TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY

BY WILLIAM CARLETON

PART VI

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THE POOR SCHOLAR. 

One day about the middle of November, in the year 18--, Dominick M'Evoyand his son Jemmy were digging potatoes on the side of a hard, barrenhill, called Esker Dhu. The day was bitter and wintry, the menwere thinly clad, and as the keen blast swept across the hill withconsiderable violence, the sleet-like rain which it bore along peltedinto their garments with pitiless severity. The father had advancedinto more than middle age; and having held, at a rack-rent the miserablewaste of farm which he occupied, he was compelled to exert himselfin its cultivation, despite either obduracy of soil, or inclemency ofweather. This day, however, was so unusually severe, that the old manbegan to feel incapable of continuing his toil. The son bore it better;but whenever a cold rush of stormy rain came over them, both werecompelled to stand with their sides against it, and their heads turned, so as that the ear almost rested back upon the shoulder in order tothrow the rain off their faces. Of each, however, that cheek which wasexposed to the rain and storm was beaten into a red hue; whilst theother part of their faces was both pale and hunger-pinched. 

The father paused to take breath, and, supported by his spade, lookeddown upon the sheltered inland which, inhabited chiefly by Prostestantsand Presbyterians, lay rich and warm-looking under him. 

"Why, thin, " he exclaimed to the son--a lad about fifteen, --"sure I knowwell I oughtn't to curse yez, anyway, you black set! an yit, the Lordforgive me my sins, I'm almost timpted to give yez a volley, an' thatfrom my heart out! Look at thim, Jimmy agra--only look at the blackthieves! how warm an' wealthy they sit there in our ould possessions, an' here we must toil till our fingers are worn to the stumps, upon thisthievin' bent. The curse of Cromwell on it!--You might as well ax thedivil for a blessin', as expect anything like a dacent crop out ofit. --Look at thim two ridges!--such a poor sthring o' praties is init!--one here an' one there--an' yit we must turn up the whole ridge forthat same! Well, God sind the time soon, when the right will take place, Jimmy agra!"

"An' doesn't Pasthorini say it? Sure whin Twenty-five comes, we'll haveour own agin: the right will overcome the might--the bottomless pit willbe locked--ay, double: boulted, if St. Pettier gets the kays, for he'sthe very boy that will accommodate the heretics wid a warm corner; an'yit, faith, there's: many o' thim that myself 'ud put in a good wordfor, affcher all. "

"Throth, an' here's the same, Jimmy. There's Jack Stuart, an' if there'sa cool corner in hell, the same Jack will get it--an' that he may, Ipray Gor this day, an' amin. The Lord sind it to him! for he richlydesarves it. Kind, neighborly, and frindly, is he an' all belongin' tohim; an' I wouldn't be where a hard word 'ud be spoken of him, nor a dogin connection wid the family ill-treated; for which reason may he get acool corner in hell, I humbly sufflicate. "

"What do you think of Jack Taylor? Will he be cosey?"

"Throth, I doubt so--a blessed youth is Jack: yit myself 'ud hardly wishit. He's a heerum-skeemm, divil-may-care fellow, no doubt of it, an'laughs at the priests, which same I'm thinkin' will get him belowstairs more nor a new-milk heat, any way; but thin agin, he thrates thimdacent, an' gives thim good dinners, an' they take all this rollikenin good part, so that it's likely he's not in airnest in it, and surelythey ought to know best, Jimmy. "

"What do you think of Yallow Sam?--honest Sam, that they say was bornwidout a heart, an' carries the black wool in his ears, to keep outthe cries of the widows an' the orphans, that are long rotten in theirgraves through his dark villany!--He'll get a snug birth!"*

 * This was actually said of the person alluded to--a celebrated usurer and agent to two or three estates, who was a little deaf, and had his ears occasionally stuffed with black wool. 

"Yallow Sam, " replied the old man, slowly, and a dark shade of intensehatred blackened his weather-beaten countenance, as he looked in thedirection from which the storm blew: "'twas he left us where we'restandin', Jimmy--undher this blast, that's cowldher an' bittherer nor astep-mother's breath, this cuttin' day! 'Twas he turned us on the wideworld, whin your poor mother was risin' out of her faver. 'Twas hesquenched the hearth, whin she wasn't able to lave the house, till Icarried her in my arms into Paddy Cassidy's--the tears fallin' from myeyes upon her face, that I loved next to God. Didn't he give our farm tohis bastard son, a purple Orangeman? Out we went, to the winds an' skiesof heaven, bekase the rich bodagh made intherest aginst us. I tould himwhin he chated me out o' my fifteen goolden guineas, that his masther, the landlord, should hear of it; but I could never get next or near tohim, to make my complaint. Eh? A snug birth! I'm only afeard that hellhas no corner hot enough for him--but lave that to the divil himself:if he doesn't give him the best thratement hell can afford, why I'm nothere. "

"Divil a one o' the ould boy's so bad as they say, father; he gives itto thim hot an' heavy, at all evints. "

"Why even if he was at a loss about Sam, depind upon it, he'd get a hintfrom his betthers above, that 'ud be sarviceable. "

"They say he visits him as it is, an' that Sam can't sleep widout someone in the room wid him. Dan Philips says the priest was there, an'had a Mass in every room in the house; but Charley Mack tells me there'sno! thruth in it. He was advised to it, he says; but it seems the ouldboy has too strong ahoult of him, for Sam said he'd have the divil anytime sooner nor the priest, and its likest what he would say. "

"Och, och, Jimmy, avick, I'm tir'd out! We had betther give in; theday's too hard, an' there's no use in standin' agin the weather that'sin it. Lave the ould villain to God, who he can't chate, any way. "

"Well, may our curse go along wid the rest upon him, for dhrivin' us tosich an unnatural spot as this! Hot an' heavy, into the sowl an'marrow of him may it penethrate. An' sure that's no more than all thecounthry's wishin' him, whether or not--not to mintion the curses that'srisin' out o' the grave agin him, loud an' piercin'!"

"God knows it's not slavin' yourself on sich a day as this you'd be, only for him. Had we kep our farm, you'd be now well an in your larnin'for a priest--an' there 'ud be one o' the family sure to be a gintleman, anyhow; but that's gone too, agra. Look at the smoke, how comfortableit rises from Jack Sullivan's, where the priest has a Station to-day. 'Tisn't fishin' for a sthray pratie he is, upon a ridge like this. Butit can't be helped; an' God's will be done! Not himself!--faix, it'she that'll get the height of good thratement, an' can ride home, welllined, both inside an' outside. Much good may it do him!--'tis but hisright. "

The lad now paused in his turn, looked down on Jack Sullivan'scomfortable house, sheltered by a clump of trees, and certainly sawsuch a smoke tossed up from the chimney, as gave unequivocal evidence ofpreparation for a good dinner. He next looked "behind the wind, " witha visage made more blank and meagre by the contrast; after which hereflected for a few minutes, as if working up his mind to some suddendetermination. The deliberation, however, was short; he struck his openhand upon the head of the spade with much animation, and instantly tookit in both hands, exclaiming:

"Here, father, here goes; to the divil once an' for ever I pitchslavery, " and as he spoke, the spade was sent as far from him as he hadstrength to throw it. "To the divil I pitch slavery! An' now, father, wid the help o' God, this is the last day's work I'll ever put my handto. There's no way of larnin' Latin here; but off to Munster I'll start, an' my face you'll never see in this parish, till I come home either apriest an a gintleman! But that's not all, father dear; I'll rise youout of your distress, or die in the struggle. I can't bear to see yourgray hairs in sorrow and poverty. "

"Well, Jimmy--well, agra--God enable you, avourneen; 'tis a goodintintion. The divil a one o' me will turn another spadeful aither, forthis day: I'm _dhrookin'_ (* dripping) wid the rain. We'll go home an'take an air o' the fire we want it; and aftherwards we can talk aboutwhat you're _on_ (* determined) for. "

It is usual to attribute to the English and Scotch character, exclusively, a cool and persevering energy in the pursuit of suchobjects as inclination or interest may propose for attainment; whilstIrishmen are considered too much the creatures of impulse to reacha point that requires coolness, condensation of thought, and effortssuccessively repeated. This is a mistake. It is the opinion ofEnglishmen and Scotchmen who know not the Irish character thoroughly. The fact is, that in the attainment of an object, where a sad-facedEnglishman would despair, an Irishman will, probably, laugh, drink, weep, and fight, during his progress to accomplish it. A Scotchman willmiss it, perhaps, but, having done all that could be done, he willtry another speculation. The Irishman may miss it too; but to consolehimself he will break the head of any man who may have impeded him inhis efforts, as a proof that he ought to have succeeded; or if he cannotmanage that point, he will crack the pate of the first man he meets, orhe will get drunk, or he will marry a wife, or swear a gauger neverto show his face in that quarter again; or he will exclaim, if it beconcerning a farm, with a countenance full of simplicity--"God blessyour honor, long life and honor to you, sir! Sure an' 'twas but athrifle, anyhow, that your Reverence will make up for me another time. An' 'tis well I know your Lordship 'ud be the last man on airth to giveme the cowld shoulder, so you would, an' I an ould residenthur on yourown father's estate, the Lord be praised for that same! An' 'tisa happiness, an' nothjn' else, so it is, even if I payed doublerint--wherein, maybe, I'm not a day's journey from that same, manin'the double rint, your honor; only that one would do a great deal forthe honor an' glory of livin' undher a raal gintleman--an' that's butrason. "

There is, in short, a far-sightedness in an Irishman which is notproperly understood, because it is difficult to understand it. I donot think there is a nation on earth, whose inhabitants mix up theirinterest and their feelings together more happily, shrewdly, and yetless ostensibly, than Irishmen contrive to do. An Irishman will make youlaugh at his joke, while the object of that joke is wrapped up fromyou in the profoundest mystery, and you will consequently make theconcession to a certain point of his character, which has been reallyobtained by a faculty you had not penetration to discover, or, rather, which he had too much sagacity to exhibit. Of course, as soon as yourback is turned, the broad grin is on him, and one of his cheeks is stuckout two inches beyond the other, because his tongue is in it at yourstupidity, simplicity, or folly. Of all the national characters on thishabitable globe, I verily believe that that of the Irish is the mostprofound and unfathomable; and the most difficult on which to form asystem, either social, moral, or religious. 

It would be difficult, for example, to produce a more signal instance ofenergy, system, and perseverance than that exhibited in Ireland duringthe struggle for Emancipation. Was there not flattery to the dust?blarney to the eyes? heads broken? throats cut? houses burned? andcattle houghed? And why? Was it for the mere pleasure of blarney--ofbreaking heads (I won't dispute the last point, though, because Iscorn to give up the glory of the national character), --of cuttingthroats--burning houses--or houghing cattle? No; but to secureEmancipation. In attaining that object was exemplified that Irish methodof gaining a point. 

"Yes, " said Jemmy, "to the divil I pitch slavery! I will come home ableto rise yez from your poverty, or never show my face in the parish ofBallysogarth agin. "

When the lad's determination was mentioned to his mother and the family, there was a loud and serious outcry against it: for no circumstance isrelished that ever takes away a member from an Irish hearth, no matterwhat the nature of that circumstance may be. 

"Och, thin, is it for that _bocaun_ (* soft, innocent person) of a boyto set off wid himself, runnin' through the wide world afther larnin', widout money or friends! Avourneen, put it out of yer head. No; struggleon as the rest of us is doin', an' maybe yell come as well off at thelong run. "

"Mother, dear, " said the son, "I wouldn't wish to go agin what you'dsay; but I made a promise to myself to 'rise yez out of your poverty ifI can, an' my mind's made up on it; so don't cross me, or be the manesof my havin' bad luck on my journey, in regard of me goin' aginst yerwill, when you know 'twould be the last thing I wish to do. "

"Let the gossoon take his way, Vara. Who knows but it was the Almightyput the thoughts of it into his head. Pasthorini says that therewill soon be a change, an' 'tis a good skame it 'ill be to have hima _sogarth_ when the fat living will be walkin' back to their ouldowners. "

"Oh, an' may the Man above grant _that_, I pray Jamini this day! for arenot we harrished out of our lives, scrapin' an' scramblin' for the blackthieves, what we ought to put on our backs, an' into our own mouths. Well, they say it's not lucky to take money from a priest, becauseit's the price o' sin, an' no more it can, seein' that they want itthemselves; but I'm sure it's _their_ (* The Protestant clergy) moneythat ought to carry the bad luck to them, in regard of their gettin' somany bitter curses along wid it. "

When a lad from the humblest classes resolves to go to Munster as a poorscholar, there is but one course to be pursued in preparing his outfit. This is by a collection at the chapel among the parishioners, to whomthe matter is made known by the priest, from the altar some Sundayprevious to his departure. Accordingly, when the family had all giventheir consent to Jemmy's project, his father went, on the following day, to communicate the matter to the priest, and to solicit his co-operationin making a collection in behalf of the lad, on the next Sunday but one:for there is always a week's notice given, and sometimes more, that thepeople come prepared. 

The conversation already detailed between father and son took placeon Friday, and on Saturday, a day on which the priest never holds aStation, and, of course, is generally at home, Dominick M'Evoy went tohis house with the object already specified in view. The priest wasat home; a truly benevolent man, but like the worthies of his day, notover-burdened with learning, though brimful of kindness and hospitalitymixed up with drollery and simple cunning. 

"Good morning, Dominick!" said the priest, as Dominick entered. 

"Good morrow, kindly, Sir, " replied Dominick: "I hope your Reverence iswell, and in good health. "

"Troth I am, Dominick! I hope there's nothing wrong at home; how is thewife and children?"

"I humbly, thank your Reverence for axin'! Troth there's no rason forcomplainin' in regard o' the health; sarra one o' them but's bravely, consitherin' all things: I believe I'm the worst o' them, myself, yerReverence. . I'm gettin' ould, you see, an' stiff', an' wake; but that'sonly in the coorse o' nathur; a man can't last always. Wait till themthat's young an' hearty now, harrows as much as I ploughed in my day, an' they won't have much to brag of. Why, thin, but yer Reverence standsit bravely--faix, wondherfully itself--the Lord be praised! an' it warmsmy own heart to see you look so well. "

"Thank you, Dominick. Indeed, my health, God be thanked, is very good. Ellish, " he added, calling to an old female servant--"you'll take aglass, Dominick, the day is cowldish--Ellish, here take the kay, andget some spirits--the poteen, Ellish--to the right hand in the cupboard. Indeed, my health is very good, Dominick. Father Murray says he inviesme my appetite, an' I tell him he's guilty of one of the Seven deadlysins. "

"Ha, ha, ha!--Faix, an' Invy is one o' them sure enough; but a joke isa joke in the mane time. A pleasant gintleman is the same Father Murray, but yer Reverence is too deep for him in the jokin' line, for all that. Ethen, Sir, but it's you that gave ould Cokely the keen cut about hisreligion--ha, ha, ha! Myself laughed till I was sick for two days aftherit--the ould thief!"

"Eh?--Did you hear that, Dominick? Are you sure that's the poteen, Ellish? Ay, an' the best of it all was, that his pathrun, LordFoxhunter, was present. Come, Dominick, try that--it never seen wather. But the best of it all was--"

--"'Well, Father Kavanagh, ' said he, 'who put you into the church?Now, ' said he, 'you'll come over me wid your regular succession from St. Peter, but I won't allow that. '

"'Why, Mr. Cokely, ' says I, back to him, 'I'll giye up the succession;'says I, 'and what is more, I'll grant that you have been called by theLord, and that I have not; but the Lord that called you, ' says I, 'wasLord Foxhunter. ' Man, you'd tie his Lordship wid a cobweb, he laughed soheartily. 

"'Bravo, Father Kavanagh, ' said he. 'Cokely, you're bale, ' said he; 'andupon my honor you must both dine with me to-day, says he--and capitalclaret he keeps. "

"Your health, Father Kavanagh, an' God spare you to us! Hah! wather! Oh, the divil a taste itself did the same stuff see! Why, thin, I think yourReverence an' me's about an age. I bleeve. I'm a thrifle oulder; but Idon't bear it so well as you do. The family, you see, an' the childhre, an' the cares o' the world, pull me down: throth, the same family's athrouble to me. I wish I had them all settled safe, any way. "

"What do you intind to do with them, Dominick?"

"In throth, that's what brought me to yer Reverence. I've oneboy--Jimmy--a smart chap entirely, an' he has taken it into his head togo as a poor scholar to Munster. He's fond o' the larnin', there's nota doubt o' that, an' small blame to him to be sure; but then again, whatcan I do? He's bint on goin', an' I'm not able to help him, poor fellow, in any shape; so I made bould to see yer Reverence about it, in hopesthat you might be able to plan out something for him more betther norI could do. I have the good wishes of the neighbors, and indeed of thewhole parish, let the thing go as it may. "

"I know that, Dominick, and for the same rason well have a collection atthe three althars. I'll mintion it to them after Mass to-morrow, and letthem be prepared for Sunday week, when we can make the collection. Hut, man, never fear; we'll get as much as will send him half-way to thepriesthood; and I'll tell you what, Dominick, I'll never be the man torefuse giving him a couple of guineas myself. "

"May the heavenly Father bless an' keep your Reverence. I'm sure 'tisa good right the boy has, as well as all of us, to never forget yourkindness. But as to the money--he'll be proud of your assistancethe other way, sir, --so not a penny--'tis only your good-will wewant--hem--except indeed, that you'd wish yourself to make a piece ofkindness of it to the poor boy. Oh, not a drop more, sir, --I declareit'll be apt to get into my head. Well, well--sure an' we're not todisobey our clargy, whether or not: so here's your health over agin, your Reverence! an' success to the poor child that's bint on good!"

"Two guineas his Reverence is to give you from himself, Jimmy, " said thefather, on relating the success of this interview with the priest; "an'faix I was widin one of refusin' it, for feard it might bring somethingunlucky* wid it; but, thought I, on the spur, it's best to take it, any way. We can asily put it off on some o' these black-mouthedPresbyterians or Orangemen, by way of changin' it, an' if there'sany hard fortune in it, let them have the full benefit of it, _ershimisha_. " ( ** Say I. )

 * There is a superstitious belief in some parts of Ireland, that priests' money is unlucky; "because, " say the people, "it is the price of sin"--alluding to absolution. 

It is by trifles of this nature that the unreasonable though enduringhatred with which the religious sects of Ireland look upon those of adifferent creed is best known. This feeling, however, is sufficientlymutual. Yet on both sides there is something more speculative thanpractical in its nature. When they speak of each other as a distinctclass, the animosity, though abstracted, appears to be most deep; butwhen they mingle in the necessary intercourse of life, it is curiousto see them frequently descend, on both sides, from the general rule tothose exceptions of good-will and kindness, which natural benevolenceand mutual obligation, together with a correct knowledge of each other'sreal characters, frequently produce. Even this abstracted hatred, however, has been the curse of our unhappy country; it has kept us toomuch asunder, or when we met exhibited us to each other in our darkestand most offensive aspects. 

Dominick's conduct in the matter of the priest's money was also a happyillustration of that mixture of simplicity and shrewdness with whichan Irishman can frequently make points meet, which superstition, alone, without such ingenuity, would keep separate for ever. Many anotherman might have refused the money from an ignorant dread of its provingunlucky; but his mode of reasoning on the subject was satisfactoryto himself, and certainly the most ingenious which, according to hisbelief, he could have adopted--that of foisting it upon a heretic. 

The eloquence of a country priest, though rude, and by no meanselevated, is sometimes well adapted to the end in view, to the feelingsof his auditory, and to the nature of the subject on which he speaks. Pathos and humor are the two levers by which the Irish character israised or depressed; and these are blended, in a manner too anomalous tobe ever properly described. Whoever could be present at a sermon onthe Sunday when a Purgatorian Society is to be established, would hearpathos and see grief of the first water. It is then he would geta "nate" and glowing description of Purgatory, and see the broad, humorous, Milesian faces, of three or four thousand persons, of bothsexes, shaped into an expression of the most grotesque and clamorousgrief. The priest, however, on particular occasions of this nature, veryshrewdly gives notice of the sermon, and of the purpose for which it isto be preached:--if it be grave, the people are prepared to cry; butif it be for a political, or any other purpose not decidedly religious, there will be abundance of that rough, blunt satire and mirth, so keenlyrelished by the peasantry, illustrated, too, by the most comical andridiculous allusions. That priest, indeed, who is the best masterof this latter faculty, is uniformly the greatest favorite. It is nounfrequent thing to see the majority of an Irish congregation drownedin sorrow and tears, even when they are utterly ignorant of the languagespoken; particularly in those districts where the Irish is still thevernacular tongue. This is what renders notice of the sermon and itspurport necessary; otherwise the honest people might be seriously at aloss whether to laugh or cry. 

"_Elliih avourneen, gho dhe dirsha?_"--"Ellish, my dear, what is hesaying?"

"_Och, musha niel eshighum, ahagur--ta sha er Purgathor, tabarlhum_. "--"Och, I dunna that, jewel; I believe he's on Purgatory. "

"_Och, och, oh--och, och, oh--oh, i, oh, i, oh!_"

And on understanding that Purgatory is the subject, they commence theirgrief with a rocking motion, wringing their hands, and unconsciouslypassing their beads through their fingers, whilst their bodies are bentforward towards the earth. 

On the contrary, when the priest gets jocular--which I should havepremised, he never does in what is announced as a solemn sermon--youmight observe several faces charged with mirth and laughter, turned, even while beaming with this expression, to those who kneel beside them, inquiring:

"Arrah, Barny, what is it--ha, ha, ha!--what is it he's sayin'? The Lordspare him among us, anyhow, the darlin' of a man! Eh, Barny, you that'sin the inside the English?" This, of course is spoken in Irish. 

Barny, however, is generally too much absorbed in the fun to becomeinterpreter just then; but as soon as the joke is nearly heard out, incompliance with the importunity of his neighbors, he gives them a briefhint or two, and instantly the full chorus is rung out, long, loud, andjocular. 

On the Sunday in question, as the subject could not be called strictlyreligious, the priest, who knew that a joke or two would bring in manyan additional crown to Jemmy's _caubeen_, * was determined that they, should at least have a laugh for their money. The man, besides, wasbenevolent, and knew the way to the Irish heart; a knowledge which hefelt happy in turning to the benefit of the lad in question. 

 * Such collections were generally made in hats--the usual name for an Irish peasant's hat being--_caubeen_. 

With this object in view, he addressed the people somewhat in thefollowing language: "'_Blessed is he that giveth his money to him thatstandeth in need of it. _'"

"These words, my brethren, are taken from St. Paul, who, amongourselves, knew the value of a friend in distress as well as any otherapostle in the three kingdoms--hem. It's a nate text, my friends, anyhow. He manes, however, when we have it to give, my own true, well-tried, ould friends!--when we have it to give. It's absence althersthe case, in toto; because you have all heard the proverb--'there is notakin' money out of an empty purse:' or, as an ould ancient author saidlong ago upon the same subject:

'Cantabit whaekuus coram lathrone whiathur!'

--(Dshk, dshk, dshk*--that's the larnin'!)--He that carries an emptypurse may fwhistle at the thief. It's _sing_ in the Latin; but sing orfwhistle, in my opinion, he that goes wid an empty purse seldom singsor fwhistl'es to a pleasant tune. Melancholy music I'd call it, an'wouldn't, may be, be much asthray al'ther--Hem. At all evints, may noneof this present congregation, whin at their devotions, ever sing orfwhistle to the same time! No; let it be to 'money in both pockets, 'if you sing at all; and as long as you have that, never fear but you'llalso have the 'priest in his boots' into the bargain--("Ha, ha, ha!--God bless him, isn't he the pleasant gentleman, all out--ha, ha, ha!--moreover, an' by the same a token, it's thrue as Gospel, so itis, ")--for well I know you're the high-spirited people, who wouldn't seeyour priest without them, while a fat parson, with half-a-dozen chinsupon him, red and rosy, goes about every day in the week bogged inboots, like a horse-trooper!--("Ha, ha, ha!--good, Father Dan! Morepower to you--ha, ha, ha! We're the boys that wouldn't see you in wanto' them, sure enough. Isn't he the droll crathur?")

 * This sound, which expresses wonder, is produced by striking the tip of the tongue against the palate. 

"But suppose a man hasn't money, what is he to do? Now this dividesitself into what is called Hydrostatics an' Metaphuysics, and must beproved logically in the following manner:

"First, we suppose him not to have the money--there I may be wrong or Imay be right; now for the illustration and the logic. 

"Pether Donovan. "

"Here, your Reverence. "

"Now, Pether, if I suppose you to have no money, am I right, or am Iwrong?"

"Why, thin, I'd be sarry to prove your Reverence to be wrong, so Iwould; but, for all that, I believe I must give it aginst you. "

"How much have you got, Pether?"

"Ethen, but 'tis your Reverence that's comin' close upon me; two orthree small note an' some silver. "

"How much silver, Pether?"

"I'll tell your Reverence in a jiffy--I ought to have a ten shillin', barring the price of a quarther o' tobaccy that I bought at thecrass-roads boyant. Nine shillins an' somo hapuns, yer Reverence. "

"Very good, Pether, you must hand me the silver, till I give the rest ofthe illustration wid it. "

"But does your Reverence mind another ould proverb?--'a fool an' hismoney's asy parted. ' Sure an' I know you're goin' to do a joke upon me. "

("Give him the money, Pether, " from a hundred voices--"give hisReverence the money, you nager you--give him the silver, you dirtyspalpeen you--hand it out, you misert. ")

"Pether, if you don't give it dacently, I'll not take it; and in thatcase--"

"Here, here, your Reverence--here it is; sure I wouldn't have yourill-will for all I'm worth. "

"Why, you nager, if I wasn't the first orathor livin', barrin' Cicero orDemosthenes himself, I couldn't schrew a penny out o' you! Now, Pether, there's a specimen of logic for you; an' if it wasn't good, depind uponit the money would be in your pocket still. I've never known you to givea penny for any charitable purpose, since ever I saw your face: but I'mdoin' a good action in your behalf for once; so if you have any movin'words to say to the money in question, say them, for you'll never fingerit more. "

A burst of the most uproarious mirth followed this manoeuvre, in whichthe simple priest himself joined heartily; whilst the melancholyof Peter's face was ludicrously contrasted with the glee whichcharacterized those who surrounded him. 

"Hem!--Secondly--A man, you see, may have money, or he may not, when hisfollow creature who stands in need of it makes an appale to his dacencyand his feelings; and sorry I'd be to think that there's a man beforeme, or a woman either, who'd refuse to assist the distresses of anyone, of any creed, church, or persuasion, whether white, black, oryallow--no; I don't except even the blue-bellies themselves. It's what Inever taught you, nor never will tache you to the day of my death! To besure, a fellow-creature may say, 'Help me, my brother, I am distressed, 'or, 'I am bent on a good purpose, that your kindness can enable me toaccomplish. ' But suppose that you have not the money about you at thetime, wouldn't you feel sorry to the back-bone? Ay, would yez--to thevery core of the heart itself. Or if any man--an' he'd be' nothing elsethan a bodagh that would say it--if any man would tell me that you wouldnot, I'd--yes--I'd give him his answer, as good as I gave to ould Cokelylong ago, and you all know what that was. 

"The next point is, what would you do if you hadn't it about you?It's that can tell you what you'd do:--you'd say, 'I haven't got it, brother, '--for ev'ry created bein' of the human kind is your brother, barrin' the women, an' they are your sisters--[this produced a grin uponmany faces]--'but, ' says you, 'if you wait a bit for a day or two, or aweek, or maybe for a fortnight, I'll try what I can do to help you. '

"Picture to yourselves a fellow-creature in distress--suppose himto have neither hat, shoe, nor stocking--[this was a touch of thepathetic]--and altogether in a state of utter destitution! Can there bea more melancholy picture than this? No, there can't. But 'tisn'tthe tithe of it!--a barefaced robbery is the same tithe--think of himwithout father, mother, or friend upon the earth--both dead, and ne'eranother to be had for love or money--maybe he has poor health--maybehe's sick, an' in a sthrange country--[here Jemmy's mother and friendssobbed aloud, and the contagion began to spread]--the priest, in fact, knew where to touch--his face is pale--his eyes sunk with sickness andsorrow in his head--his bones are cuttin' the skin--he knows not whereto turn himself--hunger and sickness are strivin' for him. --[Here thegrief became loud and general, and even the good-natured preacher's ownvoice got somewhat unsteady. ]--He's in a bad state entirely--miserable!more miserable!! most miserable!!! [och, och, oh!] sick, sore, andsorry!--he's to be pitied, felt for, and compassionated!--[a generaloutcry!]--'tis a faver he has, or an ague, maybe, or a rheumatism, or anembargo (* lumbago, we presume) on the limbs, or the king's evil, ora consumption, or a decline, or God knows but it's the fallingsickness--[ooh, och, oh!--och, och, oh!] from the whole congregation, whilst the simple old man's eyes were blinded with tears at the force ofthe picture he drew. --[Ay, maybe it's the falling-sickness, and in thatcase how on earth can he stand it. --He can't, he can't, wurra strew, wurra strew!--och, och, oh!--ogh, ogh, ogh!]--The Lord in heaven lookdown upon him--[amin, amin, this blessed an' holy Sunday that's init!--och, oh!]--pity him--[amin, amin!--och, och, an amin!]--withmiseracordial feeling and benediction! He hasn't a rap in hiscompany!--moneyless, friendless, houseless, an' homeless! Ay, myfriends, you all have homes--but he has none! Thrust back by everyhard-hearted spalpeen, and he, maybe, a better father's son than theTurk that refuses him! Look at your own childre, my friends! Bring thecase home to yourselves! Suppose he was one of them--alone on the earth, and none to pity him in his sorrows! Your own childre, I say, in astrange land. --[Here the outcry became astounding; men, women, andchildren in one general uproar of grief. ]--An'--this may all be JemmyM'Evoy's case, that's going in a week or two to Munster, as a poorscholar--may be his case, I say, except you befriend him, and show yourdacency and your feelings, like Christians and Catholics; and for eitherdacency or kindness, I'd turn yez against any other congregation in thediocess, or in the kingdom--ay, or against Dublin, itself, if it wasconvanient, or in the neighborhood. "

Now here was a coup de main--not a syllable mentioned about JemmyM'Evoy, until he had melted them down, ready for the impression, whichhe accordingly made to his heart's content. 

"Ay, " he went on, "an' 'tis the parish of Ballysogarth that has thename, far and near, for both, and well they desarve it. You won't seethe poor gossoon go to a sthrange country--with empty pockets. He's theson of an honest man--one of yourselves; and although he's a poor man, you know 'twas Yallow Sam that made him so--that put him out of hiscomfortable farm and slipped a black-mouth * into it. You won't turnyour backs on the son in regard of that, any way. As for Sam, let himpass; he'll not grind the poor, nor truckle to the rich, when he givesup his stewardship in the kingdom come. Lave him to the friend of thepoor--to his God; but the son of them that he oppressed, you will standup for. He's going to Munster, to learn 'to go upon the Mission:' and, on Sunday next, there will be a collection made here, and at the othertwo althars for him; and, as your own characters are at stake, I trustit will be neither mane nor shabby. There will be Protestants here, I'llengage, and you must act dacently before them, if it was only to setthem a good example. And now I'll tell yez a story that the mintion ofthe Protestants brings to my mind:--

 * In the North of Ireland the word black-mouth means a Presbyterian. 

"There was, you see, a Protestant man and a Catholic woman once marriedtogether. The man was a swearing, drinking, wicked rascal, and his wifethe same: between them they were a blessed pair to be sure. She neverbent her knee under a priest until she was on her death-bed; nor was heknown ever to enter a church door, or to give a shilling in charitybut once, that being--as follows:--He was passing a Catholic place ofworship one Sunday, on his way to fowl--for he had his dog and gun withhim;--'twas beside a road, and many of the congregration were kneelingout across the way. Just as he passed they were making a collectionfor a poor scholar--and surely they that love the larning desarve to beencouraged! Well, behold you, says one of them, 'will you remember thepoor scholar, ' says he, 'and put something in the hat? You don't know, 'says he, 'but his prayers will be before you. ' (* In the other world. )'True enough, maybe, ' says the man, 'and there's a crown to him, forGod's sake. ' Well and good; the man died, and so did the wife; but thevery day before her departure, she got a scapular, and died in it. Shehad one sister, however, a good crature, that did nothing but fast andpray, and make her sowl. This woman had strong doubts upon her mind, andwas very much troubled as to whether or not her sister went to heaven;and she begged it as a favor from the blessed Virgin, that the state ofher sister's sowl might be revaled to her. Her prayer was granted. One night, about a week after her death, her sister came back to her, dressed, all in white, and circled round by a veil of glory. 

"'Is that Mary?' said the living sister. 

"'It is, ' said the other; 'I have got liberty to appear to you, ' saysshe, 'and to tell you that I'm happy. '

"'May the holy Virgin be praised!' said the other. 'Mary, dear, you havetaken a great weight off of me, ' says she: 'I thought you'd have a badchance, in regard of the life you led. '

"'When I died, ' said the spirit, 'and was on my way to the other world, I came to a place where the road divided itself into three parts;--oneto heaven, another to hell, and a third to purgatory. There was a darkgulf between me and heaven, and a breach between me and purgatory thatI couldn't step across, and if I had missed my foot there, I would havedropped into hell. So I would, too, only that the blessed Virgin put myown scapular over the breach, and it became firm, and I stepped on it, and got over. The Virgin then desired me to look into hell, and thefirst person I saw was my own husband, standing with a green sod underhis feet! 'He got that favor, ' said the blessed Virgin, 'in consequenceof the prayers of a holy priest, that had once been a poor scholar, thathe gave assistance to, at a collection made for him in such a chapel, 'says she, 'Then, ' continued the sowl, 'Mary, ' says she, 'but there'ssome great change in the world since I died, or why would the peoplelive so long? It can't be less than six thousand years since I departed, and yet I find every one of my friends just as I left them. '

"'Why, ' replied the living sister, 'you're only six days dead. '

"'Ah, avourneen!' said the other, 'it can't be--it can't be! for I havebeen thousands on thousands of years in pain!'--and as she spoke thisshe disappeared. 

"Now there's a proof of the pains of purgatory, where one day seems aslong as a thousand years; and you know we oughtn't to grudge a thrifleto a fellow-crature, that we may avoid it. So you see, my friends, there's nothing like good works. You know not when or where this lad'sprayers may benefit you. If he gets ordained, the first mass he sayswill be for his benefactors; and in every one he celebrates after that, they must also be remembered: the words are _pro omnibus benefactoribusmeis, per omnia secula secularum!_

"Thirdly--hem--I now lave the thing to yourselves. 

"But wasn't I match for Pettier Donovan, that would brake a stone forthe marrow *--Eh?--(a broad laugh at Pother's rueful visage. )--Pettier, you Turk, will your heart never soften--will you never have dacency, an'you the only man of your family that's so? Sure they say you're going tobe marrid some of these days. Well, if you get your wife in my parish, Itell you, Pettier, I'll give you a fleecin', for don't think I'll marryyou as chape as I would a poor honest man. I'll make you shell out theyallowboys, and 'tis that will go to your heart, you nager you; and thenI'll eat you out of house and home at the Stations. May the Lord grantus, in the mane time, a dacent appetite, a blessing which I wish youall, ------&c. "

 * I know not whether this may be considered worthy of a note or not. I have myself frequently seen and tasted what is appropriately termed by the peasantry "Stone Marrow. " It is found in the heart of a kind of soft granite, or perhaps I should rather say freestone. The country people use it medicinally, but I cannot remember what particular disease it is said to cure. It is a soft, saponaceous substance, not unpleasant to the taste, of a bluish color, and melts in the mouth, like the fat of cold meat, leaving the palate greasy. How far an investigation into its nature and properties might be useful to the geologist or physician, it is not for me to conjecture. As the fact appeared to be a curious one, and necessary, moreover, to illustrate the expression used in the text, I thought it not amiss to mention it. It may be a _bonne bouche_ for the geologists. 

At this moment the congregation was once more in convulsions of laughterat the dressing which Peter, whose character was drawn with much truthand humor, received at the hands of the worthy pastor. 

Our readers will perceive that there was not a single prejudice, orweakness, or virtue, in the disposition of his auditory, left untouchedin this address. He moved their superstition, their pride of character, their dread of hell and purgatory, their detestation of Yellow Sam, andthe remembrance of the injury so wantonly inflicted on M'Evoy's family;he glanced at the advantage to be derived from the lad's prayers, theexample they should set to Protestants, made a passing hit at tithes;and indulged in the humorous, the pathetic, and the miraculous. Inshort, he left no avenue to their hearts untouched; and in the processby which he attempted to accomplish his object he was successful. 

There is, in fact, much rude, unpolished eloquence among the RomanCatholic priesthood, and not a little which, if duly cultivated by studyand a more liberal education, would deserve to be ranked very high. 

We do not give this as a specimen of their modern pulpit eloquence, but as a sample of that in which some of those Irish clergy shone, who, before the establishment of Maynooth, were admitted to ordersimmediately from the hedge-schools, in consequence of the dearth ofpriests which then existed in Ireland. It was customary in those days toordain them even before they departed for the continental colleges, inorder that they might, by saying masses and performing other clericalduties, be enabled to add something to the scanty pittance which wasappropriated to their support. Of the class to which Father Kavanaghbelonged, there are few, if any, remaining. They sometimes were called"Hedge-priests, " * byway of reproach; though for our own parts, we wishtheir non-interference in politics, unaffected piety, and simplicity ofcharacter, had remained behind them. 

 * This nickname was first bestowed upon them by the continental priests, who generally ridiculed them for their vulgarity. They were, for the most! part, simple but worthy men. 

On the Sunday following, Dominick M'Evoy and his son Jemmy attendedmass, whilst the other members of the family, with that sense ofhonest pride which is more strongly inherent in Irish character than isgenerally supposed, remained at home, from a reluctance to witness whatthey could not but consider a degradation. This decency of feeling wasanticipated by the priest, and not overlooked by the people; for theformer, the reader may have observed, in the whole course of his addressnever once mentioned the word "charity;" nor did the latter permit thecircumstance to go without its reward, according to the best of theirability. So keen and delicate are the perceptions of the Irish, andso acutely alive are they to those nice distinctions of kindness andcourtesy, which have in their hearts a spontaneous and sturdy growth, that mocks at the stunted virtues of artificial life. 

In the parish of Ballysogarth there were three altars, or places ofRoman Catholic worship; and the reader may suppose that the collectionmade at each place was considerable. In truth, both father and son'santicipations were far under the sum collected. Protestants andPresbyterians attended with their contributions, and those of thelatter who scrupled to be present at what they considered an idolatrousworship, did not hesitate to send their quota by some Roman Catholicneighbor. 

Their names were accordingly announced with an encomium from the priest, which never failed to excite a warm-hearted murmur of approbation. Nor was this feeling transient, for, we will venture to say, that hadpolitical excitement flamed up even to rebellion and mutual slaughter, the persons and property of those individuals would have been heldsacred. 

At length Jemmy was equipped; and sad and heavy became the hearts ofhis parents and immediate relations as the morning appointed for hisdeparture drew nigh. On the evening before, several of his more distantrelatives came to take their farewell of him, and, in compliance withthe usages of Irish hospitality, they were detained for the night. Theydid not, however, come empty-handed: some brought money; some broughtlinen, stockings, or small presents--"jist, Jimmy, asthore, to keep mein yer memory, sure, --and nothin' else it is for, mavourneen. "

Except Jemmy himself, and one of his brothers who was to accompany himpart of the way, none of the family slept. The mother exhibited deepsorrow, and Dominick, although he made a show of firmness, felt, nowthat the crisis was at hand, nearly incapable of parting with theboy. The conversation of their friends and the cheering effects of thepoteen, enabled them to sustain his loss better than they otherwisewould have done, and the hope of seeing him one day "an ordainedpriest, " contributed more than either to support them. 

When the night was nearly half spent, the mother took a candle andprivately withdrew to the room in which the boy slept. The youth wasfair, and interesting to look upon--the clustering locks of his whiteforehead were divided; yet there was on his otherwise open brow, a shadeof sorrow, produced by the coming separation, which even sleep could notefface. The mother held the candle gently towards his face, shadingit with one hand, lest the light might suddenly awake him; she thensurveyed his features long and affectionately, whilst the tears fell inshowers from her cheeks. 

"There you lie, " she softly sobbed out, in Irish, "the sweet pulse ofyour mother's heart; the flower of our flock, the pride of our eyes, andthe music of our hearth! Jimmy, avourneen machree, an' how can I partwid you, my darlin' son! Sure, when I look at your mild face, and thinkthat you're takin' the world on your head to rise us out of our poverty, isn't my heart breakin'! A lonely house we'll have afther you, acushla!Goin' out and comin' in, at home or abroad, your voice won't be in myears, nor your eye smilin' upon me. An' thin to think of what you maysuffer in a sthrange land! If your head aches, on what tendher breastwill it lie? or who will bind the ribbon of comfort * round it? or wipeyour fair, mild brow in sickness? Oh, Blessed Mother!--hunger, sickness, and sorrow may come upon you when you'll be far from your own, an' fromthem that loves you!"

 * The following quotation, taken from a sketch called "The Irish Midwife, " by the author, gives an illustration of this passage:--"The first, meaning pain in the head, she cures by a very formal and serious process called 'measuring the head. ' This is done by a ribbon, which she puts round the cranium, repeating during the admeasurement a certain prayer or charm from which the operation is to derive its whole efficacy. The measuring is performed twice--in the first instance, to show that its sutures are separated by disease, or to speak more plainly, that the bones of the head are absolutely opened, and that as a natural consequence the head must be much larger than when the patient is in a state of health. The circumference of the first admeasurement is marked upon a ribbon, after which she repeats the charm that is to remove the headache, and measures the cranium again, in order to show, by a comparison of the two ribbons, that the sutures have been closed, the charm successful, and the headache immediately removed. It is impossible to say how the discrepancy in the measurement is brought about; but be that as it may, the writer of this has frequently seen the operation performed in such a way as to defy the most scrutinizing eye to detect any appearance of imposture, and he is convinced that in the majority of cases there is not the slightest imposture intended. The operator is in truth a dupe to a strong and delusive enthusiasm. "

This melancholy picture was too much for the tenderness of the mother;she sat down beside the bed, rested her face on her open hand, and weptin subdued but bitter grief. At this moment his father, who probablysuspected the cause of her absence, came in and perceived her distress. 

"Vara, " said he, in Irish also, "is my darlin' son asleep?"

She looked up, with streaming eyes, as he spoke, and replied to him in amanner so exquisitely affecting, when the circumstances of the boy, andthe tender allusion made by the sorrowing mother, are considered--thatin point of fact no heart--certainly no Irish heart--could withstandit. There is an old Irish melody unsurpassed in pathos, simplicity, and beauty--named in Irish "_Tha ma mackulla's na foscal me, _"---orin English, "I am asleep, and don't waken me. " The position of the boycaused the recollection of the old melody to flash into the mother'sheart, --she simply pointed to him as the words streamed in a lowmelodious murmur, but one full of heartrending sorrow, from her lips. The old sacred association--for it was one which she had sung for hima thousand times, --until warned to desist by his tears--deepened thetenderness of her heart, and she said with difficulty, whilst sheinvoluntarily held over the candle to gratify the father's heart by asight of him. "I was keepin' him before my eye, " she said; "God knowsbut it may be the last night we'll ever see him undher our own roof!Dominick, achora, I doubt I can't part wid him from my heart. "

"Then how can I, Vara?" he replied. "Wasn't he my right hand ineverything? When was he from me, ever since he took a man's work uponhim? And when he'd finish his own task for the day, how kindly he'dbegin an' help me wid mine! No, Vara, it goes to my heart to let him goaway upon sich a plan, and I wish he hadn't taken the notion into hishead at all. "

"It's not too late, maybe, " replied his mother: "I think it wouldn'tbe hard to put him off of it; the crathur's own heart is failin' him tolave us. He has sorrow upon his face where he lies. "

The father looked at the expression of affectionate melancholy whichshaded hia features as he slept; and the perception of the boy'sinternal struggle against his own domestic attachments in accomplishinghia first determination, powerfully touched his heart. 

"Vara, " said he, "I know the boy--he won't give it up; and 'twould be apity--maybe a sin--to put him from it. Let the child get fair play, andthry his coorse. If, he fails, he can come back to us, an' our arms an'hearts will be open to welcome him! But, if God prospers him, wouldn'tit be a blessin' that we never expected, to see him in the white robes, celebratin' one mass for his parents. If these ould eyes could see that, I would be continted to close them in pace an' happiness for ever. "

"An' well you'd become them, _avourneen machree!_ Well would your mildand handsome countenance look wid the long heavenly stole of innocenceupon you! and although it's atin' into my heart, I'll bear it for thesake of seein' the same blessed sight. Look at that face, Dominick;mightn't many a lord of the land be proud to have sich a son? May theheavens shower down its blessin' upon him!"

The father burst into tears. "It is--it is!" said he. "It is the facethat 'ud make many a noble heart proud to look at it! Is it any wondherit 'ud cut our hearts, thin, to have it taken from afore our eyes? Comeaway, Vara, come away, or I'll not be able to part wid it. It is thelovely face--an' kind is the heart of my darlin' child!" As he spoke, he stooped down and kissed the youth's cheek, on which the warm tearsof affection fell, soft as the dew from heaven. The mother followed hisexample, and they both left the room. 

"We must bear it, " said Dominick, as they passed into another apartment;"the money's gathered, an' it wouldn't look well to be goin' back wid itto them that befrinded us. We'd have the blush upon our face for it, an'the child no advantage. "

"Thrue for you, Dominick; and we must make up our minds to live widouthim for a while. "

The following morning was dark and cloudy, but calm and without rain. When the family were all assembled, every member of it evinced tracesof deep feeling, and every eye was fixed upon the serene but melancholycountenance of the boy with tenderness and sorrow. He himself maintaineda quiet equanimity, which, though apparently liable to be broken bythe struggles of domestic affection, and in character with his meek andunassuming disposition, yet was supported by more firmness than might beexpected from a mind in which kindness and sensibility were so stronglypredominant. At this time, however, his character was not developed, or at least not understood, by those that surrounded him. To strongfeelings and enduring affections he added a keenness of perception anda bitterness of invective, of which, in his conversation with his fatherconcerning Yellow Sam, the reader has already had sufficient proofs. Atbreakfast little or nothing was eaten; the boy himself could not tastea morsel, nor any other person in the family. When the form of the mealwas over, the father knelt down--"It's right, " said he, "that we shouldall go to our knees, and join in a Rosary in behalf of the child that'sgoin' on a good intintion. He won't thrive the worse bekase the lastwords that he'll hear from his father and mother's lips is a prayer forbringin the blessin' of God down upon his endayvors. "

This was accordingly performed, though not without tears and sobs, andfrequent demonstrations of grief; for religion among the peasantry isoften associated with bursts of deep and powerful feeling. 

When the prayer was over, the boy rose and calmly strapped to his backa satchel covered with deer-skin, containing a few books, linen, and achange of very plain apparel. While engaged in this, the uproar of griefin the house was perfectly heart-rending. When just ready to set out, hereverently took off his hat, knelt down, and, with tears streaming fromhis eyes, craved humbly and meekly the blessing and forgiveness of hisfather and mother. The mother caught him in her arms, kissed his lips, and, kneeling also, sobbed out a fervent benediction upon his head;the father now, in the grief of a strong man, pressed him to his heart, until the big burning tears fell upon the boy's face; his brothersand sisters embraced him wildly; next his more distant relations; andlastly, the neighbors who were crowded about the door. After this hetook a light staff in his hand, and, first blessing himself after theform of his church, proceeded to a strange land in quest of education. 

He had not gone more than a few perches from the door, when his motherfollowed him with a small bottle of holy water. "Jimmy, _a lannavoght_, " (* my poor child) said she, "here's this, an' carry it aboutyou--it will keep evil from you; an' be sure to take good care of thewritten correckther you got from the priest an' Square Benson; an', darlin', don't be lookin' too often at the cuff o' your coat, for feardthe people might get a notion that you have the bank-notes sewed in it. An', Jimmy agra, don't be too lavish upon their Munster crame; they sayit's apt to give people the ague. Kiss me agin, agra; an' the heavensabove keep you safe and well till we see you once more!"

She then tenderly, and still with melancholy pride, settled his shirtcollar, which she thought did not set well about his neck, and kissinghim again, with renewed sorrow left him to pursue his journey. 

M'Evoy's house was situated on the side of a dark hill--one of thatbarren description which can be called neither inland nor mountain. Itcommanded a wide and extended prospect, and the road along which the ladtravelled was visible for a considerable distance from it. On a smallhillock before the door sat Dominek and his wife, who, as long as theirson was visible, kept their eyes, which were nearly blinded with tears, rivetted upon his person. It was now they gave full vent to their grief, and discussed with painful and melancholy satisfaction all the excellentqualities which he possessed. As James himself advanced, one neighborafter another fell away from the train which accompanied him, not, however, until they had affectionately embraced and bid him adieu, andperhaps slipped, with peculiar delicacy, an additional mite intohis waistcoat pocket. After the neighbors, then followed the gradualseparation from his friends--one by one left him, as in the greatjourney of life, and in a few hours he found himself accompanied only byhis favorite brother. 

This to him was the greatest trial he had yet felt; long andheartrending was their embrace. Jemmy soothed and comforted his belovedbrother, but in vain. The lad threw himself on the spot at which theyparted, and remained there until Jemmy turned an angle of the road whichbrought him out of his sight, when the poor boy kissed the marks of hisbrother's feet repeatedly, and then returned home, hoarse and brokendown with the violence of his grief. 

He was now alone, and for the first time felt keenly the strange objecton which he was bent, together with all the difficulties connected withits attainment. He was young and uneducated, and many years, he knew, must elapse e'er he could find himself in possession of his wishes. Buttime would pass at home, as well as abroad, he thought; and as there layno impediment of peculiar difficulty in his way, he collected all hisfirmness and proceeded. 

There is no country on the earth in which either education, or thedesire to procure it, is so much reverenced as in Ireland. Next to theclaims of the priest and schoolmaster come those of the poor scholar forthe respect of the people. It matters not how poor or how miserablehe may be; so long as they see him struggling with poverty in theprosecution of a purpose so laudable, they will treat him withattention and kindness. Here there is no danger of his being sent to theworkhouse, committed as a vagrant, or passed from parish to parish untilhe reaches his own settlement. Here the humble lad is not met by thesneer of purse-proud insolence, or his simple tale answered only in thefrown of heartless contempt. No--no--no. The best bit and sup are placedbefore him; and whilst his poor, but warm-hearted, entertainer canafford only potatoes and salt to his own half-starved family, he willmake a struggle to procure something better for the poor scholar;'_Becase he's far from his own, the craihur!_ An' sure the intuition inhim is good, anyhow; the Lord prosper him, an' every one that has theheart set upon the larnin'!'

As Jemmy proceeded, he found that his satchel of books and apparel gaveas clear an intimation of his purpose, as if he had carried a label tothat effect upon his back. 

"God save you, a bouchal!" said a warm, honest-looking countryman, whomhe met driving home his cows in the evening, within a few miles of thetown in which he purposed to sleep. 

"God save you kindly!"

"Why, thin, 'tis a long journey you have before you, alanna, for I knowwell it's for Munster you're bound. "

"Thrue for you; 'tis there, wid the help of God, I'm goin'. A greatscarcity of larnin' was in my own place, or I wouldn't have to go atall, " said the boy, whilst his eyes filled with, tears. 

"'Tis no discredit in life, " replied the countryman, with untaughtnatural delicacy, for he perceived that a sense of pride lingered aboutthe boy which made the character of poor scholar sit painfully upon him;"'tis no discredit, dear, nor don't be cast down. I'll warrant you thatGod will prosper you; an' that He may, avick, I pray this day!" and ashe spoke, he raised his hat in reverence to the Being whom he invoked. "An' tell me, dear--where do you intend to sleep to-night?"

"In the town forrid here, " replied Jemmy. "I'm in hopes I'll be able toreach it before dark. "

"Pooh! asy you will. Have you any friends or acquaintances there that'ud welcome you, _a bouchal dhas_ (my handsome boy)?"

"No, indeed, " said Jemmy, "they're all strangers to me; but I can stopin 'dhry lodgin', ' for it's chaper. "

"Well, alanna, I believe you; but _I'm no stranger to you_--so come homewid me to-night; where you'll get a good bed, and betther thratement norin any of their dhry lodgins. Give me your books, and I'll carry themfor you. Ethen, but you have a great batch o' them entirely. Can youmake any hand o' the Latin at all yet?"

"No, indeed, " replied Jemmy, somewhat sorrowfully; "I didn't ever open aLatin book, at all at all. "

"Well, acushla, everything has a beginnin';--you won't be so. An' I knowby your face that you'll be bright at it, an' a credit to them owes (*owns) you. There's my house in the fields beyant, where you'll be wellkept for one night, any way, or for twinty, or for ten times twinty, ifyou wanted them. "

The honest farmer then commenced the song of _Colleen dhas Crotha naMho_ (* The pretty girl milking her cow), which he sang in a clearmellow voice, until they reached the house. 

"Alley, " said the man to his wife, on entering, "here's a stranger I'vebrought you. "

"Well, " replied Alley, "he's welcome sure, any way; _Cead millia, failtaghud_, alanna! sit over to the fire. Brian, get up, dear, " said she toone of the children, "an' let the stranger to the hob. "

"He's goin' on a good errand, the Lord bless him!" said the husband, "upthe country for the larnin'. Put thim books over on the settle; an' whinthe, _girshas_ are done milkin', give him a brave dhrink of the sweetmilk; it's the stuff to thravel on. "

"Troth, an' I will, wid a heart an' a half, wishin' it was betther I hadto give him. Here, Nelly, put down a pot o' wather, an' lave soap an'a _praskeen_, afore you go to milk, till I bathe the dacent boy's feet. Sore an' tired they are afther his journey, poor young crathur. "

When Jemmy placed himself upon the hob, he saw that some peculiarlygood fortune had conducted him to so comfortable a resting-place. Hoconsidered this as a good omen; and felt, in fact, much relieved, forthe sense of loneliness among strangers was removed. 

The house evidently belonged to a wealthy farmer, well to do inthe world; the chimney was studded with sides upon sides of yellowsmoke-dried bacon, hams, and hung beef in abundance. The kitchen tableswere large, and white as milk; and the dresser rich in its shining arrayof delf and pewter. Everything, in fact, was upon a large scale. Hugemeal chests were ranged on one side, and two or three settle beds onthe other, conspicuous, as I have said, for their uncommon cleanliness;whilst hung from the ceiling were the _glaiks_, a machine for churning;and beside the dresser stood an immense churn, certainly too unwieldy tobe managed except by machinery. The farmer was a ruddy-faced Milesian, who wore a drab frieze coat, with a velvet collar, buff waistcoat, corduroy small-clothes, and top-boots* well greased from the topsdown. He was not only an agriculturist, but a grazier--remarkable forshrewdness and good sense, generally attended fairs and markets, andbrought three or four large droves of fat cattle to England every year. From his fob hung the brass chain and almost rusty key of a watch, whichhe kept certainly more for use than ornament. 

 * This in almost every instance, is the dress of wealthy Irish farmer. 

"A little sup o' this, " said he, "won't take your life, " approachingJemmy with a bottle of as good poteen as ever escaped the eye of anexciseman; "it'll refresh you--for you're tired, or I wouldn't offerit, by rason that one bint on what you're bint on, oughtn't to be makin'freedoms wid the same dhrink. But there's a time for everything, an'there's a time for this. --Thank you, agra, " he added, in reply to Jemmy, who had drunk his health. "Now, don't be frettin'--but make yourself asaisy as if you were at your own father's hearth. You'll have everythingto your heart's contint for this night; the carts are goin' in to themarket to-morrow airly--you can sit upon them, an' maybe you'll getsomethin' more nor you expect: sure the Lord has given it to me, an' whywouldn't I share it wid them that wants it more nor I do?"

The lad's heart yearned to the generous farmer, for he felt that hiskindness had the stamp of truth and sincerity upon it. He could onlyraise his eyes in a silent prayer, that none belonging to him might everbe compelled, as strangers and way-farers, to commit themselves, as hedid, to the casualties of life, in pursuit of those attainments whichpoverty cannot otherwise command. Fervent, indeed, was his prayer; andcertain we are, that because it was sincere, it must have been heard. 

In the meantime, the good woman, or _vanithee_, had got the pot of waterwarmed, in which Jemmy was made to put his feet. She then stripped upher arms to the elbows, and, with soap and seedy meal, affectionatelybathed his legs and feet: then, taking the _praskeen_, or coarse towel, she wiped them with a kindness which thrilled to his heart. 

"And now, " said she, "I must give you a cure for blisthers, an' it'sthis:--In the mornin', if we're all spared, as we will, plase theAlmighty, I'll give you a needle and some white woollen thread, wellsoaped. When your blisthers gets up, dhraw the soapy thread throughthem, clip it on each side, an', my life for yours, they won't throubleyou. Sure I thried it the year I went on my Station to Lough Derg, an' Iknow it to be the rale cure. "

"Here, Nelly, " said the farmer, --who sat iwith a placid benevolent face, smoking his pipe on the opposite hob--to one of the maids who came infrom milking, --"bring up a noggin of that milk, we want it here: let itbe none of your washy _foremilk_, but the _strippins_, Nelly, that hasthe strinth in it. Up wid it here, a colleen. "

"The never a one o' the man but's doatin' downright, so he is, " observedthe wife, "to go to fill the tired child's stomach wid plash. Can't youwait till he ates a thrifle o' some-thin' stout, to keep life in him, afther his hard journey? Does your feet feel themselves cool an' asynow, ahagur?"

"Indeed, " said Jemmy, "I'm almost as fresh as when I set out. 'Twaslittle thought I had, when I came away this mornin', that I'd meet widso much friendship on my journey. I hope it's a sign that God's on myside in my undertakin'!"

"I hope so, avourneen--I hope so, an' it is, too, " replied the farmer, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and mildly whiffing away the smoke, "an' God'll be always on your side, as long as your intentions are good. Now ate somethin'--you must want it by this; an' thin, when you restyourself bravely, take a tass into a good feather-bed, where you can_sleep rings round you_. (* As much as you please. ) Who knows but you'llbe able to say mass for me or some o' my family yit. God grant that, anyway, avick!"

Poor James's heart was too full to eat much; he took, therefore, onlya very slender portion of the refreshments set before him; but hishospitable entertainer had no notion of permitting him to use the freeexercise of his discretion on this important point. When James put awaythe knife and fork, as an indication of his having concluded the meal, the farmer and his wife turned about, both at the same moment, with akind of astonishment. 

"Eh? is it giving over that way you are? Why, alanna, it's nothin' atall you've tuck; sure little Brian there would make a fool of you, sohe would, at the atin'. Come, come, a bouchal--don't be ashamed, or makeany way sthrange at all, but ate hearty. "

"I declare I have ate heartily, thank you, " replied James; "oceansitself, so I did. I couldn't swally a bit more if the house was full. "

"Arrah, Brian, " said the wife, "cut him up more o' that hung beef, it'sashamed the crathur is! Take it, avick; don't we know the journey youhad! Faix, if one o' the boys was out on a day's thravellin', you'd seehow he'd handle himself. "

"Indeed, " said James, "I can't--if I could I would. Sure I would be noway backward at all, so I wouldn't. "

"Throth, an' you can an' must, " said the farmer: "the never a riseyou'll rise, till you finish that"--putting over a complement out of allreasonable proportion with his age and size. 

"There now's a small taste, an' you must finish it. To go to ate nothin'at all! Hut tut! by the tops o' my boots, you must put that clear an'clane out o' sight, or I'll go mad an' barn them. "

The lad recommenced, and continued to eat as long as he could possiblyhold out; at length he ceased:--

"I can't go on, " said he; "don't ax me: I can't indeed. "

"Bad manners to the word I'll hear till you finish it; you know it's buta thrifle to spake of. Thry agin, avick, but take your time; you'll beable for it. "

The poor lad's heart was engaged on other thoughts and other scenes; hishome, and its beloved inmates--sorrow and the gush of young affections, were ready to burst forth. 

"I cannot ate, " said he, and he looked imploringly on the farmer and hiswife, whilst the tears started to his eyes--"don't ax me, for my heart'swid them I left behind me, that I may never see agin!" and he wept in aburst of grief which he could not restrain. 

Neither the strength nor tenderness of the lad's affection wasunappreciated by this excellent couple. In a moment the farmer's wifewas also in tears; nor did her husband break the silence for someminutes. 

"The Almighty pity an' strengthen him!" said the farmer's wife, "buthe has the good an' the kind heart, an' would be a credit to anyfamily. --Whisht, acushla machree--whisht, we won't ax you to ate--noindeed. It was out o' kindness we did it: don't be cast down aither;sure it isn't the ocean you're crossin'; but goin' from one countylike to another. God 'll guard an' take care o' you, so he will. Yourintintion's good, an' he'll prosper it. "

"He will, avick, " said the farmer himself--"he will. Cheer up, my goodboy! I know thim that's larned an' creditable clargy this day, that wentas you're goin'--ay, an' that ris an' helped their parents, an' put themabove poverty an' distress; an' never fear, wid a blessin', but you'lldo the same. "

"That's what brings me at all, " replied the boy, drying his tears; "ifI was once able to take them out o' their distresses, I'd be happy: onlyI'm afeard the cares o' the world will break my father's heart before Ihave it in my power to assist him. "

"No such thing, darlin', " said the good woman. "Sure his hopes out o'you, an' his love for you will keep him up; an' you dunna but God maygive him a blessin' too, avick. "

"Mix another sup o'that for him, " said the fanner: "he's low spirited, an' it's too strong to give him any more of it as it is. Childhre, where's the masther from us--eh? Why, thin, God help them, thecrathurs--wasn't it thoughtful o' them to lave the place while he was athis dinner, for fraid he'd be dashed--manin' them young crathurs, Alley, But can you tell us where the 'masther' is? Isn't this his night wid us?I know he tuck his dinner here. "

"Ay did he; but it's up to Larry Murphy's he's gone, to thry his sonin his book-keepin'. Mavrone, but he had time enough to put him wellthrough it afore this, any way. "

As she spoke, a short thickset man, with black twinkling eyes and ruddycheeks entered. This personage was no other than the schoolmaster ofthat district, who circulated, like a newspaper, from one farmer's houseto another, in order to expound for his kind entertainers the newsof the day, his own learning, and the very evident extent of theirignorance. 

The moment he came in, the farmer and his wife rose with an air of muchdeference, and placed a chair for him exactly opposite the fire, leavinga respectful distance on each side, within which no illiterate mortaldurst presume to sit. 

"Misther Corcoran, " said the farmer, presenting Jemmy's satchel, throughwhich the shapes of the books were quite plain, "_thig in thu shinn?_"(* Do you understand this) and as he spoke he looked significantly atits owner. 

"Ah, " replied the man of letters, "thigum, thigum. (* I understand) Godbe wid the day when I carried the likes of it. 'Tis a badge of politegenius, that no boy need be ashamed of. So my young suckling oflitherature, you're bound for Munster?--for that counthry where theswallows fly in conic sections--where the magpies and the turkey'sconfab in Latin, and the cows and bullocks will roar you DoricGreek--bo-a-o--clamo. What's your pathronymic? _quo nomine gowdes, Domine doctissime?_"

The lad was silent; but the farmer's wife turned up the whites of hereyes with an expression of wonder and surprise at the erudition of the"masther. "

"I persave you are as yet uninitiated into the elementary principia ofthe languages; well--the honor is still before you. What's your name?"

"James M'Evoy, sir. "

Just now the farmer's family began to assemble round the spacioushearth; the young lads, whose instruction the worthy teacher claimed ashis own peculiar task, came timidly forward, together with two or threepretty bashful girls with sweet flashing eyes, and countenances full offeeling and intelligence. Behind on the settles, half-a-dozen servantsof both sexes sat in pairs--each boy placing himself beside his favoritegirl. These appeared to be as strongly interested in the learnedconversation which the master held, as if they were masters andmistresses of Munster Latin and Doric Greek themselves; but anoccasional thump cautiously bestowed by no slender female hand upon thesturdy shoulder of her companion, or a dry cough from one of the youngmen, fabricated to drown the coming blow, gave slight indications thatthey contrived to have a little amusement among themselves, altogetherindependent of Mr. Corcoran's erudition. 

When the latter came in, Jemmy was taking the tumbler of punch which thefarmer's wife had mixed for him; on this he fixed an expressive glance, which instantly reverted to the _vanithee_, and from her to the largebottle which stood in a window to the right of the fire. It is a quickeye, however, that can anticipate Irish hospitality. 

"Alley, " said the farmer, ere the wife had time to comply with the hintconveyed by the black, twinkling eye of the schoolmaster; "why, Alley"--

"Sure, I am, " she replied, "an' will have it for you in less than notime. "

She accordingly addressed herself to the bottle, and in a few minuteshanded a reeking jug of punch to the _Farithee_, or good man. 

"Come, Masther, by the hand o' my body, I don't like dhry talk so longas I can get anything to moisten the discoorse. Here's your health, Masther, " continued the farmer, winking at the rest, "and a speedyconclusion to what you know! In throth, she's the pick of a goodgirl--not to mintion what she has for her portion. I'm a friend to thesame family, an' will put a spoke in your wheel, Masther, that'll sarveyou. "

"Oh, Mr. Lanigan, very well, sir--very well--you're becoming quitefacetious upon me, " said the little man, rather confused; "but upon mycredit and reputation, except the amorous inclination and regard to meis on her side, " and he looked sheepishly at his hands, "I can't saythat the arrows of Cupid have as yet pinethrated the sintimintal side ofmy heart. It is not with me as it was wid Dido--hem--

Non 'haeret lateri lethalis arundo, '

as Virgil says. Yet I can't say, but if a friend were to becomespokesman for me, and insinuate in my behalf a small taste of amoroussintimintality, why--hem, hem, hem! The company's health! Lad, JamesM'Evoy, your health, and success to you, my good boy!--hem, hem!"

"Here's wishin' him the same!" said the farmer. 

"James, " said the schoolmaster, "you are goin' to Munsther, an' I cansay that I have travelled it from end to end, not to a bad purpose, Ihope--hem! Well, a bouchal, there are hard days and nights before you, so keep a firm heart. If you have money, as 'tis likely you have, don'tlet a single rap of it into the hands of the schoolmaster, although thefirst thing he'll do will be to bring you home to his own house, an'palaver you night an' day, till he succeeds in persuading you to leaveit in his hands for security. You might, if not duly pre-admonished, surrender it to his solicitations, for--

'Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. '

Michael, what case is mortalium?" added he, suddenly addressing one ofthe farmer's sons; "come, now, Michael, where's your brightness? Whatcase is mortalium?"

The boy was taken by surprise, and for a few minutes could not reply. 

"Come man, " said the father, "be sharp, spake out bravely, an' don't beafraid; nor don't be in a hurry aither, we'll wait for you. "

"Let him alone--let him alone, " said Corcoran; "I'll face the same boyagin the county for cuteness. If he doesn't expound that, I'll neverconsthru a line of Latin, or Greek, or Masoretic, while I'm livin'. "

His cunning master knew right well that the boy, who was only confusedat the suddenness of the question, would feel no difficulty in answeringit to his satisfaction. Indeed, it was impossible for him to miss it, ashe was then reading the seventh book of Virgil, and the fourth of Homer. It is, however, a trick with such masters to put simple questions ofthat nature to their pupils, when at the houses of their parents, asknotty and difficult, and when they are answered, to assume an air ofastonishment at the profound reach of thought displayed by the pupil. 

When Michael recovered himself, he instantly replied, "_Mortalium_ isthe genitive case of nemo, by '_Nomina Partiva_. '"

Corcoran laid down the tumbler, which he was in the act of raising tohis lips, and looked at the lad with an air of surprise and delight, then at the farmer and his wife, alternately, and shook his head withmuch mystery. "Michael, " said he to the lad; "will you go out and tellus what the night's doin'. "

The boy accordingly went out--"Why, " said Corcoran, in his absence, "ifever there was a phanix, and that boy will be the bird--an Irish phanixhe will be, a

_Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno!_

There's no batin' him at anything he undher-takes. Why, there's thimthat are makin' good bread by their larnin', that couldn't resolve that;and you all saw how he did it widout the book! Why, if he goes on atthis rate, I'm afraid he'll soon be too many for myself--hem!"

"Too many for yourself! Fill the masther's tumbler, Alley. Too many foryourself! No, no! I doubt he'll never see that day, bright as he is, an'cute. That's it--put a hape upon it. Give me your hand, masther. I thankyou for your attention to him, an' the boy is a credit to us. Come over, Michael, avourneen. Here, take what's in this tumbler, an' finish it. Be a good boy and mind your lessons, an' do everything the mastherhere--the Lord bless him!--bids you; an' you'll never want a frind, masther, nor a dinner, nor a bed, nor a guinea, while the Lord spares meaither the one or the other. "

"I know it, Mr. Lanigan, I know it; and I will make that boy the prideof Ireland, if I'm spared. I'll show him _cramboes_ that would puzzlethe great Scaliger himself; and many other difficulties I'll let himinto, that I have never let out yet, except to Tim Kearney, that batethem all at Thrinity College in Dublin up, last June. "

"Arrah, how was that, Masther?"

"Tim, you see, went in to his Entrance Examinayshuns, and one of theFellows came to examine him, but divil a long it was till Tim sackedhim. 

"'Go back agin', says Tim, 'and sind some one that's able to tache me, for you're not. '

"So another greater scholar agin came to yry Tim, and did thry him, andTim made a _hare_ of _him_, before all that was in the place--five orsix thousand ladies and gintlemen, at laste!

"The great learned Fellows thin began to look odd enough; so they pickedout the best scholar among them but one, and slipped him at Tim; butwell becomes Tim, the never a long it was till he had him, too, as dumbas a post. The fellow went back--

"'Gintlemen, ' says he to the rest, 'we'll be disgraced all out, ' sayshe, 'for except the Prowost sacks that Munsther spalpeen, he'll bate usall, an' we'll never be able to hould up our heads afther. '

"Accordingly, the Prowost attacks Tim; and such a meetin' as they had, never was seen in Thrinity College since its establishment. At last whenthey had been nine hours and a half at it, the Prowost put one word tohim that Tim couldn't expound, so he lost it by one word only. Forthe last two hours the Prowost carried on the examinashun in Hebrew, thinking, you see, he had Tim there; but he was mistaken, for Timanswered him in good Munsther Irish, and it so happened that theyunderstood each other, for the two languages are first cousins, or, atall evints, close blood relations. Tim was then pronounced to be thebest scholar in Ireland except the Prowost; though among ourselves, theymight have thought of the man that taught him. That, however, wasn'tall. A young lady fell in love wid Tim, and is to make him a present ofherself and her great fortune (three estates) the moment he becomes acounsellor; and in the meantime she allows him thirty pounds a year tobear his expenses, and live like a gintleman. 

"Now to return to the youth in the corner: _Nemo mortalium omnibus horissapit_, Jemmy keep your money, or give it to the priest to keep, andit will be safest; but by no means let the Hyblean honey of theschoolmaster's blarney deprive you of it, otherwise it will be a _vale, vale, longum vale_ between you. _Crede experto!_"

"Masther, " said the farmer, "many a sthrange accident you met wid on yerthravels through Munsther?"

"No doubt of that, Mr. Lanigan. I and another boy thravelled it insociety together. One day we were walking towards a gintleman's houseon the road side, and it happened that we met the owner of it in thevicinity, although we didn't know him to be such. 

"'_Salvete Domini!_' said he, in good fresh Latin. 

"'_Tu sis salvus, quoque!_' said I to him, for my comrade wasn't cute, an' I was always orathor. 

"'_Unde veniti?_' said he, comin' over us wid another deep piece oflarnin' the construction of which was, 'where do yez come from?'

"I replied, '_Per varios casus et tot discrimina rerum, venimus aMayo. _'

"'Good!' said he, 'you're bright; follow me. '

"So he brought us over to his own house, and ordered us bread and cheeseand a posset; for it was Friday, an' we couldn't touch mate. He, in themane time, sat an chatted along wid us. The thievin' cook, however, inmakin' the posset, kept the curds to herself, except a slight taste hereand there, that floated on the top; but she was liberal enough of thewhey, any how. 

"Now I had been well trained to fishing in my more youthful days; and nogorsoon could grope a trout wid me. I accordingly sent the spoon throughthe pond before me wid the skill of a connoisseur; but to no purpose--itcame up wid nothin' but the whey. 

"So, said I off hand to the gintleman, houlding up the bowl, and lookingat it with a disappointed face, 'Apparent _rari_ nantes in gurgite vasto. '

'This, ' says I, 'plase your hospitality, may be Paotolus, but the divila taste o' the proper sand is in the bottom of it. '

"The wit of this, you see, pleased him, and we got an excellent treatin his _studium_, or study: for he was determined to give myself anothertrial. 

"'What's the wickedest line in Virgil?' said he. 

"Now I had Virgil at my fingers' ends, so I answered him:

'Flectere si nequeo superos, Aeheronta movebo, '

"'Very good, ' said he, 'you have the genius, and will come to somethin'yet: now tell me the most moral line in Virgil. '

"I answered:

'Discere justitiam moniti et non temnere divos. ' *

 * He is evidently drawing the long-bow here; this anecdote has been told before. 

"'Depend upon it, ' said he, 'you will be a luminary. The morning starwill be but a farthing candle to you; and if you take in the learning asyou do the cheese, in a short time there won't be a man in Munstherfit to teach you, ' and he laughed, for you see he had a tendency tojocosity. 

"He did not give me up here, however, being determined to go deeper widme. 

"'Can you translate a newspaper into Latin prose?' said he. 

"Now the divil a one o' me was just then sure about the prose, so I wasgoin' to tell him; but before I had time to speak, he thrust the paperinto my hand, and desired me to thranslate half-a-dozen barbarousadvertisements. 

"The first that met me was about a reward offered for a Newfoundland dogand a terrier, that had been stolen from a fishing-tackle manufacturer, and then came a list of his shabby merchandise, ending with along-winded encomium upon his gunpowder, shot, and double-barrelledguns. Now may I be shot with a blank cartridge, if I ever felt so muchat an amplush in my life, and I said so. 

"'Your honor has hooked me wid the fishing hooks, ' said I; 'but I grantthe cheese was good bait, any how. '

"So he laughed heartily, and bid me go on. 

"Well, I thought the first was difficult: but the second was Masoreticto it--something about drawbacks, excisemen, and a long custom-houselist, that would puzzle Publius Virgilius Maro, if he was set totranslate it. However, I went through wid it as well as I could; where Icouldn't find Latin, I laid in the Greek, and where the Greek failedme, I gave the Irish, which, to tell the truth, in consequence of itsvernacularity, I found to be the most convanient. Och, och many a larnedscrimmage I have signalized myself in, during my time. Sure my name'sas common as a mail-coach in Thrinity College; and 'tis well knownthere isn't a fellow in it but I could sack, except may be, the prowost. That's their own opinion. 'Corcoran, ' says the prowost, 'is the mostlarned man in Ireland; an' I'm not ashamed, ' says he, 'to acknowledgethat I'd rather decline meeting him upon deep points. ' Ginteels, allyour healths--hem! But among ourselves I could bog him in a very shorttime; though I'd scorn to deprive the gintleman of his reputaytion orhis place, even if he sent me a challenge of larnin' to-morrow, althoughhe's too cute to venture on doing that--hem, hem!"

To hear an obscure creature, whose name was but faintly known in theremote parts even of the parish in which he lived, draw the long-bowat such a rate, was highly amusing. The credulous character of hisauditory, however, was no slight temptation to him; for he knew thatnext to the legends of their saints, or the Gospel itself, his fictionsranked in authenticity; and he was determined that it should not be hisfault if their opinion of his learning and talents were not raised tothe highest point. The feeling experienced by the poor scholar, whenhe awoke the next morning, was one both of satisfaction and sorrow. Hethought once more of his home and kindred, and reflected that it mightbe possible he had I seen the last of his beloved relations. His grief, however, was checked when he remembered the warm and paternal affectionwith which he was received on the preceding night by his hospitablecountryman. He offered up his prayers to God; humbly besought his graceand protection; nor did he forget to implore a blessing upon those who Ihad thus soothed his early sorrows, and afforded him, though a strangerand friendless, I shelter, comfort, and sympathy. 

"I hope, " thought he, "that I will meet many such, till I overcome mydifficulties, an' find myself able to assist my poor father an' mother!"

And he did meet many such among the humble, and despised, and neglectedof his countrymen; for--and we say it with pride--the character of thisexcellent farmer is thoroughly that of our peasantry within the range ofdomestic life. 

When he had eaten a comfortable breakfast, and seen his satchel stuffedwith provision for his journey, the farmer brought him up to his ownroom, in which were also his wife and children. 

"God, " said he, "has been good to me; blessed be his holy name!--bettherit appears in one sinse, than he has been to you, dear, though maybe Idon't desarve it as well. But no matther, acushla; I have it, an' youwant it; so here's a thrifle to help your forrid in your larnin'; an'all I ax from you is to offer up a bit of a prayer for me, of an oddtime, an' if ever you live to be a priest, to say, if it wouldn't bethroublesome, one Mass for me an' those that you see about me. It's notmuch, James agra--only two guineas. They may stand your friend, whinfriends will be scarce wid you; though, I hope, that won't be the caseaither. "

The tears were already streaming down. Jemmy's cheeks. "Oh, " said theartless boy, "God forever reward you! but sure I have a great dale ofmoney in the--in the--cuff o' my coat. Indeed I have, an' I won't wantit!"

The farmer, affected by the utter simplicity of the lad, looked at hiswife and smiled, although a tear stood in his eye at the time. She wipedher eyes with her apron, and backed the kind offer of her husband. 

"Take it, asthore, " she added, "in your cuff! Musha, God help you! sureit's not much you or the likes of you can have in your cuff, avourneen!Don't be ashamed, but take it; we can well afford it, glory be to Godfor it! It's not, agra, bekase you're goin' the way you are--though thatsame's an honor to you--but bekase our hearts warmed to you, that weoffered it, an' bekase we would wish you to be thinkin' of us now an'thin, when you're in a strange part of the country. Let me open yourpocket an' put them into it. That's a good, boy, thank you, an' Godbless an' prosper you! I'm sure you were always biddable. "

"Now childre, " said the farmer, addressing his sons and daughters, "never see the sthranger widout a friend, nor wantin' a bed or a dinner, when you grow up to be men an' women. There's many a turn in this world;we may be strangers ourselves; an' think of what I would feel if any ofyou was far from me, widout money or friends, when I'd hear that youmet a father in a strange counthry that lightened your hearts by hiskindness. Now, dear, the carts 'll be ready in no time--eh? Why therethey are at the gate waitin' for you. Get into one of them, an' they'lllave you in the next town. Come, roan, budan' age, be stout-hearted, an'don't cry; sure we did nothin' for you to spake of. "

He shook the poor scholar by the hand, and drawing his hat over hiseyes, passed hurriedly out of the room. Alley stooped down, kissed hislips, and wept; and the children each embraced him with that mingledfeeling of compassion and respect which is uniformly entertained for thepoor scholar in Ireland. 

The boy felt as if he had been again separated from his parents; with asobbing bosom and wet cheeks he bid them farewell, and mounting one ofthe carts was soon beyond sight and hearing of the kind-hearted farmerand his family. 

When the cart had proceeded about a mile, it stopped, and one of themen who accompanied it addressing a boy who passed with two sods of turfunder his arm, desired him to hurry on and inform his master that theywaited for him. 

"Tell Misther Corcoran to come into coort, " said the man, laughing, "myLordship's waitin' to hear his defince for intindin' not to run away widMiss Judy Malowny. Tell him Lord Garty's ready to pass sintince on himfor not stalin' the heart of her wid his Rule o' Three. Ha! by the holyfarmer, you'll get it for stayin' from school to this hour. Be quick, abouchal!"

In a few minutes the trembling urchin, glad of any message that mightserve to divert the dreaded birch from himself, entered the, uproarious"Siminary, " caught his forelock, bobbed down his head to the master, and pitched his "two sods" into a little'heap of turf which lay in thecorner of the school. 

"Arrah, Pat Roach, is this an hour to inter into my establishment widimpunity? Eh, you Rosicrusian?"

"Masther, sir, " replied the adroit monkey, "I've a message for you, sir, i' you plase. "

"An' what might the message be, Masther; Pat Roach? To dine to-day widyour worthy father, abouchal?"

"No, sir; it's from one o' Mr. Lanigan's boys--him that belongs to thecarts, sir; he wants to spake to you, sir, i' you plase. "

"An' do you give that by way of an apologetical oration for your absencefrom the advantages of my tuition until this hour? However, non constatPatrici; I'll pluck the crow wid you on my return. If you don't findyourself a well-flogged youth for your 'mitchin, ' never say that thisright hand can administer condign punishment to that part of yourphysical theory which constitutes the antithesis to your vacuum caput. En et ewe, you villain, " he added, pointing to the birch, "it's newlycut and trimmed, and pregnant wid alacrity for the operation. I correct, Patricius, on fundamental principles, which you'll soon feel to yourcost. "

"Masther, sir, " replied the lad, in a friendly, conciliating tone, "myfather 'ud be oblaged to you, if you'd take share of a fat goose wid himto-morrow. "

"Go to your sate, Paddy, avourneen; devil a dacent boy in the seminary Ijoke--so much wid, as I do wid yourself; an' all out of respect for yourworthy parents. Faith, I've a great regard for them, all out, an' tellthem so. "

He then proceeded to the carts, and approaching Jemmy, gave him suchadvice touching his conduct in Munster, as he considered to be mostserviceable to an inexperienced lad of his years. 

"Here, " said the kind-hearted soul--"here, James, is my mite; it's butbare ten shillings; but if I could make it a pound for you, it wouldgive me a degree of delectability which I have not enjoyed for a longtime. The truth is, there's something like the _nodus matrimonii_, orwhat they facetiously term the priest's gallows, dangling over my head, so that any little thrifle I may get must be kept together for thatcrisis, James, abouchal; so that must be my apology for not givingyou more, joined to the naked fact, that I never was remarkable for asuperfluity of cash under any circumstances. Remember what I told youlast night. Don't let a shilling of your money into the hands of themasther you settle wid. Give it to the parish priest, and dhraw it fromhim when you want it. Don't join the parties or the factions of theschool. Above all, spake ill of nobody; and if the; masther is harshupon you, either bear it patiently, or mintion it to the priest, orto some other person of respectability in the parish, and you'll beprotected. You'll be apt to meet cruelty enough, my good boy: for thereare larned Neros in Munster, who'd flog if the province was in flames. 

"Now, James, I'll tell you what you'll do, when you reach the larnedsouth. Plant yourself on the highest hill in the neighborhood whereinthe academician with whom you intend to stop, lives. Let the hour ofreconnoitring be that in which dinner is preparing. When seated there, James, take a survey of the smoke that ascends from the chimneys of thefarmer's houses, and be sure to direct your steps to that from whichthe highest and merriest column issues. This is the old plan and it isa sure one. The highest smoke rises from the largest fire, the largestfire boils the biggest pot, the biggest pot generally holds the fattestbacon, and the fattest bacon is kept by the richest farmer. It's awholesome and comfortable climax, my boy, and one by which I myself wasenabled to keep a dacent portion of educated flesh between the master'sbirch and my ribs. The science itself is called Gastric Geography, andis peculiar only to itinerant young gintlemen who seek for knowledge inthe classical province of Munster. 

"Here's a book that thravelled along wid myself through all myperegrinations--Creech's Translation of Horace. Keep it for my sake;and when you accomplish your education, if you return home this way, I'dthank you to give me a call. Farewell! God bless you and prosper you asI wish, and as I am sure you desarve. "

He shook the lad by the hand; and as it was probable that his own formerstruggles with poverty, when in the pursuit of education, came with allthe power of awakened recollection to his mind, he hastily drew his handacross his eyes, and returned to resume the brief but harmless authorityof the ferula. 

After arriving at the next town, Jemmy found himself once moreprosecuting his journey alone. In proportion as he advanced into astrange land, his spirits became depressed, and his heart cleaved moreand more to those whom he had left behind him. There is, however, anenthusiasm in the visions of youth, in the speculations of a youngheart, which frequently overcomes difficulties that a mind taught bythe experience of life would often shrink from encountering. We may allremember the utter recklessness of danger, with which, in ouryouthful days, we crossed floods, or stood upon the brow of yawningprecipices--feats which, in after years, the wealth of kingdoms couldnot induce us to perform. Experience, as well as conscience, makescowards of us all. 

The poor scholar in the course of his journey had the satisfactionof finding himself an object of kind and hospitable attention to hiscountrymen. His satchel of books was literally a passport to theirhearts. For instance, as he wended his solitary way, depressed andtravel-worn, he was frequently accosted by laborers from behind a ditchon the roadside, and, after giving a brief history of the object he hadin view, brought, if it was dinner-hour, to some farm-house or cabin, where he was made to partake of their meal. Even those poor creatureswho gain a scanty subsistence by keeping what are called "dhry lodgins, "like _lucus a non lucendo_, because they never keep out the rain, andhave mostly a bottle of whiskey for those who know how to call forit, even they, in most instances, not only refused to charge the poorscholar for his bed, but declined to receive any remuneration for hissubsistence. 

"Och, och, no, you poor young cratlrur, not from you. No, no; if wewouldn't help the likes o' you, who ought we to help? No dear; butinstead o' the _airighad_, (* money) jist lave us your blessin', an' maybe we'll thrive as well wid that, as we would wid your little'pences, that you'll be wanting for yourself whin your frinds won't benear to help you. "

Many, in fact, were the little marks of kindness and attention which thepoor lad received on his way. Sometimes a ragged peasant, if he happenedto be his fellow-traveller, would carry his satchel so long as theytravelled together, or a carman would give him a lift on his empty car;or some humorous postilion, or tipsy "shay-boy, " with a comical leer inhis eye, would shove him into his vehicle; remarking--

"Bedad, let nobody say you're a poor scholar now, an' you goin' toschool in a coach! Be the piper that played afore Moses, if ever anyrascal upraids you wid it, tell him, says you--'You damned rap, ' saysyou, 'I wint to school in a coach! an' that, ' says you, 'was whatnone o' yer beggarly gin oration was ever able to do, ' says you; 'an'moreover, be the same token, ' says you, 'be the holy farmer, if youbring it up to me, I'll make a third eye in your forehead wid the butto' this whip, ' says you. Whish! darlins! That's the go! There's drivin', Barny! Eh?"

At length, after much toil and travel, he reached the South, havingexperienced as he proceeded a series of affectionate attentions, whichhad, at least, the effect of reconciling him to the measure he hadtaken, and impressing upon his heart a deeper confidence in the kindnessand hospitality of his countrymen. 

Upon the evening of the day on which he terminated his journey, twilightwas nearly falling; the town in which he intended to stop for the nightwas not a quarter of a mile before him, yet he was scarcely able toreach it; his short, yielding steps were evidently those of a young andfatigued traveller: his brow was moist with perspiration: he had justbegun, too, to consider in what manner he should introduce himself tothe master who taught the school at which he had been advised to stop, when he heard a step behind him, and on looking back, he discovered atall, well-made, ruddy-faced young man, dressed in black, with a book inhis hand, walking after him. 

"_Unde et quo viator?_" said the stranger, on coming up to him. 

"Oh, sir, " replied Jemmy, "I have not Latin _yet_. "

"You are on your way to seek it, however, " replied the other. "Have youtravelled far?"

"A long way, indeed, sir; I came from the County ------, sir--the upperpart of it. "

"Have you letters from your parish priest?"

"I have, sir, and one from my father's landlord, Square Benson, if youever heard of him. "

"What's your object in learning Latin?"

"To be a priest, wid the help o' God; an' to rise my poor father an'mother out of their poverty. "

His companion, after hearing this reply, bent a glance upon him, thatindicated the awakening of an interest in the lad much greater than heprobably otherwise would have felt. 

"It's only of late, " continued the boy, "that my father an' mother gotpoor; they were once very well to do in the world. But they were put outo' their farm in ordher that the agint might put a man that had marrieda _get_ (* A term implying illegitimacy) of his own into it. My fatherintended to lay his case before Colonel B------, the landlord; but hecouldn't see him at all, bekase he never comes near the estate. The agint's called Yallow Sam, sir; he's rich through cheatery an'dishonesty; puts money out at intherest, then goes to law, an' brakesthe people entirely; for, somehow, he never was known to lose a lawsuitat all, sir. They say it's the divil, sir, that keeps the lawyers on hisside; an' that when he an' the lawyers do be dhrawin' up their writins, the devil--God betune me an' harm!--does be helpin' them!"

"And is Colonel B------ actually--or, rather, was he your father'slandlord?"

"He was, indeed, sir; it's thruth I'm tellin' you. "

"Singular enough! Stand beside me here--do you see that large house tothe right among the trees?"

"I do, sir; a great big house, entirely--like a castle, sir. "

"The same. Well, that house belongs to Colonel B------, and I am veryintimate with him. I am Catholic curate of this parish; and I was, before my ordination, private tutor in his family for four years. "

"Maybe, sir, you might have intherest to get my father back into hisfarm?"

"I do not know that, my good lad, for I am told Colonel B-----is ratherembarrassed, and, if I mistake not, in the power of the man you callYellow Sam, who has, I believe, heavy mortgages upon his property. But no matter; if I cannot help your father, I shall be able to serveyourself. Where do you intend to stop for the night?"

"In dhry lodgin', sir, that's where my father and mother bid me stopalways. They war very kind to me, sir, in the dhry lddgins. "

"Who is there in Ireland who would not be kind to you, my good boy? Itrust you do not neglect your religious duties?"

"Wid the help o' God, sir, I strive to attind to them as well as I can;particularly since I left my father and mother. Every night an' mornin', sir, I say five Fathers, five Aves, an' a Creed; an' sometimes when I'mwalkin' the road, I slip up an odd Father, sir, an' Ave, that God maygrant me good luck. "

The priest smiled at his candor and artlessness, and could not helpfeeling the interest which the boy had already excited in him increase. 

"You do right, " said he, "and take care that you neglect not the worshipof God. Avoid bad company; be not quarrelsome at school; study toimprove yourself diligently; attend mass regularly; and be punctual ingoing to confession. "

After some further conversation, the priest and he entered the towntogether. 

"This is my house, " said the former; "or if not altogether mine--atleast, that in which I lodge; let me see you here at two o'clockto-morrow. In the meantime, follow me, and I shall place you with afamily where you will experience every kindness and attention that canmake you comfortable. "

He then led him a few doors up the street, till he stopped at adecent-looking "House of Entertainment, " to the proprietors of which heintroduced him. 

"Be kind to this strange boy, " said the worthy clergyman, "and whateverthe charges of his board and lodging may be until we get him settled, Ishall be accountable for them. "

"God forbid, your Reverence, that ever a penny belongin' to a poor boylookin' for his larnin' should go into our pockets, if he was wid ustwelve months in the year. No--no! He can stay with the _bouchaleens_;(* little boys) let them be thryin' one another in their books. If he isfardher on in the Latin then Andy, he can help Andy; an' if Andy hasthe foreway of him, why Andy can help him. Come here, boys, all of yez. Here's a comrade for yez--a dacent boy that's lookin' for his larnin', the Lord enable him! Now be kind to him, an' whisper, " he added, in anundertone, "don't be bringin' a blush to the gorsoon's face. Do ye hear?Ma chorp! if ye do!--Now mind it. Ye know what I can do whin I'm wellvexed! Go, now, an' get him somethin' to ate an' dhrink, an' let himsleep wid Barney in the feather bed. "

During the course of the next day, the benevolent curate introducedhim to the parish priest, who from the frequent claims urged by poorscholars upon his patronage, felt no particular interest in his case. Hewrote a short letter, however, to the master with whom Jemmy intendedto become a pupil, stating that "he was an honest boy, the son oflegitimate parents, and worthy of consideration. "

The curate, who saw further into the boy's character than the parishpriest, accompanied him on the following day to the school; introducedhim to the master in the most favorable manner, and recommended him ingeneral to the hospitable care of all the pupils. This introduction didnot serve the boy so much as might have been expected; there was nothingparticular in the letter of the parish priest, and the curate was but acurate--no formidable personage in any church where the good-will of therector has not been already secured. 

Jemmy returned that day to his lodgings, and the next morning, with hisLatin Grammar under his arm, he went to school to taste the first bitterfruits of the tree of knowledge. 

On entering it, which he did with a beating heart, he found the despotof a hundred subjects sitting behind a desk, with his hat on, a browsuperciliously severe, and his nose crimped into a most cutting andvinegar curl. The truth was, the master knew the character of thecurate, and felt that because he had taken Jemmy under his protection, no opportunity remained for him of fleecing the boy, under the pretenceof securing his money, and that consequently the arrival of the poorscholar would be no windfall, as he had expected. 

When Jemmy entered, he looked first at the master for his welcome; butthe master, who verified the proverb, that there are none so blind asthose who will not see, took no notice whatsoever of him. The boy thenlooked timidly about the school in quest of a friendly face, and indeedfew faces except friendly ones were turned upon him. 

Several of the scholars rose up simultaneously to speak to him; butthe pedagogue angrily inquired why they had left their seats and theirbusiness. 

"Why, sir, " said a young Munsterman, with a fine Milesian face--"begorra, sir, I believe if we don't welcome the poor scholar, I think youwon't. This is the boy, sir, that Mr. O'Brien came along wid yistherday, an' spoke so well of. "

"I know that, Thady; and Misther O'Brien thinks, because he himselffirst passed through that overgrown hedge-school wid slates upon theroof of it, called Thrinity College, and matriculated in Maynoothafther, that he has legal authority to recommend every young vagrant tothe gratuitous benefits of legitimate classicality. An' I suppose, thatyou are acting the Pathrun, too, Thady, and intind to take this youngwild-goose under your protection?"

"Why, sir, isn't he a poor scholar? Sure he mustn't want his bit an'sup, nor his night's lodgin', anyhow. You're to give him his larnin'only, sir. "

"I suppose so, Mr. Thaddeus; but this is the penalty of celebrity. If Iweren't so celebrated a man for classics as I am, I would have none ofthis work. I tell you, Thady, if I had fifty sons I wouldn't make one o'them celebrated. "

"Wait till you have one first, sir, and you may make him as great anumskull as you plase, Master. "

"But in the meantime, Thady, I'll have no dictation from you, as towhether I have one or fifty; or as to whether he'll be an ass or aNewton. I say that a dearth of larnin' is like a year of famine inIreland. When the people are hard pushed, they bleed the fattestbullocks, an' live on their blood; an' so it is wid us Academicians. It's always he that has the most larned blood in his veins, and thegreatest quantity of it that such hungry leeches fasten on. "

"Thrue for you, sir, " said the youth with a smile; "but they say thebullocks always fatten the betther for it. I hope you'll bleed well now, sir. "

"Thady, I don't like, the curl of your nose; an', moreover, I havealways found you prone to sedition. You remember your conduct at the'Barring out. ' I tell you it's well that your worthy father is a dacentwealthy man, or I'd be apt to give you a _memoria technica_ on the_subtratum_, Thady. "

"God be praised for my father's wealth, sir! But I'd never wish to havea good memory in the way you mention. "

"Faith, an' I'll be apt to add that to your other qualities, if youdon't take care of yourself. "

"I want no such addition, Masther; if you do, you'll be apt to subtractyourself from this neighborhood, an', maybe, ther'e won't be more than acipher gone out of it, afther all. "

"Thady, you're a wag, " exclaimed the crestfallen pedagogue; "take thelad to your own sate, and show him his task. How! is your sister's sorethroat, Thady?"

"Why, sir, " replied the benevolent young wit, "she's betther than I am. She can swallow more, sir. "

"Not of larnin', Thady; there you've the widest gullet in the parish. "

"My father's the richest man in it, Masther, " replied Thady. "I think, sir, my! gullet and his purse are much about the same size--wid you. "

"Thady, you're first-rate at a reply;--but exceedingly deficient in theretort courteous. Take the lad to your sate, I say, and see how far heis advanced, and what he is fit for. I suppose, as you are so ginerous, you will volunteer to tache him yourself. "

"I'll do that wid pleasure, sir; but I'd like to know whether you intindto tache him or not. "

"An' I'd like to know, Thady, who's to pay me for it, if I do. A purtyreturn Michael Rooney made me for making him such a linguist as he is. 'You're a tyrant, ' said he, when he grew up, 'and instead of expectingme to thank you for your instructions, you ought to thank me for notpreparing you for the county hospital, as a memento of the crueltyand brutality you made me feel, when I had the misfortune to be a poorscholar! under you. ' And so, because he became curate of the parish, heshowed me the outside of it. "

"But will you tache this poor young boy, sir?"

"Let me know who's to guarantee his payments. "

"I have money myself, sir, to pay you for two years, " replied Jemmy. 'They told me, sir, that you were a great scholar, an' I refused to stopin other schools by rason of the name you have for Latin and Greek. "

"Verbum sat, " exclaimed the barefaced knave. "Come here. Now, you see, I persave you have dacency. Here is your task; get that half page byheart. You have a cute look, an' I've no doubt but the stuff's in you. Come to me afther dismiss, 'till we have a little talk together. "

He accordingly pointed out the task, after which he placed him at hisside, lest the inexperienced boy might be put on his guard by any of thescholars. In this intention, however, he was frustrated by Thady, who, as he thoroughly detested the knavish tyrant, resolved to cautionthe poor scholar against his dishonesty. Thady, indeed most heartilydespised the mercenary pedagogue, not only for his obsequiousness to therich, but on account of his severity to the children of the poor. Abouttwo o'clock the young wag went out for a few minutes, and immediatelyreturned in great haste to inform the master, that Mr. Delaney, theparish priest, and two other gentlemen wished to see him over at theCross-Keys, an inn which was kept at a place called the Nine MileHouse, within a few perches of the school. The parish priest, though anignorant, insipid old man, was the master's patron, and his slightestwish a divine law to him. The little despot, forgetting his prey, instantly repaired to the Cross-Keys, and in his absence, Thady, together with the larger boys of the school, made M'Evoy acquainted withthe fraud about to be practised on him. 

"His intintion, " said they, "is to keep you at home to-night, in ordherto get whatever money you have into his own hands, that he may keep itsafe for you; but if you give him a penny, you may bid farewell to it. Put it in the curate's hands, " added Thady, "or in my father's, an' thinit'll be safe. At all evints, don't stay wid him this night. He'll takeyour money and then turn you off in three or four weeks. "

"I didn't intind to give him my money, " replied Jemmy; "a schoolmaster Imet on my way here, bid me not to do it. I'll give it to the priest. "

"Give it to the curate, " said Thady--"wid him it'll be safe; for theparish priest doesn't like to throuble himself wid anything of themind. "

This was agreed upon; the boy was prepared against the designs of themaster, and a plan laid down for his future conduct. In the meantime, the latter re-entered the school in a glow of indignation anddisappointment. 

Thady, however, disregarded him; and as the master knew that theinfluence of the boy's father could at any time remove him from theparish, his anger subsided without any very violent consequences. Theparish priest was his avowed patron, it is true; but if the parishpriest knew that Mr. O'Rorke was dissatisfied with him, that momenthe would join Mr. O'Rorke in expelling him: from the neighborhood. Mr. O'Rorke was a wealthy and a hospitable man, but the schoolmaster wasneither the one nor the other. 

During school-hours that day, many a warm-hearted urchin entered intoconversation with the poor scholar; some moved by curiosity to hear hisbrief and simple history; others anxious to offer him a temporary asylumin their father's houses; and several to know if he had the requisitebooks, assuring him if he had not they would lend, them to him. Theseproofs of artless generosity touched the homeless youth's heart the moreacutely, inasmuch as he could perceive but too clearly that the eyeof the master rested upon him, from time to time, with no auspiciousglance. 

When the scholars were dismissed, a scene occurred which was calculatedto produce a smile, although it certainly placed the poor scholar in apredicament by no means agreeable. It resulted from a contest amongthe boys as to who should first bring him home. The master who, by thatcunning for which the knavish are remarkable, had discovered in thecourse of the day that his designs upon the boy's money was understood, did not ask him to his house. The contest was, therefore, among thescholars; who, when the master had disappeared from the school-room, formed themselves into a circle, of which Jemmy was the centre, eachpressing his claim to secure him. 

"The right's wid me, " exclaimed Thady; "I stood to him all day, and Isay I'll have him for this night. Come wid me, Jimmy. Didn't I do mostfor you to-day?"

"I'll never forget your kindness, " replied poor Jemmy, quite alarmed atthe boisterous symptoms of pugilism which already began to appear. Infact, many a tiny fist was shut, as a suitable, accompaniment to theauguments with which they enforced their assumed rights. 

"There, now, " continued Thady, "that I puts an ind to it; he says he'llnever forget my kindness. That's enough; come wid me, Jimmy. "

"Is it enough?" said a lad, who, if his father was less wealthy thanThady's, was resolved to put strength of arm against strength of purse. "Maybe it isn't enough! I say I bar it, if your fadher was fifty timesas rich!--Rich! Arrah, don't be comin' over us in regard of your riches, man alive! I'll bring the sthrange boy home this very night, an' itisn't your father's dirty money that'll prevint me. "

"I'd advise you to get a double ditch about your nose, " replied Thady, "before you begin to say anything disrespectful aginst my father. --Don'tthink to ballyrag over me. I'll bring the boy, for I have the best rightto him. Didn't I do (* outwit) the masther on his account?"

"A double ditch about my nose?"

"Aye!"

"Are you able to fight me?"

"I'm able to thry it, anyhow, an' willin too. "

"Do you say you're able to fight me?"

"I'll bring the boy home whether or not. "

"Thady's not your match, Jack Ratigan, " said another boy. "Why don't youchallenge your match?"

"If you say a word, I'll half-sole your eye. Let him say whether he'sable to fight me like a man or not. That's the chat. "

"Half-sole my eye! Thin here I am, an' why don't you do it. You'recrowin' over a boy that you're bigger than. I'll fight you for Thady. Now half-sole my eye if you dar! Eh? Here's my eye, now! Arrah, bethe holy man, I'd--Don't we know the white hen's in you. Didn't BarnyMurtagh cow you at the black-pool, on Thursday last, whin we worbathin'?"

"Come, Ratigan, " said Thady, "peel an' turn out. I say, I am able tofight you; an' I'll make you ate your words aginst my father, by way ofgivin' you your dinner. An' I'll make the dacent strange boy walk homewid me over your body--that is, if he'd not be afraid to dirty hisfeet. "

Ratigan and Thady immediately set to, and in a few minutes there werescarcely a little pair of fists present that were not at work, eitheron behalf of the two first combatants, or with a view to determine theirown private rights in being the first to exercise hospitality towardsthe amazed poor scholar. The fact was, that while the two largest boys, were arguing the point, about thirty or forty minor disputes all ranparallel to theirs, and their mode of decision was immediately adoptedby the pugnacious urchins of the school. In this manner they wereengaged, poor Jemmy attempting to tranquillize and separate them, whenthe master, armed in all his terrors, presented himself. 

With the tact of a sly old disciplinarian, he first secured the door, and instantly commenced the agreeable task of promiscuous castigation. Heavy and vindictive did his arm descend upon those whom he suspectedto have cautioned the boy against his rapacity; nor amongst thewarm-hearted lads, whom he thwacked so cunningly, was Thady passed overwith a tender hand. Springs, bouncings, doublings, blowing of fingers, scratching of heads, and rubbing of elbows--shouts of pain, anddoleful exclamations, accompanied by action that displayed surpassingagility-marked the effect with which he plied the instrument ofpunishment. In the meantime the spirit of reaction, to use a modernphrase, began to set in. The master, while thus engaged in dispensingjustice, first received a rather vigorous thwack on the ear from behind, by an anonymous contributor, who gifted him with what is called amusical ear, for it sang during five minutes afterwards. The monarch, when turning round to ascertain the traitor, received another insult onthe most indefensible side, and that with a cordiality of manner, thatinduced him to send his right hand reconnoitring the invaded part. Hewheeled round a second time with more alacrity than before; but nothingless than the head of James could have secured him on this occasion. Theanonymous contributor sent him a fresh article. This was supported byanother kick behind: the turf began to fly; one after another came incontact with his head and shoulders so rapidly, that he found himself, instead of being the assailant, actually placed upon his defence. 

[Illustration: PAGE 1099-- Received a rather vigorous thwack on the ear]

The insurrection spread, the turf flew more thickly; his subjects closedin upon him in a more compact body; every little fist itched to beat him; the larger boys boldly laid in the facers, punched him in thestomach, I treated him most opprobriously behind, every kick and cuffaccompanied by a memento of his cruelty; in short, they compelled him, like Charles the Tenth, ignominiously to fly from his dominions. 

On finding the throne vacant, some of them suggested that it ought to beoverturned altogether. Thady, however, who was the ringleader ofthe rebellion, persuaded them to be satisfied with what they hadaccomplished, and consequently succeeded in preventing them fromdestroying the fixtures. 

Again they surrounded the poor scholar, who, feeling himself the causeof the insurrection, appeared an object of much pity. Such was his griefthat he could scarcely reply to them. Their consolation on witnessinghis distress was overwhelming. They desired him to think nothing of it;if the master, they told him, should wreak his resentment on him, "bethe holy farmer, " they would _pay_ (* pay) the masther. Thady's claimwas now undisputed. With only the injury of a black eye, and a lipswelled to the size of a sausage, he walked home in triumph, the poorscholar accompanying him. 

The master, who feared, that this open contempt of his authority, running up, as it did, into a very unpleasant species of retaliation, was something like a signal for him to leave the parish, felt rathermore of the penitent the next morning than did any of his pupils. He wasby no means displeased, therefore, to see them drop in about the usualhour. They came, however, not one by one, but in compact groups, eachofficered by two or three of the larger boys; for they feared that, had they entered singly, he might have punished them singly, until hisvengeance should be satisfied. It was by bitter and obstinate strugglesthat they succeeded in repressing their mirth, when he; appeared at hisdesk with one of his eyes literally closed, and his nose considerablyimproved in size and richness of color. When they were all assembled, he hemmed several times, and, in a woo-begone tone of voice, split--bya feeble attempt at maintaining authority and suppressing histerrors--into two parts, that jarred most ludicrously, he brieflyaddressed them as follows:--

"Gintlemen classics, I have been now twenty-six years engaged inthe propagation of Latin and Greek litherature, in conjunction widmathematics, but never, until yesterday, has my influence been spurned;never, until yesterday, have sacrilegious hands been laid upon myperson; never, until yesterday, have I been kicked--insidiously, ungallantly, and treacherously kicked--by my own subjects. No, gintlemen, --and, whether I ought to bestow that respectable epithetupon you after yesterday's proceedings is a matter which admits ofdispute, --never before has the lid of my eye been laid drooping, andthat in such a manner that I' must be blind to the conduct of half ofmy pupils, whether I will or not. You have complained, it appears, ofmy want of impartiality; but, God knows, you have compelled me to bepartial for a week to come. Neither blame me if I may appear to lookupon you with scorn for the next fortnight; for I am compelled to turnup my nose at you much against my own inclination. You need never wantan illustration of the _naso adunco_ of Horace again; I'm a livingexample of it. That, and the doctrine of projectile forces, have beenexemplified in a manner that will prevent me from ever relishing thesesubjects in future. No king can consider himself properly such untilafter he has received the oil of consecration; but you, it appears, think differently. You have unkinged me first, and anointed meafterwards; but, I say, no potentate would relish such unction. Itsmells confoundedly of republicanism. Maybe this is what you understandby the Republic of Letters; but, if it be, I would advise you to changeyour principles. You treated my ribs as if they were the ribs of acommon man; my shins you took liberties with even to excoriation;my head you made a target of, for your hardest turf; and my nose youdishonored to my fage. Was this ginerous? was it discreet? was itsubordinate? and, above all, was it classical? However, I will show youwhat greatness of mind is. I will convince you that it is more noble andgod-like to forgive an injury, or rather five dozen injuries, than toavenge one; when--hem---yes, I say, when I--I--might so easily avengeit. I now present you wid an amnesty: return to you allegiance; butnever, while in this seminary, under my tuition, attempt to take theexecution of the laws into your own hands. Homerians, come up!"

This address, into which he purposely threw a dash of banter and mockgravity, delivered with the accompaniments of his swelled nose anddrooping eye, pacified his audience more readily than a serious onewould have done. It was received without any reply or symptom ofdisrespect, unless the occasional squeak of a suppressed laugh, or thevisible shaking of many sides with inward convulsions, might be termedsuch. 

In the course of the day, it is true, their powers of maintaininggravity were put to a severe test, particularly when, while hearing aclass, he began to adjust his drooping eye-lid, or coax back his noseinto its natural, position. On these occasions a sudden pause might benoticed in the business of the class; the boy's voice, who happenedto read at the time, would fail him; and, on resuming his sentence bycommand of the master, its tone was tremulous, and scarcely adequate tothe task of repeating the words without his bursting into laughter. Themaster observed all this clearly enough, but his mind was already madeup to take no further notice of what had happened. 

All this, however, conduced to render the situation of the poor scholarmuch more easy, or rather less penal, than it would otherwise have been. Still the innocent lad was on all possible occasions a butt for thismiscreant. To miss a word was a pretext for giving him a cruel blow. Toarrive two or three minutes later than the appointed hour was certainon his part to be attended with immediate punishment. Jemmy bore it allwith silent heroism. He shed no tear--he uttered no remonstrance; but, under the anguish of pain so barbarously inflicted, he occasionallylooked round upon his schoolfellows with an I expression of silententreaty that was seldom lost upon them. Cruel to him the master oftenwas; but to inhuman barbarity the large scholars never permitted him todescend. Whenever any of the wealthier farmers'-sons had neglected theirlessons, or deserved chastisement, the mercenary creature substituted ajoke for the birch; but as soon as the son of a poor man, or, which wasbetter still, the poor scholar, came before him, he transferredthat punishment which the wickedness or idleness of respectable boysdeserved, to his or their shoulders. For this outrageous injustice thehard-hearted: old villain had some plausible excuse ready, so thatit was in many cases difficult for Jemmy's generous companions tointerfere; in his behalf, or parry the sophistry of such: a pettytyrant. 

In this miserable way did he pass over the tedious period of a year, going about every night in rotation with the scholars, and severelybeaten on all possible occasions by the master. His conduct and mannerswon him: the love and esteem of all except his tyrant instructor. Hisassiduity was remarkable, and his progress in the elements of Englishand classical literature surprisingly rapid. This added considerablyto his character, and procured him additional respect. It was not longbefore he made himself useful and obliging to all the boys beneath hisstanding in the school. These services he rendered with an air of suchkindness, and a grace so naturally winning, that the attachment ofhis schoolfellows increased towards him from day to day. Thady was hispatron on all occasions: neither did the curate neglect him. The latterwas his banker, for the boy had very properly committed his purse to hiskeeping. At the expiration of every quarter the schoolmaster receivedthe amount of his bill, which he never failed to send in, when due. 

Jemmy had not, during his first year's residence in the south, forgottento request the kind curate's interference with the landlord, on behalfof his father. To be the instrument of restoring his family to theirformer comfortable holding under Colonel B------; would have affordedhim, without excepting the certainty of his own eventual success, thehighest gratification. Of this, however, there was no hope, and nothingremained for him but assiduity in his studies, and patience under themerciless scourge of his teacher. In addition to an engaging person andagreeable manners, nature had gifted him with a high order of intellect, and great powers of acquiring knowledge. The latter he applied to thebusiness before him with indefatigable industry. The school at; whichhe settled was considered the first in Munster; and the master, notwithstanding his known severity, stood high, and justly so, inthe opinion of the people, as an excellent classical and mathematicalscholar. Jemmy applied himself to the study of both, and at theexpiration of his second year had made such progress that he stoodwithout a rival in the school. 

It is usual, as we have said, for the poor scholar to go night afternight, in rotation, with his schoolfellows; he is particularly welcomein the houses of those farmers whose children are not so far advancedas himself. It is expected that he should instruct them in the evenings, and enable them, to prepare their lessons for the following day, a taskwhich he always performs with pleasure, because in teaching them heis confirming his own mind in the knowledge which he has previouslyacquired. Towards the end of the second year, however, he ceasedto circulate in this manner. Two or three of the most independentparishioners, whose sons were only commencing their studies, agreed tokeep him week about; an arrangement highly convenient to him, as by thatmeans he was not so frequently dragged, as he had been, to the remotestparts of the parish. Being an expert penman, he acted also as secretaryof grievances to the poor, who frequently employed him to draw uppetitions to obdurate landlords, or to their more obdurate agents, andletters to soldiers in all parts of the world, from their anxious andaffectionate relations. All these little services he performed kindlyand promptly; many a blessing was fervently invoked upon his head; the"good word" and "the prayer" were all they could afford, as they said, "to the bouchal dhas oge * that tuck the world an him for sake o' thelarnin', an' that hasn't the kindliness o' the mother's breath an' themother's hand near him, the crathur. "

 * The pretty young boy. Boy in Ireland does not always imply youth. 

About the middle of the third year he was once more thrown upon thegeneral hospitality of the people. The three farmers with whom he hadlived for the preceding six months emigrated to America, as did manyothers of that class which, in this country, most nearly approximates tothe substantial yeomanry of England. The little purse, too, which hehad placed in the hands of the kind priest, was exhausted; a season offamine, sickness, and general distress had set in; and the master, onunderstanding that he was without money, became diabolically savage. In short, the boy's difficulties increased to a perplexing degree. EvenThady and his grown companions, who usually interposed in his behalfwhen the master became excessive in correcting him, had left the school, and now the prospect before him was dark and cheerless indeed. For a fewmonths longer, however, he struggled on, meeting every difficulty withmeek endurance. From his very boyhood he had reverenced the sanctity ofreligion, and was actuated by a strong devotional spirit. He trusted inGod, and worshipped Him night and morning with a sincere heart. 

At this crisis he was certainly an object of pity; his clothes, which, for some time before had been reduced to tatters, he had replaced by acast-off coat and small-clothes, a present from his friend the Curate, who never abandoned him. This worthy young man could not afford himmoney, for as he had but fifty pounds a year, with which to clothe, subsist himself, keep a horse, and pay rent, it was hardly to beexpected that his benevolence could be extensive. In addition to this, famine and contagious disease raged with formidable violence in theparish; so that the claims upon his bounty of hundreds who lay huddledtogether in cold cabins, in out-houses, and even behind ditches, wereincessant as well, as heart-rending. The number of interments that tookplace daily in the parish was awful; nothing could be seen but funeralsattended by groups of ragged and emaciated creatures from whose holloweyes gleamed forth the wolfish fire of famine. The wretched mendicantswere countless, and the number of coffins that lay on the publicroads--where, attended by the nearest relatives of the deceased, theyhad been placed for the purpose of procuring charity--were greater thanever had been remembered by the oldest inhabitant. 

Such was the state of the parish when our poor scholar complained oneday in school of severe illness. The early symptoms of the prevailingepidemic were well known; and, on examining more closely into hissituation, it was clear that, according to the phraseology of thepeople, he had "got the faver on his back"--had caught "a heavy loadof the faver. " The Irish are particularly apprehensive of contagiousmaladies. The moment it had been discovered that Jemmy was infected, hisschoolfellows avoided him with a feeling of terror scarcely credible, and the inhuman master was delighted at any circumstance, howevercalamitous, that might afford him a pretext for driving the friendlessyouth out of the school. 

"Take, " said he, "every thing belongin' to you out of my establishment:you were always a plague to me, but now more so than ever. Be quick, sirra, and nidificate for yourself somewhere else. Do you want tothranslate my siminary into an hospital, and myself into Lazarus, aspresident? Go off, you wild goose! and conjugate _aegroto_ whereveryou find a convenient spot to do it in. " The poor boy silently and withdifficulty arose, collected his books, and, slinging on his satchel, looked to his schoolfellows, as if he had said, "Which of you willafford me a place where to lay my aching head?" All, however, kept alooffrom him; he had caught the contagion, and the contagion, they knew, hadswept the people away in vast numbers. At length he spoke. "Is there anyboy among you, " he inquired, "who will bring me home? You know I am astranger, an' far from my own, God help me!"

This was followed by a profound silence. Not one of those who had sooften befriended him, or who would, on any other occasion, share theirbed and their last morsel with him, would even touch his person, muchless allow him, when thus plague-stricken, to take shelter under theirroof. Such are the effects of selfishness, when it is opposed only bythe force of those natural qualities that are not elevated into a senseof duty by clear and profound views of Christian truth. It is one thingto perform a kind action from constitutional impulse, and another toperform it as a fixed duty, perhaps contrary to that impulse. 

Jemmy, on finding himself avoided like a Hebrew leper of old, silentlyleft the school, and walked on without knowing whither he shouldultimately direct his steps. He thought of his friend the priest, butthe distance between him and his place of abode was greater, he felt, than his illness would permit him to travel. He walked on, therefore, in such a state of misery as can scarcely be conceived, much lessdescribed. His head ached excessively, an intense pain shot likedeath-pangs through his lower back and loins, his face was flushed, andhis head giddy. In this state he proceeded, without money or friends;without a house to shelter him, or a bed on which to lie, far fromhis own relations, and with the prospect of death, under circumstancespeculiarly dreadful, before him! He tottered on, however, the earth, ashe imagined, reeling under him; the heavens, he thought, streaming withfire, and the earth indistinct and discolored. Home, the paradise of theabsent--home, the heaven of the affections--with all its tenderness andblessed sympathies, rushed upon his heart. His father's deep but quietkindness, his mother's sedulous love; his brothers, all that they hadbeen to him--these, with their thousand heart-stirring associations, started into life before him again and again. But he was now ill, andthe mother--Ah! the enduring sense of that mother's love placed herbrightest, and strongest, and tenderest, in the far and distant groupwhich his imagination bodied forth. 

"Mother!" he exclaimed--"Oh, mother, why--why did I ever lave you?Mother! the son you loved is dyin' without a kind word, lonely andneglected, in a strange land! Oh, my own mother! why did I ever laveyou?"

The conflict between his illness and his affections overcame him; hestaggered--he grasped as if for assistance at the vacant air--he fell, and lay for some time in a state of insensibility. 

The season was then that of midsummer, and early meadows were fallingbefore the scythe. As the boy sank to the earth, a few laborers wereeating their scanty dinner of bread and milk so near him, that onlya dry low ditch ran between him and them. They had heard his wordsindistinctly, and one of them was putting the milk bottle to his lipswhen, attracted by the voice, he looked in the direction of the speaker, and saw him fall. They immediately recognized "the poor scholar, " and ina moment were attempting to recover him. 

"Why thin, my poor fellow, what's a shaughran wid you?"

Jemmy started for a moment, looked about him, and asked, "Where am I?"

"Faitha, thin, you're in Rory Connor's field, widin a few perches of thehigh-road. But what ails you, poor boy? Is it sick you are?"

"It is, " he replied; "I have got the faver. I had to lave school;none o' them would take me home, an' I doubt I must die in a Christiancounthry under the open canopy of heaven. Oh, for God's sake, don't laveme! Bring me to some hospital, or into the next town, where people mayknow that I'm sick, an' maybe some kind Christian will relieve me. "

The moment he mentioned "faver, " the men involuntarily drew back, afterhaving laid him reclining against the green ditch. 

"Thin, thundher an' turf, what's to be done?" exclaimed one of them, thrusting his spread fingers into his hair. "Is the poor boy to diewidout help among Christyeens like us?"

"But hasn't he the sickness?" exclaimed another: "an' in that case, Pether, what's to be done?"

"Why, you gommoch, isn't that what I'm wantin' to know? You wor ever andalways an ass, Paddy, except before you wor born, an' thin you wor likeMajor M'Curragh, worse nor nothin'. Why the sarra do you be spakin'about the sickness, the Lord protect us, whin you know I'm so timersomeof it?"

"But considher, " said another, edging off from Jemmy, however, "thathe's a poor scholar, an' that there's a great blessin' to thim thatassists the likes of him. "

"Ay, is there that, sure enough, Dan; but you see--blur-an-age, what'sto be done? He can't die this way, wid nobody wid him but himself. "

"Let us help him!" exclaimed another, "for God's sake, an' we won't beapt to take it thin. "

"Ay, but how can we help him, Frank? Oh, bedad, it 'ud be a murdherin'shame, all out, to let the crathur die by himself, widout company, so itwould. "

"No one wul take him in, for fraid o' the sickness. Why, I'll tellyou what we'll do:--Let us shkame the remainder o' this day off o' theMajor, an' build a shed for him on the road-side here, jist against theditch. It's as dhry as powdher. Thin we can go through the neighbors, an' git thim to sit near him time about, an' to bring him little_dhreeniens_ o' nourishment. "

"Divil a purtier! Come thin, let us get a lot o' the neighbors, an' setabout it, poor bouchal. Who knows but it may bring down a blessin' uponus aither in this world or the next. "

"Amin! I pray Gorra! an' so it will sure I doesn't the Catechiz sayit? 'There is but one Church, ' says the Catechiz, 'one Faith, an' oneBaptism. ' Bedad, there's a power o' fine larnin' in the same Catechiz, so there is, an' mighty improvin'. "

An Irishman never works for wages with half the zeal which he displayswhen working for love. Ere many hours passed, a number of the neighborshad assembled, and Jemmy found himself on a bunch of clean straw, in alittle shed erected for him at the edge of the road. 

Perhaps it would be impossible to conceive a more gloomy state of miserythan that in which young M'Evoy found himself. Stretched on the sideof the public road, in a shed formed of a few loose sticks coveredover with "scraws, " that is, the sward of the earth pared into thinstripes--removed above fifty perches from any human habitation--his bodyracked with a furious and oppressive fever--his mind conscious of allthe horrors by which he was surrounded--without the comforts even of abed or bedclothes--and, what was worst of all, those from whom he mightexpect kindness, afraid; to approach him! Lying helpless, under thesecircumstances, it ought not to be wondered at, if he wished that deathmight at once close his extraordinary sufferings, and terminate thosestraggles which filial piety had prompted him to encounter. 

This certainly is a dark picture, but our humble hero knew that eventhere the power and goodness of God could support him. The boy trustedin God; and when removed into his little shed, and stretched upon hisclean straw, he felt that his situation was, in good sooth, comfortablewhen contrasted with what it might have been, if left to perish behind aditch, exposed to the scorching-heat of the sun by day, and the dewsof heaven by night. He felt the hand of God even in this, and placedhimself, with a short but fervent prayer, under his fatherly protection. 

Irishmen however, are not just that description of persons who canpursue their usual avocations, and see a fellow-creature-die, withoutsuch attentions as they can afford him; not precisely so bad as that, gentle reader! Jemmy had not been two hours on his straw, when a secondshed much larger than his own, was raised within a dozen yards of it:In this a fire was lit; a small pot was then procured, milk was sentin, and such other little comforts brought together, as they supposednecessary for the sick boy. Having accomplished these matters, a kind ofguard was set to watch and nurse-tend him; a pitchfork was got, on theprongs of which they intended to reach him bread across the ditch; anda long-shafted shovel was borrowed, on which to furnish him drink withsafety to themselves. That inextinguishable vein of humor, which inIreland mingles even with death and calamity, was also visible here. Theragged, half-starved creatures laughed heartily at the oddity of theirown inventions, and enjoyed the ingenuity with which they made shiftto meet the exigencies of the occasion, without in the slightest degreehaving their sympathy and concern for the afflicted youth lessened. 

When their arrangements were completed, one of them (he of the scythe)made a little whey, which, in lieu of a spoon, he stirred with theend of his tobacco-pipe; he then extended it across the ditch upon theshovel, after having put it in a tin porringer. 

"Do you want a taste o' whay, avourneen?"

"Oh, I do, " replied Jemmy; "give me a drink for God's sake. "

"There it is, _a bouchal_, on the shovel. Musha if myself rightly knowswhat side you're lyin' an, or I'd put it as near your lips as I could. Come, man, be stout, don't be cast down at all at all; sure, bud-an-age, we' shovelin' the way to you, any how. "

"I have it, " replied the boy--"oh, I have it. May God never forget thisto you, whoever you are. "

"Faith, if you want to know who I am; I'm Pettier Connor the mower, thatnever seen to-morrow. Be Gorra, poor boy, you mustn't let your spiritsdown at all at all. Sure the neighbors is all bint to watch an' takecare of you. --May I take away the shovel?--an' they've built a bravesnug shed here beside yours, where they'll stay wid you time about untilyou get well. We'll feed you wid whay enough, bekase we've made up ourminds to stale lots o' sweet milk for you. Ned Branagan an' I will milkKody Hartigan's cows to-night, wid the help o' God. Divil a bit sin init, so there isn't, an' if there is, too, be my sowl there's no harm init any way--for he's but a nager himself, the same Rody. So, acushla, keep a light heart, for, be Gorra, you're sure o' the thin pair o'throwsers, any how. Don't think you're desarted--for you're not. It'sall in regard o' bein' afeard o' this faver, or it's not this way you'dbe; but, as I said a while agone, when you want anything, spake, foryou'll still find two or three of us beside you here, night an' day. Now, won't you promise to keep your mind asy, when you know that we'rebeside you?"

"God bless you, " replied Jemmy, "you've taken a weight off of my heart. I thought I'd die wid nobody near me at all. "

"Oh, the sorra fear of it. Keep your heart up. We'll stale lots o' milkfor you. Bad scran to the baste in the parish but we'll milk, sooner noryou'd want the whay, you crathur you. "

The boy felt relieved, but his malady increased; and were it not thatthe confidence of being thus watched and attended to supported him, itis more than probable he would have sunk under it. 

When the hour of closing the day's labor arrived, Major ------ came downto inspect the progress which his mowers had made, and the goodness ofhis crop upon his meadows. No sooner was he perceived at a distance, than the scythes were instantly resumed, and the mowers pursued theiremployment with an appearance of zeal and honesty that could not besuspected. 

On arriving at the meadows, however, he was evidently startled at themiserable day's work they had performed. 

"Why, Connor, " said he, addressing the nurse-tender, "how is this? Iprotest you have not performed half a day's labor! This is miserable andshameful. "

"Bedad, Major, it's thrue for your honor, sure enough. It's a poor day'swork, the I never a doubt of it. But be all the books; that never wasopened or shut, busier men! than we wor since mornin' couldn't be had;for love or money. You see, Major, these meadows, bad luck to them!--Godpardon me for cursin' the harmless crathurs, for sure 'tisn't theirfau't, sir: but you see, Major, I'll insinse you into it. Now lookhere, your honor. Did you ever see deeper: meadow nor that same, sinceyou war foal---hem--sintce you war born, your honor? Maybe, your honor, Major, 'ud just take the scythe an' sthrive to cut a swaythe?"

"Nonsense, Connor; don't you know I cannot. "

"Thin, be Gorra, sir, I wish you could; thry it. I'd kiss the book, wedid more labor, an' worked harder this day, nor any day for the lastfortnight. If it was light grass, sir--see here, Major, here's alightbit--now, look at how the scythe runs through it! Thin look at hereagin--just observe this, Major--why, murdher alive, don't you see howslow she goes through that where the grass is heavy! Bedad, Major, you'll be made up this suson wid your hay, any how. Divil carry thefiner meadow ever I put the scythe in nor this same meadow, God blessit!"

"Yes, I see it, Connor; I agree with you as to its goodness. But thereason of that is, Connor, that I always direct my steward myself inlaying it down for grass. Yes, you're right, Connor; if the meadow werelight, you could certainly mow comparatively a greater space in a day. "

"Be the livin' farmer, God pardon me for swearin', it's a pleasure tohave dalins wid a gintleman like you, that knows things as cute asif you war a mower yourself, your honor. Bedad, I'll go bail, sir, itwouldn't be hard to tache you that same. "

"Why, to tell you the truth, Connor, you have hit me off pretty well. I'm beginning to get a taste for agriculture. "

"But, " said Connor, scratching his head, "won't your honor allow us theprice of a glass, or a pint o' portlier, for our hard day's work. Badcess to me, sir, but this meadow 'ill play the puck wid us afore weget it finished. --Atween ourselves, sir--if it wouldn't be takin'freedoms--if you'd look to your own farmin' yourself. The steward, sir, is a dacent kind of a man; but, sowl, he couldn't hould a candle to yourhonor in seein' to the best way of doin' a thing, sir. Won't you allowus glasses apiece, your honor? Faix, we're kilt entirely, so we are. "

"Here is half-a-crown among you, Connor; but don't get drunk. "

"Dhrunk! Musha, long may you reign, Sir! Be the scythe in my hand, I'drather--Och, faix, you're one o' the ould sort, sir--the raal Irishgintleman, your honor. An' sure your name's far and near for that, anyhow. "

Connor's face would have done the heart of Brooke or Cruikshank good, had either of them seen it charged with humor so rich as that whichbeamed upon it, when the Major left them to enjoy their own commentsupon what had happened. 

"Oh, be the livin' farmer, " said Connor, "are we all alive at all aftherdoin' the Major! Pp. , thin, the curse o' the crows upon you, pijor, darlin', but you are a Manus!* The damn' rip o' the world, that wouldn'tgive the breath he breathes to the poor for God's sake, and he'll threwna man half-a-crown that 'll blarney him for farmin', and him doesn'tknow the differ atween a Cork-red a Yellow-leg. "**

 * A soft booby easily hoaxed. 

 **Different kinds of potatoes. 

"Faith, he's the boy that knows how to make a Judy of himself any way, Pether, " exclaimed another. "The divil a hapurt'h asier nor togive these Quality the bag to hould, so there isn't. An' they thinkthemselves so cute, too!"

"Augh!" said a third, "couldn't a man find the soft side o' them as asyas make out the way to' his own nose, widout being led to it. Divil asin it is to do them, any way. Sure, he thinks we wor tooth an' nail atthe meadow all day; an' me thought I'd never recover it, to see Petherhere--the rise he tuck out of him! Ha, ha, ha--och, och, murdher, oh!"

"Faith, " exclaimed Connor, "'twas good, you see, to help the poorscholar; only for it we couldn't get shkamin' the half-crown out of him. I think we ought to give the crathur half of it, an' him so sick: he'llbe wantin' it worse nor ourselves. "

"Oh, be Gorra, he's fairly entitled to that. I vote him fifteen pince. "

"Surely!" they exclaimed unanimously. "Tundher-an'-turf! wasn't he themanes of gettin' it for us?"

"Jemmy, a bouchal, " said Connor, across the ditch to M'Evoy, "are yousleepin'?"

"Sleepin'! Oh, no, " replied Jemmy; "I'd give the wide world for one winkof asy sleep. "

"Well, aroon, here's fifteen pince for you, that we skham--Will I tellhim how we cot it?"

"No, don't, " replied his neighbors; "the boy's given to devotion, andmaybe might scruple to take it. "

"Here's fifteen pince, avourneen, on the shovel, that we're givin' youfor God's sake. If you over * this, won't you offer up a prayer for us?Won't you, avick?"

 *That is--to get over--to survive. 

"I can never forget your kindness, " replied Jemmy; "I will always prayfor you, and may God for ever bless you and yours!

"Poor crathur! May the Heavens above have prosthration on him! Upon mysowl, it's good to have his blessin' an' his prayer. Now don't fret, Jemmy; we're lavin' you wid a lot o' neighbors here. They'll watchyou time about, so that whin you want anything, call, avourneen, an'there'll still be some one here to answer. God bless you, an' restoreyou, till we come wid the milk we'll stale for you, wid the help o' God. Bad cess to me, but it 'ud be a mortual sin, so it would, to let thepoor boy die at all, an' him so far from home. For, as the Catechizsays 'There is but one Faith, one Church, and one Baptism!' Well, thereadin' that's in that Catechiz is mighty improvin', glory be to God!"

It would be utterly impossible to detail the affliction which our poorscholar suffered in this wretched shed, for the space of a fortnight, notwithstanding the efforts of those kind-hearted people to render hissituation comfortable. 

The little wigwam they had constructed near him was never, even for amoment, during his whole illness, without two or three persons ready toattend him. In the evening their numbers increased; a fire was alwayskept burning, over which a little pot for making whey or gruel wassuspended. At night they amused each other with anecdotes and laughter, and occasionally with songs, when certain that their patient was notasleep. Their exertions to steal milk for him were performed withuncommon glee, and related among themselves with great humor. Thesethefts would have been unnecessary, had not the famine which thenprevailed through the province been so excessive. The crowds thatswarmed about the houses of wealthy farmers, supplicating a morsel tokeep body and soul together, resembled nothing which our English readersever had an opportunity of seeing. Ragged, emaciated creatures, totteredabout with an expression of wildness and voracity in their gauntfeatures; fathers and mothers reeled under the burthen of their belovedchildren, the latter either sick, or literally expiring for want offood; and the widow, in many instances, was compelled to lay down herhead to die, with the wail, the feeble wail, of her withered orphansmingling with her last moans! In such a state of things it was difficultto procure a sufficient quantity of milk to allay the natural thirsteven of one individual, when parched by the scorching heat of a fever. Notwithstanding this, his wants were for the most part anticipated, sofar as their means would allow them; his shed was kept waterproof; andeither shovel or pitchfork always ready to be extended to him, by way ofsubstitution for the right hand of fellowship. 

When he called for anything, the usual observation was, "Husht! thecrathur's callin'. I must take the shovel an' see what he wants. "

There were times, it is true, when the mirth of the poor fellows was'very low, for hunger was generally among themselves; there weretimes when their own little shed presented a touching and melancholyspectacle--perhaps we ought also to add, a noble one; for, tocontemplate a number of men, considered rude and semi-barbarous, devoting themselves, in the midst of privations the most cutting andoppressive, to the care and preservation of a strange lad, merelybecause they knew him to be without friends and protection, is towitness a display of virtue truly magnanimous. The food on which someof the persons were occasionally compelled to live, was blood boiled upwith a little oatmeal; for when a season of famine occurs in Ireland, the people usually bleed the cows and bullocks to preserve themselvesfrom actual starvation. It is truly a sight of appalling misery tobehold feeble women gliding across the country, carrying their cans andpitchers, actually trampling upon fertility, and fatness, and collectedin the corner of some grazier's farm waiting, gaunt and ravenous asGhouls, for their portion of blood. During these melancholy periods ofwant, everything in the shape of an esculent disappears. The miserablecreatures will pick up chicken-weed, nettles, sorrell, bug-loss, preshagh, and sea-weed, which they will boil and eat with the voracityof persons writhing under the united agonies of hunger and death! Yetthe very country thus groaning under such a terrible sweep of famine isactually pouring from all her ports a profusion of food, day after day;flinging it from her fertile bosom, with the wanton excess of a prodigaloppressed by abundance. 

Despite, however, of all the poor scholar's nurse-guard suffered, he wasattended with a fidelity of care and sympathy which no calamity couldshake. Nor was this care fruitless; after the fever had passed throughits usual stages he began to recover. In fact, it has been observedvery truly, that scarcely any person has been known to die undercircumstances similar to those of the poor scholar. These sheds, theerection of which is not unfrequent in case of fever, have the advantageof pure free air, by which the patient is cooled and refreshed. Be thecause of it what it may, the fact has been established, and we feelsatisfaction in being able to adduce our humble hero as an additionalproof of the many recoveries which take place in situations apparentlyso unfavorable to human life. But how is it possible to detail whatM'Evoy suffered during this fortnight of intense agony? Not thosewho can command the luxuries of life--not those who can reachits comforts--nor those who can supply themselves with its barenecessaries--neither the cotter who struggles to support his wife andhelpless children--the mendicant who begs from door to door--nor eventhe felon in his cell--can imagine what he felt in the solitary miseryof his feverish bed. Hard is the heart that cannot feel his sorrows, when, stretched beside the common way, without a human face to lookon, he called upon the mother whose brain, had she known his situation, would have been riven--whose affectionate heart would have been broken, by the knowledge of his affliction. It was a situation which afterwardsappeared to him dark and terrible. The pencil of the painter couldnot depict it, nor the pen of the poet describe it, except like a dimvision, which neither the heart nor the imagination are able to give tothe world as a tale steeped in the sympathies excited by reality. 

His whole heart and soul, as he afterwards acknowledged, were, duringhis trying illness, at home. The voices of his parents, of his sisters, and of his brothers, were always in his ears; their countenancessurrounded his cold and lonely shed; their hands touched him; their eyeslooked upon him in sorrow--and their tears bedewed him. Even there, thelight of his mother's love, though she herself was distant, shone uponhis sorrowful couch; and he has declared, that in no past momentof affection did his soul ever burn with a sense of its presence sostrongly as it did in the heart-dreams of his severest illness. But Godis love, and "temporeth the wind to the shorn lamb. "

Much of all his sufferings would have been alleviated, were it not thathis two best friends in the parish, Thady and the curate, had beenboth prostrated by the fever at the same time with himself. There wasconsequently no person of respectability in the neighborhood cognizantof his situation. He was left to the humbler class of the peasantry, andhonorably did they, with all their errors and ignorance, discharge thoseduties which greater wealth and greater knowledge would, probably, haveleft unperformed. 

On the morning of the last day he ever intended to spend in the shed, at eleven o'clock he hoard the sounds of horses' feet passing alongthe road, The circumstance was one quite familiar to him; but thesehorsemen, whoever they might be, stopped, and immediately after, tworespectable looking men, dressed in black, approached him. His forlornstate and frightfully wasted appearance startled them, and the youngerof the two asked, in a tone of voice which went directly to his heart, how it was that they found him in a situation so desolate. 

The kind interest implied by the words, and probably a sense of hisutterly destitute state, affected him strongly, and he burst into tears. The strangers looked at each other, then at him; and if looks couldexpress sympathy, theirs expressed it. 

"My good boy, " said the first, "how is it that we find you in asituation so deplorable and wretched as this? Who are you, or why is itthat you have not a friendly roof I to shelter you?"

"I'm a poor scholar, " replied Jemmy, "the son of honest but reducedparents: I came to this part of the country with the intention ofpreparing myself for Maynooth and, if it might plase God, with the hopeof being able to raise them out of their distress. "

The strangers looked more earnestly at the boy; sickness had touched hisfine intellectual features into a purity of expression almost ethereal. His fair skin appeared nearly transparent, and the light of truth andcandor lit up his countenance with a lustre which affliction could notdim. 

The other stranger approached him more nearly, stooped for a moment, andfelt his pulse. 

"How long have you been in this country?" he inquired. 

"Nearly three years. "

"You have been ill of the fever which is so prevalent; how did you cometo be left to the chance of perishing upon the highway?"

"Why, sir, the people were afeard to let me into their houses inconsequence of the faver. I got ill in school, sir, but no boy wouldventure to bring me home, an' the master turned me out, to die, Ibelieve. May God forgive him!"

"Who was your master, my child?"

"The great' Mr. ------, sir. If Mr. O'Brien, the curate of the parish, hadn't been ill himself at the same time, or if Mr. O'Rorke's son, Thady, hadn't been laid on his back, too, sir, I wouldn't suffer what Idid. "

"Has the curate been kind to you?"

"Sir, only for him and the big boys I couldn't stay in the school, onaccount of the master's cruelty, particularly since my money was out. "

"You are better now--are you not?" said the other gentleman. 

"Thank God, sir!--oh, thanks be to the Almighty, I am! I expect to beable to lave this place to-day or to-morrow. "

"And where do you intend to go when you recover?"

The boy himself had not thought of this, and the question came on him sounexpectedly, that he could only reply--

"Indeed, sir, I don't know. "

"Had you, " inquired the second stranger, "testimonials from your parishpriest?"

"I had, sir: they are in the hands of Mr. O'Brien. I also had acharacter from my father's landlord. "

"But how, " asked the other, "have you existed here during your illness?Have you been long sick?"

"Indeed I can't tell you, sir, for I don't know how the time passedat all; but I know, sir, that there were always two or three peopleattendin' me. They sent me whatever they thought I wanted, upon a shovelor a pitchfork, across the ditch, because they were afraid to come nearme. "

During the early part of the dialogue, two or three old hats, orcaubeens, might have been seen moving steadily over from the wigwamto the ditch which ran beside the shed occupied by M'Evoy. Here theyremained stationary, for those who wore them were now within hearing ofthe conversation, and ready to give their convalescent patient a goodword, should it be necessary. 

"How were you supplied with drink and medicine?" asked the youngerstranger. 

"As I've just told you, sir, " replied Jemmy; "the neighbors here let mewant for nothing that they had. They kept me in more whey than I coulduse; and they got me medicine, too, some way or other. But indeed, sir, during a great part of the time I was ill, I can't say how they attendedme: I wasn't insinsible, sir, of what was goin' on about me. "

One of those who lay behind the ditch now arose, and after a few hemsand scratchings of the head, ventured to join in the conversation. 

"Pray have you, my man, " said the elder of the two, "been acquaintedwith the circumstances of this boy's illness?"

"Is it the poor scholar, my Lord?* Oh thin bedad it's myself that hasthat. The poor crathur was in a terrible way all out, so he was. Hecaught the faver in the school beyant, one day, an' was turned out bythe nager o' the world that he was larnin' from. "

 * The peasantry always address a Roman Catholic Bishop as "My Lord. "

"Are you one of the persons who attended him?"

"Och, och, the crathar! what could unsignified people like us do forhim, barrin' a thrifle? Any how, my Lord, it's the meracle o' the worldthat he was ever able to over it at all. Why, sir, good luck to the oneof him but suffered as much, wid the help o' God, as 'ud overcome fiftymen!"

"How did you provide him with drink at such a distance from any humanhabitation?"

"Throth, hard enough we found it, sir, to do that same: but sure, whether or not, my Lord, we couldn't be sich nagers as to let him dieall out, for want o' sometlrm' to moisten his throath wid. "

"I hope, " inquired the other, "you had nothing to do in themilk-stealing which has produced such an outcry in this immediateneighborhood?"

"Milk-stalin'! Oh, bedad, sir, there never was the likes known aforein the caunthry. The Lord forgive them, that did it! Be gorra, sir, thewickedness o' the people': mighty improving if one 'ud take warnin' byit, glory be to God!"

"Many of the fanners' cows have been milked at night, Connor--perfectlydrained. Even my own cows have not escaped; and we who have suffered arecertainly determined, if possible, to ascertain those who have committedthe theft. I, for my part, have gone even beyond my ability in relievingthe wants of the poor, during this period of sickness and famine; Itherefore deserved this the less. "

"By the powdbers, your honor, if any gintleman desarved to have his cows_unmilked_, it's yourself. But, as I said this minute, there's no end tothe wickedness o' the people, so there's not, although the Catechiz isagainst them; for, says it, 'there is but one Faith, one Church, an' oneBaptism. ' Now, sir, isn't it quare that people, wid sich words in thebook afore them, won't be guided by it? I suppose they thought it only a_white_ sin, sir, to take the milk, the thieves o' the world. "

"Maybe, your honor, " said another, "that it was only to keep the life insome poor sick crathur that wanted it more nor you or the farmers, thatthey did it. There's some o' the same farmers desarve worse, for they'rekeepin' up the prices o' their male and praties upon the poor, an' didso all along, that they might make money by our outlier destitution. "

"That is no justification for theft, " observed the graver of the two. "Does any one among you suspect those who committed it in this instance?If you do, I command you, as your Bishop, to mention them. "

"How, for instance, " added the other, "were you able to supply this sickboy with whey during his illness?"

"Oh thin, gintlemen, " replied Connor, dexterously parrying the question, "but it's a mighty improvin' thing to see our own Bishop, --God sparehis Lordship to us!--an the Protestant minister o' the parish joinin'together to relieve an' give good advice to the poor! Bedad, it'ssettin' a fine example, so it is, to the Quality, if they'd takepatthern by it. "

"Reply, " said the Bishop, rather sternly, "to the questions we haveasked you. "

"The quistions, your Lordship? It's proud an' happy we'd be to do whatyou want; but the sarra man among us can do it, barin' we'd say what weought not to say. That's the thruth, my Lord; an' surely 'tisn't yourGracious Reverence that 'ud want us to go beyant that?"

"Certainly not, " replied the Bishop. "I warn you both against falsehoodand fraud; two charges which might frequently be brought against you inyour intercourse with the gentry of the country, whom you seldom scrupleto deceive and mislead, by gliding into a character, when speaking tothem, that is often the reverse of your real one; whilst at the sametime you are both honest and sincere to persons of your own class. Putaway this practice, for it is both sinful and discreditable. "

"God bless your Lordship! an' many thanks to your Gracious Reverencefor advisin' us! Well we know that it's the blessed thing to folly yourwords. "

"Bring over that naked, starved-looking man, who is stirring the fireunder that pot, " said the Hector. "He looks like Famine itself. "

"Paddy Dunn! will you come over here to his honor, Paddy! He's goin'to give you somethin, " said Connor, adding of his own accord the lastclause of his message. 

The tattered creature approached him with a gleam of expectation in hiseyes that appeared like insanity. 

"God bless your honor for your goodness, " exclaimed Paddy. "It's methat's in it, sir!--Paddy Dunn, sir, sure enough; but, indeed, I'm thenext thing to my own ghost, sir, now God help me!"

"What, and for whom are you cooking?"

"Jist the smallest dhrop in life, sir, o' gruel, to keep the sowl inthat lonely crathur, sir, the poor scholar. "

"Pray how long is it since you have eaten anything yourself?"

The tears burst from the eyes of the miserable creature as he replied--

"Before God in glory, your honor, an' in the presence of his Lordshiphere, I only got about what 'ud make betther nor half a male widin thelast day, sir. 'Twas a weeshy grain o' male that I got from a friend;an' as Ned Connor here tauld me that this crathur had nothin' to makethe gruel for him, why I shared it wid him, bekase he couldn't even begit, sir, if he wanted it, an' him not able to walk yit. "

The worthy pastor's eyes glistened with a moisture that did him honor. Without a word of observation, he slipped a crown into the hand of Dunn, who looked at it as if he had been paralyzed. 

"Oh thin, " said he, fervently, "may every hair on your honor's headbecome a mould-candle to light you into glory! The world's goodness isin your heart, sir; an' may all the blessin's of Heaven rain down uponyou an' yours!"

The two gentlemen then gave assistance to the poor scholar, whom theBishop addressed in kind and encouraging language:

"Come to me, my good boy, " he added, "and if, on further inquiry, I findthat your conduct has been such as I believe it to have been, you mayrest assured, provided also you continue worthy of my good opinion, thatI shall be a friend and protector to you. Call on me when you got well, and I will speak to you at greater length. "

"Well, " observed Connor, when they were gone, "the divil's own hardpuzzle the Bishop had me in, about stalin' the milk. It went agin' thegrain wid me to tell him the lie, so I had to invint a bit o' truth tokeep my conscience clear; for sure there was not a man among us thatcould tell him, barrin' we said that we oughtn't to say. Doesn't all theworld know that a man oughtn't to condimn himself? That was thruth, anyway; but divil a scruple I'd have in blammin' the other--not but thathe's one o' the best of his sort. Paddy Dunn, quit lookin' at thatcrown, but get the shovel an' give the boy his dhrink--he's wantin' it. "

The agitation of spirits produced by Jemmy's cheering interview withthe Bishop was, for three days afterwards, somewhat prejudicial to hisconvalescence. In less than a week, however, he was comfortably settledwith Mr. O'Rorke's family, whose kindness proved to him quite as warm ashe had expected. 

When he had remained with them a few days, he resolved to recommencehis studies under his tyrant master. He certainly knew that his futureattendance at the school would be penal to him, but he had always lookedforward to the accomplishment of his hopes as a task of difficulty anddistress. The severity to be expected from the master could not, he thought, be greater than that which he had already suffered; hetherefore decided, if possible, to complete his education under him. 

The school, when Jemmy appeared in it, had been for more than an hourassembled, but the thinness of the attendance not only proved the wofulprevalence of sickness and distress in the parish, but sharpened thepedagogue's vinegar aspect into an expression of countenance singularlypeevish and gloomy. When the lad entered, a murmur of pleasure andwelcome ran through the scholars, and joy beamed forth from everycountenance but that of his teacher. When the latter noticed this, hisirritability rose above restraint, and he exclaimed:--

"Silence! and apply to business, or I shall cause some of you to denudeimmediately. No school ever can prosper in which that _hirudo_, calleda poor scholar, is permitted toleration. I thought, sarra, I told youto nidificate and hatch your wild project undher some other wing thanmine. "

"I only entrate you, " replied our poor hero, "to suffer me to join theclass I left while I was sick, for about another year. I'll be veryquiet and humble, and, as far as I can, will do everything you wish me. "

"Ah! you are a crawling reptile, " replied the savage, "and, in myopinion, nothing but a chate and impostor. I think you have imposedyourself upon Mr. O'Brien for what you are not; that is, the son of anhonest man. I have no doubt, but many of your nearest relations diedafter having seen their own funerals. Your mother, you runagate, wasn'tyour father's wife, I'll be bail. "

The spirit of the boy could bear this no longer; his eyes flashed, andhis sinews stood out in the energy of deep indignation. 

"It is false, " he exclaimed; "it is as false as your own cruel andcowardly heart, you wicked and unprincipled tyrant! In everything youhave said of my father, mother, and friends, and of myself, too, youare' a liar, from the hat on your head to the dirt undher your feet--aliar, a coward, and a villain!"

The fury of the miscreant was ungovernable:--he ran at the still feeblelad, and, by a stroke of his fist, dashed him senseless to the earth. There were now no large boys in the school to curb his resentment, hetherefore kicked him in the back when he fell. Many voices exclaimed inalarm--"Oh, masther! sir; don't kill him! Oh, sir! dear, don't kill him!Don't kill poor Jemmy, sir, an' him still sick!"

"Kill him!" replied the master; "kill him, indeed! Faith, he'd be nocommon man who could kill him; he has as many lives in him as a cat!Sure, he can live behind a ditch, wid the faver on his back, wid-outdying; and he would live if he was stuck on the spire of a steeple. "

In the meantime the boy gave no symptoms of returning life, and themaster, after desiring a few of the scholars to bring him oat to theair, became pale as death with apprehension. He immediately withdrewto his private apartment, which joined the schoolroom, and sent out hiswife to assist in restoring him to animation. With some difficultythis was accomplished. The unhappy boy at once remembered what had justoccurred; and the bitter tears gushed from his eyes, as he knelt down, and exclaimed "Merciful Father of heaven and earth, have pity on me! Yousee my heart, great God! and that what I did, I did for the best!"

"Avourneen, " said the woman, "he's passionate, an' never mind him. Comein an' beg his pardon for callin' him a liar, an' I'll become spokesmanfor you myself. Come, acushla, an' I'll get lave for you to stay in theschool still. "

"Oh, I'm hurted!" said the poor youth: "I'm hurted inwardly--somewhereabout the back, and about my ribs!" The pain he felt brought the tearsdown his pale cheeks. "I wish I was at home!" said he. "I'll give up alland go home!" The lonely boy then laid his head upon his hands, as hesat on the ground, and indulged in a long burst of sorrow. 

"Well, " said a manly-looking little fellow, whilst the tears stood inhis eyes, "I'll tell my father this, anyhow. I know he won't let me cometo this school any more. Here, Jemmy, is a piece of my bread, maybe itwill do you good. "

"I couldn't taste it, Frank dear, " said Jemmy; "God bless you; but Icouldn't taste it. "

"Do, " said Frank; "maybe it will bate back the pain. "

"Don't ask me, Frank dear, " said Jemmy; "I couldn't ate it: I'm hurtedinwardly. "

"Bad luck to me!" exclaimed the indignant boy, "if ever my ten toes willdarken this school door agin. By the livin' farmer, if they ax me athome to do it, I'll run away to my uncle's, so I will. Wait, Jemmy, I'llbe big yit; an', be the blessed Gospel that's about my neck, I'll givethe same masther a shirtful of sore bones, the holy an' blessed minuteI'm able to do it. "

Many of the other boys declared that they would acquaint their friendswith the master's cruelty to the poor scholar; but Jemmy requested themnot to do so, and said that he was determined to return home the momenthe should be able to travel. 

The affrighted woman could not prevail upon him to seek a reconciliationwith her husband, although the expressions of the other scholarsinduced her to press him to it, even to entreaty. Jemmy arose, and withconsiderable difficulty reached the Curate's house, found him at home, and, with tears in his eyes, related to him the atrocious conduct of themaster. 

"Very well, " said this excellent man, "I am glad that I can venture toride as far as Colonel B------'s to-morrow. You must accompany me; fordecidedly such brutality cannot be permitted to go unpunished. "

Jemmy knew that the curate was his friend; and although he wouldnot himself have thought of summoning the master to answer for hisbarbarity, yet he acquiesced in the curate's opinion. He stopped thatnight in the house of the worthy man to whom Mr. O'Brien had recommendedhim on his first entering the town. It appeared in the morning, however, that he was unable to walk; the blows which he had received were thenfelt by him to be more dangerous than had been supposed. Mr. O'Brien, onbeing informed of this, procured a jaunting-car, on which they both sat, and at an easy pace reached the Colonel's residence. 

The curate was shown into an ante-room, and Jemmy sat in the hall: theColonel joined the former in a few minutes. He had been in England andon the continent, accompanied by his family, for nearly the last threeyears, but had just returned, in order to take possession of a largeproperty in land and money, to which he succeeded at a very criticalmoment, for his own estates were heavily encumbered. He was nowproprietor of an additional estate, the rent-roll of which was sixthousand per annum, and also master of eighty-five thousand pounds inthe funds. Mr. O'Brien, after congratulating him upon his good fortune, introduced the case of our hero as one which, in his opinion, called forthe Colonel's interposition as a magistrate. 

"I have applied to you, sir, " he proceeded, "rather than to any otherof the neighboring gentlemen, because I think this friendless lad has apeculiar claim upon any good offices you could render him. "

"A claim upon me! How is that, Mr. O'Brien?"

"The boy, sir, is not a native of this province. His father was formerlya tenant of yours, a man, as I have reason to believe, remarkable forgood conduct and industry. It appears that his circumstances, so long ashe was your tenant, were those of a comfortable independent farmer. Ifthe story which his son relates be true--and I, for one, believe it--hisfamily have been dealt with in a manner unusually cruel and iniquitous. Your present agent, Colonel, who is known in his own neighborhood by thenickname of Yellow Sam, thrust him out of hia farm, when his wife wassick, for the purpose of putting into it a man who had married hisillegitimate daughter. If this be found a correct account of thetransaction, I have no hesitation in saying, that you, Colonel B------, as a gentleman of honor and humanity, will investigate the conduct ofyour agent, and see justice done to an honest man, who must have beenoppressed in your name, and under color of your authority. "

"If my agent has dared to be unjust to a worthy tenant, " said theColonel, "in order to provide for his bastard, by my sacred honor, heshall cease to be an agent of mine! I admit, certainly, that from somecircumstances which transpired a few years ago, I have reason to suspecthis integrity. That, to be sure, was only so far as he and I wereconcerned; but, on the other hand, during one or two visits I made tothe estate which he manages, I heard the tenants thank and praise himwith much gratitude, and all that sort of thing. There was 'Thank yourhonor!'--'Long may you reign over us, sir!'--and, 'Oh, Colonel, you'vea mighty good man to your agent!' and so forth. I do not think, Mr. O'Brien, that he has acted so harshly, or that he would dare to do it. Upon my honor, I heard those warm expressions of gratitude from the lipsof the tenants themselves. "

"If you knew the people in general, Colonel, as well as I do, " repliedthe curate, "you would admit, that such expressions are often eithercuttingly ironical, or the result of fear. You will always find, sir, that the independent portion of the people have least of this forceddissimulation among them. A dishonest and inhuman agent has in his ownhands the irresponsible power of harassing and oppressing the tenantryunder him. The class most hateful to the people are those low wretcheswho spring up from nothing into wealth, accumulated by dishonestyand rapacity. They are proud, overbearing, and jealous, even tovindictiveness, of the least want of respect. It is to such upstartsthat the poorer classes are externally most civil; but it is also suchpersons whom they most hate and abhor. They flatter them to their faces, 'tis true even to nausea; but they seldom spare them in their absence. Of this very class, I believe, is your agent, Yellow Sam; so that anyfavorable expressions you may have heard from your tenantry towards him, were most probably the result of dissimulation and fear. Besides, sir, here is a testimonial from M'Evoy's parish priest, in which his fatheris spoken of as an honest, moral, and industrious man. "

"If what you say, Mr. O'Brien, be correct, " observed the Colonel, "youknow the Irish peasantry much better than I do. Decidedly, I havealways thought them in conversation exceedingly candid and sincere. Withrespect to testimonials from priests to landlords in behalf of theirtenants, upon my honor I am sick of them. I actually received, aboutfour years ago, such an excellent character of two tenants, as inducedme to suppose them worthy of encouragement. But what was the fact? Why, sir, they were two of the greatest firebrands on my estate, and put bothme and my agent to great trouble and expense. No, sir, I wouldn't givea curse for a priest's testimonial upon such an occasion. These fellowswere subsequently convicted of arson on the clearest evidence, andtransported. "

"Well, sir, I grant that you may have been misled in that instance. However, from what I've observed, the two great faults of Irishlandlords are these:--In the first place, they suffer themselvesto remain ignorant of their tenantry; so much so, indeed, that theyfrequently deny them access and redress when the poor people are anxiousto acquaint them with their grievances; for it is usual with landlordsto refer them to those very agents against whose cruelty and rapacitythey are appealing. This is a _carte blanche_ to the agent to trampleupon them if he pleases. In the next place, Irish landlords toofrequently employ ignorant and needy men to manage their estates; menwho have no character, no property, or standing in society, beyond thereputation of being keen shrewd, and active. These persons, sir, makefortunes; and what means can they have of accumulating wealth, except bycheating either the landlord or his tenants, or both? A history oftheir conduct would be a black catalogue of dishonesty, oppression, andtreachery. Respectable men, resident on or-near the estate, possessingboth character and property, should always be selected for thisimportant trust. But, above all things, the curse of a tenantry isa percentage agent. He racks, and drives, and oppresses, withoutconsideration either of market or produce, in order that his receiptsmay be ample, and his own income large. "

"Why, O'Brien, you appear to be better acquainted with all this sort ofthing than I, who am a landed proprietor. "

"By the by, sir, without meaning you any disrespect, it is the landlordsof Ireland who know least about the great mass of its inhabitants; andI might also add, about its history, its literature, the manners of thepeople, their customs, and their prejudices. The peasantry know this, and too often practise upon their ignorance. There is a landlord's _Vademecum_ sadly wanted in Ireland, Colonel. "

"Ah! very good, O'Brien, very good! Well, I shall certainly inquire intothis case, and if I find that Yellow Ham has been playing the oppressor, out he goes. I am now able to manage him, which I could not readily dobefore, for, by the by, he had mortgages on my property. "

"I would take it, Colonel, as a personal favor, if you would investigatethe transaction I have mentioned. "

"Undoubtedly I shall, and that very soon. But about this outragecommitted against the boy himself? We had better take his informations, and punish the follow. "

"Certainly; I think that is the best way. His conduct to the poor youthhas been merciless and detestable. We must put him out of this part ofthe country. "

"Call the lad in. In this case I shall draw up the informations myself, although Gregg usually does that. "

Jemmy, assisted by the curate, entered the room, and the humane Coloneldesired him, as he appeared ill, to sit down. 

"What is your name?" asked the Colonel. 

"James M'Evoy, " he replied. "I'm the son, sir, of a man who was once atenant of yours. "

"Ay! and pray how did he cease to be a tenant of mine?"

"Why, sir, your agent, Yallow Sam, put him out of our farm, when mypoor mother was on her sick-bed. He chated my father, sir, out of somemoney--part of our rent it was, that he didn't give him a receipt for. When my father went to him afterwards for the receipt, Yallow Sam abusedhim, and called him a rogue, and that, sir, was what no man ever calledmy father either before or since. My father, sir, threatened to tellyou about it, and you came to the country soon after; but Yallow Sam gotvery great wid my father at that time, and sent him to sell bullocks forhim about fifty miles off, but when he come back again, you had left thecountry. Thin, sir, Yallow Sam said nothing till the next half-year'srent became due, whin he came down on my father for all--that is, whathe hadn't got the receipt for, and the other gale--and, without anywarning in the world, put him out. My father offered to pay all; buthe said he was a rogue, and that you had ordered him off the estate. Inless than a week after this he put a man that married a bastard daughterof his own into our house and place. That's God's truth, sir; and you'llfind it so, if you inquire into it. It's a common trick of his to keepback receipts, and make the tenants pay double. "*

 * This is the fact. The individual here alluded to, frequently kept back receipts when receiving rents, under pretence of hurry, and afterwards compelled the tenants to pay the same gale twice!

"Sacred Heaven, O'Brien! can this be possible?"

"Your best way, Colonel, is to inquire into it. "

"Was not your father able to educate you at home, my boy?"

"No, sir. We soon got into poverty after we left your farm; and anotherthing, sir, there was no Latin school in our neighborhood. "

"For what purpose did you become a poor scholar?"

"Why, sir, I hoped one day or other to be able to raise my father andmother out of the distress that Yallow Sam brought on us. "

"By Heaven! a noble aim, and a noble sentiment. And what has this d--dfellow of a schoolmaster done to you?"

"Why, sir, yesterday, when I went back to the school, he abused me, andsaid that he supposed that most of my relations were hanged; spoke illof my father; and said that my mother"--Here the tears started to hiseyes--he sobbed aloud. 

"Go on, and be cool, " said the Colonel. "What did he say of yourmother?"

"He said, sir, that she was never married to my father. I know I waswrong, sir; but if it was the king on his throne that said it of mymother, I'd call him a liar. I called him a liar, and a coward, and avillain: ay, sir, and if I had been able, I would have tramped him undermy feet. "

The Colonel looked steadily at him, but the open clear eye which the boyturned upon him was full of truth and independence. "And you will find, "said the soldier, "that this spirited defence of your mother will be themost fortunate action of your life. Well; he struck you then, did he?"

"He knocked me down, sir, with his fist--then kicked me in the back andsides. I think some of my ribs are broke. "

"Ay!--no doubt, no doubt, " said the Colonel. "And you were only afterrecovering from this fever which is so prevalent?"

"I wasn't a week out of it, sir. "

"Well, my boy, we shall punish him for you. "

"Sir, would you hear me for a word or two, if it would be pleasing toyou?"

"Speak on, " said the Colonel. 

"I would rather change his punishment to--I would--that is--if it wouldbe agreeable to you--It's this, sir--I wouldn't throuble you now againstthe master, if you'd be pleased to rightify my father, and punish YallowSam. Oh, sir, for God's sake, put my heart-broken father into his farmagain! If you would, sir, I could shed my blood, or lay down my lifefor you, or for any belonging to you. I'm but a poor boy, sir, low andhumble; but they say there's a greater Being than the greatest in thisworld, that listens to the just prayers of the poor and friendless. Iwas never happy, sir, since we left it--neither was any of us; and whenwe'd sit cowld and hungry, about our hearth, We used to be talking ofthe pleasant days we spent in it, till the tears would be smothered incurses against him that put us out of it. Oh, sir, if you could knowall that a poor and honest family suffers, when they are thrown intodistress by want of feeling in their landlords, or by the dishonesty ofagents, you would consider my father's case. I'm his favorite son, sir, and good right have I to speak for him. If you could know the sorrow, the misery, the drooping down of the spirits, that lies upon thecountenances and the hearts of such people, you wouldn't, as a man and aChristian, think it below you to spread happiness and contentment amongthem again. In the morning they rise to a day of hardship, no matterhow bright and cheerful it may be to others--nor is there any hope of abrighter day for them: and at night they go to their hard beds to striveto sleep away their hunger in spite of cowld and want. If you could seehow the father of a family, after striving to bear up, sinks down atlast; if you could see the look he gives at the childhre that he wouldlay down his heart's blood for, when they sit naked and hungry abouthim; and the mother, too, wid her kind word and sorrowful smile, proudof them in all their destitution, but her heart breaking silent! All thetime, her face wasting away. Her eye dim, and her strength gone--Sir, make one such family happy--for all this has been in my father's house!Give us back our light spirits, our pleasant days, and our cheerfulhearts again! We lost them through the villainy of your agent. Givethem back to us, for you can do it; but you can never pay us for what wesuffered. Give us, sir, our farm, our green fields, our house, and everyspot and nook that we had before. We love the place, sir, for its ownsake;--it is the place of our fathers, and our hearts are in it. I oftenthink I see the smooth river that runs through it, and the meadowsthat I played in when I was a child;--the glen behind our house, themountains that rose before us when we left the door, the thorn-bush atthe garden, the hazels in the glen, the little beach-green beside theriver--Oh, sir, don't blame me for crying, for they are all before myeyes, in my ears, and in my heart! Many a summer evening have I gone tothe march-ditch of the farm that my father's now in, and looked at theplace I loved, till the tears blinded me, and I asked it as a favor ofGod to restore us to it! Sir, we are in great poverty at home; beforeGod we are; and my father's heart is breaking. "

The Colonel drew his breath deeply, rubbed his hands, and as he lookedat the fine countenance of the boy--expressing, as it did, enthusiasmand sorrow--his eye lightened with a gleam of indignation. It couldnot be against the poor scholar; no, gentle reader, but against his ownagent. 

"O'Brien, " said he, "what do you think, and this noble boy is the sonof a man who belongs to a class of which I am ignorant! By Heaven, welandlords are, I fear, a guilty race. "

"Not all, sir, " replied the Curate. "There are noble exceptions amongthem; their faults are more the faults of omission than commission. "

"Well, well, no matter. Come, I will draw up the informations againstthis man; afterwards I have something to say to you, my boy, " he added, addressing Jemmy, "that will not, I trust, be unpleasant. "

He then drew up the informations as strongly as he could word them, after which Jemmy deposed to their truth and accuracy, and the Colonel, rubbing his hands again, said--

"I will have the fellow secured. When you go into town, Mr. O'Brien, I'll thank you to call on Meares, and hand him these. He will lodge themiscreant in limbo this very night. "

Jemmy then thanked him, and was about to withdraw, when the Coloneldesired him to remain a little longer. 

"Now, " said he, "your father has been treated inhumanly, I believe; butno matter. That is not the question. Your sentiments, and conduct, andyour affection for your parents, are noble, my boy. At present, I say, the question is not whether the history of your father's wrongs be trueor false; you, at least, believe it to be true. From this forward--butby the by, I forgot; how could your becoming a poor scholar relieve yourparents?"

"I intended to become a priest, sir, and then to help them. "

"Ay! so I thought; and, provided your father were restored to the farm, would you be still disposed to become a priest?"

"I would, sir; next to helping my father, that is what I wish to be. "

"O'Brien, what would it cost to prepare him respectably for thepriesthood?--I mean to defray his expenses until he completes hispreparatory education, in the first place, and afterwards during hisresidence in Maynooth?"

"I think two hundred pounds, sir, would do it easily and respectably. "

"I do not think it would. However, do you send him--but first let me askwhat progress he has already made?"

"He has read--in fact he is nearly prepared to enter Maynooth. Hisprogress has been very rapid. "

"Put him to some respectable boarding-school for a year; then let himenter Maynooth, and I will bear the expense. But remember I do not adoptthis course in consequence of his father's history. Not I, by Jupiter; Ido it on his own account. He is a noble boy, and full of fine qualities, if they be not nipped by neglect and poverty. I loved my father myself, and fought a duel on his account; and I honor the son who has spirit todefend his absent parent. "

"This is a most surprising turn in the boy's fortunes, Colonel. "

"He deserves it. A soldier, Mr. O'Brien, is not without his enthusiasm, nor can he help admiring it in others, when nobly and virtuouslydirected. To see a boy in the midst of poverty, encountering thehardships and difficulties of life, with the hope of raising up hisparents from distress to independence, has a touch of sublimity in it. "

"Ireland, Colonel, abounds with instances of similar virtue, broughtout, probably, into fuller life and vigor by the sad changes anddepressions which are weighing down the people. In her glens, on herbleak mountain sides, and in her remotest plains, such examples of pureaffection, uncommon energy, and humble heroism, are to be seen; but, unfortunately, few persons of rank or observation mingle with the Irishpeople, and their many admirable qualities pass away without beingrecorded in the literature of their country. They are certainly astrange people, Colonel, almost an anomaly in the history of the humanrace. They are the only people who can rush out from the very virtuesof private life to the perpetration of crimes at which we shudder. Thereis, to be sure, an outcry about their oppression; but that is wrong. Their indigence and ignorance are rather the result of neglect;--ofneglect, sir, from the government of the country--from the earl tothe squireen. They have been taught little that is suitable to theirstations and duties in life, either as tenants who cultivate our lands, or as members of moral or Christian society. "

"Well, well: I believe what you say is too true. But touching therecords of virtue in human life, pray who would record it when nothinggoes down now-a-days but what is either monstrous or fashionable?"

"Very true, Colonel; yet in my humble opinion, a virtuous Irish peasantis far from being so low a character as a profligate man of rank. "

"Well, well, well! Come, O'Brien, we will drop the subject. In themeantime, touching this boy, as I said, he must be looked to, for he hasthat in him which ought not to be neglected. We shall now see that thisd--d pedagogue be punished for his cruelty. " The worthy Colonel in ashort time dismissed poor Jemmy with an exulting heart; but not untilhe had placed a sufficient sum in the Curate's hands for enabling him tomake a respectable appearance. Medical advice was also procured for him, by which he sooner overcame the effects of his master's brutality. 

On their way home Jemmy related to his friend the conversation which hehad had with his Bishop in the shed, and the kind interest which thatgentleman had taken in his situation and prospects. Mr. O'Brien told himthat the Bishop was an excellent man, possessing much discriminationand benevolence; "and so, " said he, "is the Protestant clergyman whoaccompanied him. They have both gone among the people during this heavyvisitation of disease and famine, administering advice and assistance;restraining them from those excesses which they sometimes commit, when, driven by hunger, they attack provision-carts, bakers' shops, or thehouses of farmers who are known to possess a stock of meal or potatoes. God knows, it is an excusable kind of robbery; yet it is right torestrain them. "

"It is a pleasant thing, sir, to see clergymen of every religion workingtogether to make the people happy. "

"It is certainly so, " replied the curate; "and I am bound to say, injustice to the Protestant clergy, that there is no class of men inIreland, James, who do so much good without distinction of creed orparty. They are generally kind and charitable to the poor; so are theirwives and daughters. I have often known them to cheer the sick-bed--toassist the widow and the orphan--to advise and admonish the profligate, and, in some instances, even to reclaim them. But now about your ownprospects; I think you should go and see your family as soon as yourhealth permits you. "

"I would give my right hand, " replied Jemmy, "just to see them, if itwas only for five minutes: but I cannot go. I vowed that I would neverenter my native parish until I should become a Catholic clergyman. Ivowed that, sir, to God--and with his assistance I will keep my vow. "

"Well, " said the curate, "you are right. And now lot me give you alittle advice. In the first place, learn to speak as correctly as youcan; lay aside the vulgarisms of conversation peculiar to the commonpeople; and speak precisely as you would write. By the by, you acquittedyourself to admiration with the Colonel. A little stumbling there was inthe beginning; but you got over it. You see, James, the force of truthand simplicity. I could scarcely restrain my tears while you spoke. "

"If I had not been in earnest, sir, I could never have spoken as I did. "

"You never could. Truth, James, is the foundation of all eloquence; hewho knowingly speaks what is not true, may dazzle and perplex; but hewill never touch with that power and pathos which spring from truth. Fiction is successful only by borrowing her habiliments. Now, James, fora little more advice. Don't let the idea of having been a poor scholardeprive you of self-respect; neither let your unexpected turn of fortunecause you to forget what you have suffered. Hold a middle course; befirm and independent; without servility on the one hand, or vanity onthe other. You have also too much good sense, and, I hope, too muchreligion, to ascribe what this day has brought forth in your behalf, toany other cause than God. It has pleased him to raise you from misery toease and comfort; to him, therefore, be it referred, and to him be yourthanks and prayers directed. You owe him much, for you now can perceivethe value of what he has done for you! May his name be blessed!"

Jemmy was deeply affected by the kindness of his friend, for such, infriendship's truest sense, was he to him. He expressed, the obligationswhich he owed him, and promised to follow the excellent advice he hadjust received. 

The schoolmaster's conduct to the poor scholar had, before the closeof the day on which it occurred, been known through the parish. ThadyO'Rorke, who had but just recovered from the epidemic, felt so bitterlyexasperated at the outrage, that he brought his father to the parishpriest, to whom he give a detailed account of all that our hero and thepoorer children of the school had suffered. In addition to this, hewent among the more substantial farmers of the neighborhood, whosecooperation he succeeded in obtaining, for the laudable purpose ofdriving the tyrant out of the parish. 

Jemmy, who still lived at the "House of Entertainment, " on hearing whatthey intended to do, begged Mr. O'Brien, to allow him, provided themaster should be removed from the school, to decline prosecuting him. "He has been cruel to me, no doubt, " he added; "still I cannot forgetthat his cruelty has been the means of changing my condition in lifeso much for the better. If he is put out of the parish it will bepunishment enough; and, to say the truth, sir, I can now forgiveeverybody. Maybe, had I been still neglected I might punish him; but, in the meantime, to show him and the world that I didn't deserve hisseverity, I forgive him. "

Mr. O'Brien was not disposed to check a sentiment that did the boy'sheart so much honor; he waited on the Colonel the next morning, acquainted him with Jemmy's wishes, and the indictment was quashedimmediately after the schoolmaster's removal from his situation. 

Our hero's personal appearance was by this time incredibly changed forthe better. His countenance, naturally expressive of feeling, firmness, and intellect, now appeared to additional advantage; so did his wholeperson, when dressed in a decent suit of black. No man acquainted withlife can be ignorant of the improvement which genteel apparel produce inthe carriage, tone of thought, and principles of an individual. Itgives a man confidence, self-respect, and a sense of equality withhis companions; it inspires him with energy, independence, delicacyof sentiment, courtesy of manner, and elevation of language. The facebecomes manly, bold, and free; the brow open, and the eye clear; thereis no slinking through narrow lanes and back streets: but, on thecontrary, the smoothly dressed man steps out with a determination notto spare the earth, or to walk as if he trod on eggs or razors. No; hebrushes onward; is the first to accost his friends; gives a carelessbow to this, a bluff nod to that, and a patronizing "how dy'e do" to athird, who is worse dressed than himself. Trust me, kind reader, thatgood clothes are calculated to advance a man in life nearly as wellas good principles, especially in a world like this, where externalappearance is taken as the exponent of what is beneath it. 

Jemmy, by the advice of his friend, now waited upon the Bishop, who wasmuch surprised at the uncommon turn of fortune which had taken place inhis favor. He also expressed his willingness to help him forward, as faras lay in his power, towards the attainment of his wishes. In order toplace the boy directly under suitable patronage, Mr. O'Brien suggestedthat the choice of the school should be left to the Bishop. This, perhaps, mattered him a little, for who is without his weaknesses? Aschool near the metropolis was accordingly fixed upon, to which Jemmy, now furnished with a handsome outfit, was accordingly sent. There wewill leave him, reading with eagerness and assiduity, whilst we returnto look after Colonel B. And his agent. 

One morning after James's departure, the Colonel's servant waited uponMr. O'Brien with a note from his master, intimating a wish to see him. He lost no time in waiting upon that gentleman, who was then preparingto visit the estate which he had so long neglected. 

"I am going, " said he, "to see how my agent, Yellow Sam, as they callhim, and my tenants agree. It is my determination, Mr. O'Brien, toinvestigate the circumstances attending the removal of our protege'sfather. I shall, moreover, look closely into the state and feelings ofmy tenants in general. It is probable I shall visit many of them, andcertain that I will inquire into the character of this man. "

"It is better late than never, Colonel; but still, though I am a friendto the people, yet I would recommend you to be guided by great caution, and the evidence of respectable and disinterested men only. You mustnot certainly entertain all the complaints you may hear, without clearproof, for I regret to say, that too many of the idle and politicalportion of the peasantry are apt to throw the blame of their own follyand ignorance--yes, and of their crimes, also--upon those who in noway have occasioned either their poverty or their wickedness. They arefrequently apt to consider themselves oppressed, if concessions are notmade, to which they, as idle and indolent men, who neglected their ownbusiness, have no fair claim. Bear this in mind, Colonel--be cool, use discrimination, take your proofs from others besides the partiesconcerned, or their friends, and, depend upon it, you will arrive at thetruth. ". 

"O'Brien, you would make an excellent agent. "

"I have studied the people, sir, and know them. I have breathedthe atmosphere of their prejudices, habits, manners, customs, andsuperstitions. I have felt them all myself, as they feel them; but Itrust I have got above their influence where it is evil, for there aremany fine touches of character among them, which I should not willinglypart with. No, sir, I should make a bad agent, having no capacity fortransacting business. I could direct and overlook, but nothing more. "

"Well, then, I shall set out to-morrow; and in the meantime, permit meto say that I am deeply sensible of your kindness in pointing out myduty as an Irish landlord, conscious that I have too long neglected it. "

"Kindness, Colonel, is the way to the Irish heart. There is but one manin Ireland who can make an Irishman ungrateful, and that is his priest. I regret that in times of political excitement, and especially duringelectioneering struggles, the interference of the clergy producesdisastrous effects upon the moral feelings of the people. When a tenantmeets the landlord whom he has deserted in the critical momont of thecontest the landlord to whom he has solemnly promised his support, andwho, perhaps, as a member of the legislature, has advocated his claimsand his rights, and who, probably, has been kind and indulgent to him--Isay, when he meets him afterwards, his shufflings, excuses, and evasionsare grievous. He is driven to falsehood and dissimulation in explaininghis conduct; he expresses his repentance, curses himself for hisingratitude, promises well for the future, but seldom or never canbe prevailed upon to state candidly that he acted in obedience tothe priest. In some instances, however, he admits this, and inveighsbitterly against his interference--but this is only whilst in thepresence of his landlord. I think, Colonel, that no clergyman, set apartas he is for the concerns of a better world, should become a firebrandin the secular pursuits and turmoils of this. "

"I wish, Mr. O'Brien, that every clergyman of your church resembled you, and acted up to your sentiments: our common country would be the betterfor it. "

"I endeavor to act, sir, as a man who has purely spiritual duties toperform. It is not for us to be agitated and inflamed by the politicalpassions and animosities of the world. Our lot is differently cast, andwe ought to abide by it. The priest and politician can no more agreethan good and evil. I speak with respect to all churches. "

"And so do I. "

"What stay do you intend to make, Colonel?"

"I think about a month. I shall visit some of my old friends there, fromwhom I expect a history of the state and feelings of the country. "

"You will hear both sides of the question before you act?"

"Certainly. I have written to my agent to say that I shall look veryclosely into my own affairs on this occasion. I thought it fair to givehim notice. "

"Well, sir, I wish you all success. "

"Farewell, Mr. O'Brien; I shall see you immediately after my return. "

The Colonel performed his journey by slow stages, until he reached "thehall of his fathers, "--for it was such, although he had not for yearsresided in it. It presented the wreck of a fine old mansion, situatedwithin a crescent of stately beeches, whose moss-covered and raggedtrunks gave symptoms of decay and neglect. The lawn had been oncebeautiful, and the demesne a noble one; but that which blights theindustry of the tenant--the curse of absenteeism--had also left themarks of ruin stamped upon every object around him. The lawn waslittle better than a common; the pond was thick with weeds and sluggishwater-plants, that almost covered its surface; and a light, elegantbridge, that spanned a river which ran before the house, was alsomoss-grown and dilapidated. The hedges were mixed up with briers, thegates broken, or altogether removed, the fields were rank with theruinous luxuriance of weeds, and the grass-grown avenues spoke ofsolitude and desertion. The still appearance, too, of the house itself, and the absence of smoke from its time-tinged chimneys--all told atale which constitutes one, perhaps the greatest, portion of Ireland'smisery! Even then he did not approach it with the intention of residingthere during his sojourn in the country. It was not habitable, nor hadit been so for years. The road by which he travelled lay near it, andhe could not pass without looking upon the place where a long lineof gallant ancestors had succeeded each other, lived their span, anddisappeared in their turn. 

He contemplated it for some time in a kind of reverie. There, it stood, sombre and silent;--its gray walls mouldering away--its windows dark andbroken;--like a man forsaken by the world, compelled to bear the stormsof life without the hand of a friend to support him, though age anddecay render him less capable of enduring them. For a momont fancyrepeopled it;--again the stir of life, pastime, mirth, and hospitalityechoed within its walls; the train of his long departed relativesreturned; the din of rude and boisterous enjoyment peculiar to thetimes; the cheerful tumult of the hall at dinner; the family feuds andfestivities; the vanities and the passions of those who now slept indust;--all--all came before him once more, and played their part in thevision of the moment!

As he walked on, the flitting wing of a bat struck him lightly inits flight; he awoke from the remembrances which crowded on him, and, resuming his journey, soon arrived at the inn of the nearest town, wherehe stopped that night. The next morning he saw his agent for a shorttime, but declined entering upon business. For a few days more hevisited most of the neighboring gentry, from whom he received sufficientinformation to satisfy him that neither he himself nor his agentwas popular among his tenantry. Many flying reports of the agent'sdishonesty and tyranny were mentioned to him, and in every instance hetook down the names of the parties, in order to ascertain the truth. M'Evoy's case had occurred more than ten years before, but he foundthat the remembrance of the poor man's injury was strongly and bitterlyretained in the recollections of the people--a circumstance whichextorted from the blunt, but somewhat sentimental soldier, a justobservation:--"I think, " said he, "that there are no people in the worldwho remember either an injury or a kindness so long as the Irish. "

When the tenants were apprised of his presence among them, theyexperienced no particular feeling upon the subject. During all hisformer visits to his estate, he appeared merely the creature and puppetof his agent, who never acted the bully, nor tricked himself out in hisbrief authority more imperiously than he did before him. The knowledgeof this damped them, and rendered any expectations of redress or justicefrom the landlord a matter not to be thought of. 

"If he wasn't so great a man, " they observed, "who thinks it below himto speak to his tenants, or hear their complaints, there 'ud be somehope. But that rip of hell, Yallow Sam, can wind him round his fingerlike a thread, an' does, too. There's no use in thinkin' to petitionhim, or to lodge a complaint against Stony Heart, for the first thinghe'd do 'ud be to put it into the yallow-boy's hands, an' thin, God bemarciful to thim that 'ud complain. No, no; the best way is to wait tillSam's _masther_* takes him; an' who knows but that 'ud be sooner nor wethink. "

 * The devil;--a familiar name for him when mentioned in connection with a villain. 

"They say, " another would reply, "that the Colonel is a good gintlemanfor all that, an' that if he could once know the truth, he'd pitch the'yallow boy' to the 'ould boy. '"

No sooner was it known by his tenantry that the head landlord wasdisposed to redress their grievances, and hear their complaints, thanthe smothered attachment, which long neglect had nearly extinguished, now burst forth with uncommon power. 

"Augh! by this an' by that the throe blood's in him still. The ralegintleman to dale wid, for ever! We knew he only wanted to come at thethruth, an' thin he'd back us agin the villain that harrished us! To thedivil wid skamin' upstarts, that hasn't the ould blood 'in thim! Whatare they but sconces an' chates, every one o' thim, barrin' an odd one, for a wondher!"

The Colonel's estate now presented a scene of gladness and bustle. Everyperson who felt in the slightest degree aggrieved, got his petitiondrawn up; and, but that we fear our sketch is already too long, wecould gratify the reader's curiosity by submitting a few of them. Itis sufficient to say, that they came to him in every shape--in all thevariety of diction that the poor English language admits of--in theschoolmaster's best copy-hand, and choicest sesquipedalianism ofpedantry--in the severer, but more Scriptural terms of the parishclerk--in the engrossing hand and legal phrase of the attorney--in themilitary form, evidently redolent of the shrewd old pensioner--andin the classical style of the young priest:--for each and all of theforegoing were enlisted in the cause of those who had petitions to sendin "to the Colonel himself, God bless him!"

Early in the morning of the day on which the Colonel had resolved tocompare the complaints of his tenantry with the character which hisagent gave him of the complainants, he sent for the former, and thefollowing dialogue took place between them. 

"Good morning, Mr. Carson! Excuse me for requesting your presence to-dayearlier than usual. I have taken it into my head to know something of myown tenantry, and as they have pestered me with petitions, and letters, and complaints, I am anxious to have your opinion, as you know thembetter than I do. "

"Before we enter on business, Colonel, allow me to inquire if youfeel relieved of that bilious attack you complained of the day beforeyesterday? I'm of a bilious habit myself, and know something about themanagement of digestion!"

"A good digestion is an excellent thing, Carson; as for me, I drank toomuch claret with my friend B----y; and there's the secret. I don't likecold wines, they never agree with me. "

"Nor do I; they are not constitutional. Your father was celebratedfor his wines, Colonel: I remember an anecdote told me by CaptainFerguson--by the by, do you know where Ferguson could be found, now, sir?"

"Not I. What wines do you drink, Carson?"

"A couple of glasses of sherry, sir, at dinner; and about ten o'clock, aglass of brandy and water. "

"Carson, you are sober and prudent. Well about these cursed petitions;you must help me to dispose of them. Why, a man would think by the tenorof them, that these tenants of mine are ground to dust by a tyrant. "

"Ah! Colonel, you know little about these fellows. They would make blackwhite. Go and take a ride, sir, return about four o'clock, and I willhave everything as it ought to be. "

"I wish to heaven, Carson, I had your talents for business. Do you thinkmy tenants attached to me?"

"Attached! sir, they are ready to cut your throat or mine, on the firstconvenient opportunity. You could not conceive their knavishness anddishonesty, except you happened to be an agent for a few years. 

"So I have been told, and I am resolved to remove every dishonest tenantfrom my estate. Is there not a man, for instance, called Brady? He hassent me a long-winded petition here. What do you think of him?"

"Show me the petition, Colonel. "

"I cannot lay my hand on it just now; but you shall see it. In the meantime, what's your opinion of the fellow?"

"Brady! Why, I know the man particularly well. He is one of myfavorites. What the deuce could the fellow petition about, though? Ipromised the other day to renew his lease for him. "

"Oh, then, if he be a favorite of yours, his petition may go to thedevil, I suppose? Is the man honest?"

"Remarkably so; and has paid his rents very punctually. He is one of oursafest tenants. "

"Do you know a man called Cullen?"

"The most litigious scoundrel on the estate. "

"Indeed? Oh, then, we must look into the merits of his petition, ashe is not honest. Had he been honest like Brady, Carson, I should havedismissed it. "

"Cullen, sir, is a dangerous fellow. Do you know, that rascal hascharged me with keeping back his receipts, and with making I him paydouble rent!--ha, ha, ha! Upon my honor, its fact. "

"The scoundrel! We shall sift him to some purpose, however. "

"If you take my advice, sir, you will send him about his business; forif it be once known that you listen to malicious petitions, my authorityover such villains as Cullen is lost. "

"Well, I set him aside for the present. Here's a long list of others, all of whom have been oppressed, forsooth. Is there a man called M'Evoyon my estate?--Dominick M'Evoy, I think. "

"M'Evoy! Why that rascal, sir, has not been your tenant for ten years?His petition, Colonel, is a key to the nature of their grievances ingeneral. "

"I believe you, Carson--most implicitly do I believe that. Well, aboutthat rascal?"

"Why, it is so long since, that upon my honor, I cannot exactly rememberthe circumstances of his misconduct. He ran away. "

"Who is in his farm now, Carson?"

"A very decent man, sir. One Jackson, an exceedingly worthy, honest, industrious fellow. I take some credit to myself for bringing Jackson onyour estate. "

"Is Jackson married? Has he a family?"

"Married! Let me see! Why--yes--I believe he is. Oh, by the by, nowI think of it, he is married, and to a very respectable woman, too. Certainly, I remember--she usually accompanies him when he pays hisrents. "

"Then your system must be a good one, Carson; you weed out the idle andprofligate, to replace them by the honest and industrious. "

"Precisely so, sir; that is my system. "

"Yet there are agents who invert your system in some cases; who driveout the honest and industrious, and encourage the idle and profligate;who connive at them, Carson, and fill the estates they manage with theirown dependents, or relatives, as the case may be. You have been alway'sopposed to this, and I'm glad to hear it. "

"No man, Colonel B------, filling the situation which I have the honorto hold under you, could study your interests with greater zeal andassiduity. God knows, I have had so many quarrels, and feuds, andwranglings, with these fellows, in order to squeeze money out of them tomeet your difficulties, that, upon my honor, I think if it requiredfive dozen oaths to hang me, they could be procured upon your estate. Anagent, Colonel, who is faithful to the landlord, is seldom popular withthe tenants. "

"I can't exactly see that, Carson; and I have known an unpopularlandlord rendered highly popular by the judicious management of anenlightened and honest agent, who took no bribes, Carson, and whoneither extorted from nor ground the tenantry under him--something likea counterpart of yourself. But you may be right in general. "

"Is there anything particular, Colonel, in which I can assist you now?"

"Not now. I was anxious to hear the character of those fellows fromyou who know them. Come down about eleven or twelve o'clock; thesepetitioners will be assembled, and you may be able to assist me. "

"Colonel, remember I forewarn you, that you are plunging into a meshof difficulties, which you will never be able to disentangle. Leavethe fellows to me, sir; I know how to deal with them. Besides, upon myhonor, you are not equal to it, in point of health. You look ill. Prayallow me to take home their papers, and I shall have all clear andsatisfactory before two o'clock. They know my method, sir. "

"They do, Carson, they do; but I am anxious they should also know mine. Besides, it will amuse me, for I want excitement. Good day, for thepresent; you will be down about twelve, or one at the furthest. "

"Certainly, sir. Good morning, Colonel. "

The agent was too shrewd a man not to perceive that there were touchesof cutting irony in some of the Colonel's expressiqns, which he didnot like. There was a dryness, too, in the tone of his voice and words, blended with a copiousness of good humor, which, taken altogether, caused him to feel uncomfortable. He could have wished the Colonel atthe devil: yet had the said Colonel never been more familiar in hislife, nor, with one or two exceptions, readier to agree with almostevery observation made to him. 

"Well, " thought he, "he may act as he pleases; I have feathered my nest, at all events, and disregard him. "

Colonel B-----, in fact, ascertained with extreme regret, that somethingwas necessary to be done, to secure the good-will of his tenants; thatthe conduct of his agent had been marked by rapacity and bribery almostincredible. He had exacted from the tenantry in general the performanceof duty-labor to such an extent, that his immense agricultural farmswere managed with little expense to himself. If a poor man's corn weredrop ripe, or his hay in a precarious state, or his turf undrawn, hemust suffer his oats, hay, and turf, to be lost, in order to secure thecrops of the agent. If he had spirit to refuse, he must expect to becomea martyr to his resentment. In renewing leases his extortions wereexorbitant; ten, thirty, forty, and fifty guineas he claimed as a feefor his favor, according to the ability of the party; yet this was quitedistinct from the renewal tine, and went into his own pocket. When such"glove money" was not to be had, he would accept of a cow or horse, towhich he usually made a point to take a fancy; or he wanted to purchasea firkin of butter at that particular time; and the poor people usuallymade every sacrifice to avoid his vengeance. It is due to ColonelB------ to say, that he acted in the investigation of his agent'sconduct with the strictest honor and impartiality. He scrutinized everystatement thoroughly, pleaded for him as temperately as he could; found, or pretended to find, extenuating motives for his most indefensibleproceedings; but all would not do. The cases were so clear and evidentagainst him, even in the opinion of the neighboring gentry, who had beenfor years looking upon the system of selfish misrule which he practised, that at length the generous Colonel's blood boiled with indignationin his veins at the contemplation of his villany. He accused himselfbitterly for neglecting his duties as a landlord, and felt bothremorse and shame for having wasted his time, health, and money, inthe fashionable dissipation of London and Paris; whilst a cunning, unprincipled upstart played the vampire with his tenants, and turned hisestate into a scene of oppression and poverty. Nor was this all; hehad been endeavoring to bring the property more and more into his ownclutches, a point which he would ultimately have gained, had not theColonel's late succession to so large a fortune enabled him to meet hisclaims. 

At one o'clock the tenants were all assembled about the inn door, wherethe Colonel had resolved to hold his little court. The agent himselfsoon arrived, as did several other gentlemen, the Colonel's friends, whoknew the people and could speak to their character. 

The first man called was Dominick M'Evoy. No sooner was his nameuttered, than a mild, poor-looking man, rather advanced in years, cameforward. 

"I beg your pardon, Colonel, " said Carson, "here is some mistake; thisman is not one of your tenants. You may remember I told you so thismorning. "

"I remember it, " replied the Colonel; "this is 'the rascal' you spokeof--is he not? M'Evoy, " the Colonel proceeded, "you will reply tomy questions with strict truth. You will state nothing but what hasoccurred between you and my agent; you must not even turn a circumstancein your own favor, nor against Mr. Carson, by either adding to, ortaking away from it, more or less than the truth. I say this to you, andto all present; for, upon my honor, I shall dismiss the first case inwhich I discover a falsehood. "

"Wid the help o' the Almighty, sir, I'll state nothing but the barethruth. "

"How long are you off my estate?"

"Ten years, your honor, or a little more. "

"How came you to run away out of your farm?"

"Run away, your honor! Grod he knows, I didn't run away, sir. The wholecounthry knows that. "

"Yes, ran away! Mr. Carson, here, stated to me this morning, thatyou ran away. He is a gentleman of integrity, and would not state afalsehood. "

"I beg your pardon, Colonel, not positively. I told you I did notexactly remember the circumstances; I said I thought so; but I may bewrong, for, indeed, my memory of facts is not good. M'Evoy, however, is a very honest man, and I have no doubt will state everything as ithappened, fairly and without malice. "

"An honest 'rascal, ' I suppose you mean, Mr. Carson, " said the Colonel, bitterly. "Proceed, M'Evoy. "

M'Evoy stated the circumstances precisely as the reader is alreadyacquainted with them, after which the Colonel turned round to his agentand inquired what he had to say in reply. 

"You cannot expect, Colonel B------, " he replied, "that with such amultiplicity of business on my hands, I could remember, after a lapse often years, the precise state of this particular case. Perhaps I may havesome papers, a memorandum or so, at home, that may throw light upon it. At present I can only say, that the man failed in his rents, I ejectedhim, and put a better tenant in his place. I cannot see a crime inthat. "

"Plase your honor, " replied M'Evoy, "I can prove by them that's standin'to the fore this minute, as well as by this written affidavit, sir, that I offered him the full rint, havin', at the same time, as God is myjudge, ped part of it afore. "

"That is certainly false--an untrue and malicious statement, " saidCarson. "I now remember that the cause of my resentment--yes, of my justresentment against you, was your reporting that I received your rent andwithheld your receipt. "

"Then, " observed the Colonel, "There has been more than one chargeof that nature brought against you? You mentioned another to me thismorning if I mistake not. "

"I have made my oath, your honor, of the thruth of it; an' here is adacent man, sir, a Protestant, that lent me the money, an' was presentwhen I offered it to him. Mr. Smith, come forrid, sir, an' spake up forthe poor man, as you're always willin' to do. "

"I object to his evidence, " said Carson: "he is my open enemy. "

"I am your enemy, Mr. Carson, or rather the enemy of your corruption andwant of honesty, " said Smith: "but, as you say, an open one. I scorn tosay behind your back what I wouldn't say to your face. Right well youknow I was present when he tendered you his rent. I lent him part of it. But why did you and your bailiffs turn him out, when his wife was on hersick bed? Allowing that he could not pay his rent, was that any reasonyou should do so barbarous an act as to drag a woman from her sick bed, and she at the point of death? But we know your reasons for it. "

"Gentlemen, " said the Colonel, "pray what character do M'Evoy and Smithhere bear in the country?"

"We have known them both for years to be honest, conscientious men, "said those whom he addressed: "such is their character, and in ouropinion they well deserve it. "

"God bless you, gintlemen!" said M'Evoy--"God bless your honors, foryour kind Words! I'm sure for my own part, I hope though but a poor mannow, God help me!"

"Pray, who occupies the farm at present, Mr. Carson?"

"The man I mentioned to you this morning, sir. His name is Jackson. "

"And pray, Mr. Carson, who is his wife?"

"Oh, by the by, Colonel, that's a little too close! I see the gentlemensmile; but they know I must beg to decline answering that question---notthat it matters much. We have all sown our wild oats in our time--myselfas well as another--ha, ha, ha!"

"The fact, under other circumstances, " observed the Colonel, "couldnever draw an inquiry from me; but as it is connected with, or probablyhas occasioned, a gross, unfeeling, and an unjust act of oppressiontowards an honest man, I therefore alluded to it, as exhibiting themotives from which you acted. She is your illegitimate daughter, sir!"

"She's one o' the baker's dozen o' them, plase your honor, " observed ahumorous little Presbyterian, with a sarcastic face, and sharp northernaccent--"for feth, sir, for my part, A thenk he lies one on every hillhead. All count, your honor, on my fingers a roun' half-dozen, all onyour estate, sir, featherin' their nests as fast as they can. "

"Is this Jackson a good tenant, Mr. Carson?"

"I gave you his character this morning, Colonel B. "

"Hout, Colonel!" said the Presbyterian, "deil a penny rent the man pays, at all, at all. A'll swear a hev it from Jackson's own lips. He made hima Bailey, sir; he suts rent free. Ask the man, sir, for his receipts, an' a'll warrant the truth will come out. "

"I have secured Jackson's attendance, " said the Colonel; "let him becalled in. "

The man in a few minutes entered. 

"Jackson, " said the Colonel, "how long is it since you paid Mr. Carsonhere any rent?"

Jackson looked at Carson for his cue; but the Colonel rose upindignantly: "Fellow!" he proceeded, "if you tamper with me a singlemoment, you shall find Mr. Carson badly able to protect you. If youspeak falsehood, be it at your peril. "

"By Jing, sir, " said Jackson, "All say nothin' aginst my father-in-laa, an' A don't care who teks it well or ull. A was just tekin' a _gun_ (* ahalf-tumbler of punch) with a fren' or two--an d---me, A say, A'll stickto my father-m-laa, for he hes stuck to me. "

"You appear to be a hardened, drunken wretch, " observed the Colonel. "Will you be civil enough to show your last receipt for rent?"

"Wull A show it? A dono whether A wull or not, nor A dono whether A heyit or not; but ef aall the receipts in Europe wur burnt, d---- my blood, but A'll stick to my father-in-laa. "

"Your father-in-law may be proud of you, " said the Colonel. 

"By h----, A'll back you en that, " said the fellow nodding his head, andlooking round him confidently. "By h-----, A say that, too!"

"And I am sorry to be compelled to add, " continued the Colonel, "thatyou may be equally proud of your father-in-law. "

"A say, right agane! D---- me, bit A'll back that too!"and he noddedconfidently, and looked around the room once more. "A wull, d---- myblood, bit no man can say agane it. A'm married to his daughter; an', bythe sun that shines A'll still stan' up for my father-in-laa. "

"Mr. Carson, " said the Colonel, "can you disprove these facts? Can youshow that you did not expel M'Evoy from his farm, and put the husband ofyour illegitimate daughter into it? That you did not receive his rent, decline giving him a receipt, and afterwards compel him to pay twice, because he could not produce the receipt which you withheld?"

"Gentlemen, " said Carson, not directly replying to the Colonel, "thereis a base conspiracy got up against me; and I can perceive, moreover, that there is evidently some unaccountable intention on the part ofColonel B. To insult my feelings and injure my character. When paltrycircumstances that have occurred above ten years ago, are raked up in myteeth, I have little to say, but that it proves how very badly offthe Colonel must have been for an imputation against my conduct anddiscretion as his agent, since he finds himself compelled to hunt so farback for a charge. "

"That is by no means the heaviest charge I have to bring against you, "replied the Colonel. "There is no lack of them; nor shall you be able tocomplain that they are not recent, as well as of longer standing. Yourconduct in the case of poor honest M'Evoy here is black and iniquitous. He must be restored to his farm, but by other hands than yours, and thatruffian instantly expelled from it. From this moment, sir, you cease tobe my agent. You have betrayed the confidence I reposed in you; you havemisled me as to the character of my tenants; you have been a deceitful, cunning, cringing, selfish and rapacious tyrant. My people you haveground to dust; my property you have lessened in value nearly one-half, and for your motives in doing this, I refer you to certain transactionsand legal documents which passed between us. There is nothing cruel ormercenary which you did not practice, in order to enrich yourself. Thewhole tenor of your conduct is before me. Your profligacy is not onlydiscovered, but already proved; and you played those villainous pranks, I suppose, because I have been mostly an absentee. Do not think, however, that you shall enjoy the fruits of your extortion? I will placethe circumstances, and the proofs of the respective charges against you, in the hands of my solicitor, and, by the sacred heaven above me! youshall disgorge the fruits of your rapacity. My good people, I shallremain among you for another fortnight, during which time I intend to gothrough my estate, and set everything to rights as well as I can, untilI may appoint a humane and feeling gentleman as my agent--such a one aswill have, at least, a character to lose. I also take this opportunityof informing you, that in future I shall visit you often, will redressyour grievances, should you have any to complain of, and will give suchassistance to the honest and industrious among you--but to themonly--as I trust may make us better pleased with each other than we havebeen. --Do not you go, M'Evoy, until I speak to you. "

During these observations Carson sat with a smile, or rather a sneerupon his lips. It was the sneer of a purse-proud villain confident thathis wealth, no matter how ill-gotten, was still wealth, and worth itsvalue. 

"Colonel, " said he, "I have heard all you said, but you see me 'sostrong in honesty, ' that I am not moved. In the course of a few weeksI shall have purchased an estate of my own, which I shall managedifferently, for my fortune is made, sir. I intend also to give up myother agencies: I am rather old and must retire to enjoy a little of the_otium cum dignitate_. I wish you all goo'd-morning!"

The Colonel turned away in abhorrence, but disdained any reply. 

"A say, Sam, " said the Presbyterian, "bring your son-in-laa wuth you. "

"An' I say that, too, " exclaimed the drunken ruffian--"A say that; A do. A'm married to his daughter; an' A say stull, that d------my blood, bitA'll stick to my father-in-laa! That's the point!"--and again he noddedhis head, and looked round him with a drunken swagger:--"A'll stick to myfather-in-laa! A'll do that; feth, A wull!"*

 * This dialect is local. 

It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader, that the Colonel'saddress to Carson soon got among the assembled tenantry, and a vehementvolley of groans and hisses followed the discarded agent up the street. 

"Ha! bad luck to you for an ould villain. You were made to hear on thedeaf side o' your head at last! You may take the black wool out o' yourears now, you rip! The cries an' curses o' the widows an' orphans thatyou made and oppressed, has ris up agin you at the long run! Ha! youbeggarly nager! maybe you'll make us neglect our own work to do yoursagin! Go an' gather the dhry cow-cakes, you misert, an' bring them homein your pocket, to throw on the dunghill!"

"Do you remimber the day, " said others, "you met Mr. M. , an' you goin'up the street wid a cake of it in your fists, undher your shabby skirts;an' whin the gintlemen wint to shake hands wid you, how he discoveredyour maneness? Three groans for Yallow Sam, the extortioner! a shortcoorse to him! Your corner's warm for you, you villain!"

"But now, boys, for the Colonel!" they exclaimed. --"Huzza for nobleColonel B------ the rale Irish gintlemen, that wouldn't see his tenantsput upon by a villain!--Huzza! Hell resave yees, shout! Huzza! Huzza!Huzza! Huz--tundher-an'-ounze, my voice is cracked! Where's hiscoach?--where's his honor's coach? Come, boys, out wid it, --out wid it!Tattheration to yees, come! We'll dhraw it to the divil, to hell an'back agin, if it plases him! Success to Colonel B------! Blood-an-turf!what'll we do for a fight? Long life to noble Colonel B------, the poorman's friend!--long life to him for ever an' a day longer! Whoo! mydarlins! Huzza!" etc. 

The warm interest which the Colonel took in M'Evoy's behalf, was lookedupon by the other tenants as a guarantee of his sincerity in all hepromised. Their enthusiasm knew no bounds. They got out his carriagefrom the Inn-Yard, and drew it through the town, though the Colonelhimself, beyond the fact of their shouting, remained quite ignorant ofwhat was going forward. 

After Carson's departure, the Colonel's friends, having been first askedto dine with him at the inn, also took their leave, and none remainedbut M'Evoy, who waited with pleasing anxiety to hear what the Colonelproposed to say--for he felt certain that it would be agreeable. 

"M'Evoy, " said the Colonel, "I am truly sorry for what you have sufferedthrough the villany of my agent; but I will give you redress, and allowyou for what you have lost by the transaction. It is true, as Ihave been lately told by a person who pleaded your cause nobly andeloquently, that I can never repay you for what you have suffered. However, what we can, we will do. You are poor, I understand?"

"God he sees that, sir; and afflicted, too, plase your honor. "

"Afflicted? How is that?"

"I had a son, sir--a blessed boy! a darlin' boy!--once our comfort, an'once we thought he'd be our pride an' our staff, but"--

The poor man's tears here flowed fast; he took up the skirt of his"Cotha More, " or great-coat, and, after wiping his eyes, and clearinghis voice, proceeded:--

"He was always, as I said, a blessed boy, and we looked up to himalwayrs, sir. He saw our poverty, your honor, an' he felt it, sir, keenenough, indeed, God help him! How an'-iver, he took it on him to goup to Munster, sir, undher hopes of risin' us--undher the hopes, poorchild--an' God knows, sir, --if--oh, Jemmy avourneen ma-chree!--doubt--Idoubt you sunk undher what proved too many for you!--I doubt my child'sdead, sir--him that all our hearts wor fixed upon; and if that 'udhappen to be the case, nothin'--not even your kindness in doin' usjustice, could make us happy. We would rather beg wid him, sir, nor havethe best in the world widout him. His poor young heart, sir, was fixedupon the place your honor is restorin' us to; an I'm afeard his mother, sir, would break her heart if she thought he couldn't share our goodfortune! And we don't know whether he's livin' or dead! That, sir, iswhat's afflictin' us. I had some notion of goin' to look for him; buthe tould us he would never write, or let us hear from him, till he'd beeither one thing or other. "

"I can tell you, for your satisfaction, that your son is well, M'Evoy. Believe me, he is well--I know it. "

"Well! Before God, does your honor spake truth? Well! Oh, sir, for Hissake that died for us, an' for the sake of his blessed mother, can youtell me is my darlin' son alive?"

"He is living; is in excellent health; is as well dressed as I am; andhas friends as rich and as capable of assisting him as myself. Buthow is this? What's the matter with you? You are pale! Good God! Here, waiter! Waiter! Waiter, I say!"

The Colonel rang the bell violently, and two or three waiters entered atthe same moment. 

"Bring a little wine and water, one of you, and let the other two removethis man to the open window. Be quick. What do you stare at?"

In a few minutes the old man recovered, and untying the narrow coarsecravat which he wore, wiped the perspiration off his pale face. 

"Pray, don't be too much affected, " said the Colonel. "Waiter, bringup refreshment--bring wine--be quiet and calm--you are weak, poorfellow--but we will strengthen you by-and-by. "

"I am wake, sir, " he replied; "for, God help us! this was a hard yearupon us; and we suffered what few could bear. But he's livin', Colonel. Our darlin' is livin! Oh, Colonel, your kindness went to my heart thisday afore, but that was nothin'--he's livin' an' well! On my two knees, before God, I thank you for them words! I thank you a thousand an' athousand times more for them words, nor for what your honor did aboutYallow Sam. "

"Get up, " said the Colonel--"get up. The proceedings of the day haveproduced a revulsion of feeling which has rendered you incapable ofsustaining intelligence of your son. He is well, I assure you. Bringthose things to this table, waiter. "

"But can your honor tell me anything in particular about him, sir? Whathe's doin'--or what he intends to do?"

"Yes! he is at a respectable boarding-school. "

"Boordin'-school! But isn't boordin'-schools Protestants, sir?"

"Not at all; he is at a Catholic boarding-school, and reading hard to bea priest, which, I hope, he will soon be. He has good friends, and youmay thank him for being restored to your farm. "

"Glory be to my Maker for that! Oh, sir, your tenants wor desaved inyou! They thought, sir, that you wor a hard-hearted gintleman, thatdidn't care whether they lived or died. "

"I feel that I neglected them too long, M'Evoy. Now take somerefreshment: eat something, and afterwards drink a few glasses of wine. Your feelings have been much excited, and you will be the better for it. Keep up your spirits. I am going to ride, and must leave you: but if youcall on me to-morrow, at one o'clock, I shall have more good newsfor you. We must stock your farm, and enable you to enter upon itcreditably. "

"Sir, " said M'Evoy, "you are a Protestant; but, as I hope to entherglory, I an' my wife an' childhre will pray that your bed may be made inheaven, this night; and that your honor may be led to see the truth an'the right coorse. "

The Colonel then left him; and the simple man, on looking at the coldmeat, bread, and wine before him, raised his hands and eyes towardsheaven, to thank God for his goodness, and to invoke a blessing upon hisnoble and munificent benefactor. 

But how shall we describe the feelings of his family, when, afterreturning home, he related the occurrences of that day. The severe andpressing exigencies under which they labored had prevented his sonsfrom attending the investigation that was to take place in town. Theirexpectations, however, were raised, and they looked out with intenseanxiety for the return of their father. 

At length he was seen coming slowly up the hill; the spades were thrownaside, and the whole family assembled to hear "what was done. "

The father entered in silence, sat down, and after wiping his brow andlaying down his hat, placing his staff across it upon the floor, he drewhis breath deeply. 

"Dominick, " said the wife, "what news? What was done?"

"Vara, " replied Dominick, "do you remimber the day--fair and handsomeyou wor then--when I first kissed your lips, as my own darlin' wife?"

"Ah, avourneen, Dominick, don't spake of them times. The happiness wehad then is long gone, acushla, in one sense. "

"It's before me like yestherday, Vara--the delight that went through myheart, jist as clear as yestherday, or the blessed sun that's shinin'through the broken windy on the floor there. I remimber, Vara, sayingto you that day--I don't know whether you remimber it or not--but Iremimber sayin' to you, that if I lived a thousand years, I could neverfeel sich happiness as I did when I first pressed you to my heart as myown wife. "

"Well, but we want to hear what happened, Dominick, achora. "

"Do you remimber the words, Vara?"

"Och! I do, avourneen. Didn't they go into my heart at the time, an' howcould I forget them? But I can't bear, somehow, to look back at what wewor then, bekase I feel my heart brakin', acushla!"

"Well, Vara, look at me. Amn't I a poor wasted crathur now, incomparishment to what I was thin?"

"God he sees the change that's in you, darlin'! But sure 'twasn't yourfau't, or mine either, Dominick, avilish!"

"Well, Vara, you see me now--I'm happpier--before God, I'mhappier--happier, a thousand degrees than I was thin! Come to my arms, asthore machree--my heart s breakin'--but it's wid happiness--don't befrightened--it's wid joy I'm sheddin' these tears--it's wid happinessan' delight In' cryin'! Jemmy is livin', an' well, childhre--he's livin'an' well, Vara--the star of our hearts is livin', an' well, an' happy!Kneel down, childhre--kneel down! Bend before the great God, an' thankhim for his kindness to your blessed brother--to our blessed son. Bless the Colonel, childhre; bless him whin you're down, Protestant an'all, as he is. Oh, bless him as if you prayed for myself, or for Jemmy, that's far away from us!"

He paused for a few minutes, bent his head upon his hands as he kneltin supplication at the chair, then resumed his seat, as did the wholefamily, deeply affected. 

"Now, childhre, " said he, "I'll tell yez all; but don't any of you be sopoor a crathur as I was to-day. Bear it mild an' asy, Vara, acushla, forI know it will take a start out of you. Sure we're to go back to our ownould farm! Ay, an' what'a more--oh, God of heaven, bless him!--what'smore, the Colonel is to stock it for us, an' to help us; an' what ismore, Yallow Sam is out! out!!"

"Out!" they exclaimed: "Jemmy well, an' Yallow Sam out! Oh, father, surely"--

"Now behave, I say. Ay, and never to come in again! But who do you thinkgot him out?"

"Who?--why God he knows. Who could get him out?"

"Our son, Vara--our son, childhre: Jemmy got him out, an' got ourselvesback to our farm! I had it partly from the noble Colonel's own lips, an' the remainder from Mr. Moutray, that I met on my way home. Butthere's more to come:--sure Jemmy has friends aquil to the Colonelhimself: an' sure he's at a Catholic boordin'-school, among gintlemen'schildhre, an' in a short time he'll be a priest in full ordhers. "

We here draw a veil over the delight of the family. Questions uponquestions, replies upon replies, sifting and cross-examinations, followed in rapid succession, until all was known that the worthy manhad to communicate. 

Another simple scene followed, which, as an Irishman, I write withsorrow. When the joy of the family had somewhat subsided, the father, putting his hand in his coat-pocket, pulled out several large slices ofmutton. 

"Along wid all, childhre, " said he, "the Colonel ordhered me my dinner. I ate plinty myself, an' slipped these slices in my pocket for you: butthe devil a one o' me knows what kind o' mate it is. An' I got wine, too! Oh!--Well, they may talk, but wine is the drink! Bring me the ouldknife, till I make a fair divide of it among ye. Musha, what kind o'mate can it be, for myself doesn't remimber atin' any sort, barrin'bacon an' a bit o' slink-veal of an odd time?"

They all ate it with an experimental air of sagacity that was ratheramusing. None, however, had ever tasted mutton before, and consequentlythe name of the meat remained, on that occasion, a profound secret toM'Evoy and his family. * It is true, they supposed it to be mutton;but not one of them could pronounce it to be such, from any positiveknowledge of its peculiar flavor. 

 * There are hundreds of thousands--yes, millions--of the poorer classes in Ireland, who have never tasted mutton!

"Well, " said Dominick, "it's no matther what the name of it is, inregard that it's good mate, any way, for them that has enough of it. "

With a fervent heart and streaming eyes did this virtuous family offerup their grateful prayers to that God whose laws they had not knowinglyviolated, and to whose providence they owed so much. Nor was theirbenefactor forgotten. The strength and energy of the Irish language, being that in which the peasantry usually pray, were well adapted toexpress the depth of their gratitude towards a man who had, as theysaid, "humbled himself to look into their wants, as if he was like oneof themselves!"

For upwards of ten years they had not gone to bed free from theheaviness of care, or the wasting grasp of poverty. Now their hearthwas once more surrounded by peace and contentment; their burthens wereremoved, their pulses beat freely, and the language of happiness againwas heard under their humble roof. Even sleep could not repress thevivacity of their enjoyments: they dreamt of their brother--for in theIrish heart domestic affections hold the first place;--they dreamt ofthe farm to which those affections had so long yearned. They trod itagain as its legitimate possessors. Its fields were brighter, its cornwaved with softer murmurs to the breeze, its harvests were richer, andthe song of their harvest home more cheerful than before. Their delightwas tumultuous, but intense; and when they arose in the morning to asober certainty of waking bliss, they again knelt in worship to God withexulting hearts, and again offered up their sincere prayers in behalf ofthe just man who had asserted their rights against the oppressor. 

Colonel B. Was a man who, without having been aware of it, possessed anexcellent capacity for business. The neglect of his property resultednot from want of feeling, but merely from want of consideration. Therehad, moreover, been no precedent for him to follow. He had seen noIrishman of rank ever bestow a moment's attention on his tenantry. Theyhad been, for the most part, absentees like himself, and felt satisfiedif they succeeded in receiving their half-yearly remittance in duecourse, without ever reflecting for a moment upon the situation of thosefrom whom it was drawn. 

Nay, what was more--he had not seen even the resident gentry enter intothe state and circumstances of those who lived upon their property. Itwas a mere accident that determined him to become acquainted with histenants; but no sooner had he seen his duty, and come to the resolutionof performing it, than the decision of his character became apparent. It is true, that, within the last few years, the Irish landlords haveadvanced in knowledge. Many of them have introduced more improvedsystems of agriculture, and instructed their tenants in the best methodsof applying them; but during the time of which we write, an Irishlandlord only saw his tenants when canvassing them for their votes, andinstructed them in dishonesty and perjury, not reflecting that he wasthen teaching them to practise the arts of dissimulation and fraudagainst himself. This was the late system: let us hope that it will besuperseded by a better one; and that the landlord will think it a duty, but neither a trouble nor a condescension, to look into his own affairs, and keep an eye upon the morals and habits of his tenantry. 

The Colonel, as he had said, remained more than a fortnight upon hisestate; and, as he often declared since, the recollections arising fromthe good which he performed during that brief period, rendered itthe portion of his past life upon which he could look with mostsatisfaction. He did not leave the country till he saw M'Evoy and hisfamily restored to their farm, and once more independent;--until he hadredressed every well-founded complaint, secured the affections of thosewho had before detested him, and diffused peace and comfort among everyfamily upon his estate. From thenceforth he watched the interests of histenants, and soon found that in promoting their welfare, and instructingthem in their duties, he was more his own benefactor than theirs. Before many years had elapsed, his property was wonderfully improved;he himself was called the "Lucky Landlord, " "bekase, " said the people, "ever since he spoke to, an' advised his tenants, we find that it'slucky to live undher him. The people has heart to work wid a gintlemanthat won't grind thim; an' so sign's on it, every one thrives upon hisland: an' dang my bones, but I believe a rotten stick 'ud grow on it, set in case it was thried. "

In sooth, his popularity became proverbial; but it is probable, that noteven his justice and humanity contributed so much to this, as thevigor with which he prosecuted his suit against "Yellow Sam, " whom hecompelled literally to "disgorge" the fruits of his heartless extortion. This worthy agent died soon after his disgrace, without any legitimateissue; and his property, which amounted to about fifty thousand pounds, is now inherited by a gentleman of the strictest honor and integrity. Tothis day his memory is detested by the people, who, with that bitternessby which they stigmatized a villain, have erected him into a standardof dishonesty. If a man become remarkable for want of principle, theyusually say--"he's as great a rogue as Yallow Sam;" or, "he is thegreatest sconce that ever was in the country, barrin' Yallow Sam. "

We now dismiss him, and request our readers, at the same time, notto suppose that we have held him up as a portrait of Irish agentsin general. On the contrary, we believe that they constitute a mostrespectable class of men, who have certainly very difficult duties toperform. The Irish landlords, we are happy to say, taught by experience, have, for the most part, both seen and felt the necessity of appointinggentlemen of property to situations so very important, and which requireso much patience, consideration, and humanity, in those who fill them. We trust they will persevere in this plan; * but we can assure them, that all the virtues of the best agent can never compensate, in theopinion of the people, for neglect in the "Head Landlord. " One visit, or act, even of nominal kindness, for him, will at any time produce moreattachment and gratitude among them, than a whole life spent in goodoffices by an agent. Like Sterne's French Beggar, they would prefer apinch of snuff from the one, to a guinea from the other. The agent onlyrenders them a favor, but the Head Landlord does them an honor. 

 * This tale has been written nearly twelve years, but the author deeply regrets that the Irish landlords have disentitled themselves to the favorable notice taken of them in the text. 

Colonel B. , immediately after his return home, sent for Mr. O'Brien, who waited on him with a greater degree of curiosity than perhaps he hadever felt before. The Colonel smiled as he extended his hand to him. 

"Mr. O'Brien, " said he, "I knew you would feel anxious to hear theresult of my visit to the estate which this man with the nicknamemanaged for me. "

"Managed, sir? Did you say managed?"

"I spoke in the past time, O'Brien: he is out. "

"Then your protege's story was correct, sir?"

"True to a title. O'Brien, there is something extraordinary in thatboy; otherwise, how could it happen that a sickly, miserable-lookingcreature, absolutely in tatters, could have impressed us both sostrongly with a sense of the injustice done ten years ago to his father?It is, indeed, remarkable. "

"The boy, Colonel, deeply felt that act of injustice, and the expressionof it came home to the heart. "

"I have restored his father, however. The poor man and his family areonce more happy. I have stocked their old farm for them; in! fact, theynow enjoy comfort and independence. "

"I am glad, sir, that you have done them justice. That act, alone, willgo far to redeem your character from the odium which the conduct of youragent was calculated to throw upon it. "

"There is not probably in Ireland a landlord so popular as I am thismoment--at least among my tenants on that property. Restoring M'Evoy, however, is but a small part of what I have done. Carson's pranks wereincredible. He was a rack-renter of the first water. A person namedBrady had paid him twenty-five guineas as a douceur--in other words, asa bribe--for renewing a lease for him; yet, after having received themoney, he kept the poor man dangling after him, and at length told himthat he was offered a larger sum by another. In some cases he kept backthe receipts, and made the poor people pay twice, which was still moreiniquitous. Then, sir, he would not take bank notes in payment. No; hewas so wonderfully concientious, and so zealously punctual in fulfillingmy wishes, as he told them on the subject, that nothing would pass inpayment but gold. This gold, sir, they were compelled to receive fromhimself, at a most oppressive premium; so that he actually fleeced themunder my name, in every conceivable manner and form of villainy. He is ausurer, too; and, I am told, worth forty or fifty thousand pounds: but, thank heaven! he is no longer an agent of mine. "

"It gives me sincere pleasure, sir, that you have at length got correcthabits of thinking upon your duties as an Irish landlord; for believeme, Colonel B. , as a subject involving a great portion of nationalhappiness or national misery, it is entitled to the deepest and mostserious consideration, not only of the class to which you belong, but ofthe legislature. Something should be done, sir, to improve the conditionof the poorer classes. A rich country and poor inhabitants is ananomaly; and whatever is done should be prompt and effectual. If theIrish landlords looked directly into the state of their tenantry, andset themselves vigorously to the task of bettering their circumstances, they would, I am certain, establish the tranquillity and happiness ofthe country at large. The great secret, Colonel, of the dissensionsthat prevail among us is the poverty of the people. They are poor, andtherefore the more easily wrought up to outrage; they are poor, andthink that any change must be for the better; they are not only poor, but imaginative, and the fittest recipients for those vague speculationsby which they are deluded. Let their condition be improved, and the mostfertile source of popular tumult and crime is closed. Let them be taughthow to labor: let them not be bowed to the earth by rents so far abovethe real value of their lands. The pernicious maxims which float amongthem must be refuted--not by theory, but by practical lessons performedbefore their eyes for their own advantage. Let them be taught how todiscriminate between their real interests and their prejudices; and nonecan teach them all this so effectually as their landlords, if they couldbe roused from their apathy, and induced to undertake the task. Who eversaw a poor nation without great crimes?"

"Very true, O'Brien; quite true. I am resolved to inspect personallythe condition of those who reside on my other estates. But now about ourprotege? How is he doing?"

"Extremely well. I have had a letter from him a few days ago, in whichhe alludes to the interest you have taken in himself and his family, with a depth of feeling truly affecting. "

"When you write to him, let him know that I have placed his father inhis old farm; and that Carson is out. Say I am sure he will conducthimself properly, in which case I charge myself with his expenses untilhe shall have accomplished his purpose. After that he may work hisown way through life, and I have no doubt but he will do it well andhonorably. "

Colonel B------'s pledge on this occasion was nobly redeemed. Our humblehero pursued his studies with zeal and success. In due time he enteredMaynooth, where he distinguished himself not simply for smartness asa student, but as a young man possessed of a mind far above the commonorder. During all this time nothing occurred worthy of particularremark, except that, in fulfilment of his former vow, he never wrote toany of his friends; for the reader should have been told, that this wasoriginally comprehended in the determination he had formed. He receivedordination at the hands of his friend the Bishop, whom we have alreadyintroduced to the reader, and on the same day he was appointed by thatgentleman to a curacy in his own parish. The Colonel, whose regardfor him never cooled, presented him with fifty pounds, together witha horse, saddle, and bridle; so that he found himself in a capacityto enter upon his duties in a decent and becoming manner. Anothercircumstance that added considerably to his satisfaction, was theappointment of Mr. O'Brien to a parish adjoining that of the Bishop. James's afflictions had been the means of bringing the merits of thatexcellent man before his spiritual superior, who became much attachedto him, and availed himself of the earliest opportunity of rewarding hisunobtrusive piety and benevolence. 

No sooner was his ordination completed, than the long suppressedyearnings after his home and kindred came upon his spirit with a powerthat could not be restrained. He took leave of his friends with abeating heart, and set out on a delightful summer morning to revisit allthat had been, notwithstanding his long absence and severe trials, so strongly wrought into his memory and affections. Our readers may, therefore, suppose him on his journey home, and permit, themselves to beled in imagination to the house of his former friend, Lanigan, where wemust lay the scene for the present. 

Lanigan's residence has the same comfortable and warm appearance whichalways distinguishes the habitation of the independent and virtuous man. What, however, can the stir, and bustle, and agitation which prevailin it mean? The daughters run out to a little mound, a natural terrace, beside the house, and look anxiously towards the road; then return, andalmost immediately appear again, with the same intense anxiety to catcha glimpse of some one whom they expect. They look keenly; but why is itthat their disappointment appears to be attended with such dismay?They go into their father's house once more, wringing their hands, andbetraying all the symptoms of affliction. Here is their mother, too, coming to peer into the distance, she is rocking with that motionpeculiar to Irishwomen when suffering distress. She places her open handupon her brows that she may collect her sight to a particular spot; sheis blinded by her tears; breaks out into a low wail, and returns withsomething like the darkness of despair on her countenance. She goes intothe house, passes through the kitchen, and enters into a bed-room; seatsherself on a chair beside the bed, and renews her low but' bitter wailof sorrow. Her husband is lying in that state which the peasantry knowusually precedes the agonies of death. 

"For the sake of the livin' God, " said he, on seeing her, "is there anysign o' them?"

"Not yet, a _suillish_; (* My light) but they will soon--they must soon, asthore, be here, an' thin your mind will be asy. "

"Oh, Alley, Alley, if you could know what I suffer for 'fraid I'd diewidout the priest you'd pity me!"

"I do pity you, asthore: but don't be cast down, for I have my trust inGod that he won't desart you in your last hour. You did what you could, my heart's pride; you bent before him night an' mornin', and sure thepoor neighbor never wint from your door widout lavin' his blessin'behind him. "

The dying man raised his hands feebly from the bed-clothes; "Ah!" heexclaimed, "I thought I did a great dale, Alley: but now--but now--itappears nothin' to what I ought to a' done when I could. Still, avour-neen, my life's not unpleasant when I look back at it; for I can'tremimber that I ever purposely offinded a livin' mortal. All I want tosatisfy me is the priest. "

"No, avourneen, you did not; for it wasn't in you to offind a child. "

"Alley, you'll pardon me an' forgive me acushla, if ever--if ever I didwhat was displasin' to you! An' call in the childhre, till I see themabout me--I want to have their forgiveness, too. I know I'll haveit--for they wor good childhre, an' ever loved me. "

The daughters now entered the room, exclaiming--"_Ahir dheelish_(beloved father), Pether is comin' by himself, but no priest! BlessedQueen of Heaven, what will we do! Oh! father darlin', are you to diewidout the Holy Ointment?"

The sick man clasped his hands, looked towards heaven and groaned aloud. 

"Oh, it's hard, this, " said he. "It's hard upon me! Yet I won't be castdown. I'll trust in my good God; I'll trust in his blessed name!"

His wife, on hearing that her son was returned without the priest, sat, with her face shrouded by her apron, weeping in grief that none but theywho know the dependence which those belonging to her church place inits last rites can comprehend. The children appeared almost distracted;their grief had more of that stunning character which attends unexpectedcalamity, than of sorrow for one who is gradually drawn from life. 

At length the messenger entered the room, and almost choked with tears, stated that both priests were absent that day at Conference, and wouldnot return till late. 

The hitherto moderated grief of the wife arose to a pitch much wilderthan the death of her husband could, under ordinary circumstances, occasion. To die without absolution--to pass away into eternity"unanointed, unaneled"--without being purified from the inherentstains of humanity--was to her a much deeper affliction than her finalseparation from him. She cried in tones of the most piercing despair, and clapped her hands, as they do who weep over the dead. Had he died inthe calm confidence of having received the Viaticum, or Sacrament beforedeath, his decease would have had nothing remarkably calamitous init, beyond usual occurrences of a similar nature. Now the grief wasintensely bitter in consequence of his expected departure without thepriest. His sons and daughters felt it as forcibly as his wife; theirlamentations were full of the strongest and sharpest agony. 

For nearly three hours did they remain in this situation; poor Lanigansinking by degrees into that collapsed state from which there is nopossibility of rallying. He was merely able to speak; and recognize hisfamily; but every moment advanced him, with awful certainty, nearer andnearer to his end. . 

A great number of the neighbors were now assembled, all participating inthe awful feeling which predominated, and anxious to compensate by theirprayers for the absence of that confidence derived by Roman Catholicsduring the approach of death, from the spiritual aid of the priest. They were all at prayer; the sick-room and kitchen were crowded with hisfriends and acquaintances, many of whom knelt out before the door, and joined with loud voices in the Rosary which was offered up in hisbehalf. 

In this crisis were they, when a horseman, dressed in black, approachedthe house. Every head was instantly turned round, with a hope that itmight be the parish priest or his curate; but, alas! they were doomed toexperience a fresh disappointment. The stranger, though clerical enoughin his appearance, presented a countenance with which none of themwas acquainted. On glancing at the group who knelt around the door, heappeared to understand the melancholy cause which brought them together. 

"How is this?" he exclaimed. "Is there any one here sick or dying?"

"Poor Misther Lanigan, sir, is jist departing glory be to God! An'what is terrible all out upon himself and family, he's dyin' widout thepriest. They're both at Conwhirence, sir, and can't come--Mr. Doghertyan' his curate. "

"Make way!" said the stranger, throwing himself off his horse, andpassing quickly through the people. "Show me to the sick man's room--bequick, my friends--I am a Catholic clergyman. "

In a moment a passage was cleared, and the stranger found himselfbeside the bed of death. Grief in the room was loud and bitter; but hispresence stilled it despite of what they felt. 

"My dear friends, " said he, "you know there should be silence in theapartment of a dying man. For shame!--for shame! Cease this clamor, itwill but distract him for whom you weep, and prevent him from composinghis mind for the great trial that is before him. "

"Sir, " said Lanigan's wife, seizing his hand in both hers, and lookingdistractedly in his face, "are you a priest? For heaven's sake tell us?"

"I am, " he replied; "leave the room every one of you. I hope yourhusband is not speechless?"

"Sweet Queen of Heaven, not yet, may her name be praised! but near it, your Reverence--widin little or no time of it. ". 

Whilst they spoke, he was engaged in putting the stole about hisneck, after which he cleared the room, and commenced hearing Lanigan'sconfession. 

The appearance of a priest, and the consolation it produced, rallied thepowers of life in the benevolent farmer. He became more collected; madea clear and satisfactory confession; received the sacrament of ExtremeUnction; and felt himself able to speak with tolerable distinctness andprecision. The effects of all this were astonishing. A placid serenity, full of hope and confidence, beamed from the pale and worn features ofhim who was but a few minutes before in a state of terror altogetherindescribable. When his wife and family, after having been called in, observed this change, they immediately participated in his tranquillity. Death had been deprived of its sting, and grief of its bitterness; theirsorrow was still deep, but it was not darkened by the dread of futuremisery. They felt for him as a beloved father, a kind husband, and aclear friend, who had lived a virtuous life, feared God, and was nowabout to pass into happiness. 

When the rites of the church were administered, and the family againassembled round the bed, the priest sat down in a position which enabledhim to see the features of this good man more distinctly. 

"I would be glad, " said Lanigan, "to know who it is that God in hisgoodness has sent to smooth my bed in death, if it 'ud be plasin', sir, to you to tell me?"

"Do you remember, " replied the priest, "a young lad whom you met someyears ago on his way to Munster, as a poor scholar! You and your familywere particularly kind to him; so kind that he has never since forgottenyour affectionate hospitality. "

"We do, your Reverence, we do. A mild, gentle crathur he was, poor boy. I hope God prospered him. "

"You see him now before you, " said the priest. "I am that boy, and Ithank God that I can testify, however slightly, my deep sense of thevirtues which you exercised towards me; although I regret that theoccasion is one of such affliction. "

The farmer raised his eyes and feeble hands towards heaven. "Praise an'glory to your name, good God!" he exclaimed. "Praise an' glory to yourholy name! Now I know that I'm not forgotten, when you brought back thelittle kindness I did that boy for your sake, wid so many blessins to mein the hour of my affliction an' sufferin'! Childher remimber this, now that I'm goin' to lave yez for ever! Remimber always to help thestranger, an' thim that's poor an' in sorrow. If you do, God won'tforget it to you; but will bring it back to yez when you stand in needof it, as he done to me this day. You see, childhre dear, how smallthrifles o' that kind depend on one another. If I hadn't thought ofhelpin' his Reverence here when he was young and away from his own, hewouldn't think of callin' upon us this day as he was passin'. You seethe hand of God is in it, childhre: which it is, indeed, in every thingthat passes about us, if we could only see it as we ought to do. Thin, but I'd like to look upon your face, sir, if it's plasin' to you? Alittle more to the light, sir. There, I now see you. Ay, indeed, it'schanged for the betther it is--: the same mild, clear countenance, butnot sorrowful, as when I seen it last. Suffer me to put my hand on yourhead, sir; I'd like to bless you before I die, for I can't forget whatyou undertook to do for your parents. "

The priest sat near him; but finding he was scarcely able to raise hishand to his head, he knelt down, and the farmer, before he communicatedthe blessing inquired--

"Musha, sir, may I ax, wor you able to do anything to help your familyas you expected?"

"God, " said the priest, "made me the instrument of raising them fromtheir poverty; they are now comfortable and happy. "

"Ay! Well I knew at the time, an' I said it, that a blessin' wouldattind your endayvors. An' now resave my blessin'. May you never departfrom the right way! May the blessin' of God rest upon you forever--Amin! Childhre, I'm gettin' wake; come near me, till, till I blessyou, too, for the last time! They were good childhre, sir--they wereever an' always good to me, an' to their poor mother, your Reverence;an'--God forgive me if it's a sin!--but I feel a great dale o' my heartan' my love fixed upon them. But sure I'm their father, an' God, I hope, will look over it! Now, darlins, afore I bless yez, I ax yourforgiveness if ever I was harsher to yez than I ought!"

The children with a simultaneous movement encircled his bed, and couldnot reply for some minutes. 

"Never, father darlin'! Oh, never did you offind us! Don't speak in thatway, or you'll break our hearts; but forgive us, father asthore! Oh, forgive an' bless us, an' don't remimber against us, our folly an'disobedience, for it's only now that we see we warn't towards you as weought to be. Forgive us an' pardon us!"

He then made them all kneel around his bed, and with solemn words, andan impressive manner, placed his hand upon their heads, and blessed themwith a virtuous father's last blessing. 

He then called for his wife, and the scene became not only moretouching, but more elevated. There was an exultation in her manner, andan expression of vivid hope in her eye, arising from the fact of herhusband having received, and been soothed by the rites of her church, that gave evident proof of the unparalleled attachment borne by personsof her class to the Catholic religion. The arrival of our hero had beenso unexpected, and the terrors of the tender wife for her husband's soulso great, that the administration of the sacrament almost supersededfrom her heart every other sensation than that of devotional triumph. Even now, in the midst of her tears, that triumph kindled in her eyewith a light that shone in melancholy beauty upon the bed of death. In proportion, however, as the parting scene--which was to be theirlast--began to work with greater power upon her sorrow, so did thisexpression gradually fade away. Grief for his loss resumed its dominionover her heart so strongly, that their last parting was afflicting evento look upon. 

When it was over, Lanigan once more addressed the priest:--

"Now, sir, " he observed, but with great difficulty, "let me have yourblessin' an' your prayers; an' along wid that, your Reverence, if youremimber a request I once made to you"--

"I remember it well, " replied the priest; "you allude to the masseswhich you-wished I me to say for you, should I ever receive Orders. Makeyour mind easy on that point. I not only shall offer up mass for therepose of your soul, but I can assure you that I have mentioned you byname in every mass which I celebrated since my ordination. "

He then proceeded to direct the mind of his dying benefactor to suchsubjects as were best calculated to comfort and strengthen him. 

About day-break the next morning, this man of many virtues, afterstruggling rather severely for two hours preceding his death, passedinto eternity, there to enjoy the recompense of a well-spent life. 

When he was dead, the priest, who never left him during the night, approached the bed, and after surveying his benevolent features, nowcomposed in the stillness of death, exclaimed--

"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for they rest from theirlabors, and their works do follow them!"

Having uttered the words aloud, he sat down beside the bed, buried hisface in his handkerchief, and wept. 

He was now only a short day's journey from home, and as his presence, heknew, would be rather a restraint upon a family so much in affliction, he bade them farewell, and proceeded on his way. He travelled slowly, and, as every well-known hill or lake appeared to him, his heartbeat quickly, his memory gave up its early stores, and his affectionsprepared themselves for the trial that was before them. 

"It is better for me not to arrive, " thought he, "until the familyshall have returned from their daily labor, and are collected about thehearth. "

In the meantime, many an impression of profound and fervid pietycame over him, when he reflected upon the incontrovertible proofs ofprovidential protection and interference which had been, during hisabsence from home, under his struggles, and, in his good fortune, soclearly laid before him. "Deep, " he exclaimed, "is the gratitude I oweto God for this; may I never forget to acknowledge it!"

It was now about seven o'clock; the evening was calm, and the sunshone with that clear amber light which gives warmth, and the power ofexciting tenderness to natural scenery. He had already gained the ascentwhich commanded a view of the rich sweep of country that reposed below. There it lay--his native home--his native parish--bathed in the lightand glory of the hour. Its fields were green--its rivers shining likeloosened silver; its meadows already studded with hay-cocks, its greenpastures covered with sheep, and its unruffled lakes reflecting thehills under which they lay. Here and there a gentleman's residence roseamong the distant trees, and well did he recognize the church spirethat cut into the western sky on his right. It is true, nothing of thegrandeur and magnificence of nature was there; everything was simple inits beauty. The quiet charm, the serene light, the air of happinessand peace that reposed upon all he saw, stirred up a thousand tenderfeelings in a heart whose gentle character resembled that of theprospect which it felt so exquisitely. The smoke of a few farm-housesand cottages rose in blue, graceful columns to the air, giving justthat appearance of life which was necessary; and a figure or two, withlengthened shadows, moved across the fields and meadows a little belowwhere he stood. 

But our readers need not to be told, that there was one spot which, beyond all others, riveted his attention. On that spot his eager eyerested long and intensely. The spell of its remembrance had clung tohis early heart: he had never seen it in his dreams without weeping;and often had the agitation of his imaginary sorrow awoke him with hiseye-lashes steeped in tears. He looked down on it steadily. At length hewas moved with a strong sensation like grief: he sobbed twice or thrice, and the tears rolled in showers from his eyes. His gathering affectionswere relieved by this: he felt lighter, and in the same slow manner rodeonward to his father's house. 

To this there were two modes of access: one by a paved bridle-way, orboreen, that ran up directly before the door--the other by a green lane, that diverged from the boreen about a furlong below the house. He tookthe latter, certain that the family could not notice his approach, norhear the noise of his horse's footsteps, until he could arrive at thevery threshold. . On dismounting, he felt that he could scarcely walk. Heapproached the door, however, as steadily as he could. He entered--andthe family, who had just finished their supper, rose up, as a mark oftheir respect to the stranger. 

"Is this, " he inquired, "the house in which Dominick M'Evoy lives?"

"That's my name, sir, " replied Dominick. "The family, I trust, are--all--well? I have been desired--but--no--no--I cannot--Icannot--father!--mother!

"It's him!" shrieked the mother--"Its himself!--Jemmy"

"Jemmy!--Jemmy!" shouted the lather, with a cry of joy which might beheard far beyond the house. 

"Jemmy!--our poor Jemmy!--Jemmy!!" exclaimed his brothers and sisters. 

"Asy, childhre, " said the father--"asy; let the mother to him--let herto him. Who has the right that she has? Vara, asthore--Vara, think ofyourself. God of heaven! what is comin' over her?--Her brain's turned!"

"Father, don't remove her, " said the son. "Leave her arms where theyare: it's long since they encircled my neck before. Often--often would Ihave given the wealth of the universe to be encircled in my blessed andbeloved mother's arms! Yes, yes!--Weep, my father--weep, each ofyou. You see those tears:--consider them as a proof that I have neverforgotten you! Beloved mother! recollect yourself: she knows me not--hereyes wander!--I fear the shock has been too much for her. Place a chairat the door, and I will bring her to the air. "

After considerable effort, the mother's faculties were restored so faras to be merely conscious that our hero was her son. She had not yetshed a tear, but now she surveyed his countenance, smiled and namedhim, placed her hands upon him, and examined his dress with a singularblending of conflicting emotions, but still without being thoroughlycollected. 

"I will speak to her, " said Jemmy, "in Irish, it will go directly to herheart:--_Mhair, avourneen, tha ma, laht, anish!_--Mother, my darling, Iam with you at last. "

"_Shamus, aroon, vick machree, wuil thu Ihum? wuil thu--wuil thuIhum?_--Jemmy, my beloved, son of my heart, are you with me?--areyou--are you with me?"

"_Ish maheen a tha in, a vair dheelish machree_--It is I who am withyou, beloved mother of my heart!"

She smiled again--but only for a moment. She looked at him, laid hishead upon her bosom, bedewed his face with her tears, and muttered out, in a kind of sweet, musical cadence, the Irish cry of joy. 

We are incapable of describing the scene further. Our readers must becontented to know, that the delight and happiness of our hero's wholefamily were complete. Their son, after many years of toil and struggle, had at length succeeded, by a virtuous course of action, in raising themfrom poverty to comfort, and in effecting his own object, which was, to become a member of the Catholic priesthood. During all his trials henever failed to rely on God; and it is seldom that those who rely uponHim, when striving to attain a laudable purpose, are ever ultimatelydisappointed. 

*****

We regret to inform our readers, that the poor scholar is dead! He didnot, in fact, long survive the accomplishment of his wishes. But as wehad the particulars of his story from his nearest friends, we thoughthis virtues of too exalted a nature to pass into oblivion without somerecord, however humble. He died as he had lived--the friend of God andof man.