron norfrying-pan, fork nor spoon; a couple of clasp-knives served the wholeparty. Nevertheless, they satisfied their hunger and then sent thebottle on its exhilarating round. Soon after that, many a story ofburglary, robbery, swindling, petty larceny, and every conceivable crime, was related for the amusement of the circle; and the plots andcounterplots of thieves and thief-takers raised the wonder of thepeasants. Larry Hogan was especially delighted; more particularly whensome trick of either villany or cunning came out. 

"Now women are troublesome cattle to deal with mostly, " said Goggins. "They are remarkably 'cute first, and then they are spiteful after; andfor circumventin' _either_ way are sharp hands. You see they do itquieter than men; a man will make a noise about it, but a woman does itall on the sly. There was Bill Morgan--and a sharp fellow he was, too--andhe had set his heart on some silver spoons he used to see down in akitchen windy, but the servant-maid, somehow or other, suspected there wasdesigns about the place, and was on the watch. Well, one night, when shewas all alone, she heard a noise outside the windy, so she kept as quietas a mouse. By-and-by the sash was attempted to be riz from the outside, so she laid hold of a kittle of boiling wather and stood hid behind theshutter. The windy was now riz a little, and a hand and arm thrust in tothrow up the sash altogether, when the girl poured the boiling wather downthe sleeve of Bill's coat. Bill roared with the pain, when the girl saidto him, laughing, through the windy, 'I _thought_ you came forsomething. '"

"That was a 'cute girl, " said Larry, chuckling. 

"Well, now, that's an instance of a woman's cleverness in preventing. I'llteach you one of her determination to discover and prosecute toconviction; and in this case, what makes it curious is, that Jack Tate haddone the bowldest thing, and run the greatest risks, 'the eminent deadly, 'as the poet says, when he was done up at last by a feather-bed. "

"A feather-bed, " repeated Larry, wondering how a feather-bed couldinfluence the fate of a bold burglar, while Goggins mistook hisexclamation of surprise to signify the paltriness of the prize, andtherefore chimed in with him. 

"Quite true--no wonder you wonder--quite below a man of his pluck; but thefact was, a sweetheart of his was longing for a feather-bed, and Jackdetermined to get it. Well, he marched into a house, the door of which hefound open, and went up-stairs, and took the best feather-bed in thehouse, tied it up in the best quilt, crammed some caps and ribbons he sawlying about into the bundle, and marched down-stairs again; but you see, in carrying off even the small thing of a feather-bed, Jack showed theskill of a high practitioner, for he descendhered the stairs backwards. "

"Backwards!" said Larry, "what was that for?"

"You'll see by-and-by, " said Goggins; "he descendhered backwards whensuddenly he heard a door opening, and a faymale voice exclaim, 'Where areyou going with that bed?'

"'I am going up-stairs with it, ma'am, ' says Jack, whose backward positionfavoured his lie, and he began to walk up again. 

"'Come down here, ' said the lady, 'we want no beds here, man. '

"'Mr. Sullivan, ma'am, sent me home with it himself, ' said Jack, stillmounting the stairs. 

"'Come down, I tell you, ' said the lady, in a great rage. 'There's no Mr. Sullivan lives here--go out of this with your bed, you stupid fellow. '

"'I beg your pardon, ma'am, ' says Jack, turning round, and marching offwith the bed fair and aisy. Well, there was a regular shilloo in the housewhen the thing was found out, and cart-ropes wouldn't howld the lady forthe rage she was in at being diddled; so she offered rewards, and thedickens knows all; and what do you think at last discovered our poorJack?"

"The sweetheart, maybe, " said Larry, grinning in ecstasy at the thoughtof human perfidy. 

"No, " said Goggins, "honour even among sweethearts, though they do thetrick sometimes, I confess; but no woman of any honour would betray agreat man like Jack. No--'t was one of the paltry ribbons that broughtconviction home to him; the woman never lost sight of hunting up evidenceabout her feather-bed, and, in the end, a ribbon out of one of her capssettled the hash of Jack Tate. "

From robbings they went on to tell of murders, and at last thatuncomfortable sensation which people experience after a feast of horrorsbegan to pervade the party; and whenever they looked round, _there_was the coffin in the background. 

"Throw some turf on the fire, " said Goggins, "'t is burning low; andchange the subject; the tragic muse has reigned sufficiently long--enoughof the dagger and the bowl--sink the socks and put on the buckskins. Leather away, Jim--sing us a song. "

"What is it to be?" asked Jim. 

"Oh--that last song of the Solicitor-General's, " said Goggins, with an airas if the Solicitor-General were his particular friend. 

"About the robbery?" inquired Jim. 

"To be sure, " returned Goggins. 

"Dear me, " said Larry, "and would so grate a man as the Solicithor-Generaldemane himself by writin' about robbers?"

"Oh!" said Goggins, "those in the heavy profession of the law must havetheir little private moments of rollickzation; and then high men, you see, like to do a bit of low by way of variety. 'The Night before Larry wasstretched' was done by a bishop, they say; and 'Lord Altamont's Bull' bythe Lord Chief Justice; and the Solicitor-General is as up to fun as anybishop of them all. Come, Jim, tip us the stave!"

Jim cleared his throat and obeyed his chief. 

THE QUAKER'S MEETING

I

 "A traveller wended the wilds among, With a purse of gold and a silver tongue; His hat it was broad, and all drab were his clothes, For he hated high colours--except on his nose, And he met with a lady, the story goes. Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

II

 "The damsel she cast him a merry blink, And the traveller nothing was loth, I think; Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet beneath, And the quaker, he grinned, for he'd very good teeth, And he asked, 'Art thee [1] going to ride on the heath?' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

[1][Footnote: The inferior class of quakers make THEE serve not only itsown grammatical use, but also do the duty of THY and THINE. ]

III

 "'I hope you'll protect me, kind sir, ' said the maid, 'As to ride this heath over I'm sadly afraid; For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound, And I wouldn't "for anything" I should be found, For, between you and me, I have five hundred pound. ' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

IV

 "'If that is thee own, dear, ' the quaker he said, 'I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed; And I have another five hundred just now, In the padding that's under my saddle-bow, And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow!' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

V

 "The maiden she smiled, and her rein she drew, 'Your offer I'll take, though I'll not take you;' A pistol she held at the quaker's head-- 'Now give me your gold, or I'll give you my lead, 'Tis under the saddle I think you said. ' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

VI

 "The damsel she ripp'd up the saddle-bow, And the quaker was never a quaker till now; And he saw by the fair one he wish'd for a bride His purse borne away with a swaggering stride, And the eye that looked tender now only defied. Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

VII

 "'The spirit doth move me, friend Broadbrim, ' quoth she, 'To take all this filthy temptation from thee; For Mammon deceiveth, and beauty is fleeting: Accept from thy _maai-d'n_ a right loving greeting, For much doth she profit by this quaker's meeting. Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

VIII

 "'And hark! jolly quaker, so rosy and sly, Have righteousness more than a wench in thine eye, Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath, Remember the one that you met on the heath, _Her_ name's _Jimmy_ Barlow--I tell to your teeth!' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

IX

 "'_Friend_ James, ' quoth the quaker, 'pray listen to me, For thou canst confer a great favour, d' ye see; The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend, But my master's--and on thee I depend To make it appear I my trust did defend. Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

X

 "'So fire a few shots through my clothes, here and there, To make it appear 't was a desp'rate affair. ' So Jim he popped first through the skirt of his coat, And then through his collar quite close to his throat. 'Now once through my broad-brim, ' quoth Ephraim, 'I vote. Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

XI

 "'I have but a brace, ' said bold Jim, 'and they 're spent, And I won't load again for a make-believe rent. ' 'Then, ' said Ephraim--producing his pistols--'just give My five hundred pounds back--or, as sure as you live, I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve. ' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. 

XII

 "Jim Barlow was diddled, and though he was game, He saw Ephraim's pistol so deadly in aim, That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers; And when the whole story got into the papers, They said that '_the thieves were no match for the quakers_. ' Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee. "

"Well, it's a quare thing you should be singin' a song here, " said LarryHogan, "about Jim Barlow, and it's not over half a mile out of this veryplace he was hanged. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed all the men at once, looking with great interest atLarry. 

"It's truth I'm telling you. He made a very bowld robbery up by the longhill there, on _two_ gintlemen, for he was mighty stout. "

"Pluck to the back-bone, " said Goggins. 

"Well, he tuk the purses aff both o' them; and just as he was goin' onafther doin' the same, what should appear on the road before him, but twoother travellers coming up forninst him. With that the men that was robbedcried out, 'Stop thief!' and so Jim, seein' himself hemmed in betune thefour o' them, faced his horse to the ditch and took across the counthry;but the thravellers was well mounted as well as himself, and powdheredafther him like mad. Well, it was equal to a steeple chase a'most;and Jim, seein' he could not shake them off, thought the best thinghe could do was to cut out some troublesome work for them; so heled off where he knew there was the divil's own leap to take, andhe intended to 'pound [Footnote: Impound] them there, and be offin the mane time; but as ill luck would have it, his own horse, that wasas bowld as himself, and would jump at the moon if he was faced to it, missed his foot in takin' off, and fell short o' the leap and slipped hisshouldher, and Jim himself had a bad fall of it too, and, av coorse, itwas all over wid him--and up came the four gintlemen. Well, Jim had hispistols yet, and he pulled them out, and swore he'd shoot the first manthat attempted to take him; but the gintlemen had pistols as well as he, and were so hot on the chase they determined to have him, and closed onhim. Jim fired and killed one o' them; but he got a ball in the shouldherhimself, from another, and he was taken. Jim sthruv to shoot himself withhis second pistol, but it missed fire. 'The curse o' the road is on me, 'said Jim; 'my pistol missed fire, and my horse slipped his shouldher, andnow I'll be scragged, ' says he, 'but it's not for nothing--I've killed oneo' ye, ' says he. "

"He was all pluck, " said Goggins. 

"Desperate bowld, " said Larry. "Well, he was thried and condimned _avcoorse_, and was hanged, as I tell you, half a mile out o' this veryplace, where we are sittin', and his appearance walks, they say, eversince. "

"You don't say so!" said Goggins. 

"'Faith, it's thrue!" answered Larry. 

"You never saw it, " said Goggins. 

"The Lord forbid!" returned Larry; "but it's thrue, for all that. For yousee the big house near this barn, that is all in ruin, was desartedbecause Jim's ghost used to walk. "

"That was foolish, " said Goggins; "stir up the fire, Jim, and hand me thewhisky. "

"Oh, if it was only walkin', they might have got over that; but at lastone night, as the story goes, when there was a thremendious storm o' windand rain--"

"Whisht!" said one of the peasants, "what's that?"

As they listened, they heard the beating of heavy rain against the door, and the wind howled through its chinks. 

"Well, " said Goggins, "what are you stopping for?"

"Oh, I'm not stoppin', " said Larry; "I was sayin' that it was a bad wildnight, and Jimmy Barlow's appearance came into the house and asked themfor a glass o' sper'ts, and that he'd be obleeged to them if they'd helphim with his horse that slipped his shouldher; and, 'faith, afther_that_, they'd stay in the place no longer; and signs on it, thehouse is gone to rack and ruin, and it's only this barn that is kept up atall, because it's convaynient for owld Skinflint on the farm. "

"That's all nonsense, " said Goggins, who wished, nevertheless, that he hadnot heard the "nonsense. "

"Come, sing another song, Jim. "

Jim said he did not remember one. 

"Then you sing, Ralph. "

Ralph said every one knew he never did more than join a chorus. 

"Then join me in a chorus, " said Goggins, "for I'll sing, if Jim'safraid. "

"I'm not afraid, " said Jim. 

"Then why won't you sing?"

"Because I don't like. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Goggins. 

"Well, maybe you're afraid yourself, " said Jim, "if you towld thruth. ""Just to show you how little I'm afeard, " said Goggins, with a swaggeringair, "I'll sing another song about Jimmy Barlow. "

"You'd better not, " said Larry Hogan. "Let him rest in pace!"

"Fudge!" said Goggins. "Will you join chorus, Jim?"

"I will, " said Jim, fiercely. 

"We'll all join, " said the men (except Larry), who felt it would be a sortof relief to bully away the supernatural terror which hung round theirhearts after the ghost story by the sound of their own voices. 

"Then here goes!" said Goggins, who started another long ballad aboutJimmy Barlow, in the opening of which all joined. It ran as follows:--

 "My name it is Jimmy Barlow, I was born in the town of Carlow, And here I lie in the Maryborough jail, All for the robbing of the Wicklow mail. Fol de rol de rol de riddle-ido!"

As it would be tiresome to follow this ballad through all its length, breadth, and thickness, we shall leave the singers engaged in theirchorus, while we call the reader's attention to a more interesting personthan Mister Goggins or Jimmy Barlow. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

When Edward O'Connor had hurried from the burial-place, he threw himselfinto his saddle, and urged his horse to speed, anxious to fly the spotwhere his feelings had been so harrowed; and as he swept along through thecold night wind which began to rise in gusty fits, and howled past him, there was in the violence of his rapid motion something congenial to thefierce career of painful thoughts which chased each other through hisheated brain. He continued to travel at this rapid pace, so absorbed inbitter reflection as to be quite insensible to external impressions, andhe knew not how far nor how fast he was going, though the heavy breathingof his horse at any other time would have been signal sufficient to drawthe rein; but still he pressed onward, and still the storm increased, andeach acclivity was topped but to sweep down the succeeding slope at thesame desperate pace. Hitherto the road over which he pursued his fleetcareer lay through an open country, and though the shades of a stormynight hung above it, the horse could make his way in safety through thegloom; but now they approached an old road which skirted an ancientdomain, whose venerable trees threw their arms across the old causeway, and added their shadows to the darkness of the night. 

Many and many a time had Edward ridden in the soft summer under the greenshade of these very trees, in company with Fanny Dawson, his guiltlessheart full of hope and love; perhaps it was this very thought crossinghis mind at the moment which made his present circumstances the moreoppressive. He was guiltless no longer--he rode not in happiness withthe woman he adored under the soft shade of summer trees, but heard thewintry wind howl through their leafless boughs as he hurried in maddenedspeed beneath them, and heard in the dismal sound but an echo of the voiceof remorse which was ringing through his heart. The darkness was intensefrom the canopy of old oaks which overhung the road, but still the horsewas urged through the dark ravine at speed, though one might not see anarm's length before. Fearlessly it was performed, though ever and anon, asthe trees swung about their heavy branches in the storm, smaller portionsof the boughs were snapped off and flung in the faces of the horse and therider, who still spurred and plashed his headlong way through the heavyroad beneath. Emerging at length from the deep and overshadowed valley, asteep hill raised its crest in advance, but still up the stony acclivitythe feet of the mettled steed rattled rapidly, and flashed fire from theflinty path. As they approached the top of the hill, the force of thestorm became more apparent; and on reaching its crest, the fierce peltingof the mingled rain and hail made the horse impatient of the storm ofwhich his rider was heedless--almost unconscious. The spent animal withshort snortings betokened his labour, and shook his head passionately asthe fierce hail-shower struck him in the eyes and nostrils. Still, however, was he urged downward, but he was no longer safe. Quite blown, and pressed over a rough descent, the generous creature, that would dierather than refuse, made a false step, and came heavily to the ground. Edward was stunned by the fall, though not seriously hurt; and, after thelapse of a few seconds, recovered his feet, but found the horse stillprostrate. Taking the animal by the head, he assisted him to rise, whichhe was not enabled to do till after several efforts; and when heregained his legs, it was manifest he was seriously lamed; and ashe limped along with difficulty beside his master, who led him gently, it became evident that it was beyond the animal's power to reachhis own stable that night. Edward for the first time was now awareof how much he had punished his horse; he felt ashamed of using thenoble brute with such severity, and became conscious that he hadbeen acting under something little short of frenzy. The consciousnessat once tended to restore him somewhat to himself, and he began tolook around on every side in search of some house where he couldfind rest and shelter for his disabled horse. As he proceeded thus, the care necessarily bestowed on his dumb companion partially called offhis thoughts from the painful theme with which they had been exclusivelyoccupied, and the effect was most beneficial. The first violent burst offeeling was past, and a calmer train of thought succeeded; he for thefirst time remembered the boy had forgiven him, and that was a greatconsolation to him; he recalled, too, his own words, pledging to Gustavushis friendship, and in this pleasing hope of the future he saw much toredeem what he regretted of the past. Still, however, the wild flare ofthe pine-torch over the lone grave of his adversary, and the horrid answerof the grave-digger, that he was but "finishing _his_ work, " wouldrecur to his memory and awake an internal pang. 

From this painful reminiscence he sought to escape, by looking forward toall he would do for Gustavus, and had become much calmer, when the glimmerof a light not far ahead attracted him, and he soon was enabled toperceive it proceeded from some buildings that lay on his right, not farfrom the road. He turned up the rough path which formed the approach, andthe light escaped through the chinks of a large door which indicated theplace to be a coach-house, or some such office, belonging to the generalpile which seemed in a ruinous condition. 

As he approached, Edward heard rude sounds of merriment, amongst which thejoining of many voices in a "ree-raw" chorus indicated that a carouse wasgoing forward within. 

On reaching the door he could perceive through a wide chink a group of mensitting round a turf fire piled at the far end of the building, which hadno fire-place, and the smoke, curling upwards to the roof, wreathed therafters in smoke; beneath this vapoury canopy the party sat drinking andsinging, and Edward, ere he knocked for admittance, listened to thefollowing strange refrain:--

 _"For my name it is Jimmy Barlow, I was born in the town of Carlow, And here I lie in Maryborough jail, All for the robbing of the Wicklow mail. Fol de rol de riddle-iddle-ido!"_

Then the principal singer took up the song, which seemed to be one ofrobbery, blood, and murder, for it ran thus:--

 "Then he cocked his pistol gaily, And stood before him bravely, Smoke and fire is my desire, So blaze away, my game-cock squire. _For my name it is Jimmy Barlow, I was born &c. _"

Edward O'Connor knocked at the door loudly; the words he had just heardabout "pistols, " "blazing away, " and, last of all, "_squire_" fellgratingly on his ear at that moment, and seemed strangely to connectthemselves with the previous adventures of the night and his own sadthoughts, and he beat against the door with violence. 

The chorus ceased; Edward repeated his knocking. Still there wasno answer; but he heard low and hurried muttering inside. Determined, however, to gain admittance, Edward laid hold of an iron hasp outsidethe door, which enabled him to shake the gate with violence, thatthere might be no excuse on the part of the inmates that they did nothear; but in thus making the old door rattle in its frame, it suddenlyyielded to his touch and creaked open on its rusty hinges; for when LarryHogan had entered, it had been forgotten to be barred. 

As Edward stood in the open doorway, the first object which met his eyewas the coffin--and it is impossible to say how much at that moment thesight shocked him; he shuddered involuntarily, yet could not withdraw hiseyes from the revolting object; and the pallor with which his previousmental anxiety had invested his cheek increased as he looked on this lasttenement of mortality. "Am I to see nothing but the evidences of death'sdoing this night?" was the mental question which shot through Edward'sover-wrought brain, and he grew livid at the thought. He looked more likeone raised from the grave than a living being, and a wild glare in hiseyes rendered his appearance still more unearthly. He felt that shamewhich men always experience in allowing their feelings to overcome them;and by a great effort he mastered his emotion and spoke, but the voicepartook of the strong nervous excitement under which he laboured, and washollow and broken, and seemed more like that which one might fancy toproceed from the jaws of a sepulchre than one of flesh and blood. Beatenby the storm, too, his hair hung in wet flakes over his face and added tohis wild appearance, so that the men all started up at the first glimpsethey caught of him, and huddled themselves together in the farthest cornerof the building, from whence they eyed him with evident alarm. 

Edward thought some whisky might check the feeling of faintness whichovercame him; and though he deemed it probable he had broken in uponthe nocturnal revel of desperate and lawless men, he neverthelessasked them to give him some; but instead of displaying that alacrityso universal in Ireland, of sharing the "creature" with a new-comer, the men only pointed to the bottle which stood beside the fire, anddrew closer together. 

Edward's desire for the stimulant was so great, that he scarcely noticedthe singular want of courtesy on the part of the men; and seizing thebottle (for there was no glass), he put it to his lips, and quaffed ahearty dram of the spirit before he spoke. 

"I must ask for shelter and assistance here, " said Edward. "My horse, Ifear, has slipped his shoulder--"

Before he could utter another word, a simultaneous roar of terror burstfrom the group; they fancied the ghost of Jimmy Barlow was before them, and made a simultaneous rush from the barn; and when they saw the horse atthe door, another yell escaped them, as they fled with increased speed andterror. Edward stood in amazement as the men rushed from his presence; hefollowed to the gate to recall them; they were gone; he could only heartheir yells in the distance. The circumstance seemed quite unaccountable;and as he stood lost in vain surmises as to the cause of the strangeoccurrence, a low neigh of recognition from the horse reminded him of theanimal's wants, and he led him into the barn, where, from the plenty ofstraw which lay around, he shook down a litter where the maimed animalmight rest. 

He then paced up and down the barn, lost in wonder at the conductof those whom he found there, and whom his presence had so suddenlyexpelled; and ever as he walked towards the fire, the coffin caughthis eye. As a fitful blaze occasionally arose, it flashed upon theplate, which brightly reflected the flame, and Edward was irresistiblydrawn, despite his original impression of horror at the object, toapproach and read the inscription. The shield bore the name of "O'Grady, "and Edward recoiled from the coffin with a shudder, and inwardlyasked, was he in his waking senses? He had but an hour ago seen hisadversary laid in his grave, yet here was his coffin again before him, as if to harrow up his soul anew. Was it real, or a mockery? Was he thesport of a dream, or was there some dreadful curse fallen upon him that heshould be for ever haunted by the victim of his arm, and the call ofvengeance for blood be ever upon his track? He breathed short and hard, and the smoky atmosphere in which he was enveloped rendered respirationstill more difficult. As through this oppressive vapour, which seemed onlyfit for the nether world, he saw the coffin-plate flash back the flame, his imagination accumulated horror on horror; and when the blaze sank, andbut the bright red of the fire was reflected, it seemed to him to burn, asit were, with a spot of blood, and he could support the scene no longer, but rushed from the barn in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. 

It was about an hour afterwards, near midnight, that the old barn was inflames; most likely some of the straw near the fire, in the confusion ofthe breaking up of the party, had been scattered within range of ignition, and caused the accident. The flames were seen for miles round the country, and the shattered walls of the ruined mansion-house were illuminatedbrightly by the glare of the consuming barn, which in the morning addedits own blackened and reeking ruin to the desolation, and crowds ofpersons congregated to the spot for many days after. The charred planks ofthe coffin were dragged from amongst the ruin; and as the roof in fallingin had dragged a large portion of the wall along with it, the stones whichhad filled the coffin could not be distinguished from those of the fallenbuilding, therefore much wonder arose that no vestige of the bonesof the corpse it was supposed to contain should be discovered. Wonderincreased to horror as the strange fact was promulgated, and in theready credulity of a superstitious people, the terrible belief becamegeneral, that his sable majesty had made off with O'Grady and theparty watching him; for as the Dublin bailiffs never stopped tillthey got back to town, and were never seen again in the country, it was most natural to suppose that the devil had made a haul of_them_ at the same time. In a few days rumour added the spectralappearance of Jim Barlow to the tale, which only deepened its mysterioushorror; and though, after some time, the true story was promulgatedby those who knew the real state of the case, yet the truth nevergained ground, and was considered but a clever sham, attempted bythe family to prevent so dreadful a story from attaching to theirhouse; and tradition perpetuates to this hour the belief that _thedevil flew away with O'Grady. _

Lone and shunned as the hill was where the ruined house stood, it becamemore lone and shunned than ever, and the boldest heart in the wholecountry-side would quail to be in its vicinity, even in the day-time. Tosuch a pitch the panic rose, that an extensive farm which encircled it, and belonged to the old usurer who made the seizure, fell into aprofitless state from the impossibility of men being found to work uponit. It was useless even as pasture, for no one could be found to herdcattle upon it; altogether it was a serious loss to the money-grubber; andso far the incident of the burnt barn, and the tradition it gave rise to, acted beneficially in making the inhuman act of warring with the deadrecoil upon the merciless old usurer. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

We left Andy in what may be called a delicate situation, and though Andy'sperceptions of the refined were not very acute, he himself began to wonderhow he should get out of the dilemma into which circumstances had thrownhim; and even to his dull comprehension various terminations to hisadventure suggested themselves, till he became quite confused in the chaoswhich his own thoughts created. One good idea, however, Andy contrived tolay hold of out of the bundle which perplexed him; he felt that to gaintime would be an advantage, and if evil must come of his adventure, thelonger he could keep it off the better; so he kept up his affectation oftimidity, and put in his sobs and lamentations, like so many commas andcolons, as it were, to prevent Bridget from arriving at her climax ofgoing to bed. 

Bridget insisted bed was the finest thing in the world for a young womanin distress of mind. 

Andy protested he never could get a wink of sleep when his mind wasuneasy. Bridget promised the most sisterly tenderness. 

Andy answered by a lament for his mother. 

"Come to bed, I tell you, " said Bridget. 

"Are the sheets aired?" sobbed Andy. 

"What!" exclaimed Bridget, in amazement. 

"If you are not sure of the sheets bein' aired, " said Andy, "I'd be afeardof catchin' cowld. "

"Sheets, indeed!" said Bridget; "'faith, it's a dainty lady you are, ifyou can't sleep without sheets. "

"What!" returned Andy, "no sheets?"

"Divil a sheet. "

"Oh, mother, mother!" exclaimed Andy, "what would you say to your innocentchild being tuk away to a place where there was no sheets?"

"Well, I never heerd the like!" says Bridget. 

"Oh, the villains! to bring me where I wouldn't have a bit o' clane linento lie in!"

"Sure, there's blankets, I tell you. "

"Oh, don't talk to me!" roared Andy; "sure, you know, sheets is onlydacent. "

"Bother, girl! Isn't a snug woolly blanket a fine thing?"

"Oh, don't brake my heart that-a-way!" sobbed Andy; "sure, there's wool onany dirty sheep's back, but linen is dacency! Oh, mother, mother, if youthought your poor girl was without a sheet this night!"

And so Andy went on, spinning his bit of "linen manufacture" as long as hecould, and raising Bridget's wonder that, instead of the lament whichabducted ladies generally raise about their "vartue, " this young woman'sprincipal complaint arose on the scarcity of flax. Bridget appealed tocommon sense if blankets were not good enough in these bad times;insisting, moreover, that, as "love was warmer than friendship, so woolwas warmer than flax, " the beauty of which parallel case neverthelessfailed to reconcile the disconsolate abducted. Now Andy had pushed hisplea of the want of linen as far as he thought it would go, and whenBridget returned to the charge, and reiterated the oft-repeated "Come tobed, I tell you!" Andy had recourse to twiddling about his toes, andchattering his teeth, and exclaimed in a tremulous voice, "Oh, I've athrimblin' all over me!"

"Loosen the sthrings o' you, then, " said Bridget, about to suit the actionto the word. "Ow! ow!" cried Andy, "don't touch me--I'm ticklish. "

"Then open the throat o' your gown yourself, dear, " said Bridget. 

"I've a cowld on my chest, and darn't, " said Andy; "but I think a dhrop ofhot punch would do me good if I had it. "

"And plenty of it, " said Bridget, "if that'll plaze you. " She rose as shespoke, and set about getting "the materials" for making punch. 

Andy hoped, by means of this last idea, to drink Bridget into a state ofunconsciousness, and then make his escape; but he had no notion, until hetried, what a capacity the gentle Bridget had for carrying tumblers ofpunch steadily; he proceeded as cunningly as possible, and, on the scoreof "the thrimblin' over him, " repeated the doses of punch, which, nevertheless, he protested he couldn't touch, unless Bridget kept him incountenance, glass for glass; and Bridget--genial soul--was no way both;for living in a still, and among smugglers, as she did, it was not atrifle of stingo could bring her to a halt. Andy, even with the advantageof the stronger organisation of a man, found this mountain lass nearly amatch for him, and before the potations operated as he hoped upon her, hisown senses began to feel the influence of the liquor, and his cautionbecame considerably undermined. 

Still, however, he resisted the repeated offers of the couch proposed tohim, declaring he would sleep in his clothes, and leave to Bridget thefull possession of her lair. 

The fire began to burn low, and Andy thought he might facilitate hisescape by counterfeiting sleep; so feigning slumber as well as he could, he seemed to sink into insensibility, and Bridget unrobed herself andretired behind a rough screen. 

It was by a great effort that Andy kept himself awake, for his potations, added to his nocturnal excursion, tended towards somnolency; butthe desire of escape, and fear of a discovery and its consequences, prevailed over the ordinary tendency of nature, and he remained awake, watching every sound. The silence at last became painful--so stillwas it, that he could hear the small crumbling sound of the dyingembers as they decomposed and shifted their position on the hearth, andyet he could not be satisfied from the breathing of the woman that sheslept. After the lapse of half an hour, however, he ventured to make somemovement. He had well observed the quarter in which the outlet from thecave lay, and there was still a faint glimmer from the fire to assist himin crawling towards the trap. It was a relief when, after some minutes ofcautious creeping, he felt the fresh air breathing from above, and amoment or two more brought him in contact with the ladder. With thestealth of a cat he began to climb the rungs--he could hear the mensnoring on the outside of the cave: step by step as he arose he felt hisheart beat faster at the thought of escape, and became more cautious. Atlength his head emerged from the cave, and he saw the men lying about itsmouth; they lay close around it--he must step over them to escape--thechance is fearful, but he determines to attempt it--he ascends stillhigher--his foot is on the last rung of the ladder--the next step puts himon the heather--when he feels a hand lay hold of him from below!

His heart died within him at the touch, and he could not resist anexclamation. 

"Who's that?" exclaimed one of the men outside. Andy crouched. 

"Come down, " said the voice softly from below; "if Jack sees you, it willbe worse for you. "

It was the voice of Bridget, and Andy felt it was better to be with herthan exposed to the savagery of Shan More and his myrmidons; so hedescended quietly, and gave himself up to the tight hold of Bridget, who, with many asseverations that "out of her arms she would not let theprisoner go till morning, " led him back to the cave. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

 "Great wit to madness nearly is allied, And thin partitions do the bounds divide. "

So sings the poet; but whether the wit be great or little, the "thinpartition" separating madness from sanity is equally mysterious. It istrue that the excitability attendant upon genius approximates so closelyto madness, that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between them;but, without the attendant "genius" to hold up the train of madness, andcall for our special permission and respect in any of its fantasticexcursions, the most ordinary crack-brain sometimes chooses to sport inthe regions of sanity, and, without the license which genius is supposedto dispense to her children, poach over the preserves of common sense. This is a well-known fact, and would not be reiterated here, but that thecircumstances about to be recorded hereafter might seem unworthy ofbelief; and as the veracity of our history we would not have for onemoment questioned, we have ventured to jog the memory of our readers as tothe close neighbourhood of madness and common sense, before we record acurious instance of intermitting madness in the old dowager O'Grady. 

Her son's death had, by the violence of the shock, dragged her from theregion of fiction in which she habitually existed; but after the funeralshe relapsed into all her strange aberration, and her bird-clock and herchimney-pot head-dress were once more in requisition. 

The old lady had her usual attendance from her granddaughter, andthe customary offering of flowers was rendered, but they were notso cared for as before, and Charlotte was dismissed sooner than usualfrom her morning's attendance, and a new favourite received in herplace. And "of all the birds in the air, " who should this favourite bebut Master Ratty. Yes!--Ratty--the caricaturist of his grandmamma, was, "for the nonce, " her closeted companion. Many a guess was given as to"what in the world" grandmamma _could_ want with Ratty; but thesecret was kept between them, for this reason, that the old lady kept_the reward she promised_ Ratty for preserving it in her own hands, until the duty she required on his part should be accomplished, and theshilling a day to which Ratty looked forward kept him faithful. 

Now the duty Master Ratty had to perform was instructing his grandmammahow to handle a pistol; the bringing up quick to the mark, and levellingby "the sight, " was explained; but a difficulty arose in the old lady'sshutting her left eye, which Ratty declared to be indispensable, and forsome time Ratty was obliged to stand on a chair and cover his grandmamma'seye with his hand while she took aim; this was found inconvenient, however, and the old lady substituted a black silk shade to obfuscate hersinister luminary in her exercises, which now advanced to snapping thelock, and knocking sparks from the flint, which made the old lady winkwith her right eye. When this second habit was overcome, the "dry"practice, that is, without powder, was given up; and a "flash in the pan"was ventured upon, but this made her shut both eyes together, and it wassome time before she could prevail on herself to hold her eye fixed on hermark, and pull the trigger. This, however, at last was accomplished, andwhen she had conquered the fear of seeing the flash, she adopted the planof standing before a handsome old-fashioned looking-glass which reachedfrom the ceiling to the floor, and levelling the pistol at her ownreflection within it, as if she were engaged in mortal combat; andevery time she snapped and burned priming she would exclaim, "I hithim that time!--I know I can kill him--_tremble, villain_!"

As long as this pistol practice had the charm of novelty for Ratty, it wasall very well; but when, day by day, the strange mistakes and nervousnessof his grandmamma became less piquant from repetition, it was not suchgood fun; and when the rantipole boy, after as much time as he wished todevote to the old woman's caprice, endeavoured to emancipate himself andwas countermanded, an outburst of _"Oh, bother!"_ would take place, till the grandmother called up the prospective shillings to his view, andRatty bowed before the altar of Mammon. But even Mammon failed to keepRatty loyal; for that heathen god, Momus, claimed a superior allegiance;Ratty worshipped the "cap and bells" as the true crown, and "the bauble"as the sovereign sceptre. Besides, the secret became troublesome to him, and he determined to let the whole house know what "gran" and he wereabout, in a way of his own. 

The young imp, in the next day's practice, worked up the grandmamma to astate of great excitement, urging her to take a cool and determined aim atthe looking-glass. "Cover him well, gran, " said Ratty. 

"I will, " said the dowager, resolutely. 

"You ought to be able to hit him at six paces. "

"I stand at twelve paces. "

"No--you are only six from the looking-glass. "

"But the reflection, child, in the mirror, doubles the distance. "

"Bother!" said Ratty. "Here, take the pistol--mind your eye and don'twink. "

"Ratty, you are singularly obtuse to the charms of science. "

"What's science?" said Ratty. 

"Science, child, is knowledge of a lofty and abstruse nature, developingitself in wonderful inventions--gunpowder, for instance, is made byscience. "

"Indeed it is not, " said Ratty; "I never saw his name on a canister. Pigou, Andrew, and Wilks, or Mister Dartford Mills, are the men forgunpowder. You know nothing about it, gran. "

"Ratty, you are disrespectful, and will not listen to instruction. I knewKirwan--the great Kirwan, the chemist, who always wore his hat--"

"Then he knew chemistry better than manners. "

"Ratty, you are very troublesome. I desire you listen, sir. Kirwan, sir, told me all about science, and the Dublin Society have his picture, with abottle in his hand--"

"Then he was fond of drink, " said Ratty. 

"Ratty, don't be pert. To come back to what I was originally saying--Irepeat, sir, I am at twelve paces from my object, six from the mirror, which, doubled by reflection, makes twelve; such is the law of optics. Isuppose you know what optics are?"

"To be sure I do. "

"Tell me, then. "

"Our eyes, " said Ratty. 

"Eyes!" exclaimed the old lady, in amaze. 

"To be sure, " answered Ratty, boldly. "Didn't I hear the old blind man atthe fair asking charity 'for the loss of his blessed optics'?"

"Oh, what lamentable ignorance, my child!" exclaimed the old lady. "Yourtutor ought to be ashamed of himself. "

"So he is, " said Ratty. "He hasn't had a pair of new breeches for the lastseven years, and he hides himself whenever he sees mamma or the girls. "

"Oh, you ignorant child! Indeed, Ratty, my love, you must study. I willgive you the renowned Kirwan's book. Charlotte tore some of it forcurl papers; but there's enough left to enlighten you with the sun'srays, and reflection and refraction--"

"I know what _that_ is, " said Ratty. 

"What?"

"Refraction. "

"And what is it, dear?"

"Bad behaviour, " said Ratty. 

"Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed his grandmother. 

"Yes, it is, " said Ratty, stoutly; "the tutor says I'm refractory when Ibehave ill; and he knows Latin better than you. "

"Ratty, Ratty! you are hopeless!" exclaimed his grandmamma. 

"No, I am not, " said Ratty. "I'm always _hoping_. And I hope UncleRobert will break his neck some day, and leave us his money. "

The old woman turned up her eyes, and exclaimed, "You wicked boy!"

"Fudge!" said Ratty; "he's an old shaver, and we want it; and indeed, gran, you ought to give me ten shillings for ten days' teaching, now; andthere's a fair next week, and I want to buy things. "

"Ratty, I told you when you made me perfect in the use of my weapon Iwould pay you. My promise is sacred, and I will observe it with thatscrupulous honour which has ever been the characteristic of the family; assoon as I hit something, and satisfy myself of my mastery over the weapon, the money shall be yours, but not till then. "

"Oh, very well, " said Ratty; "go on then. _Ready_--don't bring up yourarm that way, like the handle of a pump, but raise it nice from the elbow--that's it. _Ready--fire!_ Ah! there you blink your eye, and dropthe point of your pistol--try another. _Ready--fire!_ That's better. Now steady the next time. "

[Illustration: A Crack Shot]

The young villain then put a charge of powder and ball into the pistol hehanded his grandmother, who took steady aim at her reflection in themirror, and at the words, _"Ready--fire!"_ bang went the pistol--themagnificent glass was smashed--the unexpected recoil of the weapon made itdrop from the hand of the dowager, who screamed with astonishment at thereport and the shock, and did not see for a moment the mischief she haddone; but when the shattered mirror caught her eyes, she made a rush atRatty, who was screeching with laughter in the far corner of the roomwhere he ran to when he had achieved his trick, and he was so helplessfrom the excess of his cachinnation, that the old lady cuffed him withouthis being able to defend himself. At last he contrived to get out of herclutches and jammed her against the wall with a table so tightly, that sheroared "Murder!" The report of the pistol ringing through the housebrought all its inmates to the spot; and there the cries of murder fromthe old lady led them to suppose some awful tragedy, instead of a comedy, was enacting inside; the door was locked, too, which increased the alarm, and was forced in the moment of terror from the outside. When the crowdrushed in, Master Ratty rushed out, and left the astonished family togather up the bits of the story, as well as they could, from the brokenlooking-glass and the cracked dowager. 

CHAPTER XL

Though it is clear the serious events in the O'Grady family had notaltered Master Ratty's propensities in the least, the case was fardifferent with Gustavus. In that one night of suffering which _he_had passed, the gulf was leaped that divides the boy from the man; and theextra frivolity and carelessness which clung from boyhood up to the age offifteen was at once, by the sudden disrupture produced by events, thrownoff, and as singular a ripening into manhood commenced. 

Gustavus was of a generous nature; and even his faults belonged less tohis organisation than to the devil-may-care sort of education he received, if education it might be called. Upon his generosity the conduct of EdwardO'Connor beside the grave of the boy's father had worked strongly; andthough Gustavus could not give his hand beside the grave to the man withwhom his father had engaged in deadly quarrel, yet he quite exoneratedEdward from any blame; and when, after a night more sleepless thanGustavus had ever known, he rose early on the ensuing morning, hedetermined to ride over to Edward O'Connor's house to breakfast, andcommence that friendship which Edward had so solemnly promised to him, andwith which the boy was pleased; for Gustavus was quite aware in whatestimation Edward was held; and though the relative circumstances in whichhe and the late Squire stood prevented the boy from "caring a fig" forhim, as he often said himself, yet he was not beyond the influence of thatthing called "reputation, " which so powerfully attaches to and elevatesthe man who wins it; and the price at which Edward was held in the countryinfluenced opinion even in Neck-or-Nothing Hall, albeit though "againstthe grain. " Gustavus had sometimes heard, from the lips of the idle andignorant, Edward sneered at for being "cruel wise, " and "too much of aschoolmaster, " and fit for nothing but books or a boudoir, and called a"piano man, " with all the rest of the hackneyed dirt which jealousinferiority loves to fling at the heights it cannot occupy; for though--as it has been said--Edward, from his manly and sensible bearing, hadescaped such sneers better than most men, still some few there were towhom his merit was offensive. Gustavus, however, though he sometimes heardsuch things, saw with his own eyes that Edward could back a horse with anyman in the country--was always foremost in the chace--could bring down asmany brace of birds as most men in a day--had saved one or two personsfrom drowning; and if he did all these things as well as other men, Gustavus (though hitherto too idle to learn much himself) did not see whya man should be sneered at for being an accomplished scholar as well. Therefore he had good foundation for being pleased at the profferedfriendship of such a man, and remembering the poignancy of Edward'sanguish on the foregoing eve, Gustavus generously resolved to see him atonce and offer him the hand which a nice sense of feeling made him withholdthe night before. Mounting his pony, an hour's smart riding brought himto Mount Eskar, for such was the name of Mr. O'Connor's residence. 

It was breakfast-time when Gustavus arrived, but Edward had not yet lefthis room, and the servant went to call him. It need scarcely be said thatEdward had passed a wretched night; reaching home, as he did, weary inmind and body, and with feelings and imagination both overwrought, it waslong before he could sleep; and even then his slumber was disturbed byharassing visions and frightful images. Spectral shapes and thingsunimaginable to the waking senses danced and crawled and hissed about him. The torch flared above the grave, and that horrid coffin, with the name ofthe dead O'Grady upon it, "murdered sleep. " It was dawn before anythinglike refreshing slumber touched his feverish eyelids, and he had notenjoyed more than a couple of hours of what might be called sleep, whenthe servant called him; and then, after the brief oblivion he hadobtained, one may fancy how he started when the first words he heard onwaking were, "Mister O'Grady is below, sir. "

Edward started up from his bed and stared wildly on the man, as heexclaimed, with a look of alarm, "O'Grady! For God's sake, you don't sayO'Grady?"

"'Tis Master Gustavus, sir, " said the man, wondering at the wildness ofEdward's manner. 

"Oh, the boy!--ay, ay, the boy!" repeated Edward, drawing his hands acrosshis eyes and recovering his self-possession. "Say I will be downpresently. "

The man retired, and Edward lay down again for some minutes to calm theheavy beating of his heart which the sudden mention of that name hadproduced; that name so linked with the mental agony of the past night;that name which had conjured up a waking horror of such might as to shakethe sway of reason for a time, and which afterwards pursued its reign ofterror through his sleep. After such a night, fancy poor Edward doomed tohear the name of O'Grady again the first thing in the morning, and wecannot wonder that he was startled. 

A few minutes, however, served to restore his self-possession; and hearose, made his toilet in haste, and descended to the breakfast-parlour, where he was met by Gustavus with an open hand, which Edward clasped withfervour and held for some time as he looked on the handsome faceof the boy, and saw in its frank expression all that his heart coulddesire. They spoke not a word, but they understood one another; andthat moment commenced an attachment which increased with increasingintimacy, and became one of those steadfast friendships which areseldom met with. 

After breakfast Edward brought Gustavus to his "den, " as he called a roomwhich was appropriated to his own particular use, occupied with books anda small collection of national relics. Some long ranges of that peculiarcalf binding, with its red label, declared at once the contents to be lawand by the dry formal cut of the exterior gave little invitation toreading. The very outside of a law library is repulsive; the continuity ofthat eternal buff leather gives one a surfeit by anticipation, and makesone mentally exclaim in despair, "Heavens! how can any one hope to get allthat into his head?" The only plain honest thing about law is the outsideof the books where it is laid down--there all is simple; inside all iscomplex. The interlacing lines of the binder's patterns find no place onthe covers; but intricacies abound inside, where any line is easier foundthan a straight one. Nor gold leaf nor tool is employed without, butwithin how many fallacies are enveloped in glozing words; the gold leafhas its representative in "legal fiction;" and as for "_tooling_"there's plenty of that!

Other books, also, bore external evidence of the nature of their contents. Some old parchment covers indicated the lore of past ages; amidst thesethe brightest names of Greece and Rome were to be found, as well as thosewho have adorned our own literature, and implied a cultivated taste on thepart of the owner. But one portion of the library was particularly wellstored. The works bearing on Irish history were numerous, and this mightwell account for the ardour of Edward's feelings in the cause of hiscountry; for it is as impossible that a river should run backwardsto its source, as that any Irishman of a generous nature can becomeacquainted with the real history of his country, and not feel thatshe has been an ill-used and neglected land, and not struggle inthe cause of her being righted. Much _has_ been done in thecause since the days of which this story treats, and Edward was amongstthose who helped to achieve it; but much has still to be done, and thereis glorious work in store for present and future Edward O'Connors. 

Along with the books which spoke the cause of Ireland, the mute evidences, also, of her former glory and civilisation were scattered through theroom. Various ornaments of elegant form, and wrought in the purest gold, were tastefully arranged over the mantel-piece; some, from their form, indicating their use, and others only affording matter of ingeniousspeculation to the antiquary, but all bearing evidence of earlycivilisation. The frontlet of gold indicated noble estate, and the longand tapering bodkin of the same metal, with its richly enchased knob orpendent crescent, implied the robe it once fastened could have been of nomean texture, and the wearer of no mean rank. Weapons were there, too, ofelegant form and exquisite workmanship, wrought in that ancient bronze, ofsuch wondrous temper that it carries effective edge and point. The swordwas of exact Phoenician mould; the double-eyed spear-head, formed at oncefor strength and lightness, might have served as the model for a sculptorin arming the hand of Minerva. Could these be the work of an uncultivatedpeople? Impossible! The harp, too, was there, that unfailing mark ofpolish and social elegance. The bard and barbarism could never be coeval. But a relic was there, exciting still deeper interest--an ancient crosier, of curious workmanship, wrought in the precious metals and partly studdedwith jewels; but few of the latter remained, though the empty colletsshowed it had once been costly in such ornaments. Could this be seenwithout remembering that the light of Christianity first dawned over thewestern isles _in Ireland?_ that _there_ the Gospel was firstpreached, _there_ the work of salvation begun?

There be cold hearts to which these touching recollections do not pertain, and they heed them not; and some there are, who, with a callousness whichshocks sensibility, have the ignorant effrontery to ask, "Of what use aresuch recollections?" With such frigid utilitarians it would be vain toargue; but this question, at least, may be put in return:--Why should theancient glories of Greece and Rome form a large portion of the academicstudies of our youth?--why should the evidences of _their_ arts and_their_ arms be held precious in museums, and similar evidences ofancient cultivation be despised because they pertain to another nation? Isit because they are Irish they are held in contempt? Alas! in many casesit is so--ay, and even (shame to say) within her own shores. But never maythat day arrive when Ireland shall be without enough of true and fondhearts to cherish the memory of her ancient glories, to give to her futuresons the evidences of her earliest western civilisation, proving thattheir forefathers were not (as those say who wronged and therefore wouldmalign them) a rabble of rude barbarians, but that brave kings, and proudprinces, and wise lawgivers, and just judges, and gallant chiefs, andchaste and lovely women were among them, and that inspired bards werethere to perpetuate such memories!

Gustavus had never before seen a crosier, and asked what it was. On beinginformed of its name, he then said, "But what _is_ a crosier?"

"A bishop's pastoral staff, " said Edward. 

"And why have you a bishop's staff, and swords, and spears, hung uptogether?"

"That is not inappropriate, " said Edward. "Unfortunately, the swordand the crosier have been frequently but too intimate companions. Preaching the word of peace has been too often the pretext for war. The Spaniards, for instance, in the name of the gospel, committed themost fearful atrocities. "

"Oh, I know, " said Gustavus, "that was in the time of bloody Mary and theArmada. "

Edward wondered at the boy's ignorance, and saw in an instant the sourceof his false application of his allusion to the Spaniards. Gustavus hadbeen taught to vaguely couple the name of "bloody Mary" with everythingbad, and that of "good Queen Bess" with all that was glorious; and theword "Spanish, " in poor Gusty's head, had been hitherto connected with twoideas, namely, "liquorice" and the "Armada. "

Edward, without wounding the sensitive shame of ignorant youth, gently sethim right, and made him aware he had alluded to the conduct of theSpaniards in America under Cortes and Pizarro. 

For the first time in his life Gustavus was aware that Pizarro was a realcharacter. He had heard his grandmamma speak of a play of that name, andhow great Mr. Kemble was in Rollo, and how he saved a child; but as to itsbelonging to history, it was a new light--the utmost Gusty knew aboutAmerica being that it was discovered by Columbus. 

"But the crosier, " said Edward, "is amongst the most interesting of Irishantiquities, and especially belongs to an Irish collection, when youremember the earliest preaching of Christianity in the western isles wasin Ireland. "

"I did only know that, " said the boy. 

"Then you don't know why the shamrock is our national emblem?"

"No, " said Gustavus, "though I take care to mount one in my hat everyPatrick's day. "

"Well, " said Edward, anxious to give Gustavus credit for _any_knowledge he possessed, "you know at least it is connected with thememory of St. Patrick, though you don't know why. I will tell you. When St. Patrick first preached the Christian faith in Ireland, beforea powerful chief and his people, when he spoke of one God, and ofthe Trinity, the chief asked how one could be in three. St. Patrick, instead of attempting a theological definition of the faith, thoughta simple image would best serve to enlighten a simple people, andstooping to the earth he plucked from the green sod a shamrock, andholding up the trefoil before them he bade them there behold one in three. The chief, struck by the illustration, asked at once to be baptised, andall his sept followed his example. "

"I never heard that before, " said Gusty. "'T is very beautiful. "

"I will tell you something else connected with it, " said Edward. 

"After baptising the chief, St. Patrick made an eloquent exhortation tothe assembled multitude, and in the course of his address, while enforcinghis urgent appeal with appropriate gesture, as the hand which held hiscrosier, after being raised towards heaven, descended again towards theearth, the point of his staff, armed with metal, was driven through thefoot of the chief, who, fancying it was part of the ceremony, and but anecessary testing of the firmness of his faith, never winced. "

"He was a fine fellow, " said Gusty. "And is that the crosier?" he added, alluding to the one in Edward's collection, and manifestly excited by whathe had heard. 

"No, " said Edward, "but one of early date, and belonging to some of thefirst preachers of the gospel amongst us. "

"And have you other things here with such beautiful stories belonging tothem?" inquired Gusty, eager for more of that romantic lore which youthloves so passionately. 

"Not that I know of, " answered Edward "but if these objects here had onlytongues, if every sword, and belt, and spear-head, and golden bodkin, andother trinket could speak, no doubt we should hear stirring stories ofgallant warriors and their ladye-loves. "

"Aye, that would be something to hear!" exclaimed Gusty. 

"Well, " said Edward, "you may have many _such_ stories by reading thehistory of your country; which if you have not read, I can lend you booksenough. "

"Oh, thank you, " said Gusty; "I should like it so much. "

Edward approached the book-shelf and selected a volume he thought the mostlikely to interest so little practised a reader; and when he turned roundhe saw Gusty poising in his hand an antique Irish sword of bronze. 

"Do you know what that is?" inquired Edward. 

"I can't tell you the name of it, " answered Gusty, "but I suppose it was_something to stick a fellow_. "

Edward smiled at the characteristic reply, and told him it was an antiqueIrish sword. 

"A sword?" he exclaimed. "Isn't it short for a sword?"

"All the swords of that day were short. "

"When was that?" inquired the boy. 

"Somewhere about two thousand years ago. "

"Two thousand years, " exclaimed Gusty, in surprise. "How is it possibleyou can tell this is two thousand years old?"

"Because it is made of the same metal and of the same shape as the swordsfound at Cannae, where the Carthaginians fought the Romans. "

"I know the Roman history, " said Gusty, eager to display his little bit ofknowledge; "I know the Roman history. Romulus and Remus were educated by awolf. " Edward could not resist a smile, which he soon suppressed, andcontinued:--"Such works as you now hold in your hand are found _inquantities_ in Ireland, and seldom anywhere else in Europe, except inItaly, particularly at Cannae, where some thousands of Carthaginians fell;and when we find the sword of the same make and metal in places so remote, it establishes a strong connecting link between the people of Carthage andof Ireland, and at once shows their date. "

"How curious that is!" exclaimed Gusty; "and how odd I never heard itbefore! Are there many such curious things you know?"

"Many, " said Edward. 

"I wonder how people can find out such odd things, " said the boy. 

"My dear boy, " said Edward, "after getting a certain amount of knowledge, other knowledge comes very fast; it gathers like a snowball--or perhaps itwould be better to illustrate the fact by a milldam. You know, when thewater is low in the milldam, the miller cannot drive his wheel; but themoment the water comes up to a certain level it has force to work themill. And so it is with knowledge; when once you get it up to a certainlevel, you can 'work your mill, ' with this great advantage over themilldam, that the stream of knowledge, once reaching the working level, never runs dry. "

"Oh, I wish I knew as much as you do, " exclaimed Gusty. 

"And so you can if you wish it, " said Edward. 

Gusty sighed heavily, and admitted he had been very idle. Edward told himhe had plenty of time before him to repair the damage. 

A conversation then ensued, perfectly frank on the part of the boy, andkind on Edward's side to all his deficiencies, which he found to belamentable, as far as learning went. He had some small smattering ofLatin; but Gustavus vowed steady attention to his tutor and his studiesfor the future. Edward, knowing what a miserable scholar the tutorhimself was, offered to put Gustavus through his Latin and Greekhimself. Gustavus accepted the offer with gratitude, and rode over everyday to Mount Eskar for his lesson; and, under the intelligent explanationsof Edward, the difficulties which had hitherto discouraged himdisappeared, and it was surprising what progress he made. At the same timehe devoured Irish history, and became rapidly tinctured with thatenthusiastic love of all that belonged to his country which he found inhis teacher; and Edward soon hailed, in the ardent neophyte, a noble andintelligent spirit redeemed from ignorance and rendered capable of higherenjoyments than those to be derived merely from field sports. Edward, however, did not confine his instructions to book-learning only; there ismuch to be learned by living with the educated, whose current conversationalone is instructive; and Edward had Gustavus with him as constantly as hecould; and after some time, when the frequency of Gusty's visits to MountEskar ceased to excite any wonder at home, he sometimes spent several daystogether with Edward, to whom he became continually more and moreattached. Edward showed great judgment in making his training attractiveto his pupil: he did not attend merely to his head; he thought of otherthings as well; joined him in the sports and exercises he knew, and taughthim those in which he was uninstructed. Fencing, for instance, was one ofthese; Edward was a tolerable master of his foil, and in a few monthsGustavus, under his tuition, could parry a thrust and make no bad attemptat a hit himself. His improvement in every way was so remarkable, that itwas noticed by all, and its cause did not long remain secret; and when it_was_ known, Edward O'Connor's character stood higher than ever, andthe whole country said it was a lucky day for Gusty O'Grady that he foundsuch a friend. As the limits of our story would not permit the intercoursebetween Edward and Gustavus to be treated in detail, this general sketchof it has been given; and in stating its consequences so far, a peep intothe future has been granted by the author, with a benevolence seldombelonging to his ill-natured and crafty tribe, who endeavour to hoodwinktheir docile followers as much as possible, and keep them in a state ofignorance as to coming events. But now, having been so indulgent, we mustbeg to lay hold of the skirts of our readers and pull them back again downthe ladder into the private still, where Bridget pulled back Andy verymuch after the same fashion, and the results of which we must treat of inour next chapter. 

CHAPTER XLI

When Bridget dragged Andy back and insisted on his going to bed--

No--I will not be too good natured and tell my story in that way; besides, it would be a very difficult matter to tell it; and why should an author, merely to oblige people, get himself involved in a labyrinth ofdifficulties, and rack his unfortunate brain to pick and choose wordsproperly to tell his story, yet at the same time to lead his readersthrough the mazes of this very ticklish adventure, without a single thornscratching their delicate feelings, or as much as making the smallest rentin the white muslin robe of propriety? So, not to run unnecessary risks, the story must go on another way. 

When Shan More and the rest of the "big blackguards" began to wake, themorning after the abduction, and gave a turn or two under their heathercoverlid, and rubbed their eyes as the sun peeped through the "curtains ofthe east"--for these were the only bed-curtains Shan More and hiscompanions ever had--they stretched themselves and yawned, and felt verythirsty, for they had all been blind drunk the night before, be itremembered; and Shan More, to use his own expressive and poetic imagery, swore that his tongue was "as rough as a rat's back, " while his companionswent no further than saying theirs were as "dry as a lime-burner's wig. "We should not be so particular in those minute details but for that desireof truth which has guided us all through this veracious history and as inthis scene, in particular, we feel ourselves sure to be held seriouslyresponsible for every word, we are determined to be accurate to a nicety, and set down every syllable with stenographic strictness. 

"Where's the girl?" cried Shan, not yet sober. 

"She's asleep with your sisther, " was the answer. 

"Down-stairs?" inquired Shan. 

"Yes, " said the other, who now knew that Big Jack was more drunk than heat first thought him, by his using the words _stairs_; for Jack when hewas drunk was very grand, and called _down the ladder_ "down-_stairs_. "

"Get me a drink o' wather, " said Jack, "for I'm thundherin' thirsty, andcan't deludher that girl with soft words till I wet my mouth. "

His attendant vagabond obeyed the order, and a large pitcher full of waterwas handed to the master, who heaved it upwards to his head and drank asaudibly and nearly as much as a horse. Then holding his hands to receivethe remaining contents of the pitcher, which his followers poured into hismonstrous palms, he soused his face, which he afterwards wiped in a wispof grass--the only towel of Jack's which was not then at the wash. 

Having thus made his toilet, Big Jack went downstairs, and as soon as hisgreat bull-head had disappeared beneath the trap, one of the men abovesaid, "We'll have a _shilloe_ soon, boys. "

And sure enough they did before long hear an extraordinary row. Jack firstroared for Bridget, and no answer was returned; the call was repeated withas little effect, and at last a most tremendous roar was heard above, butnot from a female voice. Jack was heard below, swearing like a trooper, and, in a minute or two, back he rushed "_up-stairs_" and begancursing his myrmidons most awfully, and foaming at the mouth with rage. 

"What's the matther?" cried the men. 

"Matther!" roared Jack; "oh, you 'tarnal villains! You're a purty set tocarry off a girl for a man--a purty job you've made of it!"

"Arrah, didn't we bring her to you?"

"_Her_, indeed--bring _her_--much good what you brought is tome!"

"Tare an' ouns! what's the matther at all? We dunna what you mane!"shouted the men, returning rage for rage. 

"Come down, and you'll see what's the matther, " said Jack, descending theladder; and the men hastened after him. 

He led the way to the further end of the cabin, where a small glimmeringof light was permitted to enter from the top, and lifting a tattered pieceof canvas, which served as a screen to the bed, he exclaimed, with acurse, "Look there, you blackguards!"

The men gave a shout of surprise, for--what do you think they saw?--Anempty bed!

CHAPTER XLII

It may be remembered that, on Father Phil's recommendation, Andy was to beremoved out of the country to place him beyond the reach of Larry Hogan'smachinations, and that the proposed journey to London afforded a goodopportunity of taking him out of the way. Andy had been desired by SquireEgan to repair to Merryvale; but as some days had elapsed and Andy had notmade his appearance, the alarms of the Squire that Andy might be tamperedwith began to revive, and Dick Dawson was therefore requested to call atthe Widow Rooney's cabin as he was returning from the town, where somebusiness with Murphy, about the petition against Scatterbrain's return, demanded his presence. 

Dick, as it happened, had no need to call at the widow's, for on his wayto the town who should he see approaching but the renowned Andy himself. On coming up to him, Dick pulled up his horse, and Andy pulled off hishat. 

"God save your honour, " said Andy. 

"Why didn't you come to Merryvale, as you were bid?" said Dick. 

"I couldn't, sir, becase--"

"Hold your tongue, you thief; you know you never can do what you're bid--you are always wrong one way or other. "

"You're hard on me, Misther Dick. "

"Did you ever do anything right?--I ask yourself?"

"Indeed, sir, this time it was a rale bit o' business I had to do. "

"And well you did it, no doubt. Did you marry any one lately?" said Dick, with a waggish grin and a wink. 

"Faix, then, maybe I did, " said Andy, with a knowing nod. 

"And I hope _Matty_ is well?" said Dick. 

"Ah, Misther Dick, you're always goin' on with your jokin', so you are. So, you heerd o' that job, did you? Faix, a purty lady she is--oh, it'snot her at all I am married to, but another woman. "

"Another woman!" exclaimed Dick, in surprise. 

"Yis, sir, another woman--a kind craythur. "

"Another woman!" reiterated Dick, laughing; "married to two women in twodays! Why you're worse than a Turk!"

"Ah, Misther Dick!"

"You Tarquin!"

"Sure, sir, what harm's in it?"'

"You Heliogabalus!!"

"Sure, it's no fault o' mine, sir. "

"Bigamy, by this and that, flat bigamy! You'll only be hanged, as sure asyour name's Andy. "

"Sure, let me tell you how it was, sir, and you'll see I am quit of allharm, good or bad. 'T was a pack o' blackguards, you see, come to take offOonah, sir. "

"Oh, a case of abduction!"

"Yis, sir; so the women dhressed me up as a girl, and the blackguards, instead of the seduction of Oonah, only seduced me. "

"Capital!" cried Dick; "well done, Andy! And who seduced you?"

"Shan _More_, 'faith--no less. "

"Ho, ho! a dangerous customer to play tricks on, Andy. "

"Sure enough, 'faith, and that's partly the rayson of what happened; but, by good luck, Big Jack was blind dhrunk when I got there, and I shammedscreechin' so well that his sisther took pity on me, and said she'd keepme safe from harm in her own bed that night. "

Dick gave a "view hallo" when he heard this, and shouted with laughter, delighted at the thought of Shan More, instead of carrying off a girl forhimself, introducing a gallant to his own sister. 

"Oh, now I see how you are married, " said Dick; "that was the biter bitindeed. "

"Oh, the divil a bit I'd ha' bit her only for the cross luck with me, forI wanted to schame off out o' the place, and escape; but she wouldn't letme, and cotch me and brought me back. "

"I should think she would, indeed, " said Dick, laughing. "What next?"

"Why I drank a power o' punch, sir, and was off my guard, you see, andcouldn't keep the saycret so well afther that, and by dad she found itout. "

"Just what I would expect of her, " said Dick. 

"Well, do you know, sir, though the thrick was agen her own brother, shelaughed at it a power, and said I was a great divil, but that she couldn'tblame me. So then I'd sthruv to coax her to let me make my escape, but shetold me to wait a bit till the men above was faster asleep; but while Iwas waitin' for them to go to sleep, faix, I went to asleep myself, I wasso tired; and when Bridget, the crathur, 'woke me in the morning, she wascryin' like a spout afther a thunder-storm, and said her characther wouldbe ruined when the story got abroad over the counthry, and sure she darn'tface the world if I wouldn't make her an honest woman. "

"The brazen baggage!" said Dick; "and what did you say?"

"Why what could any man say, sir, afther that? Sure her karacther would begone if--"

"Gone, " said Dick, "'faith it might have gone further before it faredworse. "

"Arrah! what do you mane, Misther Dick?"

"Pooh, pooh! Andy--you don't mean to say you married that one?"

"Faix, I did, " said Andy. 

"Well, Andy, " said Dick, grinning, "by the powers, you _have_ done itthis time! Good morning to you!" and Dick put spurs to his horse. 

CHAPTER XLIII

Andy, "knocked all of a heap, " stood in the middle of the road, lookingafter Dick as he cantered down the slope. It was seldom poor Andy wasangry--but he felt a strong sense of indignation choking him as Dick'sparting words still rung in his ears. "What does he mane?" said Andy, talking aloud; "what does he mane?" he repeated, anxious to doubt andtherefore question the obvious construction which Dick's words bore. "Misther Dick is fond of a joke, and maybe this is one of his making; butif it is, 't is not a fair one, 'pon my sowl: a poor man has his feelin'sas well as a rich man. How would you like your own wife to be spoke ofthat way, Misther Dick, as proud as you ride your horse there--humph?"

Andy, in great indignation, pursued his way towards his mother's cabin toask her blessing upon his marriage. On his presenting himself there, boththe old woman and Oonah were in great delight at witnessing his safereturn; Oonah particularly, for she, feeling that it was for her sake Andyplaced himself in danger, had been in a state of great anxiety for theresult of the adventure, and, on seeing him, absolutely threw herself intohis arms, and embraced him tenderly, impressing many a hearty kiss uponhis lips, between whiles that she vowed she would never forget hisgenerosity and courage, and ending with saying there was _nothing_she would not do for him. 

Now Andy was flesh and blood like other people, and as the showersof kisses from Oonah's ripe lips fell fast upon him he was not insensibleto the embrace of so very pretty a girl--a girl, moreover, he hadalways had a "sneaking kindness" for, which Oonah's distance of manneralone had hitherto made him keep to himself; but now, when he sawher eyes beam gratitude, and her cheek flush, after her strongdemonstration of regard, and heard her last words, so _very_ like ahint to a shy man, it must be owned a sudden pang shot through poor Andy'sheart, and he sickened at the thought of being married, which placed thetempting prize before him hopelessly beyond his reach. 

He looked so blank, and seemed so unable to return Oonah's fond greeting, that she felt the pique which every pretty woman experiences who fanciesher favours disregarded, and thought Andy the stupidest lout she ever cameacross. Turning up her hair, which had fallen down in the excess of herfriendship, she walked out of the cottage, and, biting her disdainful lip, fairly cried for spite. 

In the meantime, Andy popped down on his knees before the widow, and said, "Give me your blessing, mother!"

"For what, you omadhawn?" said his mother, fiercely; for her woman'snature took part with Oonah's feelings, which she quite comprehended, andshe was vexed with what she thought Andy's disgusting insensibility. "Forwhat should I give you my blessing?"

"Bekase I'm marri'd, ma'am. "

"What!" exclaimed the mother. "It's not marri'd again you are? You'rejokin' sure. "

"Faix, it's no joke, " said Andy, sadly, "I'm marri'd sure enough; so giveus your blessin', anyhow, " cried he, still kneeling. 

"And who did you _dar'_ for to marry, sir, if I make so bowld to ax, without _my_ lave or license?"

"There was no time for axin', mother--'t was done in a hurry, andI can't help it, so give us your blessing at once. "

"Tell me who is she, before I give you my blessin'?"

"_Shan More's_ sister, ma'am. "

"What!" exclaimed the widow, staggering back some paces--"Shan More'ssisther, did you say--Bridget _rhua_ [Footnote: Red-haired Bridget. ]is it?"

"Yis, ma'am. "

"Oh, wirrasthru!--plillelew!--millia murther!" shouted the mother, tearingher cap off her head, --"Oh blessed Vargin, holy St. Dominick, Pether an'Paul the 'possel, what'll I do?--Oh, patther an' ave--you dirty_bosthoon_--blessed angels and holy marthyrs!--kneelin' there in themiddle o' the flure as if nothing happened--look down on me this day, apoor vartuous _dissolute_ woman!--Oh, you disgrace to me and allbelonging to you, --and is it the impidence to ask my blessin' you have, when it's a whippin' at the cart's tail you ought to get, you shamelessscapegrace?"

She then went wringing her hands, and throwing them upwards in appeals toHeaven, while Andy still kept kneeling in the middle of the cabin, lost inwonder. 

The widow ran to the door and called Oonah in. 

"Who do you think that blackguard is marri'd to?" said the widow. 

"Married!" exclaimed Oonah, growing pale. 

"Ay, marri'd, and who to, do you think?--Why to Bridget _rhua_. "

Oonah screamed and clasped her hands. 

Andy got up at last, and asked what they were making such a rout about; hewasn't the first man who married without asking his mother's leave; andwanted to know what they had to "say agen it. "

"Oh, you barefaced scandal o' the world!" cried the widow, "to ax sitch aquestion--to marry a thrampin' sthreel like that--a great red-headedjack--"

"She can't help her hair, " said Andy. 

"I wish I could cut it off, and her head along with it, the sthrap! Oh, blessed Vargin! to have my daughter-in-law--"

"What?" said Andy, getting rather alarmed. 

"That all the country knows is--"

"What?" cried Andy. 

"Not a fair nor a market-town doesn't know her as well as--Oh, wirra!wirra!"

"Why you don't mane to say anything agen her charackther, do you?" saidAndy. 

"Charakther, indeed!" said his mother, with a sneer. 

"By this an' that, " said Andy, "if she was the child unborn she couldn'tmake a greater hullabaloo about her charakther than she did the mornin'afther. "

"Afther what?" said his mother. 

"Afther I was tuk away up to the hill beyant, and found her there, and--but I b'lieve I didn't tell you how it happened. "

"No, " said Oonah, coming forward, deadly pale, and listening anxiously, with a look of deep pity in her soft eyes. 

Andy then related his adventure as the reader already knows it; and whenit was ended, Oonah burst into tears and in passionate exclamations blamedherself for all that had happened, saying it was in the endeavour to saveher that Andy had lost himself. 

"Oh, Oonah! Oonah!" said Andy, with more meaning in his voice than thegirl had ever heard before, "it isn't the loss of myself I mind, but I'velost _you_ too. Oh, if you had ever given me a tendher word or lookbefore this day, 't would never have happened, and that desaiver in thehills never could have _deludhered me_. And tell me, _lannamachree_, is my suspicions right in what I hear--tell me the worst atoncet--is she _non compos_?"

"Oh, I never heerd her called by that name before, " sobbed Oonah, "but shehas a great many others just as bad. "

"Ow! ow! ow!" exclaimed Andy. "Now I know what Misther Dick laughed at;well, death before dishonour--I'll go 'list for a sojer, and never livewith her!"

CHAPTER XLIV

It has been necessary in an earlier chapter to notice the strange freaksmadness will sometimes play. It was then the object to show how strongaffections of the mind will recall an erring judgment to its true balance;but, the action of the counterpoise growing weaker by time, the diseasereturns, and reason again kicks the beam. Such was the old dowager's case:the death of her son recalled her to herself; but a few days producedrelapse, and she was as foolish as ever. Nevertheless, as Polonius remarksof Hamlet, "There is method in his madness;"

so in the dowager's case there was method--not of a sane intention, as theold courtier implies of the Danish Prince, but of _in_sane birth--begotof a chivalrous feeling on an enfeebled mind. 

To make this clearly understood it is necessary to call attention to oneother peculiarity of madness, --that, while it makes those under itsinfluence liable to say and enact all sorts of nonsense on some subjects, it never impairs their powers of observation on those which chance to comewithin the reach of the un-diseased portion of the mind; and moreover, they are quite as capable of arriving at just conclusions upon what they_so_ see and hear, as the most reasonable person, and, perhaps, inproportion as the reasoning power is limited within a smaller compass, sothe capability of observation becomes stronger by being concentrated. 

Such was the case with the old dowager, who, while Furlong was "doingdevotion" to Augusta, and appeared the pink of faithful swains, sawvery clearly that Furlong did not like it a bit, and would gladlybe off his bargain. Yea, while the people in their sober senses onthe same plane with the parties were taken in, the old lunatic, evenfrom the toppling height of her own mad chimney-pot, could look downand see that Furlong would not marry Augusta if he could help it. 

It _was_ even so. Furlong had acted under the influence of terrorwhen poor Augusta, shoved into his bedroom through the devilment of thatrascally imp, Ratty, and found there, through the evil destiny of Andy, was flung into his arms by her enraged father, and accepted as his wife. The immediate hurry of the election had delayed the marriage--the duel andits consequences further interrupted "the happy event"--and O'Grady'sdeath caused a further postponement. It was delicately hinted to Furlong, that when matters had gone so far as to the wedding-dresses being ready, that the sooner the contracting parties under such circumstances weremarried, the better. But Furlong, with that affectation of propriety whichbelongs to his time-serving tribe, pleaded the "regard to appearances"--"so soon after the ever-to-be-deplored event, "--and other such speciousexcuses, which were but covers to his own rascality, and used but topostpone the "wedding-day. " The truth was, the moment Furlong had nolonger the terrors of O'Grady's pistol before his eyes, he had resolvednever to take so bad a match as that with Augusta appeared to be--indeedwas, as far as regarded money; though Furlong should only have been tooglad to be permitted to mix his plebeian blood with the daughter of a manof high family, whose crippled circumstances and consequent trucklingconduct had reduced him to the wretched necessity of making _such acur_ as Furlong the inmate of his house. But so it was. 

The family began at last to suspect the real state of the case, andall were surprised except the old dowager; she had expected whatwas coming, and had prepared herself for it. All her pistol practicewas with a view to call Furlong to the "last arbitrament" for this slightto her house. Gusty was too young, she considered, for the duty; thereforeshe, in her fantastic way of looking at the matter, looked upon_herself_ as the head of the family, and, as such, determined toresent the affront put upon it. 

But of her real design the family at Neck-or-Nothing Hall had not theremotest notion. Of course, an old lady going about with a pistol, powder-flask, and bullets, and practising on the trunks of the trees in the park, could not pass without observation, and surmises there were on thesubject; then her occasional exclamation of "Tremble, villain!" wouldescape her; and sometimes in the family circle, after sitting for a whilein a state of abstraction, she would lift her attenuated hand armed with aknitting-needle or a ball of worsted, and assuming the action of poising apistol, execute a smart _click_ with her tongue, and say, "I hit himthat time. "

These exclamations, indicative of vengeance, were supposed at length bythe family to apply to Edward O'Connor, but excited pity rather thanalarm. When, however, one morning, the dowager was nowhere to be found, and Ratty and the pistols had also disappeared, an inquiry was institutedas to the old lady's whereabouts, and Mount Eskar was one of the firstplaces where she was sought, but without success; and all other inquirieswere equally unavailing. 

The old lady had contrived, with that cunning peculiar to insane people, to get away from the house at an early hour in the morning, unknown to allexcept Ratty, to whom she confided her intention, and he managed to gether out of the domain unobserved, and thence together they proceeded toDublin in a post-chaise. It was the day after this secret expedition wasundertaken that Mr. Furlong was sitting in his private apartment at theCastle, doing "the state some service" by reading the morning papers, which heavy official duty he relieved occasionally by turning to somescented notes which lay near a morocco writing-case, whence they had beendrawn by the lisping dandy to flatter his vanity. He had been carrying ona correspondence with an anonymous fair one, in whose heart, if her wordsmight be believed, Furlong had made desperate havoc. 

It happened, however, that these notes were all fictitious, being the workof Tom Loftus, who enjoyed playing on a puppy as much as playing on theorgan; and he had the satisfaction of seeing Furlong going through hispaces in certain squares he had appointed, wearing a flower of Tom'schoice and going through other antics which Tom had demanded under thesignature of "Phillis, " written in a delicate hand on pink satin note-paper with a lace border; one of the last notes suggested the possibilityof a visit from the lady, and, after assurances of "secrecy and honour"had been returned by Furlong, he was anxiously expecting "what wouldbecome of it;" and filled with pleasing reflections of what "a devil of afellow" he was among the ladies, he occasionally paced the room before ahandsome dressing-glass (with which his apartment was always furnished), and ran his fingers through his curls with a complacent smile. While thusoccupied, and in such a frame of mind, the hall messenger entered theapartment, and said a lady wished to see him. 

"A lady!" exclaimed Furlong, in delighted surprise. 

"She won't give her name, sir, but--"

"Show her up! show her up!" exclaimed the Lothario, eagerly. 

All anxiety, he awaited the appearance of his donna; and quite a donna sheseemed, as a commanding figure, dressed in black, and enveloped ina rich veil of the same, glided into the room. 

"How vewy Spanish!" exclaimed Furlong, as he advanced to meet hisincognita, who, as soon as she entered, locked the door, and withdrew thekey. 

"Quite pwactised in such secwet affairs, " said Furlong slily. "Fai' lady, allow me to touch you' fai' hand, and lead you to a seat. "

The mysterious stranger made no answer; but lifting her long veil, turnedround on the lisping dandy, who staggered back, when the dowager O'Gradyappeared before him, drawn up to her full height, and anything but anagreeable expression in her eye. She stalked up towards him, something inthe style of a spectre in a romance, which she was not very unlike; and asshe advanced, he retreated, until he got the table between him and thismost unwelcome apparition. 

"I am come, " said the dowager, with an ominous tone of voice. 

"Vewy happy of the hono', I am sure, Mistwess O'Gwady, " faltered Furlong. 

"The avenger has come. " Furlong opened his eyes. "I have come to wash thestain!" said she, tapping her fingers in a theatrical manner on the table, and, as it happened, she pointed to a large blotch of ink on the table-cover. Furlong opened his eyes wider than ever, and thought this thequeerest bit of madness he ever heard of; however, thinking it best tohumour her, he answered, "Yes, it was a little awkwa'dness of mine--Iupset the inkstand the othe' day. "

"Do you mock me, sir?" said she, with increasing bitterness. 

"La, no! Mistwess O'Gwady. "

"I have come, I say, to wash out in your blood the stain you have dared toput on the name of O'Grady. "

Furlong gasped with mingled amazement and fear. 

"Tremble, villain!" she said; and she pointed toward him her longattenuated finger with portentous solemnity. 

[Illustration: The Challenge]

"I weally am quite at a loss, Mistwess O'Gwady, to compwehend--"

Before he could finish his sentence, the dowager had drawn from the depthsof her side-pockets a brace of pistols, and presenting them to Furlong, said, "Be at a loss no longer, except the loss of life which may ensue:take your choice of weapons, sir. "

"Gwacious Heaven!" exclaimed Furlong, trembling from head to foot. 

"You won't choose, then?" said the dowager. "Well, there's one for you;"and she laid a pistol before him with as courteous a manner as if she weremaking him a birthday present. 

Furlong stared down upon it with a look of horror. 

"Now we must toss for choice of ground, " said the dowager. "I have nomoney about me, for I paid my last half-crown to the post-boy, but thiswill do as well for a toss as anything else;" and she laid her hands onthe dressing-glass as she spoke. "Now the call shall be 'safe, ' or'smash;' whoever calls 'safe, ' if the glass comes down unbroken, has thechoice, and _vice versâ_. I call first--'_Smash_, '" said thedowager, as she flung up the dressing-glass, which fell in shivers on thefloor. "I have won, " said she; "oblige me, sir, by standing in that farcorner. I have the light in my back--and you will have something else inyours before long; take your ground, sir. "

Furlong, finding himself thus cooped up with a mad woman, in an agony ofterror suddenly bethought himself of instances he had heard of escape, under similar circumstances, by coinciding to a certain extent with theviews of the insane people, and suggested to the dowager that he hoped shewould not insist on a duel without their having a "friend" present. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said the old lady: "I quite forgot thatform, in the excitement of the moment, though I have not overlooked thenecessity altogether, and have come provided with one. "

"Allow me to wing for him, " said Furlong, rushing to the bell. 

"Stop!" exclaimed the dowager, levelling her pistol at the bell-pull;"touch it, and you are a dead man!"

Furlong stood riveted to the spot where his rush had been arrested. 

"No interruption, sir, till this little affair is settled. Here is myfriend, " she added, putting her hand into her pocket and pulling out thewooden cuckoo of her clock. "My little bird, sir, will see fair betweenus;" and she perched the painted wooden thing, with a bit of feathergrotesquely sticking up out of its nether end, on the morocco letter-case. 

"Oh, Lord!" said Furlong. 

"He's a gentleman of the nicest honour, sir!" said the dowager, pacingback to the window. 

Furlong took advantage of the opportunity of her back being turned, andrushed at the bell, which he pulled with great fury. 

The dowager wheeled round with haste. "So you have rung, " said she, "butit shall not avail you--the door is locked; take your weapon, sir, --quick!--what!--a coward!"

"Weally, Mistwess O'Gwady, I cannot think of deadly arbitrament with alady. "

"Less would you like it with a man, _poltroon_!" said she, with anexaggerated expression of contempt in her manner. "However, " she added, "if you _are_ a coward, you shall have a coward's punishment. " Shewent to a corner where stood a great variety of handsome canes, and layinghold of one, began soundly to thrash Furlong, who feared to make anyresistance or attempt to disarm her of the cane, for the pistol was yet inher other hand. 

The bell was answered by the servant, who, on finding the door locked, and hearing the row inside, began to knock and inquire loudly whatwas the matter. The question was more loudly answered by Furlong, who roared out, "Bweak the door! bweak the door!" interlarding hisdirections with cries of "mu'der!"

The door at length was forced, Furlong rescued, and the old lady separatedfrom him. She became perfectly calm the moment other persons appeared, andwas replacing the pistols in her pocket, when Furlong requested the"dweadful weapons" might be seized. The old lady gave up the pistols veryquietly, but laid hold of her bird and put it back into her pocket. 

"This is a dweadful violation!" said Furlong, "and my life is not safeunless she is bound ove' to keep the peace. "

"Pooh! pooh!" said one of the gentlemen from the adjacent office, who cameto the scene on hearing the uproar, "binding over an old lady to keep thepeace--nonsense!"

"I insist upon it, " said Furlong, with that stubbornness for which foolsare so remarkable. 

"Oh--very well!" said the sensible gentleman, who left the room. 

A party, pursuant to Furlong's determination, proceeded to the headpolice-office close by the Castle, and a large mob gathered as they wentdown Cork-hill and followed them to Exchange-court, where they crowdedbefore them in front of the office, so that it was with difficulty theprincipals could make their way through the dense mass. 

At length, however, they entered the office; and when Major Sir heard anygentleman attached to the Government wanted his assistance, of course heput any other case aside, and had the accuser and accused called up beforehim. 

Furlong made his charge of assault and battery, with intent to murder, &c. , &c. "Some mad old rebel, I suppose, " said Major Sir. "Do you remember'98, ma'am?" said the major. 

"Indeed I do, sir--and I remember _you_ too: Major Sir I have thehonour to address, if I don't mistake. "

"Yes, ma'am. What then?"

"I remember well in '98 when you were searching for rebels, you thought aman was concealed in a dairy-yard in the neighbourhood of my mother'shouse, major, in Stephen's Green; and you thought he was hid in a hay-rick, and ordered your sergeant to ask for the loan of a spit from mymother's kitchen to probe the haystack. "

"Oh! then, madam, your mother was _loyal_, I suppose. "

"Most loyal, sir. "

"Give the lady a chair, " said the major. 

"Thank you, I don't want it--but, major, when you asked for the spit, mymother thought you were going to practise one of your delightfullyingenious bits of punishment, and asked the sergeant _who it was youwere going to roast_?"

The major grew livid on the bench where he sat, at this awkwardreminiscence of one of his friends, and a dead silence reigned through thecrowded office. He recovered himself, however, and addressed Mrs. O'Gradyin a mumbling manner, telling her she must give security to keep thepeace, herself--and find friends as sureties. On asking her had she anyfriends to appear for her, she declared she had. 

"A gentleman of the nicest honour, sir, " said the dowager, pulling hercuckoo from her pocket, and holding it up in view of the whole office. 

A shout of laughter, of course, followed. The affair became at onceunderstood in its true light; a mad old lady--a paltry coward--&c. , &c. Those who know the excitability and fun of an Irish mob will not wonderthat, when the story got circulated from the office to the crowd without, which it did with lightning rapidity, the old lady, on being placedin a hackney-coach which was sent for, was hailed with a chorus of"Cuckoo!" by the multitude, one half of which ran after the coachas long as they could keep pace with it, shouting forth the spring-timecall, and the other half followed Furlong to the Castle, with hissesand other more articulate demonstrations of their contempt. 

CHAPTER XLV

The fat and fair Widow Flanagan had, at length, given up shilly-shallying, and yielding to the fervent entreaties of Tom Durfy, hadconsented to name the happy day. She _would_ have some little ways ofher own about it, however, and instead of being married in the country, insisted on the nuptial knot being tied in Dublin. Thither the widowrepaired with her swain to complete the stipulated time of residencewithin some metropolitan parish before the wedding could take place. Inthe meanwhile they enjoyed all the gaiety the capital presented, the timeglided swiftly by, and Tom was within a day of being made a happy man, when, as he was hastening to the lodgings of the fair widow, who waswaiting with her bonnet and shawl on to be escorted to the botanicalgardens at Glasnevin, he was accosted by an odd-looking person of somewhatsinister aspect. 

"I believe I have the honour of addressing Mister Durfy, sir?" Tomanswered in the affirmative. "_Thomas_ Durfy, Esquire, I think, sir?"

"Yes. "

"This is for you, sir, " he said, handing Tom a piece of dirty printedpaper, and at the same time laying his hand on Tom's shoulder andexecuting a smirking sort of grin, which he meant to be the pattern ofpoliteness, added, "You'll excuse me, sir, but I arrest you under awarrant from the High Sheriff of the city of Dublin; always sorry, sir, for a gintleman in defficulties, but it's my duty. "

"You're a bailiff, then?" said Tom. 

"Sir, " said the bum, "'Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part--there all the honour lies. '"

"I meant no offence, " said Tom. "I only meant--"

"I understand, sir--I understand. These little defficulties startlesgintlemen at first--you've not been used to arrest, I see, sir?"

"Never in my life did such a thing happen before, " said Tom. "I livegenerally, thank God, where a bailiff daren't show his face. "

"Ah, sir, " said the bailiff with a grin, "them rustic habits betrays thechildren o' nature often when they come to town; but we are _sofisticated_ here in the metropolis, that we lay our hands on strangersaisy. But you'd better not stand in the street, sir, or people willunderstand it's an arrest, sir; and I suppose you wouldn't like theexposure. I can simperise in a gintle-man's feelings, sir. If you walkaisy on, sir, and don't attempt to escape or rescue, I'll keep agentlemanlike distance. "

Tom walked on in great perplexity for a few steps, not knowing what to do. The hour of his rendezvous had struck; he knew how impatient of neglectthe widow always was; he at one moment thought of asking the bailiff toallow him to proceed to her lodgings at once, there boldly to avow whathad taken place and ask her to discharge the debt; but this his pridewould not allow him to do. As he came to the corner of a street, he got atap on the elbow from the bailiff, who, with a jerking motion of his thumband a wink, said in a confidential tone to Tom, "Down this street, sir--that's the way to the _pres'n_ (prison). "

"Prison!" exclaimed Tom, halting involuntarily at the word. 

"Shove on, sir--shove on!" hastily repeated the sheriff's officer, urging his orders by a nudge or two on Tom's elbow. 

"Don't shove me, sir!" said Tom, rather angrily, "or by G--"

"Aisy, sir--aisy!" said the bailiff; "though I feel for the defficultiesof a gintleman, the caption must be made, sir. If you don't like thepris'n, I have a nice little room o' my own, sir, where you can wait, fora small consideration, until you get bail. "

"I'll go there, then, " said Tom. "Go through as private streets as youcan. "

"Give me half-a-guinea for my trouble, sir, and I'll ambulate you throughlanes every _fut_ o' the way. "

"Very well, " said Tom. 

They now struck into a shabby street, and thence wended through stablelanes, filthy alleys, up greasy broken steps, through one close, and downsteps in another--threaded dark passages whose debouchures were blocked upwith posts to prevent vehicular conveyance, the accumulated dirt of yearssensible to the tread from its lumpy unevenness, and the stagnant air rifewith pestilence. Tom felt increasing disgust at every step he proceeded, but anything to him appeared better than being seen in the public streetsin such company; for, until they got into these labyrinths of nastiness, Tom thought he saw in the looks of every passer-by, as plainly told as ifthe words were spoken, "There goes a fellow under the care of thebailiff. " In these by-ways, he had not any objection to speak to hiscompanion, and for the first time asked him what he was arrested for. 

"At the suit of Mr. M'Kail, sir. "

"Oh! the tailor?" said Tom. 

"Yes, sir, " said the bailiff. "And if you would not consider it triflingwith the feelings of a gintleman in defficulties, I would make the playfulobservation, sir, that it's quite in character to be arrested at the_suit_ of a tailor. He! he! he!"

"You're a wag, I see, " said Tom. 

"Oh no, sir, only a poetic turn: a small affection I have certainly forJudy Mot, but my rale passion is the muses. We are not far now, sir, frommy little bower of repose--which is the name I give my humble abode--small, but snug, sir. You'll see another gintleman there, sir, before you. He is waitin' for bail these three or four days, sir--can't pay as heought for the 'commodation, but he's a friend o' mine, I may almost say, sir--a litherary gintleman--them litherary gintlemen is always indefficulties mostly. I suppose you're a litherary gintleman, sir--thoughyou're rather ginteely dhressed for one?"

"No, " said Tom, "I am not. "

"I thought you wor, sir, by being acquainted with this other gintleman. "

"An acquaintance of mine!" said Tom, with surprise. 

"Yes, sir. In short it was through him I found out where you wor, sir. Ihave had the wret agen you for some time, but couldn't make you off, tillmy friend says I must carry a note from him to you. "

"Where is the note?" inquired Tom. 

"Not ready yet, sir. It's po'thry he's writin'--something 'pithy' hesaid, and 'lame' too. I dunna how a thing could be pithy and lametogether, but them potes has hard words at command. "

"Then you came away without the note?"

"Yis, sir. As soon as I found out where you wor stopping I ran offdirectly on Mr. M'Kail's little business. You'll excuse the liberty, sir;but we must all mind our professions; though, indeed, sir, if you b'lieveme, I'd rather nab a rhyme than a gintleman any day; and if I could get onthe press I'd quit the shoulder-tapping profession. "

Tom cast an eye of wonder on the bailiff, which the latter comprehended atonce; for with habitual nimbleness he could nab a man's thoughts as fastas his person. "I know what you're thinkin', sir--could one of myprofession pursue the muses? Don't think, sir, I mane I could write the'laders' or the pollitik'l articles, but the criminal cases, sir--therobberies and offinces--with the watchhouse cases--together with a littlepo'thry now and then. I think I could be useful, sir, and do better thansome of the chaps that pick up their ha'pence that way. But here's myplace, sir--my little bower of repose. "

He knocked at the door of a small tumble-down house in a filthy lane, theone window it presented in front being barred with iron. Some bolts weredrawn inside, and though the man who opened the door was forbidding in hisaspect, he did not refuse to let Tom in. The portal was hastily closed andbolted after they had entered. The smell of the house was pestilential--the entry dead dark. 

"Give me your hand, sir, " said the bailiff, leading Tom forward. Theyascended some creaking stairs, and the bailiff, fumbling for some timewith a key at a door, unlocked it and shoved it open, and then led in hiscaptive. Tom saw a shabby-genteel sort of person, whose back was towardshim, directing a letter. 

"Ah, Goggins!" said the writer, "you're come back in the nick of time. Ihave finished now, and you may take the letter to Mister Durfy. "

"You may give it to him yourself, sir, " replied Goggins, "for here he is. "

"Indeed!" said the writer, turning round. 

"What!" exclaimed Tom Durfy, in surprise; "James Reddy!"

"Even so, " said James, with a sentimental air:

 "'The paths of glory lead but to the grave. '

Literature is a bad trade, my dear Tom!--'tis an ungrateful world--men ofthe highest aspirations may lie in gaol for all the world cares; not thatyou come within the pale of the worthless ones; this is good-natured ofyou to come and see a friend in trouble. You deserve, my dear Tom, thatyou should have been uppermost in my thoughts; for here is a note I havejust written to you, enclosing a copy of verses to you on your marriage--in short, it is an epithalamium. "

"That's what I told you, sir, " said Goggins to Tom. 

"May the divil burn you and your epithalamium!" said Tom Durfy, stampinground the little room. 

James Reddy stared in wonder, and Goggins roared, laughing. 

"A pretty compliment you've paid me, Mister Reddy, this fine morning, "said Tom; "you tell a bailiff where I live, that you may send yourinfernal verses to me, and you get me arrested. "

"Oh, murder!" exclaimed James. "I'm very sorry, my dear Tom; but, at thesame time, 't is a capital incident! How it would work up in a farce!"

"How funny it is!" said Tom in a rage, eyeing James as if he could haveeaten him. "Bad luck to all poetry and poetasters! By the 'tarnal war, Iwish every poet, from Homer down, was put into a mortar and pounded todeath!"

James poured forth expressions of sorrow for the mischance; and extremelyludicrous it was to see one man making apologies for trying to pay hisfriend a compliment; his friend swearing at him for his civility, and thebailiff grinning at them both. 

In this triangular dilemma we will leave them for the present. 

CHAPTER XLVI

Edward O'Connor, on hearing from Gustavus of the old dowager'sdisappearance from Neck-or-Nothing Hall, joined in the eager inquirieswhich were made about her; and _his_ being directed with more methodand judgment than those of others, their result was more satisfactory. Hesoon "took up the trail, " to use an Indian phrase, and he and Gusty werenot many hours in posting after the old lady. They arrived in town earlyin the morning, and lost no time in casting about for information. 

One of the first places Edward inquired at was the inn where thepostchaise generally drove to from the house where the old dowager hadobtained her carriage in the country; but there no trace was to be had. Next, the principal hotels were referred to, but as yet without success;when, as they turned into one of the leading streets in continuance oftheir search, their attention was attracted by a crowd swaying to and froin that peculiar manner which indicates there is a fight inside of it. Great excitement prevailed on the verge of the crowd, where exclamationsescaped from those who could get a peep at the fight. 

"The little chap has great heart!" cried one. 

"But the sweep is the biggest, " said another. 

"Well done, _Horish_!" [Footnote: The name of a celebrated sweep inIreland, whose name is applied to the whole. ] cried a blackguard, whoenjoyed the triumph of his fellow. "Bravo! little fellow, " rejoined agenteel person, who rejoiced in some successful hit of the othercombatant. There is an inherent love in men to see a fight, which EdwardO'Connor shared with inferior men; and if _he_ had not peeped intothe ring, most assuredly Gusty would. What was their astonishment, whenthey got a glimpse of the pugilists, to perceive Ratty was one of them--his antagonist being a sweep, taller by a head, and no bad hand at the"noble science. "

Edward's first impulse was to separate them, but Gusty requested he wouldnot, saying that he saw by Ratty's eye he was able to "lick the fellow. "Ratty certainly showed great fight; what the sweep had in superior sizewas equalized by the superior "game" of the gentleman-boy, to whom theindomitable courage of a high-blooded race had descended, and who wouldsooner have died than yield. Besides, Ratty was not deficient in the useof his "bunch of fives, " hit hard for his size, and was very agile: thesweep sometimes made a rush, grappled, and got a fall; but he never wentin without getting something from Ratty to "remember him, " and was notalways uppermost. At last, both were so far punished, and the combat notbeing likely to be speedily ended (for the sweep was no craven), that thebystanders interfered, declaring that "they ought to be separated, " andthey were. 

While the crowd was dispersing, Edward called a coach; and before Rattycould comprehend how the affair was managed, he was shoved into it anddriven from the scene of action. Ratty had a confused sense of hearingloud shouts--of being lifted somewhere--of directions given--the rattleof iron steps clinking sharply--two or three fierce bangs of a door thatwouldn't shut, and then an awful shaking, which roused him up from thecorner of the vehicle into which he had fallen in the first moment ofexhaustion. Ratty "shook his feathers, " dragged his hair from outof his eyes, which were getting very black indeed, and applied hishandkerchief to his nose, which was much in need of that delicateattention; and when the sense of perfect vision was restored to him, whichwas not for some time (all the colours of the rainbow dancing beforeRatty's eyes for many seconds after the fight), what was his surprise tosee Edward O'Connor and Gusty sitting on the opposite seat!

It was some time before Ratty could quite comprehend his presentsituation; but as soon as he was made sensible of it, and could answer, the first questions asked of him were about his grandmother. Rattyfortunately remembered the name of the hotel where she put up, though hehad left it as soon as the old lady proceeded to the Castle--had lost hisway--and got engaged in a quarrel with a sweep in the meantime. 

The coach was ordered to drive to the hotel named; and how the fightoccurred was the next question. 

"The sweep was passing by, and I called him 'snow-ball, '" said Ratty; "andthe blackguard returned an impudent answer, and I hit him. "

"You had no right to call him 'snow-ball, '" said Edward. 

"I always called the sweeps 'snow-ball' down at the Hall, " said Ratty, "and they never answered. "

"When you are on your own territory you may say what you please to yourdependents, Ratty, and they dare not answer; or to use a vulgar saying, 'Acock may crow on his own dunghill. '"

"I'm no dunghill cock!" said Ratty, fiercely. 

"Indeed, you're not, " said Edward, laying his hand kindly on the boy'sshoulder; "you have plenty of courage. "

"I'd have licked him, " said Ratty, "if they'd have let me have two orthree rounds more. "

"My dear boy, other things are needful in this world besides courage. Prudence, temper, and forbearance are required; and this may be alesson to you, to remember, that, when you get abroad in the world, you are very little cared about, however great your consequence maybe at home; and I am sure you cannot be proud about your having gotinto a quarrel _with a sweep_. "

Ratty made no answer--his blood began to cool--he became every moment moresensible that he had received heavy blows. His eyes became more swollen, he snuffled more in his speech, and his blackened condition altogether, from gutter, soot, and thrashing, convinced him a fight with a sweep was_not_ an enviable achievement. 

The coach drew up at the hotel. Edward left Gusty to see about thedowager, and made an appointment for Gusty to meet him at their ownlodgings in an hour; while he in the interim should call on Dick Dawson, who was in town on his way to London. 

Edward shook hands with Ratty and bade him kindly good bye. "You're astout fellow, Ratty, " said he, "but remember this old saying, '_Quarrelsome dogs get dirty coats_. '"

Edward now proceeded to Dick's lodgings, and found him engaged in readinga note from Tom Durfy, dated from the "Bower of Repose, " and requestingDick's aid in his present difficulty. 

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish, " said Dick: "Tom Durfy, who is engaged todine with me to-day to take leave of his bachelor life, as he is going tobe married to-morrow, is arrested, and now in _quod_, and wants me tobail him. "

"The shortest way is to pay the money at once, " said Edward; "is it much?"

"That I don't know; but I have not a great deal about me, and what I haveI want for my journey to London and my expenses there--not but what I'dhelp Tom if I could. "

"He must not be allowed to remain _there_, however we manage to gethim out, " said Edward; "perhaps I can help you in the affair. "

"You're always a good fellow, Ned, " said Dick, shaking his hand warmly. 

Edward escaped from hearing any praise of himself by proposing they shouldrepair at once to the sponging-house, and see how matters stood. Dicklamented he should be called away at such a moment, for he was just goingto get his wine ready for the party--particularly some champagne, which hewas desirous of seeing well iced; but as he could not wait to do ithimself, he called Andy, to give him directions about it, and set off withEdward to the relief of Tom Durfy. 

Andy was once more in service in the Egan family; for the Squire, onfinding him still more closely linked by his marriage with the desperateparty whose influence over Andy was to be dreaded, took advantage ofAndy's disgust against the woman who had entrapped him, and offered totake him off to London instead of enlisting; and as Andy believed he wouldbe there sufficiently out of the way of the false Bridget, he came off atonce to Dublin with Dick, who was the pioneer of the party to London. 

Dick gave Andy the necessary directions for icing the champagne, which heset apart and pointed out most particularly to our hero, lest he shouldmake a mistake and perchance ice the port instead. 

After Edward and Dick had gone, Andy commenced operations according toorders. He brought a large tub up-stairs containing rough ice, whichexcited Andy's wonder, for he never had known till now that ice waspreserved for and applied to such a use, for an ice-house did not happento be attached to any establishment in which he had served. 

"Well, this is the quarest thing I ever heerd of, " said Andy. "Musha! whatoutlandish inventions the quolity has among them! They're not contintwith wine, but they must have ice along with it--and in a tub, too!--just like pigs!--throth it's a dirty thrick, I think. Well, heregoes!" said he; and Andy opened a bottle of champagne, and pouredit into the tub with the ice. "How it fizzes!" said Andy, "Faix, it's almost as lively as the soda-wather that bothered me long ago. Well, I know more about things now; sure it's wondherful how a manimproves with practice!"--and another bottle of champagne was emptiedinto the tub as he spoke. Thus, with several other complacent commentsupon his own proficiency, Andy poured half-a-dozen of champagne intothe tub of ice, and remarked, when he had finished his work, that hethought it would be "mighty cowld on their stomachs. "

Dick and Edward all this time were on their way to the relief of TomDurfy, who, though he had cooled down from the boiling-pitch to which themisadventure of the morning had raised him, was still _simmering_, with his elbows planted on the rickety table in Mr. Goggins' "bower, " andhis chin resting on his clenched hands. It was the very state of mind inwhich Tom was most dangerous. 

At the other side of the table sat James Reddy, intently employed inwriting; his pursed mouth and knitted brows bespoke a labouring state ofthought, and the various crossings, interlinings, and blottings gaveadditional evidence of the same, while now and then a rush at a line whichwas knocked off in a hurry, with slashing dashes of the pen, and fierceafter-crossings of _t's_, and determined dottings of _i's_, declared some thought suddenly seized, and executed with bitter triumph. 

"You seem very _happy in yourself_ in what you are writing, " saidTom. "What is it? Is it another epithalamium?"

"It is a caustic article against the successful men of the day, "said Reddy; "they have no merit, sir--none. 'T is nothing but luckhas placed them where they are, and they ought to be exposed. " Hethen threw down his pen as he spoke, and, after a silence of some minutes, suddenly put this question to Tom:

"What do you think of the world?"

"'Faith, I think it so pleasant a place, " said Tom, "that I'm confoundedlyvexed at being kept out of it by being locked up here; and that cursedbailiff is so provokingly free-and-easy--coming in here every ten minutes, and making himself at home. "

"Why, as for that matter, it is his home, you must remember. "

"But while a gentleman is here for a period, " said Tom, "this room oughtto be considered his, and that fellow has no business here--and then hisbows and scrapes, and talking about the feelings of a gentleman, and allthat--'t is enough to make a dog beat his father. Curse him! I'd like tochoke him. "

"Oh! that's merely his manner, " said James. 

"Want of manners, you mean, " said Tom. "Hang me, if he comes up to me withhis rascally familiarity again, but I'll kick him down stairs. "

"My dear fellow, you are excited, " said Reddy; "don't let these sublunarytrifles ruffle your temper--you see how I bear it; and to recall you toyourself, I will remind you of the question we started from, 'What do youthink of the world?' There's a general question--a broad question, uponwhich one may talk with temper and soar above the petty grievances of lifein the grand consideration of so ample a subject. You see me here, aprisoner like yourself, but I can talk of _the world_. Come, be acalm philosopher, like me! Answer, what do you think of the world?"

"I've told you already, " said Tom; "it's a capital place, only for thebailiffs. "

"I can't agree with you, " said James. "I think it one vast pool ofstagnant wretchedness, where the _malaria_ of injustice holdsher scales suspended, to poison rising talent by giving an undueweight to existing prejudices. "

To this lucid and good-tempered piece of philosophy, Tom could onlyanswer, "You know I am no poet, and I cannot argue with you but, 'pon mysoul, I _have_ known, and _do_ know, some uncommon good fellowsin the world. "

"You're wrong, you're wrong, my unsuspecting friend. 'T is a bad world, and no place for susceptible minds. Jealousy pursues talent like itsshadow--superiority alone wins for you the hatred of inferior men. Forinstance, why am _I_ here? The editor of _my_ paper will notallow _my_ articles always to appear;--prevents their insertion, lestthe effect they would make would cause inquiry, and tend to _my_distinction; and the consequence is, that the paper _I_ came to_uphold_ in Dublin is deprived of _my_ articles, and _I_ don't get paid;while _I_ see _inferior_ men, without asking for it, loaded with favour;_they_ are abroad in affluence, and _I_ in captivity and poverty. Butone comfort is, even in disgrace I can write, and they shall get aslashing. "

Thus spoke the calm philosopher, who gave Tom a lecture on patience. 

Tom was no great conjuror; but at that moment, like Audrey, "he thankedthe gods he was not poetical. " If there be any one thing more than anotherto make an "every-day man" content with his average lot, it is theexhibition of ambitious inferiority, striving for distinction it can neverattain; just given sufficient perception to desire the glory of success, without power to measure the strength that can achieve it; like some poorfly, which beats its head against a pane of glass, seeing the sunshinebeyond, but incapable of perceiving the subtle medium which intervenes--too delicate for its limited sense to comprehend, but too strong for itslimited power to pass. But though Tom felt satisfaction at that moment, hehad too good feeling to wound the self-love of the vain creature beforehim; so, instead of speaking what he thought, viz. , "What business haveyou to attempt literature, you conceited fool?" he tried to wean himcivilly from his folly by saying, "Then come back to the country, James;if you find jealous rivals _here_, you know you were always admired_there_. "

"No, sir, " said James; "even there my merit was unacknowledged. "

"No! no!" said Tom. 

"Well, underrated, at least. Even there, _that_ Edward O'Connor, somehow or other, I never could tell why--I never saw his great talents--but somehow or other, people got it into their heads that he was clever. "

"I tell you what it is, " said Tom, earnestly, "Ned-of-the-Hill has gotinto a better place than people's _heads_--he has got into their_hearts_!"

"There it is!" exclaimed James, indignantly. "You have caught up thecuckoo-cry--the heart! Why, sir, what merit is there in writing aboutfeelings which any common labourer can comprehend? There's no poetry inthat; true poetry lies in a higher sphere, where you have difficulty infollowing the flight of the poet, and possibly may not be fortunate enoughto understand him--that's poetry, sir. "

"I told you I am no poet, " said Tom; "but all I know is, I have felt myheart warm to some of Edward's songs, and, by jingo, I have seen thewomen's eyes glisten, and their cheeks flush or grow pale, as they haveheard them--and that's poetry enough for me. "

"Well, let Mister O'Connor enjoy his popularity, sir, if popularity it maybe called, in a small country circle--let him enjoy it--I don't envy him_his_, though I think he was rather jealous about mine. "

"Ned jealous!" exclaimed Tom, in surprise. 

"Yes, jealous; I never heard him say a kind word of any verses Iever wrote in my life; and I am certain he has most unkind feelingstowards me. "

"I tell you what it is, " said Tom, "getting up" a bit; "I told you I don'tunderstand poetry, but I _do_ understand what's an infinitely betterthing, and that's fine, generous, manly feeling; and if there's a humanbeing in the world incapable of wronging another in his mind or heart, orreadier to help his fellow-man, it is Edward O'Connor: so say no more, James, if you please. "

Tom had scarcely uttered the last word, when the key was turned in thedoor. 

"Here's that infernal bailiff again!" said Tom, whose irritability, increased by Reddy's paltry egotism and injustice, was at its boiling-pitch once more. He planted himself firmly in his chair, and putting onhis fiercest frown, was determined to confront Mister Goggins with anaspect that should astonish him. 

The door opened, and Mister Goggins made his appearance, presenting to thegentlemen in the room the hinder portion of his person, which made severalindications of courtesy performed by the other half of his body, while heuttered the words, "Don't be astonished, gentlemen; you'll be used to itby-and-by. " And with these words he kept backing towards Tom, making thesenether demonstrations of civility, till Tom could plainly see the seams inthe back of Mr. Goggins's pantaloons. 

Tom thought this was some new touch of the "free-and-easy" on MisterGoggins's part, and, losing all command of himself, he jumped from hischair, and with a vigorous kick gave Mister Goggins such a livelyimpression of his desire that he should leave the room, that MisterGoggins went head foremost down the stairs, pitching his whole weight uponDick Dawson and Edward O'Connor, who were ascending the dark stairs, andto whom all his bows had been addressed. Overwhelmed with astonishmentand twelve stone of bailiff, they were thrown back into the hall, andan immense uproar in the passage ensued. 

Edward and Dick were near coming in for some hard usage from Goggins, conceiving it might be a preconcerted attempt on the part of his prisonersand their newly arrived friends to achieve a rescue; and while he wasrolling about on the ground, he roared to his evil-visaged janitor to lookto the door first, and keep him from being "murthered" after. 

Fortunately no evil consequences ensued, until matters could be explainedin the hall, and Edward and Dick were introduced to the upper room, fromwhich Goggins had been so suddenly ejected. 

There the bailiff demanded in a very angry tone the cause of Tom'sconduct; and when it was found to be _only_ a mutual misunderstanding--that Goggins wouldn't take a liberty with a gentleman "in defficulties"for the world, and that Tom wouldn't hurt a fly, "only under a mistake"--matters were cleared up to the satisfaction of all parties, andthe real business of the meeting commenced:--that was to pay Tom'sdebt out of hand; and when the bailiff saw all demands, fees included, cleared off, the clouds from his brow cleared off also, he was themost amiable of sheriff's officers, and all his sentimentality returned. 

Edward did not seem quite to sympathise with his amiability, so Gogginsreturned to the charge, while Tom and Dick were exchanging a few wordswith James Reddy. 

"You see, sir, " said Goggins, "in the first place, it is quite beautifulto see the mind in adversity bearing up against the little antediluvianafflictions that will happen occasionally, and then how fine it is toremark the spark of generosity that kindles in the noble heart and rushesto the assistance of the destitute! I do assure you, sir, it is a mostbeautiful sight to see the gentlemen in defficulties waitin' herefor their friends to come to their relief, like the last scene inBlue Beard, where sister Ann waves her han'kerchief from the tower--the tyrant is slain--and virtue rewarded!

"Ah, sir!" said he to Edward O'Connor, whose look of disgust at thewretched den caught the bailiff's attention, "don't entertain an antifassyfrom first imprissions, which is often desaivin'. I do pledge you myhonour, sir, there is no place in the 'varsal world where human nature isvisible in more attractive colours than in this humble retrait. "

Edward could not conceal a smile at the fellow's absurdity, though hissense of the ridiculous could not overcome the disgust with which theplace inspired him. He gave an admonitory touch to the elbow of DickDawson, who, with his friend Tom Durfy, followed Edward from the room, thebailiff bringing up the rear, and relocking the door on the unfortunateJames Reddy, who was left "alone in his glory, " to finish his slashingarticle against the successful men of the day. Nothing more than words ofrecognition had passed between Reddy and Edward. In the first place, Edward's appearance at the very moment the other was indulging inilliberal observations upon him rendered the ill-tempered poetaster dumb;and Edward attributed this distance of manner to a feeling of shynesswhich Reddy might entertain at being seen in such a place, and thereforehad too much good breeding to thrust his civility on a man who seemed toshrink from it; but when he left the house he expressed his regret to hiscompanions at the poor fellow's unfortunate situation. 

It touched Tom Durfy's heart to hear these expressions of compassioncoming from the lips of the man he had heard maligned a few minutes beforeby the very person commiserated, and it raised his opinion higher ofEdward, whose hand he now shook with warm expressions of thankfulness onhis own account, for the prompt service rendered to him. Edward madeas light of his own kindness as he could, and begged Tom to thinknothing of such a trifle. 

"One word I will say to you, Durfy, and I'm sure you'll pardon me for it. "

"Could you say a thing to offend me?" was the answer. 

"You are to be married soon, I understand?"

"To-morrow, " said Tom. 

"Well, my dear Durfy, if you owe any more money, take a real friend'sadvice, and tell your pretty good-hearted widow the whole amount of yourdebts before you marry her. "

"My dear O'Connor, " said Tom, "the money you've lent me now is all I owein the world; 't was a tailor's bill, and I quite forgot it. You know, noone ever thinks of a tailor's bill. Debts, indeed!" added Tom, withsurprise; "my dear fellow, I never could be much in debt, for the devil aone would trust me. "

"An excellent reason for your unencumbered state, " said Edward, "and Ihope you pardon me. "

"Pardon!" exclaimed Tom, "I esteem you for your kind and manly frankness. "

In the course of their progress towards Dick's lodgings, Edward revertedto James Reddy's wretched condition, and found it was but some petty debtfor which he was arrested. He lamented, in common with Dick and Tom, theinfatuation which made him desert a duty he could profitably perform byassisting his father in his farming concerns, to pursue a literary path, which could never be any other to him than one of thorns. 

As Edward had engaged to meet Gusty in an hour, he parted from hiscompanions and pursued his course alone. But, instead of proceedingimmediately homeward, he retraced his steps to the den of the bailiff andgave a quiet tap at the door. Mister Goggins himself answered to theknock, and began a loud and florid welcome to Edward, who stoppedhis career of eloquence by laying a finger on his lip in token ofsilence. A few words sufficed to explain the motive of his visit. He wished to ascertain the sum for which the gentleman up-stairswas detained. The bailiff informed him; and the money necessary toprocure the captive's liberty was placed in his hand. 

The bailiff cast one of his melodramatic glances at Edward, and said, "Didn't I tell you, sir, this was the place for calling out the noblestfeelings of human nature?"

"Can you oblige me with writing materials?" said Edward. 

"I can, sir, " said Goggins, proudly, "and with other _materials_ too, if you like--and 'pon my honour, I'll be proud to drink your health, foryou're a raal gintleman. " [Footnote: The name given in Ireland to thenecessary materials for the compounding of whisky-punch. ]

Edward, in the civilest manner, declined the offer, and wrote, or rathertried to write, the following note, with a pen like a skewer, inksomething thicker than mud, and on whity-brown paper:--

"DEAR SIR, --I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken in yourtemporary want of money. You can repay me at your convenience. Yours, "E. O'C. "

Edward left the den, and so did James Reddy soon after--a better man. Though weak, his heart was not shut to the humanities of life--andEdward's kindness, in opening his eyes to the wrong he had done _one_man, induced in his heart a kinder feeling towards all. He tore up hisslashing article against successful men. Would that every disappointed manwould do the same. 

The bailiff was right: even so low a den as his becomes ennobled by thepresence of active benevolence and prejudice reclaimed. 

CHAPTER XLVII

Edward, on returning to his hotel, found Gusty there before him, in greatdelight at having seen a "splendid" horse, as he said, which had beenbrought for Edward's inspection, he having written a note on his arrivalin town to a dealer stating his want of a first-rate hunter. 

"He's in the stable now, " said Gusty; "for I desired the man to wait, knowing you would be here soon. "

"I cannot see him now, Gusty, " said Edward: "will you have the kindness totell the groom I can look at the horse in his own stables when I wish topurchase?"

Gusty departed to do the message, somewhat in wonder, for Edward loved afine horse. But the truth was, Edward's disposable money, which he hadintended for the purchase of a hunter, had a serious inroad made upon itby the debts he had discharged for other men, and he was forced to foregothe pleasure he had proposed to himself in the next hunting season; and hedid not like to consume any one's time, or raise false expectations, byaffecting to look at disposable property with the eye of a purchaser, whenhe knew it was beyond his reach; and the flimsy common-places of "I'llthink of it, " or "If I don't see something better, " or any other of thetwenty hackneyed excuses which idle people make, after consuming busymen's time, Edward held to be unworthy. He could ride a hack and denyhimself hunting for a whole season, but he would not unnecessarilyconsume the useful time of any man for ten minutes. 

This may be sneered at by the idle and thoughtless; nevertheless, it is apart of the minor morality which is ever present in the conduct of a truegentleman. 

Edward had promised to join Dick's dinner-party on an impromptuinvitation, and the clock striking the appointed hour warned Edward it wastime to be off; so, jumping up on a jaunting car, he rattled off to Dick'slodgings, where a jolly party was assembled ripe for fun. 

Amongst the guests was a rather remarkable man, a Colonel Crammer, who hadseen a monstrous deal of service--one of Tom Durfy's friends whom he hadasked leave to bring with him to dinner. Of course, Dick's card and a noteof invitation for the gallant colonel were immediately despatched; and hehad but just arrived before Edward, who found a bustling sensation in theroom as the colonel was presented to those already assembled, and TomDurfy giving whispers, aside, to each person touching his friend; such as--"Very remarkable man"--"Seen great service"--"A little odd or so"--"Afund of most extraordinary anecdote, " &c. , &c. 

Now this Colonel Crammer was no other than Tom Loftus, whose acquaintanceDick wished to make, and who had been invited to the dinner after apreliminary visit; but Tom sent an excuse in his own name, and preferredbeing present under a fictitious one--this being one of the odd ways inwhich his humour broke out, desirous of giving people a "touch of hisquality" before they knew him. He was in the habit of assuming variouscharacters; a methodist missionary--the patentee of some unheard-ofinvention--the director of some new joint-stock company--in short, anything which would give him an opportunity of telling tremendousbouncers was equally good for Tom. His reason for assuming a militaryguise on this occasion was to bother Moriarty, whom he knew he shouldmeet, and held a special reason for tormenting; and he knew he couldachieve this, by throwing all the stories Moriarty was fond of tellingabout his own service into the shade, by extravagant inventions of"hair-breadth 'scapes" and feats by "flood and field. " Indeed, the dinnerwould not be worth mentioning but for the extraordinary capers Tom cut onthe occasion, and the unheard-of lies he squandered. 

Dinner was announced by Andy, and with good appetite soup and fish weresoon despatched; sherry followed as a matter of necessity. The secondcourse appeared, and was not long under discussion when Dick called forthe "champagne. "

Andy began to drag the tub towards the table, and Dick, impatient ofdelay, again called "champagne. "

"I'm bringin' it to you, sir, " said Andy, tugging at the tub. 

"Hand it round the table, " said Dick. 

Andy tried to lift the tub, "to hand it round the table;" but, finding hecould not manage it, he whispered to Dick, "I can't get it up, sir. "

Dick, fancying Andy meant he had got a flask not in a sufficient state ofeffervescence to expel its own cork, whispered in return, "Draw it, then. "

"I was dhrawin' it to you, sir, when you stopped me. "

"Well, make haste with it, " said Dick. 

"Mister Dawson, I'll trouble you for a small slice of the turkey, " saidthe colonel. 

"With pleasure, colonel; but first do me the honour to take champagne. Andy--champagne!"

"Here it is, sir!" said Andy, who had drawn the tub close to Dick's chair. 

"Where's the wine, sir?" said Dick, looking first at the tub and then atAndy. "There, sir, " said Andy, pointing down to the ice. "I put the wineinto it, as you towld me. "

Dick looked again at the tub, and said, "There is not a single bottlethere--what do you mean, you stupid rascal?"

"To be sure, there's no bottle there, sir. The bottles is all on thesideboord, but every dhrop o' the wine is in the ice, as you towld me, sir; if you put your hand down into it, you'll feel it, sir. "

The conversation between master and man growing louder as it proceededattracted the attention of the whole company, and those near the head ofthe table became acquainted as soon as Dick with the mistake Andy hadmade, and could not resist laughter; and as the cause of their merrimentwas told from man to man, and passed round the board, a roar of laughteruprose, not a little increased by Dick's look of vexation, which at lengthwas forced to yield to the infectious merriment around him, and he laughedwith the rest, and making a joke of the disappointment, which is the verybest way of passing one off, he said that he had the honour of originatingat his table a magnificent scale of hospitality; for though he had heardof company being entertained with a whole hogshead of claret, he was notaware of champagne being ever served in a tub before. The company were toodetermined to be merry to have their pleasantry put out of tune by sotrifling a mishap, and it was generally voted that the joke was worthtwice as much as the wine. Nevertheless, Dick could not help casting areproachful look now and then at Andy, who had to run the gauntlet of manya joke cut at his expense, while he waited upon the wags at dinner, andcaught a lowly muttered anathema whenever he passed near Dick's chair. Inshort, master and man were both glad when the cloth was drawn, and theparty could be left to themselves. 

Then, as a matter of course, Dick called on the gentlemen to chargetheir glasses and fill high to a toast he had to propose--they wouldanticipate to whom he referred--a gentleman who was going to changehis state of freedom for one of a happier bondage, &c. , &c. Dickdashed off his speech with several mirth-moving allusions to thechange that was coming over his friend Tom, and, having festooned hiscomposition with the proper quantity of "rosy wreaths, " &c. , &c. , &c. , naturally belonging to such speeches, he wound up with some hearty words--free from _badinage_, and meaning all they conveyed, and finishedwith the rhyming benediction of a "long life and a good wife" to him. 

Tom having returned thanks in the same laughing style that Dick proposedhis health, and bade farewell to the lighter follies of bachelorship forthe more serious ones of wedlock, the road was now open for any one whowas vocally inclined. Dick asked one or two, who said they were not withina bottle of their singing-point yet, but Tom Durfy was sure his friend thecolonel would favour them. 

"With pleasure, " said the colonel; "and I'll sing something appropriate tothe blissful situation of philandering in which you have been indulging oflate, my friend. I wish I could give you any idea of the song as I heardit warbled by the voice of an Indian princess, who was attached to meonce, and for whom I ran enormous risks--but no matter--that's past andgone, but the soft tones of Zulima's voice will ever haunt my heart! Thesong is a favourite where I heard it--on the borders of Cashmere, and issupposed to be sung by a fond woman in the valley of the nightingales--'tis so in the original, but as we have no nightingales in Ireland, I havesubstituted the dove in the little translation I have made, which, if youwill allow me, I'll attempt. "

Loud cries of "Hear, hear!" and tapping of applauding hands on the tablefollowed, while the colonel gave a few preliminary hems; and after somelittle pilot tones from his throat, to show the way, his voice ascendedin all the glory of song. 

THE DOVE-SONG

I

 "_Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo!_ Thus did I hear the turtle-dove, _Coo! Coo! Coo!_ Murmuring forth her love; And as she flew from tree to tree, How melting seemed the notes to me-- _Coo! Coo! Coo!_ So like the voice of lovers, 'T was passing sweet to hear The birds within the covers, In the spring-time of the year. 

II

 "_Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo!_ Thus the song's returned again-- _Coo! Coo! Coo!_ Through the shady glen; But there I wandered lone and sad, While every bird around was glad. _Coo! Coo! Coo!_ Thus so fondly murmured they, _Coo! Coo! Coo!_ While _my_ love was away. And yet the song to lovers, Though sad, is sweet to hear, From birds within the covers, In the spring-time of the year. "

The colonel's song, given with Tom Loftus' good voice, was received withgreat applause, and the fellows all voted it catching, and began "cooing"round the table like a parcel of pigeons. 

"A translation from an eastern poet, you say?"

"Yes, " said Tom. 

"'T is not very eastern in its character, " said Moriarty. "I mean a_free_ translation, of course, " added the mock colonel. 

"Would you favour us with the song again, in the original?" addedMoriarty. 

Tom Loftus did not know one syllable of any other language than his own, and it would not have been convenient to talk gibberish to Moriarty, whohad a smattering of some of the eastern tongues; so he declined giving hisCashmerian song in its native purity, because, as he said, he never couldmanage to speak their dialect, though he understood it reasonably well. 

"But _there's_ a gentleman, I am sure, will sing some other song--anda better one, I have no doubt, " said Tom, with a very humble prostrationof his head on the table, and anxious by a fresh song to get out of thedilemma in which Moriarty's question was near placing him. 

"Not a better, colonel, " said the gentleman who was addressed, "but Icannot refuse your call, and I will do my best; hand me the port wine, pray; I always take a glass of port before I sing--I think 't is good forthe throat--what do you say, colonel?"

"When I want to sing particularly well, " said Tom, "I drink_canary_. "

The gentleman smiled at the whimsical answer, tossed off his glass ofport, and began. 

LADY MINE

 "Lady mine! lady mine! Take the rosy wreath I twine, All its sweets are less than thine, Lady, lady mine! The blush that on thy cheek is found Bloometh fresh the _whole_ year round; _Thy_ sweet _breath_ as sweet gives _sound_, Lady, lady mine!

II

 "Lady mine! lady mine! How I love the graceful vine, Whose tendrils mock thy ringlets' twine, Lady, lady mine! How I love that generous tree, Whose ripe clusters promise me Bumpers bright, --to pledge to _thee_, Lady, lady mine!

III

 "Lady mine! lady mine! Like the stars that nightly shine, Thy sweet eyes shed light divine, Lady, lady mine! And as sages wise, of old, From the stars could fate unfold, Thy bright eyes _my_ fortune told, Lady, lady mine!"

The song was just in the style to catch gentlemen after dinner--the secondverse particularly, and many a glass was emptied of a "bumper bright, " andpledged to the particular "_thee_, " which each individual hadselected for his devotion. Edward, at that moment, certainly thought ofFanny Dawson. 

Let teetotallers say what they please, there is a genial influenceinspired by wine and song--not in excess, but in that wholesome degreewhich stirs the blood and warms the fancy; and as one raises the glass tothe lip, over which some sweet name is just breathed from the depth of theheart, what libation so fit to pour to absent friends as wine? What_is_ wine? It is the grape present in another form; its essence isthere, though the fruit which produced it grew thousands of miles away, and perished years ago. So the object of many a tender thought may bespiritually present, in defiance of space--and fond recollectionscherished in defiance of time. 

As the party became more convivial, the mirth began to assume a broaderform. Tom Durfy drew out Moriarty on the subject of his services, that the mock colonel might throw every new achievement into theshade; and this he did in the most barefaced manner, but mixing somuch of probability with his audacious fiction, that those who werenot up to the joke only supposed him to be _a very great romancer_;while those friends who were in Loftus' confidence exhibited a mostcapacious stomach for the marvellous, and backed up his lies witha ready credence. If Moriarty told some fearful incident of a tigerhunt, the colonel capped it with something more wonderful, of slaughteringlions in a wholesale way, like rabbits. When Moriarty expatiated on theintensity of tropical heat, the colonel would upset him with somethingmore appalling. 

"Now, sir, " said Loftus, "let me ask you what is the greatest amount ofheat you have ever experienced--I say _experienced_, not _heard_ of--forthat goes for nothing. I always speak from experience. "

"Well, sir, " said Moriarty, "I have known it to be so hot in India, that Ihave had a hole dug in the ground under my tent, and sat in it, and put atable standing over the hole, to try and guard me from the intolerablefervour of the eastern sun, and even _then_ I was hot. What do yousay to that, colonel?" asked Moriarty, triumphantly. 

"Have you ever been in the West Indies?" inquired Loftus. 

"Never, " said Moriarty, who, once entrapped into this admission, wasdirectly at the colonel's mercy, --and the colonel launched outfearlessly. 

"Then, my good sir, you know nothing of heat. I have seen in the WestIndies an umbrella burned over a man's head. "

"Wonderful!" cried Loftus' backers. 

"'T is strange, sir, " said Moriarty, "that we have never seen thatmentioned by any writer. "

"Easily accounted for, sir, " said Loftus. "'T is so common a circumstance, that it ceases to be worthy of observation. An author writing of thiscountry might as well remark that the apple-women are to be seen sittingat the corners of the streets. That's nothing, sir; but there are twothings of which I have personal knowledge, _rather_ remarkable. One day of intense heat (even for that climate) I was on a visit at theplantation of a friend of mine, and it was so out-o'-the-way scorching, that our lips were like cinders, and we were obliged to have blackslaves pouring sangaree down our throats by gallons--I don't hesitateto say gallons--and we thought we could not have survived throughthe day; but what could _we_ think of _our_ sufferings, when weheard that several negroes, who had gone to sleep under the shade of somecocoa-nut trees, had been scalded to death?"

"Scalded?" said his friends; "burnt, you mean. "

"No, scalded; and _how_ do you think? The intensity of the heat hadcracked the cocoa-nuts, and the boiling milk inside dropped down andproduced the fatal result. The same day a remarkable accident occurred atthe battery; the French were hovering round the island at the time, andthe governor, being a timid man, ordered the guns to be always keptloaded. "

"I never heard of such a thing in a battery in my life, sir, " saidMoriarty. 

"Nor I either, " said Loftus, "till then. "

"What was the governor's name, sir?" inquired Moriarty, pursuing his trainof doubt. 

"You must excuse me, captain, from naming him, " said Loftus, withreadiness, "after _incautiously_ saying he was _timid_. "

"Hear, hear!" said all the friends. 

"But to pursue my story, sir:--the guns were loaded, and with theintensity of the heat went off, one after another, and quite riddled oneof his Majesty's frigates that was lying in the harbour. "

"That's one of the most difficult riddles to comprehend I ever heard, "said Moriarty. 

"The frigate answered the riddle with her guns, sir, I promise you. "

"What!" exclaimed Moriarty, "fire on the fort of her own king?"

"There is an honest principle exists among sailors, sir, to return fireunder all circumstances, wherever it comes from, friend or foe. Fire, ofwhich they know the value so well, they won't take from anybody. "

"And what was the consequence?" said Moriarty. 

"Sir, it was the most harmless broadside ever delivered from the ports ofa British frigate; not a single house or human being was injured--the daywas so hot that every sentinel had sunk on the ground in utter exhaustion--the whole population were asleep; the only loss of life which occurredwas that of a blue macaw, which belonged to the commandant's daughter. "

"Where was the macaw, may I beg to know?" said Moriarty, cross-questioningthe colonel in the spirit of a counsel for the defence on a capitalindictment. 

"In the drawing-room window, sir. "

"Then surely the ball must have done some damage in the house?"

"Not the least, sir, " said Loftus, sipping his wine. 

"Surely, colonel!" returned Moriarty, warming, "the ball could not havekilled the macaw without injuring the house?"

"My dear sir, " said Tom, "I did not say the _ball_ killed the macaw, I said the macaw was killed; but _that_ was in consequence of asplinter from an _epaulement_ of the south-east angle of the fortwhich the shot struck and glanced off harmlessly--except for the casualtyof the macaw. "

Moriarty returned a kind of grunt, which implied that, though he could notfurther _question_, he did not _believe_. Under such circumstances, takingsnuff is a great relief to a man; and, as it happened, Moriarty, in takingsnuff, could gratify his nose and his vanity at the same time, for hesported a silver-gilt snuff-box which was presented to him in someextraordinary way, and bore a grand inscription. 

On this "piece of plate" being produced, of course it went round thetable, and Moriarty could scarcely conceal the satisfaction he felt aseach person read the engraven testimonial of his worth. When it had gonethe circuit of the board, Tom Loftus put his hand into his pocket andpulled out the butt-end of a rifle, which is always furnished with a smallbox, cut out of the solid part of the wood and covered with a plate ofbrass acting on a hinge. This box, intended to carry small implements forthe use of the rifleman, to keep his piece in order, was filled withsnuff, and Tom said, as he laid it down on the table, "This is _my_snuff-box, gentlemen; not as handsome as my gallant friend's at theopposite side of the table, but extremely interesting to me. It wasprevious to one of our dashing affairs in Spain that our riflemen werethrown out in front and on the flanks. The rifles were supported by thelight companies of the regiments in advance, and it was in the latter dutyI was engaged. We had to feel our way through a wood, and had cleared itof the enemy, when, as we debouched from the wood on the opposite side, wewere charged by an overwhelming force of Polish lancers and cuirassiers. Retreat was impossible--resistance almost hopeless. 'My lads, ' said I, 'wemust do something _novel_ here, or we are lost--startle them by freshpractice--the bayonet will no longer avail you--club your muskets, and hitthe horses over the noses, and they'll smell danger. ' They took my advice;of course we first delivered a withering volley, and then to it we went inflail-fashion, thrashing away with the butt-ends of our muskets; and sureenough the French were astonished and driven back in amazement. Sotremendous, sir, was the hitting on our side, that in many instancesthe butt-ends of the muskets snapped off like tobacco-pipes, andthe field was quite strewn with them after the affair: I picked oneof them up as a little memento of the day, and have used it eversince as a snuff-box. "

Every one was amused by the outrageous romancing of the colonel butMoriarty, who looked rather disgusted, because he could not edge in a wordof his own at all; he gave up the thing now in despair, for the colonelhad it all his own way, like the bull in a china-shop; the more startlingthe bouncers he told, the more successful were his anecdotes, and he keptpouring them out with the most astounding rapidity; and though all votedhim the greatest liar they ever met, none suspected he was not a militaryman. 

Dick wanted Edward O'Connor, who sat beside him, to sing; but Edwardwhispered, "For Heaven's sake don't stop the flow of the lava from thatmighty eruption of lies!--he's a perfect Vesuvius of mendacity. You'llnever meet his like again, so make the most of him while you have him. Pray, sir, " said Edward to the colonel, "have you ever been in any of thecold climates? I am induced to ask you, from the very wonderful anecdotesyou have told of the hot ones. "

"Bless you, sir, I know every corner about the north pole. "

"In which of the expeditions, may I ask, were you engaged?" inquiredMoriarty. 

"In none of them, sir. We knocked up a _little amateur party_, I anda few curious friends, and certainly we witnessed wonders. You talk hereof a sharp wind; but the wind is so sharp there that it cut off our beardand whiskers. Boreas is a great barber, sir, with his north pole for asign. Then as for frost!--I could tell you such incredible things of itsintensity; our butter, for instance, was as hard as a rock; we wereobliged to knock it off with a chisel and hammer, like a mason at a pieceof granite, and it was necessary to be careful of your eyes at breakfast, the splinters used to fly about so; indeed, one of the party _did_lose the use of his eye from a butter-splinter. But the oddest thing ofall was to watch two men talking to each other: you could observe thewords, as they came out of their mouths, suddenly frozen and dropping downin little pellets of ice at their feet, so that, after a longconversation, you might see a man standing up to his knees in his owneloquence. "

They all roared with laughter at this last touch of the marvellous, butLoftus preserved his gravity. 

"I don't wonder, gentlemen, at your not receiving that as truth--I toldyou it was incredible--in short, that is the reason I have resisted alltemptations to publish. Murray, Longmans, Colburn, Bentley, ALL thepublishers have offered me unlimited terms, but I have always refused--notthat I am a rich man, which makes the temptation of the thousands I mightrealise the harder to withstand; 't is not that the gold is not preciousto me, but there is something dearer to me than gold--_it is mycharacter for veracity!_ and therefore, as I am convinced the publicwould not believe the wonders I have witnessed, I confine the recital ofmy adventures to the social circle. But what profession affords such scopefor varied incident as that of the soldier? Change of clime, danger, vicissitude, love, war, privation one day, profusion the next, darklingdangers, and sparkling joys! Zounds! there's nothing like the life of asoldier! and, by the powers! I'll give you a song in its praise. "

The proposition was received with cheers, and Tom rattled away theseringing rhymes--

THE BOWLD SOJER BOY

 "Oh there's not a trade that's going Worth showing, Or knowing, Like that from glory growing, For a bowld sojer boy; Where right or left we go, Sure you know, Friend or foe Will have the hand or toe From a bowld sojer boy! There's not a town we march thro', But the ladies, looking arch thro' The window-panes, will search thro' The ranks to find their joy; While up the street, Each girl you meet, Will look so sly, Will cry 'My eye! Oh, isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer boy!'

II

 "But when we get the route, How they pout And they shout While to the right about Goes the bowld sojer boy. Oh, 'tis then that ladies fair In despair Tear their hair, But 'the divil-a-one I care, ' Says the bowld sojer boy. For the world is all before us, Where the landladies adore us, And ne'er refuse to score us, But chalk us up with joy; We taste her tap, We tear her cap'-- 'Oh, that's the chap For me!' Says she; 'Oh, isn't he a darling, the bowld sojer boy. '

III

 "'Then come along with me, Gramachree, And you'll see How happy you will be With your bowld sojer boy; 'Faith! if you're up to fun, With me run; 'T will be done In the snapping of a gun, ' Says the bowld sojer boy; 'And 't is then that, without scandal, Myself will proudly dandle The little farthing candle Of our mutual flame, my joy! May his light shine As bright as mine, Till in the line He'll blaze, And raise The glory of his corps, like a bowld sojer boy!'"

Andy entered the room while the song was in progress, and handed a letterto Dick, which, after the song was over, and he had asked pardon of hisguests, he opened. 

"By Jove! you sing right well, colonel, " said one of the party. 

"I think the gallant colonel's songs nothing in comparison with his_wonderful_ stories, " said Moriarty. 

"Gentlemen, " said Dick, "wonderful as the colonel's recitals have been, this letter conveys a piece of information more surprising than anythingwe have heard this day. That stupid fellow who spoiled our champagne hascome in for the inheritance of a large property. "

"What!--Handy Andy?" exclaimed those who knew his name. 

"Handy Andy, " said Dick, "is now a man of fortune!"

CHAPTER XLVIII

It was a note from Squire Egan which conveyed the news to Dick that causedso much surprise; the details of the case were not even hinted at; thebare fact alone was mentioned, with a caution to preserve it still asecret from Andy, and appointing an hour for dinner at "Morrison's" nextday, at which hotel the Squire expected to arrive from the country, withhis lady and Fanny Dawson, _en route_ for London. Till dinner-time, then, the day following, Dick was obliged to lay by his impatience as tothe "why and wherefore" of Andy's sudden advancement; but, as the morningwas to be occupied with Tom Durfy's wedding, Dick had enough to keep himengaged in the meantime. 

At the appointed hour a few of Tom's particular friends were in attendanceto witness the ceremony, or, to use their own phrase, "to see him turnedoff, " and among them was Tom Loftus. Dick was holding out his hand to "thecolonel, " when Tom Durfy stepped between, and introduced him under hisreal name. The masquerading trick of the night before was laughed at, withan assurance from Dick that it only fulfilled all he had ever heard of theProtean powers of a gentleman whom he so much wished to know. A fewminutes' conversation in the recess of a window put Tom Loftus and Dickthe Devil on perfectly good terms, and Loftus proposed to Dick that theyshould execute the old-established trick on a bridegroom, of snatching thefirst kiss from the bride. 

"You must get in Tom's way, " said Loftus, "and I'll kiss her. "

"Why, the fact is, " said Dick, "I had proposed that pleasure to myself;and, if it's all the same to you, _you_ can jostle Tom, and_I'll_ do the remainder in good style, I promise you. "

"That I can't agree to, " said Loftus; "but as it appears we both have setour heart on cheating the bridegroom, let us both start fair, and 't isodd if between us Tom Durfy is not _done_"

This was agreed upon, and many minutes did not elapse till the bride madeher appearance, and "hostilities were about to commence. " The mutual enemyof the "high contracting parties" first opened his book, and then hismouth, and in such solemn tones, that it was enough to frighten _even_a widow, much less a bachelor. As the ceremony verged to a conclusion, Tom Loftus and Dick the Devil edged up towards their 'vantage-groundon either side of the blooming widow, now nearly finished into a wife, and stood like greyhounds in the slip, ready to start after puss(only puss ought to be spelt here with a B). The widow, having beenmarried before, was less nervous than Durfy, and, suspecting the intendedgame, determined to foil both the brigands, who intended to rob thebridegroom of his right; so, when the last word of the ceremony wasspoken, and Loftus and Dick made a simultaneous dart upon her, she veryadroitly ducked, and allowed the two "ruggers and rievers" to rush intoeach other's arms, and rub their noses together, while Tom Durfy and hisblooming bride sealed their contract very agreeably without their nosesgetting in each other's way. 

Loftus and Dick had only a laugh at _their own_ expense, instead of akiss at _Tom's_, upon the failure of their plot; but Loftus, in awhisper to Dick, vowed he would execute a trick upon the "pair of them"before the day was over. 

There was a breakfast as usual, and chicken and tongue and wine, which, taken in the morning, are provocative of eloquence; and, ofcourse, the proper quantity of healths and toasts were executed _selonla règlei, _ it was time for the bride and bridegroom to bow andblush and curtsey out of the room, and make themselves food for aparagraph in the morning papers, under the title of the "happy pair, "who set off in a handsome chariot, &c. , &c. 

 * * * * *

Tom Durfy had engaged a pretty cottage in the neighbourhood of Clontarf topass the honeymoon. Tom Loftus knew this, and knew, moreover, that thesitting-room looked out on a small lawn which lay before the house, screened by a hedge from the road, but with a circular sweep leading up tothe house, and a gate of ingress and egress at either end of the hedge. Inthis sitting-room Tom, after lunch, was pressing his lady fair to take aglass of champagne, when the entrance-gate was thrown open, and a hackneyjaunting-car with Tom Loftus and a friend or two upon it, driven by aspecial ragamuffin blowing a tin horn, rolled up the skimping avenue, andas it scoured past the windows of the sitting-room, Tom Loftus and theother passengers kissed hands to the astonished bride and bridegroom, andshouted, "Wish you joy!"

The thing was so sudden that Durfy and the widow, not seeing Loftus, couldhardly comprehend what it meant, and both ran to the window; but just asthey reached it, up drove another car, freighted with two or three morewild rascals who followed the lead which had been given them; and as along train of cars were seen in the distance all driving up to the avenue, the widow, with a timid little scream, threw her handkerchief over herface and ran into a corner. Tom did not know whether to laugh or be angry, but, being a good-humoured fellow, he satisfied himself with a few oathsagainst the incorrigible Loftus, and when the _cortège_ had passed, endeavoured to restore the startled fair one to her serenity. 

 * * * * *

Squire Egan and party arrived at the appointed hour at their hotel, whereDick was waiting to receive them, and, of course, his inquiries wereimmediately directed to the extraordinary circumstance of Andy'selevation, the details of which he desired to know. These we shall notgive in the expanded form in which Dick heard them, but endeavour tocondense, as much as possible, within the limits to which we areprescribed. 

The title of Scatterbrain had never been inherited directly from father toson; it had descended in a zigzag fashion, most appropriate to the name, nephews and cousins having come in for the coronet and the property forsome generations. The late lord had led a _roué_ bachelor life up tothe age of sixty, and then thought it not worth while to marry, thoughmany mammas and daughters spread their nets and arrayed their charms toentrap the sexagenarian. 

The truth was, he had quaffed the cup of licentious pleasure all his life, after which he thought matrimony would prove insipid. The mere noveltyinduces some men, under similar circumstances, to try the holy estate; butmatrimony could not offer to Lord Scatterbrain the charms of novelty, for_he had been_ once married, though no one but himself was cognisantof the fact. 

The reader will certainly say, "Here's an Irish bull; how could a man bemarried, without, at least, a woman and a priest being joint possessors ofthe secret?"

Listen, gentle reader, and you shall hear how none but Lord Scatterbrainknew Lord Scatterbrain was married. 

There was nothing at which he ever stopped for the gratification of hispassions--no wealth he would not squander, no deceit he would notpractise, no disguise he would not assume. Therefore, gold, and falsehood, and masquerading were extensively employed by this reckless _roué_in the service of Venus, in which service, combined with that of Bacchus, his life was entirely passed. 

Often he assumed the guise of a man in humble life, to approximate someobject of his desire, whom fine clothes and bribery would have instantlywarned and in too many cases his artifices were successful. It was in oneof these adventures he cast his eyes upon the woman hitherto known in thisstory under the name of the Widow Rooney; but all his practices againsther virtue were unavailing, and nothing but a marriage could accomplishwhat he had set his fancy upon but even _this_ would not stop him, _for he married her_. 

The Widow Rooney has appeared no very inviting personage through thesepages, and the reader may wonder that a man of rank could proceed to suchdesperate lengths upon such slight temptation; but, gentle reader, she wasyoung and attractive when she was married--never to say _handsome_, but good-looking decidedly, and with that sort of figure which iscomprehended in the phrase "a fine girl. "

And has that fine girl altered into the Widow Rooney? Ah! poverty andhardship are sore trials to the body as well as to the mind. Too little isit considered, while we gaze on aristocratic beauty, how much good food, soft lying, warm wrapping, ease of mind, have to do with the attractionswhich command our admiration. Many a hand moulded by nature to giveelegance of form to a kid glove, is "stinted of its fair proportion" bygrubbing toil. The foot which might have excited the admiration of aball-room, peeping under a flounce of lace in a satin shoe, and treadingthe mazy dance, _will_ grow coarse and broad by tramping in its nativestate over toilsome miles, bearing perchance to a market town some feweggs, whose whole produce would not purchase the sandal-tie of my lady'sslipper; will grow red and rough by standing in wet trenches, and feelingthe winter's frost. The neck on which diamonds might have worthilysparkled, will look less tempting when the biting winter has hungicicles there for gems. Cheeks formed as fresh for dimpling blushes, eyes as well to sparkle, and lips to smile, as those which shed theirbrightness and their witchery in the tapestried saloon, will growpale with want, and forget their dimples, when smiles are not thereto wake them; lips become compressed and drawn with anxious thought, and eyes the brightest are quenched of their fires by many tears. 

Of all these trials poor Widow Rooney had enough. Her husband, afterliving with her a month, in the character of a steward to some great manin a distant part of the country, left her one day for the purpose oftransacting business at a fair, which, he said, would require his absencefor some time. At the end of a week, a letter was sent to her, statingthat the make-believe steward had robbed his master extensively, and hadfled to America, whence he promised to write to her, and send her means tofollow him, requesting, in the meantime, her silence, in case any inquiryshould be made about him. This villanous trick was played off the morereadily, from the fact that a steward had absconded at the time, and thedifference in the name the cruel profligate accounted for by saying that, as he was hiding at the moment he married her, he had assumed anothername. 

The poor deserted girl, fully believing this trumped-up tale, obeyed withunflinching fidelity the injunctions of her betrayer; and while reportswere flying abroad of the absconded steward, she never breathed a word of, what had been confided to her, and accounted for the absence of "Rooney"in various ways of her own; so that all trace of the profligate was lost, by her remaining inactive in making the smallest inquiry about him, andher very fidelity to her betrayer became the means of her losing all powerof procuring his discovery. For months she trusted all was right;but when moon followed moon, and she gave birth to a boy withouthearing one word of his father, misgiving came upon her, and theonly consolation left her was, that, though she was deserted, anda child left on her hands, still she was _an honest woman_. Thatchild was the hero of our tale. The neighbours passed some ill-naturedremarks about her, when it began to be suspected that her husbandwould never let her know more about him; for she had been rather asaucy lady, holding up her nose at poor men, and triumphing in hercatching of the "steward, " a man well to do in the world; and it may beremembered, that this same spirit existed in her when Andy's rumouredmarriage with Matty gave the prospect of her affairs being retrieved, forshe displayed her love of pre-eminence to the very first person who gaveher the good news. The ill-nature of her neighbours, however, after thebirth of her child and the desertion of her husband, inducing her to leavethe scene of her unmerited wrongs and annoyances, she suddenly decamped, and, removing to another part of Ireland, the poor woman began a life ofhardship, to support herself and rear the offspring of her unfortunatemarriage. In this task she was worthily assisted by one of her brothers, who pitied her condition, and joined her in her retreat. He married incourse of time, and his wife died in giving birth to Oonah, who was soondeprived of her other parent by typhus fever, that terrible scourge of thepoor; so that the praiseworthy desire of the brother to befriend hissister only involved her, as it happened, in the deeper difficulty ofsupporting two children instead of one. This she did heroically, and theorphan girl rewarded her, by proving a greater comfort than her own child;for Andy had inherited in all its raciness the blood of the Scatterbrains, and his deeds, as recorded in this history, prove he was no unworthyrepresentative of that illustrious title. To return to his father--who haddone the grievous wrong to the poor peasant girl: he lived his life ofprofligacy through, and in a foreign country died at last; but on hisdeath-bed the scourge of conscience rendered every helpless hour an age ofwoe. Bitterest of all was the thought of the wife deceived, deserted, andunacknowledged. To face his last account with such fearful crime upon hishead he dared not, and made all the reparation now in his power, byavowing his marriage in his last will and testament, and giving all theinformation in his power to trace his wife, if living, or his heir, ifsuch existed. He enjoined, by the most sacred injunctions upon him to whomthe charge was committed, that neither cost nor trouble should be sparedin the search, leaving a large sum in ready money besides, to establishthe right, in case his nephew disputed the will. By his own order, hisdeath was kept secret, and secretly his agent set to work to discover anytrace of the heir. This, in consequence of the woman changing her place ofabode, became more difficult and it was not until after very minuteinquiry that some trace was picked up, and a letter written to the parishpriest of the district to which she had removed, making certain generalinquiries. It was found, on comparing dates some time after, that it wasthis very letter to Father Blake which Andy had purloined from thepost-office, and the Squire had thrown into the fire; so that our hero wasvery near, by his blundering, destroying his own fortune. Luckily for him, however, an untiring and intelligent agent was engaged in his cause, and asubsequent inquiry, and finally a personal visit to Father Blake, clearedthe matter up satisfactorily, and the widow was enabled to produce suchproof of her identity, and that of her son, that Handy Andy wasindisputably Lord Scatterbrain; and the whole affair was managed sosecretly, that the death of the late lord, and the claim of title andestates in the name of the rightful heir, were announced at the samemoment; and the "Honourable Sackville, " instead of coming into possessionof the peerage and property, and fighting his adversary at the greatadvantage of possession, could only commence a suit to drive him out, if he sued at all. 

Our limits compel us to this brief sketch of the circumstances throughwhich Handy Andy was entitled to and became possessed of a property and atitle, and we must now say something of the effects produced by theintelligence on the parties most concerned. 

The Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, on the advice of high legalauthority, did not attempt to dispute a succession of which suchsatisfactory proofs existed, and, fortunately for himself, had knocked upa watering-place match, while he was yet in the bloom of heirship_presumptive_ to a peerage, with the daughter of an English_millionaire_. 

When the Widow Rooney heard the extraordinary turn affairs had taken, heremotions, after the first few hours of pleasurable surprise, partook ofregret rather than satisfaction. She looked upon her past life ofsuffering, and felt as if Fate had cheated her. She, a peeress, had passedher life in poverty and suffering, with contempt from those over whom shehad superior rights; and the few years of the prosperous future before heroffered her poor compensation for the pinching past. But after suchselfish considerations, the maternal feeling came to her relief, and sherejoiced that _her son_ was a lord. But then came the terriblethought of his marriage to dash her joy and triumph. 

This was a source of grief to Oonah as well. "If he wasn't married, " shewould say to herself, "I might be _Lady_ Scatterbrain;" and the tearswould burst through poor Oonah's fingers as she held them up to her eyesand sobbed heavily, till the poor girl would try to gather consolationfrom the thought that, maybe, Andy's altered circumstances would make_her_ disregarded. "There would be plenty to have him now, " thoughtshe, "and he wouldn't think of me, maybe--so 't is well as it is. "

When Andy heard that he was a lord--a real lord--and, after the firstshock of astonishment, could comprehend that wealth and power were in hispossession, he, though the most interested person, never thought, as thetwo women had done, of the desperate strait in which his marriage placedhim, but broke out into short peals of laughter, and exclaimed in theintervals, "that it was mighty quare;" and when, after much questioning, any intelligible desire he had could be understood, the first one heclearly expressed was _"to have a goold watch. "_

He was made, however, to understand that other things than "goold watches"were of more importance; and the Squire, with his characteristic goodnature, endeavoured to open Andy's comprehension to the nature of hisaltered situation. This, it may be supposed, was rather a complicatedpiece of work, and too difficult to be set down in black and white; themost intelligible portions to Andy were his immediate removal fromservitude, and a ready-made suit of gentlemanly apparel, which made Andypay several visits to the looking-glass. Good-natured as the Squire was, it would have been equally awkward to him as to Andy for the newly fledgedlord, though a lord, to have a seat at his table, neither could he remainin an inferior position in his house; so Dick, who loved fun, volunteeredto take Andy under his especial care to London, and let him share hislodgings, as a bachelor may do many things which a man surrounded by hisfamily cannot. Besides, in a place distant from such extraordinary chancesand changes as those which befell our hero, the sudden and startlingdifference of position of the parties not being known renders it possiblefor a gentleman to do the good-natured thing which Dick undertook, withoutcompromising himself. In Dublin it would not have done for Dick Dawsonto allow the man who would have held his horse the day before, toshare the same board with him merely because Fortune had played oneof her frolics and made Andy a lord; but in London the case was different. 

To London therefore they proceeded. The incidents of the journey, sea-sickness included, which so astonished the new traveller, we pass over, aswell as the numberless mistakes in the great metropolis, which affordedDick plentiful amusement, though, in truth, Dick had better objects inview than laughing at Andy's embarrassments in his new position. He reallywished to help him in the difficult path into which the new lord had beenthrust, and did this in a merry sort of way more successfully than byserious drilling. It was hard to break Andy of the habit of saying"Misther Dick, " when addressing him, but, at last, "Misther Dawson" wasestablished. Eating with his knife, drinking as loudly as a horse, andother like accomplishments, were not so easily got under, yet it waswonderful how much he improved, as his shyness grew less, and hisconsciousness of being a lord grew stronger. 

But, if the good nature of Dick had not prompted him to take Andy intotraining, the newly discovered nobleman would not have long been in wantof society. It was wonderful how many persons were eager to show civilityto his lordship, and some amongst them even went so far as to discoverrelationship. Plenty were soon ready to take Lord Scatterbrain here, andescort him there, accompany him to exhibitions and other public places, and charmed all the time with his lordship's remarks--"they were sooriginal"--"quite delightful to meet something so fresh"--"how remarkablyclever the Irish were!" Such were among the observations his ignorantblunders produced; and he who, as Handy Andy, had been anathematised allhis life as a "stupid rascal, " "a blundering thief, " "a thick-headedbrute, " &c. , under the title of Lord Scatterbrain all of a suddenwas voted "vastly amusing--a little eccentric, perhaps, but _so_droll--in fact, so witty!" This was all very delightful for Andy--so delightful that he quite forgot Bridget _rhua_. But thatlady did not leave him long in his happy obliviousness. One day, while Dick was absent, and Andy rocking on a chair before the fire, twirling the massive gold chain of his gold watch round his forefinger, and uncoiling it again, his repose was suddenly disturbed by theappearance of Bridget herself, accompanied by _Shan More_ anda shrimp of a man in rusty black, who turned out to be a shabby attorneywho advanced money to convey his lady client and her brother to London, for the purpose of making a dash at the lord at once, and securing ahandsome sum by a _coup de main_. 

Andy, though taken by surprise, was resolute. Bitter words were exchanged;and as they seemed likely to lead to blows, Andy prudently laid hold ofthe poker, and, in language not quite suited to a noble lord, swore hewould see what the inside of _Shan More's_ head was made of, if heattempted to advance upon him. Bridget screamed and scolded, while theattorney endeavoured to keep the peace, and, beyond everything, urged LordScatterbrain to enter at once into written engagements for a handsomesettlement upon his "lady. "

"Lady!" exclaimed Andy; "oh!--a pretty _lady_ she is!"

"I'm as good a lady as you are a lord, anyhow, " cried Bridget. 

"Altercation will do no good, my lord and my lady, " said the attorney;"let me suggest the propriety of your writing an engagement at once;" andthe little man pushed pen, ink, and paper towards Andy. 

"I can't, I tell you!" cried Andy. 

"You must!" roared _Shan More_. 

"Bad luck to you, how can I when I never larned?"

"Your lordship can make your mark, " said the attorney. 

"'Faith I can--with a poker, " cried Andy; "and you'd better take care, master parchment. Make my mark, indeed!--do you think I'd disgrace theHouse o' Peers by lettin' on that a lord couldn't write?--Quit thebuildin', I tell you!"

In the midst of the row, which now rose to a tremendous pitch, Dickreturned; and after a severe reprimand to the pettifogger for his sinisterattempt on Andy, referred him to Lord Scatterbrain's solicitor. It was notsuch an easy matter to silence Bridget, who extended her claws towards herlord and master in a very menacing manner, calling down bitterimprecations on her own head if she wouldn't have her rights. 

Every now and then between the bursts of the storm Andy would exclaim, "Get out!"

"My lord, " said Dick, "remember your dignity. "

"Av coorse!" said Andy; "but still she must get out!"

The house was at last cleared of the uproarious party; but though Andy gotrid of their presence, they left their sting behind. Lord Scatterbrainfelt, for the first time, that a lord can be very unhappy. 

Dick hurried him away at once to the chambers of the law agent, but he, being closeted on some very important business with another client ontheir arrival, returned an answer to their application for a conference, which they forwarded through the double doors of this sanctum by a hard-looking man with a pen behind his ear, that he could not have the pleasureof seeing them till the next morning. Lord Scatterbrain passed a moreunhappy night than he had ever done in his life--even than that when hewas tied up to the old tree--croaked at by ravens, and the despised ofrats. 

Negotiations were opened the next day between the pettifogger onBridget's side and the law agent of the noble lord, and the arguments, _pro and con. , _ lay thus:

In the first place, the opening declaration was--Lord Scatterbrain neverwould live with the aforesaid Bridget. 

Answered--that nevertheless, as she was his lawful wife, a provisionsuitable to her rank must be made. 

They (the claimants) were asked to name a sum. 

The sum was considered exorbitant; it being argued that when her husbandhad determined never to live with her, he was in a far differentcondition, therefore it was unfair to seek so large a separate maintenancenow. 

The pettifogger threatened that Lady Scatterbrain would run in debt, whichLord Scatterbrain must discharge. My Lord's agent suggested that my Ladywould be advertised in the public papers, and the public cautioned againstgiving her credit. 

A sum could not be agreed upon, though a fair one was offered on Andy'spart; for the greediness of the pettifogger, who was to have a share ofthe plunder, made him hold out for more, and negotiations were broken offfor some days. 

Poor Andy was in a wretched state of vexation. It was bad enough that hewas married to this abominable woman, without an additional plague ofbeing persecuted by her. To such an amount this rose at last, that she andher big brother dodged him every time he left the house, so that in self-defence he was obliged to become a close prisoner in his own lodgings. Allthis at last became so intolerable to the captive, that he urged a speedysettlement of the vexatious question, and a larger separate maintenancewas granted to the detestable woman than would otherwise have been ceded, the only stipulation of a stringent nature made being, that LordScatterbrain should be free from the persecutions of his hateful wife forthe future. 

CHAPTER XLIX

Squire Egan, with his lady and Fanny Dawson, had now arrived in London;Murtough Murphy, too, had joined them, his services being requisite inworking the petition against the return of the sitting member for thecounty. This had so much promise of success about it, that the oppositeparty, who had the sheriff for the county in their interest, bethought ofa novel expedient to frustrate the petition when a reference to the pollwas required. 

They declared the principal poll-book was lost. 

This seemed not very satisfactory to one side of the committee, and thequestion was asked, "how could it be lost?" The answer was one which Irishcontrivance alone could have invented: _"It fell into a pot of broth, and the dog ate it. "_ [Footnote: If not this identical answer, somethinglike it was given on a disputed Irish election, before a Committee of theHouse of Commons. ]

This protracted the contest for some time; but eventually, in spite of thedog's devouring knowledge so greedily, the Squire was declared dulyelected and took the oaths and his seat for the county. 

It was hard on Sackville Scatterbrain to lose his seat in the house and apeerage, nearly at once; but the latter loss threw the former so far intothe shade, that he scarcely felt it. Besides, he could console himselfwith having buttered his crumbs pretty well in the marriage-market; and, with a rich wife, retired from senatorial drudgery to private repose, which was much more congenial to his easy temper. 

But while the Squire's happy family circle was rejoicing in his triumph--while he was invited to the Speaker's dinners, and the ladies were lookingforward to tickets for "the lantern, " their pleasure was suddenly dashedby fatal news from Ireland. 

A serious accident had befallen Major Dawson--so serious, that his lifewas despaired of; and an immediate return to Ireland by all who wereinterested in his life was the consequence. 

Though the suddenness of this painful event shocked his family, the actwhich caused it did not surprise them; for it was one against which MajorDawson had been repeatedly cautioned, involving a danger he had beenaffectionately requested not to tempt; but the habitual obstinacy of hisnature prevailed, and he persisted in doing that which his son--and hisdaughters--and friends--prophesied _would_ kill him some time orother, and _did_, at last. The Major had three little iron guns, mounted on carriages, on a terrace in front of his house; and it was hiswont to fire a salute on certain festival days from these guns, which, from age and exposure to the weather, became dangerous to use. It was invain that this danger was represented to him. He would reply, with hisaccustomed "Pooh, pooh! I have been firing these guns for forty years, andthey won't do me any harm now. "

This was the prime fault of the Major's character. Time and circumstanceswere never taken into account by him; what was done once, might be done_always_--_ought_ to be done always. The bare thought of changeof any sort, to him, was unbearable; and whether it was a rotten old lawor a rotten old gun, he would charge both up to the muzzle and fire away, regardless of consequences. The result was, that on a certain festival his_favourite_ gun burst in discharging; and the last mortal actof which the Major was conscious, was that of putting the port-fireto the touchhole, for a heavy splinter of iron struck him on the head, andthough he lived for some days afterwards, he was insensible. Before hischildren arrived he was no more; and the only duty left them to performwas the melancholy one of ordering his funeral. 

The obsequies of the old Major were honoured by a large and distinguishedattendance from all parts of the country; and amongst those who bore thepall was Edward O'Connor, who had the melancholy gratification oftestifying his respect beside the grave of Fanny's father, though thesevere old man had banished him from his presence during his lifetime. 

But now all obstacle to the union of Edward and Fanny was removed; andafter the lapse of a few days had softened the bitter grief which thissudden bereavement of her father had produced, Edward received a note fromDick, inviting him to the manor-house, where _all_ would be glad tosee him. 

In a few minutes after the receipt of that note Edward was in his saddle, and swiftly leaving the miles behind him till, from the top of a risingground, the roof of the manor-house appeared above the trees in which itwas embosomed. He had not till then slackened his speed; but now drawingrein, he proceeded at a slower pace towards the house he had not enteredfor some years, and the sight of which awakened such varied emotions. 

To return after long years of painful absence to some place which has beenthe scene of our former joys, and whence the force of circumstance, andnot choice, has driven us, is oppressive to the heart. There is a mixedsense of regret and rejoicing, which struggle for predominance; we rejoicethat our term of exile has expired, but we regret the years which thatexile has deducted from the brief amount of human life, never tobe recalled, and therefore as so much _lost_ to us. We think of thewrong or the caprice of which we have been the victims, and thoughts willstray across the most confiding heart, if friends shall meet as fondly asthey parted; or if time, while impressing deeper marks upon the_outward_ form, may have obliterated some impressions _within_. Who has returned after years of absence, however assured of theunflinching fidelity of the love he left behind, without saying tohimself, in the pardonable yearning of affection, "Shall I meet smiles asbright as those that used to welcome me? Shall I be pressed as fondlywithin the arms whose encompassment were to me the pale of all earthlyenjoyment?"

Such thoughts crowded on Edward as he approached the house. There was nota lane, or tree, or hedge, by the way, that had not for him itsassociation. He reached the avenue gate; as he flung it open he rememberedthe last time he passed it; Fanny had then leaned on his arm. He felthimself so much excited, that, instead of riding up to the house, he tookthe private path to the stables, and throwing down the reins to a boy, heturned into a shrubbery and endeavoured to recover his self-command beforehe should present himself. As he emerged from the sheltered path andturned into a walk which led to the garden, a small conservatory wasopened to his view, awaking fresh sensations. It was in that very place hehad first ventured to declare his love to Fanny. There she heard andfrowned not; there, where nature's choicest sweets were exhaling, he hadfirst pressed her to his heart, and thought the balmy sweetness of herlips beyond them all. He hurried forward in the enthusiasm therecollection recalled, to enter that spot consecrated in his memory; buton arriving at the door, he suddenly stopped, for he saw Fanny within. Shewas plucking a geranium--the flower she had been plucking some yearsbefore, when Edward said he loved her. She, all that morning, hadbeen under the influence of feelings similar to Edward's; had feltthe same yearnings--the same tender doubts--the same fond solicitudethat he should be the same Edward from whom she parted. But she thoughtof _more_ than this; with the exquisitely delicate contrivancebelonging to woman's nature, she wished to give him a signal of herfond recollection, and was plucking the flower she gathered when hedeclared his love, to place on her bosom when they should meet. Edwardfelt the meaning of her action, as the graceful hand broke the flower fromits stem. He would have rushed towards her at once, but that the deepmourning in which she was arrayed seemed to command a gentler approach;for grief commands respect. He advanced softly--she heard a gentle stepbehind her--turned--uttered a faint exclamation of joy, and sank into hisarms! In a few moments she recovered her consciousness, and opening hersweet eyes upon him, breathed softly, "dear Edward!"--and the lips which, in two words, had expressed so much, were impressed with a fervent kiss inthe blessed consciousness of possession, on that very spot where the firsttimid and doubting word of love had been spoken. 

In that moment he was rewarded for all his years of absence and anxiety. His heart was satisfied; he felt he was dear as ever to the woman heidolised, and the short and hurried beating of _both_ their heartstold more than words could express. Words!--what were words to them?--thought was too swift for their use, and feeling too strong for theirutterance; but they drank from each other's eyes large draughts ofdelight, and, in the silent pressure of each other's welcoming embrace, felt how truly they loved each other. 

He led her gently from the conservatory, and they exchanged words ofaffection "soft and low, " as they sauntered through the wooded path whichsurrounded the house. That live-long day they wandered up and downtogether, repeating again and again the anxious yearnings which occupiedtheir years of separation, yet asking each other was not all morethan repaid by the gladness of the present--

"Yet _how_ painful has been the past!" exclaimed Edward. 

"But _now!_" said Fanny, with a gentle pressure of her tiny hand onEdward's arm, and looking up to him with her bright eyes--"but_now!_"

"True, darling!" he cried; "'tis ungrateful to think of the past whileenjoying such a present and with such a future before me. Bless thatcheerful heart, and those hope-inspiring glances! Oh, Fanny! in thewilderness of life there are springs and palm-trees--you are both to me!and heaven has set its own mark upon you in those laughing blue eyes whichmight set despair at defiance. "

"Poetical as ever, Edward!" said Fanny, laughing. 

"Sit down, dearest, for a moment, on this old tree, beside me; 'tis notthe first time I have strung rhymes in your presence and your praise. " Hetook a small note-book from his pocket, and Fanny looked on smilingly asEdward's pencil rapidly ran over the leaf and traced the lover's tributeto his mistress. 

THE SUNSHINE IN YOU

I

 "It is sweet when we look round the wide world's waste To know that the desert bestows The palms where the weary heart may rest, The spring that in purity flows. And where have I found In this wilderness round That spring and that shelter so true; Unfailing in need, And my own, indeed?-- Oh! dearest, I've found it in you!

II

 "And, oh when the cloud of some darkening hour O'ershadows the soul with its gloom, Then where is the light of the vestal pow'r, The lamp of pale Hope to illume? Oh! the light ever lies In those bright fond eyes, Where Heaven has impressed its own blue As a seal from the skies As my heart relies On that gift of its sunshine in you!"

Fanny liked the lines, of course. "Dearest, " she said, "may I always provesunshine to you! Is it not a strange coincidence that these lines exactlyfit a little air which occurred to me some time ago?"

"'Tis odd, " said Edward; "sing it to me, darling. "

Fanny took the verses from his hand, and sung them to her own measure. Oh, happy triumph of the poet!--to hear his verses wedded to sweet sounds, andwarbled by the woman he loves! Edward caught up the strain, adding hisvoice to hers in harmony, and thus they sauntered homewards, trollingtheir ready-made duet together. There were not two happier hearts in theworld that day than those of Fanny Dawson and Edward O'Connor. 

CHAPTER L

Respect for the memory of Major Dawson of course prevented the immediatemarriage of Edward and Fanny; but the winter months passed cheerfully awayin looking forward to the following autumn which should witness thecompletion of their happiness. Though Edward was thus tempted by thesociety of the one he loved best in the world, it did not make him neglectthe duties he had undertaken in behalf of Gustavus. Not only did heprosecute his reading with him regularly, but he took no small pains inlooking after the involved affairs of the family, and strove to makesatisfactory arrangements with those whose claims were gnawing away theestate to nothing. Though the years of Gusty's minority were but few, still they would give the estate some breathing-time; and creditors, seeing the minor backed by a man of character, and convinced a sinceredesire existed to relieve the estate of its encumbrances and pay all justclaims, presented a less threatening front than hitherto, and listenedreadily to such terms of accommodation as were proposed to them. UncleRobert (for the breaking of whose neck Ratty's pious aspirations had beenraised) behaved very well on the occasion. A loan from him, and a partialsale of some of the acres, stopped the mouths of the greedy wolves whofatten on men's ruin, and time and economy were looked forward to for thedischarge of all other debts. Uncle Robert, having so far acted thefriend, was considered entitled to have a partial voice in the ordering ofthings at the Hall; and having a notion that an English accent wasgenteel, he desired that Gusty and Ratty should pass a year underthe roof of a clergyman in England, who received a limited numberof young gentlemen for the completion of their education. Gustavuswould much rather have remained near Edward O'Connor, who had alreadydone so much for him; but Edward, though he regretted parting withGustavus, recommended him to accede to his uncle's wishes, thoughhe did not see the necessity of an Irish gentleman being ashamed ofhis accent. 

The visit to England, however, was postponed till the spring, and thewinter months were used by Gustavus in availing himself as much as hecould of Edward's assistance in putting him through his classics, hispride prompting him to present himself creditably to the Englishclergyman. 

It was in vain to plead _such_ pride to Ratty, who paid more attentionto shooting than his lessons. His mother strove to persuade--Ratty wasdeaf. His "gran" strove to bribe--Ratty was incorruptible. Gustyargued--Ratty answered after his own fashion. 

"Why won't you learn even a little?"

"I'm to go to that 'English fellow' in spring, and I shall have no funthen, so I'm making good use of my time now. "

"Do you call it 'good use' to be so dreadfully idle and shamefullyignorant?"

"Bother!--the less I know, the more the English fellow will have to teachme, and Uncle Bob will have more worth for his money;" and then Rattywould whistle a jig, fling a fowling-piece over his shoulder, and shout"Ponto! Ponto! Ponto!" as he traversed the stable-yard; the delightedpointer would come bounding at the call, and, after circling round hisyoung master with agile grace and yelps of glee at the sight of the gun, dash forward to the well-known "bottoms" in eager expectancy of ducks andsnipe. How fared it all this time with the lord of Scatterbrain? He becameestablished, for the present, in a house that had been a long time to letin the neighbourhood, and his mother was placed at the head of it, andOonah still remained under his protection, though the daily sight of thegirl added to Andy's grief at the desperate plight in which his ill-starred marriage placed him, to say nothing of the constant annoyance ofhis mother's growling at him for his making "such a Judy of himself;" forthe dowager Lady Scatterbrain could not get rid of her vocabulary at once. Andy's only resource under these circumstances was to mount his horse andfly. 

As for the dowager Lady Scatterbrain, she had a carriage with "a picture"on it, as she called the coat of arms, and was fond of driving past thehouses of people who had been uncivil to her. Against Mrs. Casey (therenowned Matty Dwyer) she entertained an especial spite, in considerationof her treatment of her beautiful boy and her own pair of black eyes; soshe determined to "pay her off" in her own way, and stopping one day atthe hole in the hedge which served for entrance to the estate of the"three-cornered field, " she sent the footman in to say the _dowjer_Lady Scatter_breen_ wanted to speak with "Casey's wife. "

When the servant, according to instructions, delivered this message, hewas sent back with the answer, "that if any lady wanted to see Casey'swife, 'Casey's wife, ' was at home. "

"Oh, go back, and tell the poor woman I don't want to bring her to thedoor of my carriage, if it's inconvaynient. I only wished to give her alittle help; and tell her if she sends up eggs to the big house, LadyScatterbreen will pay her for them. "

When the servant delivered this message, Matty grew outrageous at themeans "my lady" took of crowing over her, and rushing to the door, withher face flushed with rage, roared out, "Tell the old baggage I want noneof her custom; let her lay eggs for herself. "

The servant staggered back in amaze; and Matty, feeling he would notdeliver her message, ran to the hole in the hedge and repeated her answerto my lady herself, with a great deal more which need not be recorded. Suffice it to say, my lady thought it necessary to pull up the glass, against which Matty threw a handful of mud; the servant jumped up on hisperch behind the carriage, which was rapidly driven away by the coachman, but not so fast that Matty could not, by dint of running, keep it "withinrange" for some seconds, during which time she contrived to pelt bothcoachman and footman with mud, and leave her mark on their new livery. This was a salutary warning to the old woman, who was more cautious in herdemonstrations of grandeur for the future. If she was stinted in theenjoyment of her new-born dignity abroad, she could indulge it at homewithout let or hindrance, and to this end asked Andy to let her have ahundred pounds, in one-pound notes, for a particular purpose. What thispurpose was no one was told or could guess, but for a good while after sheused to be closeted by herself for several hours during the day. 

Andy had his hours of retirement also, for with praiseworthy industry hestrove hard, poor fellow, to lift himself above the state of ignorance, and had daily attendance from the parish schoolmaster. The mysteries of"pothooks and hangers" and ABC weighed heavily on the nobleman's mind, which must have sunk under the burden of scholarship and penmanship, butfor the other "ship"--the horsemanship--which was Andy's daily self-established reward for his perseverance in his lessons. Besides he really_could_ ride; and as it was the only accomplishment of which he wasmaster, it was no wonder he enjoyed the display of it; and, to say thetruth, he did, and that on a first-rate horse too. Having appointedMurtough Murphy his law-agent, he often rode over to the town to talk withhim, and as Murtough could have some fun and thirteen and fourpence alsoper visit, he was always glad to see his "noble friend. " The high road didnot suit Andy's notion of things; he preferred the variety, shortness, anddiversion of going across the country on these occasions; and in one ofthese excursions, in the most secluded portion of his ride, whichunavoidably lay through some quarries and deep broken ground, he met"Ragged Nance, " who held up her finger as he approached the gorge of thislonely dell, in token that she would speak with him. Andy pulled up. 

"Long life to you, my lord, " said Nance, dropping a deep curtsey, "andsure I always liked you since the night you was so bowld for the sake ofthe poor girl--the young lady, I mane, now, God bless her--and I justwish to tell you, my lord, that I think you might as well not be goingthese lonely ways, for I see _them_ hanging about here betimes, thatmaybe it would not be good for your health to meet; and sure, my lord, itwould be a hard case if you were killed now, havin' the luck of the sickcalf that lived all the winther and died in the summer. "

"Is it that big blackguard, _Shan More_, you mane?" said Andy. 

"No less, " said Nance--growing deadly pale as she cast a piercing glanceinto the dell, and cried, in a low, hurried tone--"Talk of the divil--andthere he is--I see him peep out from behind a rock. "

"He's running this way, " said Andy. 

"Then you run the other way, " said Nance; "look there--I see him strive tohide a blunderbuss under his coat--gallop off, for the love o' God! orthere'll be murther. "

"Maybe there will be that same, " said Andy, "if I leave you here, and hesuspects you gave me the hard word. " [Footnote: "Hard word" implies acaution. ]

"Never mind me, " said Nance, "save yourself--see, he's moving fast, he'llbe near enough to you soon to fire. "

"Get up behind me, " said Andy; "I won't leave you here. "

"Run, I tell you. "

"I won't. "

"God bless you, then, " said the woman, as Andy held out his hand andgripped hers firmly. 

"Put your foot on mine, " said Andy. 

The woman obeyed, and was soon seated behind our hero, gripping him fastby the waist, while he pushed his horse to a fast canter. 

"Hold hard now, " said Andy, "for there's a stiff jump here. " As heapproached the ditch of which he spoke, two men sprang up from it, and onefired, as Andy cleared the leap in good style, Nance holding on gallantly. The horse was not many strokes on the opposite side, when another shot wasfired in their rear, followed by a scream from the woman. To Andy'sinquiry, if she was "kilt, " she replied in the negative, but said "theyhurt her sore, " and she was "bleeding a power;" but that she could stillhold on, however, and urged him to speed. The clearance of one or two moreleaps gave her grievous pain; but a large common soon opened before them, which was skirted by a road leading directly to a farm-house, where Andyleft the wounded woman, and then galloped off for medical aid; this soonarrived, and the wound was found not to be dangerous, though painful. Thebullet had struck and pierced a tin vessel of a bottle form, in whichNance carried the liquid gratuities of the charitable, and this not onlydeadened the force of the ball, but glanced it also; and the escapement ofthe butter-milk, which the vessel contained, Nance had mistaken forthe effusion of her own blood. It was a clear case, however, thatif Nance had not been sitting behind Andy, Lord Scatterbrain wouldhave been a dead man, so that his gratitude and gallantry towards thepoor beggar woman proved the means of preserving his own life. 

CHAPTER LI

The news of the attack on Lord Scatterbrain ran over the country likewildfire, and his conduct throughout the affair raised his characterwonderfully in the opinion of all classes. Many who had hitherto heldaloof from the mushroom lord, came forward to recognise the manly fellow, and cards were left at "the big house, " which were never seen therebefore. The magistrates were active in the affair, and a reward wasimmediately offered for the apprehension of the offenders; but before anyactive steps could be taken by the authorities, Andy, immediately afterthe attack, collected a few stout fellows himself, and knowing where theden of Shan and his miscreants lay, he set off at the head of his party totry if he could not secure them himself; but before he did this, hedespatched a vehicle to the farmhouse, where poor Nance lay wounded, withorders that she should be removed to his own house, the doctor having saidthat the transit would not be injurious. 

A short time served to bring Andy and his followers to the private still, where a little looking about enabled them to discover the entrance, whichwas covered by some large stones, and a bunch of furze placed as a mask tothe opening. It was clear that it was impossible for any persons inside tohave thus covered the entrance, and it suggested the possibility that someof its usual inmates were then absent. Nevertheless, having such desperatecharacters to deal with, it was a service of danger to be leader in thedescent to the cavern when the opening was cleared; but Andy was the firstto enter, which he did boldly, only desiring his attendants to followhim quickly, and give him support in case of resistance. A lanternhad been provided, Andy knowing the darkness of the den; and theparty was thereby enabled to explore with celerity and certaintythe hidden haunt of the desperadoes. The ashes of the fire were yetwarm, but no one was to be seen, till Andy, drawing the screen ofthe bed, discovered a man lying in a seemingly helpless state, breathingwith difficulty, and the straw about him dabbled with blood. On attemptingto lift him, the wretch groaned heavily and muttered, "D--n you, let me alone--you've done for me--I'm dying. "

The man was gently carried from the cave to the open air, which seemedslightly to revive him. His eyes opened heavily, but closed again; yetstill he breathed. His wounds were staunched as well as the limited meansand knowledge of the parties present allowed; and the ladder, drawn upfrom the cave and overlaid with tufts of heather, served to bear thesufferer to the nearest house, whence Andy ordered a mounted messenger tohurry for a doctor. The man seemed to hear what was going forward, for hefaintly muttered, "the priest--the priest. "

Andy, anxious to procure this most essential comfort to the dying man, went himself in search of Father Blake, whom he found at home, and whosuggested that a magistrate might be also useful upon the occasion; and asMerryvale lay not much out of the way, Andy made a detour to obtain thepresence of Squire Egan, while Father Blake pushed directly onward uponhis ghostly mission. 

Andy and the Squire arrived soon after the priest had administeredspiritual comfort to the sufferer, who still retained sufficient strengthto make his depositions before the Squire, the purport of which turned outto be of the utmost importance to Andy. 

This man, it appeared, _was the husband of Bridget_, who hadreturned from transportation, and sought his wife and her dear brother, and his former lawless associates, on reaching Ireland. On findingBridget had married again, his anger at her infidelity was endeavouredto be appeased by the representations made to him that it was a "goodjob, " inasmuch as "the lord" had been screwed out of a good sum ofmoney by way of separate maintenance, and that he would share theadvantage of that. When matters were more explained, however, and theconvict found this money was divided among so many, who all claimed rightof share in the plunder, his discontent returned. In the first place, thepettifogger made a large haul for his services. Shan More swore it washard if a woman's own brother was not to be the better for her luck; andLarry Hogan claimed hush-money, for he could prove Bridget's marriage, andso upset their scheme of plunder. The convict maintained his claim ashusband was stronger than any; but this, all the others declared, was anoutlandish notion he brought back with him from foreign parts, and did notprevail in their code of laws by any manner o' means, and even went so faras to say they thought it hard, after they had "done the job, " that he wasto come in and lessen their profit, which he would, as they were willingto give an even share of the spoil; and after that, he must be the mostdiscontented villain in the world if he was not pleased. 

The convict feigned contentment, but meditated at once revenge against hiswife and the gang, and separate profit for himself. He thought he mightstipulate for a good round sum from Lord Scatterbrain, as he could provehim free of his supposed matrimonial engagement, and inwardly resolved hewould soon pay a visit to his lordship. But his intentions were suspectedby the gang, and a strict watch kept upon him; and though hisdissimulation and contrivance were of no inferior order, Larry Hogan washis overmatch, and the convict was detected in having been so nearLord Scatterbrain's dwelling, that they feared their secret, if notalready revealed, was no longer to be trusted to their new confederate'skeeping; and it was deemed advisable to knock him on the head, andshoot my lord, which they thought would prevent all chance of theinvalidity of the marriage being discovered, and secure the futurepayment of the maintenance. 

How promptly the murderous determination was acted upon, the precedingevents prove. Andy's courage in the first part of the affair saved hislife; his promptness in afterwards seeking to secure the offenders led tothe important discovery he had just made; and as the convict's depositionscould be satisfactorily backed by proofs which he showed the means ofobtaining, Andy was congratulated heartily by the Squire and Father Blake, and rode home in almost delirious delight at the prospect of making Oonahhis wife. On reaching the stables, he threw himself from his saddle, letthe horse make his own way to his stall, dashed through the back hall, andnearly broke his neck in tumbling up-stairs, burst open the drawing-roomdoor, and made a rush upon Oonah, whom he hugged and kissed mostoutrageously, amidst exclamations of the wildest affection. 

Oonah, half strangled and struggling for breath, at last freed herselffrom his embraces, and asked him, angrily, what he was about--in whichinquiry she was backed by his mother. 

Andy answered by capering round the room, shouting, "Hurroo! I'm notmarried at all--hurroo!" He turned over the chairs, upset the tables, threw the mantelpiece ornaments into the fire, seized the poker and tongs, and banged them together as he continued dancing and shouting. 

Oonah and his mother stood gazing at his antics in trembling amazement, till at last the old woman exclaimed, "Holy Vargin! he's gone mad!"whereupon she and her niece set up a violent screaming, which calledAndy back to his propriety, and, as well as his excitement wouldpermit, he told them the cause of his extravagant joy. His wonderand delight were shared by his mother and the blushing Oonah, whodid not struggle so hard in Andy's embrace on his making a secondvehement demonstration of his love for her. 

"Let me send for Father Blake, my jewel, " said Andy, "and I'll marry youat once. "

His mother reminded him he must first have his present marriage provedinvalid. Andy uttered several pieces of _original_ eloquence on "thelaw's delay. "

"Well, anyhow, " said he, "I'll drink your health, my darling girl, thisday, as Lady Scatterbrain--for you must consider yourself as sitch. "

"Behave yourself, my lord, " said Oonah, archly. 

"Bother!" cried Andy, snatching another kiss. 

"Hillo!" cried Dick Dawson, entering at the moment, and seeing theromping-match. "You're losing no time, I see, Andy. "

Oonah was running from the room, laughing and blushing, when Dickinterposed, and cried, "Ah, don't go, 'my lady, ' that _is to be_. "

Oonah slapped down the hand that barred her progress, exclaiming, "You'rejust as bad as he is, Mister Dawson!" and ran away. 

Dick had ridden over, on hearing the news, to congratulate Andy, andconsented to remain and dine with him. Oonah had rather, after what hadtaken place, he had not been there, for Dick backed Andy in his tormentingthe girl and joined heartily in drinking to Andy's toast, which, accordingto promise, he gave to the health of the future Lady Scatterbrain. 

It was impossible to repress Andy's wild delight; and in the excitement ofthe hour he tossed off bumper after bumper to all sorts of love-makingtoasts, till he was quite overcome by his potations, and fit for no placebut bed. To this last retreat of "the glorious" he was requested toretire, and, after much coaxing, consented. He staggered over to thewindow-curtain, which he mistook for that of the bed; in vain they wantedto lead him elsewhere--he would sleep in no other bed but _that_--and, backing out at the window-pane, he made a smash, of which he seemedsensible, for he said it wasn't a fair trick to put pins in the bed. "Iknow it was Oonah did that!--hip!--ha! ha! Lady Scatterbrain!--never mind--hip!--I'll have my revenge on you yet!"

They could not get him up-stairs, so his mother suggested he should sleepin her room, which was on the same floor, for that night, and at last hewas got into the apartment. There he was assisted to disrobe, as he stoodswaying about at a dressing-table. Chancing to lay his hands on apill-box, he mistook it for his watch. 

"Stop--stop!" he stammered forth--"I must wind my watch;" and, suiting theaction to the word, he began twisting about the pill-box, the lid of whichcame off and the pills fell about the floor. "Oh, murder!" said LordScatterbrain, "the works of my watch are fallin' about the flure--pickthem up--pick them up--pick them up--" He could speak no more, andbecoming quite incapable of all voluntary action, was undressed and put tobed, the last sound which escaped him being a faint muttering--"pick themup. "

CHAPTER THE LAST

The day following the eventful one just recorded, the miserable convictbreathed his last. A printed notice was posted in all the adjacentvillages, offering a reward for the apprehension of _Shan More_ and"other persons unknown, " for their murderous assault; and a small rewardwas promised for such "private information as might lead to theapprehension of the aforesaid, " &c. , &c. Larry Hogan at once came forwardand put the authorities on the scent, but still Shan and his accomplicesremained undiscovered. Larry's information on another subject, however, was more effective. He gave his own testimony to the previous marriage ofBridget, and pointed out the means of obtaining more, so that, ere long, Lord Scatterbrain was a "free man. " Though the depositions of the murderedman did not directly implicate Larry in the murderous attack, still itshowed that he had participated in much of their villany; but, as indifficult cases, we must put up with bad instruments to reach the ends ofjustice, so this rascal was useful for his evidence and privateinformation, and got his reward. 

But he got his reward in more ways than one. He knew that he dare notlonger remain in the country after what had taken place, and set offdirectly for Dublin by the mail, intending to proceed to England; butEngland he never reached. As he was proceeding down the Custom-house quayin the dusk of the evening, to get on ship-board, his arms were suddenlyseized and drawn behind him by a powerful grasp, while a woman in frontdrew a handkerchief across his mouth, and stifled his attempted cries. His bundle was dragged from him, and the woman ransacked his pocketsbut they contained but a few shillings, Larry having hidden the wagesof his treachery to his confederates in the folds of his neck-cloth. To pluck this from his throat, many a fierce wrench was made by thewoman, when her attempts on the pockets proved worthless; but thehandkerchief was knotted so tightly that she could not disengage it. Theapproach of some passengers along the quay alarmed the assailants ofLarry, who, ere the iron grip released him, heard a deep curse in his eargrowled by a voice he well knew, and then he felt himself hurled withgigantic force from the quay wall. Before the base, cheating, faithlessscoundrel could make one exclamation, he was plunged into the Liffey--evenbefore one mental aspiration for mercy, he was in the throes ofsuffocation! The heavy splash in the water caught the attention of thosewhose approach had alarmed the murderers, and seeing a man and womanrunning, a pursuit commenced, which ended by Newgate having two freshtenants the next day. 

And so farewell to the entire of the abominable crew, whose evil doingsand merited fates have only been recorded when it became necessary to ourstory. It is better to leave the debased and the profligate in oblivionthan drag their doings before the day; and it is with happy consciousnessan Irishman may assert, that there is plenty of subject afforded by Irishcharacter and Irish life honourable to the land, pleasing to the narrator, and sufficiently attractive to the reader, without the unwholesomeexaggerations of crime which too often disfigure the fictions which passunder the title of "Irish, " alike offensive to truth as to taste--alikeinjurious both for private and public considerations. 

 * * * * *

It was in the following autumn that a particular chariot drove up to thedoor of the Victoria Hotel, on the shore of Killarney lake. A young manof elegant bearing handed a very charming young lady from the chariot;aand that kindest and mos accommodating of hostesses, Mrs. F----, welcomedthe fresh arrival with her good-humoured and smiling face. 

Why, amidst the crowd of arrivals at the Victoria, one chariot should beremarkable beyond another, arose from its quiet elegance, which mightstrike even a casual observer; but the intelligent Mrs. F---- saw withhalf an eye the owners must be high-bred people. To the apartments alreadyengaged for them they were shown; but few minutes were lost within doorswhere such matchless natural beauty tempted them without. A boat wasimmediately ordered, and then the newly arrived visitors were soon on thelake. The boatmen had already worked hard that day, having pulled oneparty completely round the lakes--no trifling task; but the hardy fellowsagain bent to their oars, and made the sleeping waters wake in goldenflashes to the sunset, till told they need not pull so hard. 

"Faith, then, we'll _plaze_ you, sir, " said the stroke-oarsman, witha grin, "for we have had quite enough of it to-day. "

"Do you not think, Fanny, " said Edward O'Connor, for it was he who spoketo his bride, "Do you not think 'tis more in unison with the tranquil hourand the coming shadows, to glide softly over the lulled waters?"

"Yes, " she replied, "it seems almost sacrilege to disturb this heavenlyrepose by the slightest dip of the oar--see how perfectly that lovelyisland is reflected. "

"That is Innisfallin, my lady, " said the boatman, hearing her allude tothe island, "where the hermitage is. " As he spoke, a gleam of lightsparkled on the island, which was reflected on the water. 

"One might think the hermit was there too, " said Fanny, "and had justlighted a lamp for his vigils. "

"That's the light of the guide that shows the place to the quality, mylady, and lives on the island always in a corner of the ould ruin. And, indeed, if you'd like to see the island this evening, there's time enough, and 'twould be so much saved out of to-morrow. "

The boatman's advice was acted upon, and as they glided towards theisland, Fanny and Edward gazed delightedly on the towering summits ofMagillicuddy's reeks, whose spiral pinnacles and graceful declivities toldout sharply against the golden sky behind them, which, being perfectlyreflected in the calm lake, gave a grand chain of mountain the appearanceof being suspended in glowing heather, for the lake was one bright ambersheet of light below, and the mountains one massive barrier of shade, tillthey cut against the light above. The boat touched the shore ofInnisfallin, and the delighted pair of visitants hurried to its westernpoint to catch the sunset, lighting with its glory the matchless foliageof this enchanting spot, where every form of grace exhaustless nature candisplay is lavished on the arborial richness of the scene, which, in itsunequalled luxuriance, gives to a fanciful beholder the idea that the_trees themselves have a conscious pleasure in growing there. _ Oh!what a witching spot is Innisfallin!

Edward had never seen anything so beautiful in his life; and with thewoman he adored resting on his arm, he quoted the lines which Moore hasapplied to the Vale of Cashmere, as he asked Fanny would she not like tolive there. 

"Would you?" said Fanny. 

Edward answered--

 "If woman can make the worst wilderness dear, Think--think what a heaven she must make of Cashmere. "

They lingered on the island till the moon arose, and then re-embarked. Thesilvery light exhibited the lake under another aspect, and the dimlydiscovered forms of the lofty hills rose one above another, tier upontier, circling the waters in their shadowy frame, the beauty of the scenereached a point of sublimity which might be called holy. As they returnedtowards the shelving strand, a long row of peeled branches, standingupright in the water, attracted Fanny's attention, and she asked theiruse. 

"All the use in life, my lady, " said the boatman, "for without the samebranches, maybe it's not home to-night you'd get. "

On Fanny inquiring further the meaning of the boatman's answer, shelearned that the sticks were placed there to indicate the only channelwhich permitted a boat to approach the shore on that side of the lake, where the water was shoal, while in other parts the depth had never beenfathomed. 

An early excursion on the water was planned for the morning, and Edwardand Fanny were wakened from their slumbers by the tones of the bugle; asoft Irish melody being breathed by Spillan, followed by a more sportiveone from the other minstrel of the lake, Ganzy. 

The lake now appeared under another aspect--the morning sun and morningbreeze were upon it, and the sublimity with which the shades of eveninghad invested the mountains was changed to that of the most variedrichness; for Autumn hung out its gaudy banner on the lofty hills, crownedto their summits with all variety of wood, which, though tinged by thedeclining year, had scarcely shed one leafy honour. The day was glorious, and the favouring breeze enabled the boat to career across the sparklinglake under canvas, till the overhanging hills of the opposite side robbedthem of their aerial wings, and the sail being struck, the boatmen bent totheir oars. As they passed under a promontory, clothed from the water'sedge to its topmost ridge with the most luxuriant vegetation, it waspointed out to the lady as "the minister's back. "

"'T is a strange name, " said Fanny. "Do you know why it is called so?"

"Faix, I dunna, my lady--barrin' that it is the best covered back in thecountry. But here we come to the _aichos_, " said he, resting on hisoars. The example was followed by his fellows, and the bugler, lifting hisinstrument to his lips, gave one long well-sustained blast. It rang acrossthe waters gallantly. It returned in a few seconds with such unearthlysweetness, as though the spirit of the departed sound had become heavenly, and revisited the place where it had expired. 

Fanny and Edward listened breathlessly. 

The bugle gave out its notes again in the well-known "call, " and assweetly as before the notes were returned distinctly. 

And now a soft and slow and simple melody stole from the exquisitelyplayed bugle, and phrase after phrase was echoed from the respondinghills. How many an emotion stirred within Edward's breast, as the meltingmusic fell upon his ear! In the midst of matchless beauties he heard thematchless strains of his native land, and the echoes of her old hillsresponding to the triumphs of her old bards. The air, too, bore with ithistoric associations;--it told a tale of wrong and of suffering. Thewrong has ceased, the suffering is past, but the air which records themstill lives. 

"Oh! triumph of the minstrel!" exclaimed Edward in delight. "The tyrantcrumbles in his coffin, while the song of the bard survives! The memory ofa sceptred ruffian is endlessly branded by a simple strain, while many ofthe elaborate chronicles of his evil life have passed away and aremouldering like himself. "

Scarcely had the echoes of this exquisite air died away, when theentrancement it carried was rudely broken by one of the vulgarest tunesbeing brayed from a bugle in a boat which was seen rounding the headlandof the wooded promontory. Edward and Fanny writhed, and put their hands totheir ears. "Give way, boys!" said Edward; "for pity's sake get away fromthese barbarians. Give way!"

Away sprang the boat. To the boatman's inquiry whether they should stop at"Lady Kenmare's Cottage, " Fanny said "no, " when she found on inquiry itwas a particularly "show-place, " being certain the vulgar party following_would_ stop there, and therefore time might be gained in gettingaway from such disagreeable followers. 

Dinas Island, fringed with its lovely woods, excited their admiration, asthey passed underneath its shadows, and turned into Turk Lake; here thelabyrinthine nature of the channels through which they had been windingwas changed for a circular expanse of water, over which the loftymountain, whence it takes its name, towers in all its wild beauty of wood, and rock, and heath. 

At a certain part of the lake, the boatmen, without any visible cause, rested on their oars. On Edward asking them why they did not pull, hereceived this touching answer:--

"Sure, your honour would not have us disturb Ned Macarthy's grave!"

"Then a boatman was drowned here, I suppose?" said Edward. 

"Yes, your honour. " The boatman then told how the accident occurred "oneday when there was a stag-hunt on the lake;" but as the anecdote struckEdward so forcibly that he afterwards recorded it in verse, we will givethe story after his fashion. 

MACARTHY'S GRAVE

I

 The breeze was fresh, the morn was fair, The stag had left his dewy lair; To cheering horn and baying tongue, Killarney's echoes sweetly rung. With sweeping oar and bending mast, The eager chase was following fast; When one light skiff a maiden steer'd Beneath the deep wave disappeared: Wild shouts of terror wildly ring, A boatman brave, with gallant spring And dauntless arm, the lady bore; But he who saved--was seen no more!

II

 Where weeping birches wildly wave, There boatmen show their brother's grave; And while they tell the name he bore, Suspended hangs the lifted oar; The silent drops they idly shed Seem like tears to gallant Ned; And while gently gliding by, The tale is told with moistened eye. No ripple on the slumbering lake Unhallow'd oar doth ever make; All undisturb'd, the placid wave Flows gently o'er Macarthy's grave. 

Winding backwards through the channels which lead the explorers of thisscene of nature's enchantment from the lower to the upper lake, thesurpassing beauty of the "Eagle's nest" burst on their view; and as theyhovered under its stupendous crags, clustering with all variety ofverdure, the bugle and the cannon awoke the almost endless reverberationof sound which is engendered here. Passing onward, a sudden change iswrought; the soft beauty melts gradually away, and the scene hardens intofrowning rocks and steep acclivities, making a befitting vestibule to thebold and bleak precipices of "The Reeks, " which form the western barrierof this upper lake, whose savage grandeur is rendered more striking by thescenes of fairy-like beauty left behind. But even here, in the midst ofthe mightiest desolation, the vegetative vigour of the numerous islandsproves the wondrous productiveness of the soil in these regions. 

On their return, a great commotion was observable as they approached therapids formed by the descending waters of the upper lake to the lower, andthey were hailed and warned by some of the peasants from the shore thatthey must not attempt the rapids at present, as a boat, which had justbeen upset, lay athwart the passage. On hearing this, Edward and Fannylanded upon the falls, and walked towards the old bridge, where allwas bustle and confusion, as the dripping passengers were draggedsafely to shore from the capsized boat, which had been upset by theprincipal gentleman of the party, whose vulgar trumpetings had sodisturbed the delight of Edward and Fanny, who soon recognised therenowned Andy as the instigator of the bad music and the cause of theaccident. Yes, Lord Scatterbrain, true to his original practice, wasauthor of all. 

Nevertheless, he and his party, soused over head and ears as they were, took the thing in good humour, which was unbroken even by theirrepressible laughter which escaped from Edward and Fanny, as theyapproached and kindly offered assistance. An immediate removal to theneighbouring cottage on Dinas Island was recommended, particularly as LadyScatterbrain was in a delicate situation, as well, indeed, as Mrs. Durfy, who, with her dear Tom, had joined Lord Scatterbrain's party of pleasure. 

On reaching the cottage, sufficient change of clothes was obtained toprevent evil consequences from the ducking. This, under ordinarycircumstances, might not have been easy for so many; but, fortunately, Lord Scatterbrain had ordered a complete dinner from the hotel to beserved in the cottage, and some of the assistants from the Victoria, whowere necessarily present, helped to dress more than the dinner. Whatbetween cookmaids and waiters, the care-taker of the cottage and theboatmen, bodies, and skirts, jackets and other conveniences, enabled theparty to sit down to dinner in company, until fire could mend the mistakeof his lordship. Edward and Fanny courteously joined the party; and thehonour of their company was sensibly felt by Andy and Oonah, who wouldhave borne a ducking a day for the honour of having Fanny and Edward astheir guests. Oonah was by nature a nice creature, and adapted herself toher elevated position with a modest ease that was surprising. Even Andywas by this time able to conduct himself tolerably well at table--only onthat particular day he did make a mistake; for when salmon (which isserved at Killarney in all sorts of variety) made its appearance for thefirst time in the novel form "_en papillote_, " Andy ate paper andall. He refused a second cutlet, however, saying he "_thought the skintough_. " The party, however, passed off mirthfully, the very accidenthelping the fun; for, instead of any one being called by name, the "ladyin the jacket, " or the "gentleman in the bedgown, " were the terms ofaddress; and, after a merrily spent evening, the beds of the Victoria gavesleep and pleasing dreams to the sojourners of Killarney. 

[Illustration: The Party at Killarney]

Kind reader! the shortening space we have prescribed to our volume warnsus we must draw our story to an end. Nine months after this Killarneyexcursion, Lord Scatterbrain met Dick Dawson near Mount Eskar, where LordScatterbrain had ridden to make certain inquiries about Mrs. O'Connor'shealth. Dick wore a smiling countenance, and to Andy's inquiry answered, "All right, and doing as well as can be expected. "

Lord Scatterbrain, wishing to know whether it was a boy or a girl, madethe inquiry in the true spirit of Andyism--"Tell me, Misther Dawson, _are you an uncle or an aunt?_"

Andy's mother died soon after of the cold caught by her ducking. On herdeath-bed she called Oonah to her, and said, "I leave you this quilt, _alanna_--'t is worth more than it appears. The hundred-pound notesAndy gave me I quilted into the lining, so that if I lived poor all mylife till lately, I died under a quilt of banknotes, anyhow. "

Uncle Bob was gathered to his fathers also, and left the bulk of hisproperty to Augusta, so that Furlong had to regret his contemptibleconduct in rejecting her hand. Augusta indulged in a spite to all mankindfor the future, enjoying her dogs and her independence, and defying Hymenand hydrophobia for the rest of her life. 

Gusty went on profiting by the early care of Edward O'Connor, whosefriendship was ever his dearest possession; and Ratty, always wild, expressed a desire for leading a life of enterprise. As they are both"Irish heirs, " as well as Lord Scatterbrain, and heirs under verydifferent circumstances, it is not improbable that in our future"accounts" something may yet be heard of them, and the grateful authoronce more meet his kind readers. 

THE END