She looked quickly upon her father's features—

"How?" said she; "how but by treachery, falsehood, and fraud! Is he not Val M'Clutchy's son, my dear father?"

Her brothers had not yet uttered a syllable, but stood like their sister with flushed cheeks and burning indignation in their eyes. On hearing what their sister had just said, however, as if they had all been moved by the same impulse, thought, or determination—as in truth they were—their countenances became pale as death—they looked at each other significantly—then at Phil—and they appeared very calm, as if relieved—satisfied; but the expression of the eye darkened into a meaning that was dreadful to look upon.

"That is enough, my child," replied her father; "I suppose, my friends, you are now satisfied—."

"Yes, by h—l," shouted Burke, "we are now satisfied."

Irwin had him again by the neck—"Silence," said he, "or, as heaven's above mo, I'll drive your brainless skull in with the butt of my pistol."

"You are satisfied," continued M'Loughlin, "that there are no arms here. I hope you will now withdraw. As for you, treacherous and cowardly spawn of a treacherous and cowardly father, go home and tell him to do his worst.—that I scorn and defy him—that I will live to see him——; but I am wrong,he is below our anger, and I will not waste words upon him."

"You will find you have used a thrifle too many for all that," said another of them; "when he hears them, you may be sure he'll put them in his pocket for you—as hear them he will."

"We don't care a d—n," said another, "what he does to blackguard Papishes, so long as he's a right good Orangeman, and a right good Protestant, too."

"Come now," said Irwin, "our duty is over—let us start for home; we have no further business here."

"Won't you give us something to drink?" asked a new voice; "I think we desarve it for our civility. We neither broke doors nor furniture, nor stabbed either bed or bed-clothes. We treated you well, and if you're dacent you'll treat us well."

"Confound him," said a fresh hand; "I'd not drink his cursed Papish whiskey. Sure the Papishes gets the priest to christen it for them. I wouldn't drink his cursed Papish whiskey."

"No, nor I," said several voices;—upon which a loud and angry dispute arose among them, as to whether it were consistent with true loyalty, and the duties of a staunch Protestant and Orangeman, to drink 'Papish liquor,' as they termed it, at all.

Irwin, who joined the negative party, insisted strongly that it would be disgraceful for any man who had drunk the glorious, pious, and immortal memory, ever to contaminate his loyal lips with whiskey that had been made a Papish of by the priest. This carried the argument, or otherwise it is hard to say what mischief might have arisen, had they heightened their previous intoxication.

Phil, during this dialogue, still retained his place in the centre of his friends; but from time to time he kept glancing from under his eyebrows at M'Loughlin and his sons, in that spaniel-like manner, which betrays a consciousness of offence and a dread of punishment.

Irwin now caused them to move off; and, indeed, scarcely anything could be more ludicrous than the utter prostration of all manly feeling upon the part of the chief offender. On separating, the same baleful and pallid glances were exchanged between the brothers, who clearly possessed an instinctive community of feeling upon the chief incident of the night—we mean that of finding M'Clutchy in their sister's bedroom. Irwin noticed their mute, motionless, but ghastly resentment, as did Phil himself, who, whether they looked at him or not, felt that their eyes were upon him, and that come what might, so long as he remained in the country he was marked as their victim. This consciousness of his deserts was not at all lessened by the observations of Irwin upon his conduct; for be it known, that although there subsisted a political bond that caused Phil and the violent spirits of the neighborhood to come frequently together, yet nothing could exceed the contempt which they felt for him in his private and individual capacity.

"Brother M'Clutchy," said Irwin, "I'm afraid you've made a bad night's work of it. By the moon above us, I wouldn't take the whole Castle Cumber property and stand in your shoes from this night out."

"Why so?" said Phil, who was now safe and beyond their immediate reach; "why so, Irwin? I'll tell you what, Irwin; d—— my honor, but I think you're cowardly. Did you see how steady I was to-night? Not a syllable escaped my lips; but, zounds, didn't you see how my eye told?"

"Faith, I certainly did, brother Phil, and a devilish bad tale it told, too, for yourself. Your father has promised me a new lease, with your life in it; but after this night, and after what I saw, I'll beg to have your name left out of that transaction."

"But didn't you see, George," returned Phil, "that a man of them durstn't look me in the face? They couldn't stand my eye; upon my honor they couldn't."

"Ay," said Burke, "that's because they're Papishes. A rascally Papish can never look a Protestant in the face."

"Well but," said Phil, "you would not believe that the girl was so fond of me as she is, until you saw it. I knew very well they had no arms; so, as I wished to give you an opportunity of judging for yourselves, I put the journey upon that footing."

"Well," said Irwin, "we shall see the upshot—that's all."

They then escorted Phil home, after which they dispersed.

When M'Loughlin's family assembled in the parlor, after their departure, a deep gloom I brooded over them for some minutes. Mary herself was the first to introduce the incident which gave them so much distress, and in which she herself had been so painfully involved. She lost not a moment, therefore, in relating fully and candidly the whole nature of her intercourse with Poll Doolin, and the hopes held out to her of Harman's safety, through Phil M'Clutchy. At the same time, she expressed in forcible language, the sacrifice of feeling which it had cost her, and the invincible disgust with which she heard his very name alluded to. She then simply related the circumstance of his entering her room through the open window, and her belief, in consequence of the representations of Poll Doolin, that he did so out of his excessive anxiety to prevent bloodshed by the troopers—the trampling of whose horses' feet and the ringing of whose arms had so completely overpowered her with the apprehension of violence, that she became incapable of preventing M'Clutchy's entrance, or even of uttering a word for two or three minutes.

"However," said she, "I now see their design, which was to' ruin my reputation, and throw a stain upon my character and good name. So far, I fear, they have succeeded." Tears then came to her relief, and she wept long and bitterly.

"Do not let it trouble you, my darling," said her father. "Your conscience and heart are innocent, and that is a satisfaction greater than anything can deprive you of. You were merely wrong in not letting us know the conversation that took place between Poll Doolin and you; because, although you did not know it, we could have told you that Poll is a woman that no modest female ought to speak to in a private way. There was your error, Mary; but the heart was right with you, and there's no one here going to blame you for a fault that you didn't know to be one."

Mary started on hearing this account of Poll Doolin, for she felt now that the interviews she held with her were calculated to heighten her disgrace, when taken in connection with the occurrence of the night. Her brothers, however, who knew her truth and many virtues, joined their parents in comforting and supporting her, but without the success which they could have wished. The more she thought of the toils and snares that had been laid for her, the more her perception of the calamity began to gain strength, and her mind to darken. She became restless, perplexed, and feverish—her tears ceased to flow—she sighed deeply, and seemed to sink into that most withering of maladies, dry grief, which, in her case, was certainly the tearless anguish of the heart. In this state she went to bed, conscious of her own purity, but by no means, in its full extent, of the ruined reputation to which she must awake on the succeeding day.

Mary's brothers, with the exception of the words in which they joined their father and mother in consoling her, scarcely uttered a syllable that night—the same silent spirit, be it of good or evil, remained upon them. They looked at each other, however, from time to time, and seemed to need no other interpreter of what passed within them, but their own wild and deep-meaning glances. This did not escape their father, who was so much struck, perhaps alarmed, by it, that he very properly deemed it his duty to remonstrate with them on the subject.

"Boys," said he, "I don't understand your conduct this night, and, above all, I don't understand your looks—or rather, I think I do, I'm afraid I do—but, listen to me, remember that revenge belongs to God. You know what the Scripture says, 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it.' Leave that bad son of a worse father to God."

"He has destroyed Mary's reputation," said John, the eldest; "I might, possibly, forgive him if he had killed her like a common murderer, but he has destroyed our pure-hearted sister's reputation, ha, ha, ha." The laugh that followed these last words came out so unexpectedly, abruptly, and wildly, that his father and mother both started. He then took the poker in his hands, and, with a smile at his brothers, in which much might be read, he clenched his teeth, and wound it round his arms with apparent ease. "If I gotten thousand pounds," said he, "I could not have done that two hours ago, but I can now—are you satisfied?" said he to his brothers.

"Yes, John," they replied, "we are satisfied—that will do."

"Yes," he proceeded, "I could forgive anything but that. The father's notice to us to quit the holding on which we and our forefathers lived so long, and expended so much money—and his refusal to grant us a lease, are nothing:—now we could forgive all that; but this, this—oh, I have no name for it—the language has not words to express it—but—well, well, no matter for the present. If the cowardly scoundrel would fight!—but he won't, for the courage is not in him."



CHAPTER XV.—Objects of an English Traveller

—Introduction of a New Character—Correspondence between Evory Easel, Esq., and Sam Spinageberd, Esq.—Susanna and the Elder; or, the Conventicle in Trouble—Phils Gallantry and Courage.

It was about eleven o'clock the next day that a person in the garb of a gentleman, that is, the garb was a plain one enough, but the air of the person who wore it was evidently that of a man who had seen and mingled in respectable life, was travelling towards Springfield, the residence of Mr. Hickman, when he overtook two females, one of whom was dressed in such a way as made it clear that she wished to avoid the risk of being known. She was a little above the middle size, and there could be little doubt, from the outline of her figure, that, in the opinion of unsuspicious people, she had reached the dignity of a matron. Her companion was dressed in faded black, from top to toe, and from the expression of her thin, sallow face, and piercing black eyes, there could be little doubt she had seen a good deal of the world as it exists in rustic life. The person who overtook these two females carried a portfolio, and appeared to observe the country and its scenery, as he went along with well marked attention.

"Pray, ma'am," said he, "whose is that fine old building to the right, which appears to be going to ruin? It is evidently not inhabited."

"You're a stranger in the place, then," replied the female, "or you surely might know Castle Cumber House, where old Tom Topertoe used to live before the union came. He was made a lord of for sellin' our parliament, and now his son, the present lord, is leadin' a blessed life abroad, for he never shows his face here."

"He is an absentee, then?"

"To be sure he is, and so is every man of them now, barrin' an odd one. The country's deserted, and although business is lookin' up a little—take your time, Susanna, we needn't be in sich a hurry now—although, as I said, business is lookin' up a little, still it's nothing to what it was when the gentry lived at home wid us."

"Who is agent to this Lord Cumber, pray?"

"A blessed boy, by all accounts, but that's all I'll say about him—I know him too well to make him my enemy."

"Why, is he not popular—is he not liked by the tenantry?"

"Oh, Lord, to be sure—they doat upon him; and, indeed, no wondher, he's so kind and indulgent to the poor. To tell you the truth, he's a great blessin' to the country."

"That, to be sure, is very satisfactory—and, pray, if I may take the liberty, who is his law agent, or has he one?"

"Why, another blessed—hem—a very pious devout man, named Mr. Solomon M'Slime, an attorney—but, indeed, an attorney that almost shames the Bible itself, he's so religious. Isn't he, Susanna?"

"He hath good gifts; if he doth not abuse them."

"Religion is certainly the best principle in life, if sincerely felt, and not prostituted and made a mask of."

"A mask! isn't that, sir, a thing that people put on and off their face, according as it may suit them?"

"Just so, madam; you have exactly described it."

"Oh, the divil a mask ever he made of it, then, for he never lays it aside at all. He has kept it on so steadily, that, I'll take my oath, if he was to throw, it off now, he wouldn't know himself in the looking-glass, it's so long since he got a glimpse of his own face."

"Lord Cumber must be a happy man to have two such valuable agents upon his property."

"Talkin' of Lord Cumber and his property, if you wish to know all about them, here's your man comin' over by the cross road here—he's goin' to M'Clutchy's I suppose, and, as you appear to be goin' in the same direction, I'll hand you over to him. Good morrow, Darby?"

"Good morrow, kindly, Poll, and—eh—who's this you've got wid you?" he continued, eyeing Susanna, "a stranger to me, any how. Well, Poll, and how are you?"

"There's no use in complainin', Darby; I'm middlin'—and how is yourself?"

"Throth, Poll, I've a lump in my stomach that I fear will settle me yet, if I don't get it removed somehow. But, sure, the hathens, I forgive them." In the meantime he slyly rubbed his nose and winked both eyes, as he looked towards Susanna, as much as to say, "I know all."

Poll, however, declined to notice the recognition, but renewed the discourse—

"Why, Darby, how did the lump come into your stomach? Faith, in these hard times, there's many a poor divel would be glad to have such a complaint—eh?"

"And, is it possible you didn't hear it?" he asked with surprise, "howandever, you shall. I was carrying a letther from Mr. M'Slime, that good, pious crature"—another shrewd look at Susanna, "Mr. M'Slime to Mr. M'Clutchy, another good gintleman, too, and who should attack me on the way but that turncoat hathen Bob Beatty, wid a whole posse of idolathers at his heels. They first abused me because I left them in their darkness, and then went to search me for writs, swearin' that they'd make me ait every writ I happened to have about me. Now, I didn't like to let Mr. M'Slime's letther fall into their hands, and, accordingly, I tore it up and swallowed it, jist in ordher to disappoint the hathens. Howandever, I'm sufferin' for it, but sure you know, Poll, it's our duty—I don't mane yours, for you're a hathen and idolather still—but mine; it's my duty to suffer for the thruth, anyhow."

Poll's laughter was loud and vehement on hearing these sentiments from a man she knew so well; but, to tell the truth, Darby, who felt that, in consequence of his last interview with Lucre, he was in for it, came to the resolution of doing it heavy, as they say, or, in other words, of going the whole hog.

"This appears to be a strange country, observed the traveller.

"Wait," said Poll, "till you come to know it, and you'll say that."

"No, but wait," observed Darby, "till the spread comes, and then you may say it."

"What do you mean by the spread?" asked! the stranger.

"Why, the spread o' the gospel—of religion, to be shure," replied Darby; "and in this counthry," he added, "a glorious spread it is, the Lord be praised! Are you travellin far in this direction, sir, wid summission?"

"I am going as far as Springfield, the residence of a Mr. Hickman, to whom I have a letter of introduction. Do you know him?"

"He was an agent on this property," replied Darby; "but Mr. M'Clutchy came afther him; and, indeed, the tenants is mighty well satisfied wid the change. Hickman, sir, was next to a hathen—made no differ in life between an idolather and a loyal Protestant, but Mr. M'Clutchy, on the other hand, knows how to lean to his own, as he ought to do. And in regard o' that, I'd advise you when you see Mr. Hickman, jist to be on your guard as to what he may say about the Castle Cumber property, and them that's employed an it. Between you and me, he's not over scrupulous, and don't be surprised if he lays it hot and heavy on Mr. M'Clutchy and others, not forgettin' your humble sarvant, merely in regard of our honesty and loyalty, for I'm a staunch Protestant, myself, glory be to God, and will support the Castle Cumber inthrest through thick and thin. Now, sir," he added, "there's two ways to Hickman's; and between you and me agin' Mr. Hickman is a real gentleman, exceptin' his little failings about M'Clutchy; but who is widout them? I dunna, but it would be as well if he had remained agent still; and when you see him, if you happen to say that Darby O'Drive tould you so, I think he'll understand you. Well—there's two ways, as I said, to this place—one by this road, that turns to the right—which, indeed, is the shortest—the other is by Constitution Cottage, which is M'Clutchy's place, where I am goin' to."

The stranger, after thanking Darby for his information, took the shorter road, and in about an hour or so reached Springfield.

It is not our intention to detail his interview with Mr. Hickman. For the present it is sufficient to say, that he produced to that gentleman a letter of introduction from Lord Cumber himself, who removed all mystery from about him, by stating that he was an English artist, who came over on a foolish professional tour, to see and take sketches of the country, as it appeared in its scenery, as well as in the features, character, and costume of its inhabitants. He had also introductions to M'Clutchy, M'Slime, Squire Deaker, M. Lucre, and several other prominent characters of the neighborhood.

As this gentleman amused himself by keeping an accurate and regular journal of all events connected with the Castle Cumber property, or which occurred on it, we feel exceedingly happy in being able to lay these important chronicles before our readers, satisfied as we are, that they will be valued, at least on the other side of the channel, exactly in proportion to the scanty opportunities he had of becoming acquainted with our language, manners, and character. The MS. is now before us, and the only privilege we reserve to ourselves is simply to give his dialogue an Irish turn, and to fill up an odd chasm here and there, occasioned by his ignorance of circumstances which have come to our knowledge through personal cognizance, and various other sources. The journal now in our possession is certainly the original one; but we know that copies of it were addressed successively, as the events occurred, to a gentleman in London, named Spinageberd, under cover to Lord Cumber himself, who kindly gave them the benefit of his frank, during the correspondence. Our friend, the journalist, as the reader will perceive, does not merely confine himself to severe facts, but gives us all the hints, innuendoes, and rumors of the day, both personal, religious and political. With these, our duty is simply to confirm or contradict them where we can, and where we cannot, to leave them just as we found them, resting upon their intrinsic claims to belief or otherwise. Having premised thus far, we beg leave to introduce to our reader's special acquaintance, Evory Easel, Esq., an English Artist and Savan, coming to do a portion of the country, ladies and gentleman, as has been often done before.

Batch No. I. Evory Easel, Esq., to Sam Spinageberd, Esq.

"Old Spinageberd:

"Here I am at last, in the land of fun and fighting—-mirth and misery—orange and green. I would have written to you a month ago, but, that such a course was altogether out of my calculation. The moment I arrived, I came to the determination of sauntering quietly about, but confining myself to a certain locality, listening to, and treasuring up, whatever I could see or hear, without yet availing myself of Lord Cumber's introductions, in order that my first impressions of the country and the people, might result from personal observation, and not from the bias, which accounts heard here from either party, might be apt to produce. First, then, I can see the folly, not to say the injustice, which I ought to say, of a landlord placing his property under the management of a furious partisan, whose opinions, political and religious are not merely at variance with but, totally opposed to, those whose interests are entrusted to his impartiality and honesty. In the management of a property circumstanced as that of Castle Cumber is, where the population is about one-half Roman Catholic, and the other half Protestant and Presbyterian, between us, any man, my dear Spinageberd, not a fool or knave, must see the madness of employing a fellow who avows himself an enemy to the creed of one portion of the tenantry, and a staunch supporter of their opponents. Is this fair, or can justice originate in its purity from such a source? Is it reasonable to suppose that a Roman Catholic tenantry, who, whatever they may bear, are impatient of any insult or injustice offered to their creed, or, which is the same thing, to themselves on account of that creed,—is it reasonable, I say, to suppose that such a people could rest satisfied with a man who acts towards them only through the medium of his fierce and ungovernable prejudices? Is it not absurd to imagine for one moment that property can be fairly administered through such hands, and, if not property, how much less justice itself. You may judge of my astonishment, as an Englishman, when I find that the administration of justice is in complete keeping with that of property; for, I find it an indisputable fact, that nineteen magistrates, out of every twenty, are Orangemen, or party men of some description, opposed to Roman Catholic principles. And, yet, the Roman Catholic party are expected to exhibit attachment to the government which not merely deprives them of their civil rights, but literally places the execution of the laws in the hands of their worst and bitterest enemies. I say so deliberately; for I find that nothing so strongly recommends a man to the office of magistrate, or, indeed, to any office under government, as the circumstance of being a strong, conspicuous anti-Catholic. In writing to you, my dear Spinageberd, you may rest assured that I will give expression to nothing but truths which are too well known to be contradicted. The subject of property in Ireland, is one, which, inasmuch as it is surrounded with great difficulties, is also entitled to great consideration.

"If there be any one prejudice in the character of an Irish peasant stronger or more dangerous than another—and he has many, they say, that are both strong and dangerous—it is that which relates to property and the possession of it. This prejudice is, indeed, so conscious of its own strength, and imbued in this opinion with so deep a conviction of its justice, that, in ordinary circumstances, it scorns the aid of all collateral and subordinate principles and even flings religion aside, as an unnecessary ally, justice, therefore, or oppression, or partiality in the administration of property, constitutes the greatest crime known to the agrarian law, and is consequently resisted by the most unmitigable and remorseless punishment. The peasant who feels, or believes himself to be treated with injustice, or cruelty, never pauses to reflect upon the religion of the man whom he looks upon as his oppressor. He will shoot a Catholic landlord or agent from behind a hedge, with as much good will as he would a Protestant. Indeed, in general, he will prefer a Protestant landlord to those of his own creed, knowing well, as he does, that the latter, where they are possessed of property, constitute the very worst class of landlords in the kingdom. As religion, therefore, is not at all necessarily mixed up with the Irishman's prejudices as this subject—it is consequently both dangerous and wicked to force it to an adhesion with so dreadful a principle as that which resorts to noon-day or midnight murder. This is unfortunately what such fellows as this M'Clutchy do. They find the Irish peasant with but one formidable prejudice in relation to property, and by a course of neglect, oppression, and rapacity, joined to all the malignant rancor of religious bigotry and party feeling, they leave him goaded by a hundred. I believe in my soul that there are many fire-brands like M'Clutchy in this country, who create the crime, in order to have the gratification of punishing it, and of wreaking a legal vengeance upon the unfortunate being who has been guilty of it, in order that they may recommend themselves as loyal men to the government of the day. If this be so, how can the country be peaceable? If it be peaceable, such men can have no opportunity of testing their loyalty, and if they do not test their loyalty, they can have no claim upon the government, and having no claim upon the government, they will get nothing from it. The day will come, I hope, when the very existence of men like these, and of the system which encouraged; them, will be looked upon with disgust and wonder—when the government of our country will make no invidious distinctions of creed or party, and will not base the administration of its principles upon the encouragement of hatred between man and man.

"Hickman, the former agent, was the first to whom I presented Lord Cumber's letter. He is a gentleman by birth, education, and property; a man of a large and a liberal mind, well stored with information and has the character of being highly, if not punctiliously honorable. His age is about fifty-five, but owing to his regular and temperate habits of life, and in this country temperance is a virtue indeed, he scarcely, looks beyond forty. Indeed, I may observe by the way, that in this blessed year of ——, the after-dinner indulgences of the Irish squirearchy, who are the only class that remain in the country, resemble the drunken orgies of Silenus and his satyrs, more than anything else to which I can compare them. The conversation is in general licentious, and the drinking beastly; and I don't know after all, but the Irish are greater losers by their example than they would be by their absence.

"On making inquiries into the state and management of this property, I found Hickman actuated by that fine spirit of gentlemanly delicacy, which every one, rich and poor, attribute to him. M'Clutchy having succeeded him, he very politely declined to enter into the subject at any length, but told me that I could be at no loss in receiving authentic information on a subject so much and so painfully canvassed. I find it is a custom in this country for agents to lend money to their employers, especially when they happen to be in a state of considerable embarrassment, by which means the unfortunate landlord is seldom able to discharge or change his agent, should he misconduct himself; and is consequently saddled with a vampire probably for life, or while there is any blood to be got out of him. Hickman, who has other agencies, makes it a point of principle, never to lend money to a landlord, by which means he avoids those imputations which are so frequently and justly brought against those who trade upon the embarrassments of their employers, in order to get them into their power.

"May 13.—There are two newspapers in the town of Castle Cumber, conducted upon opposite principles: one of them is called The Castle Cumber True Blue, and is the organ of the Orange Tory party, and the High Church portion of the Establishment. The other advocates the cause of the Presbyterians, Dissenters, and gives an occasional lift to the Catholics. There is also a small party here, which, however, is gaining ground every day, called the Evangelical, an epithet adopted for the purpose of distinguishing them from the mere worldly and political High Churchmen, who, together with all the loyalty and wealth, have certainly all the indifference to religion, and most of the secular and ecclesiastical corruptions that have disgraced the Church, and left it little better than a large mass of bribes in the hands of the English minister. In such a state of things, you may judge how that rare grace, piety, is rewarded. There is, besides, no such thing to be found in this country as an Irish bishop, nor, is a bishop ever appointed for his learning or his piety; on the contrary, the unerring principle of their elevation to the mitre, is either political, or family influence, or both. I wish I could stop here but I cannot; there are, unfortunately, still more flagitious motives for their appointment. English ministers have been found who were so strongly influenced by respect for the religion and Church Establishment of the Irish, that they have not blushed to promote men, who were the convenient instruments of their own profligacy, to some of the richest sees in the kingdom. But I am travelling out of my record; so to return. The name of the second paper is the Genuine Patriot, and Castle Cumber Equivocal; this last journal is, indeed, sorely distressed between the Catholic and Evangelical parties. The fact is, that the Evangelicals entertain such a horror of Popery, as a spiritual abomination, that they feel highly offended that their advocates should also be the advocate of Old Broadbottom, as the Orangemen call the Pope; in consequence, they say, of his sitting upon seven hills. The editors of these papers are too decidedly opposed in general, to be on bad terms with each other; or, to speak more intelligibly, they are not on the same side, and consequently do not hate each other as they ought and would. The town of Castle Cumber, like every other country town, is one mass of active and incessant scandal; and, it not infrequently happens that the True Blue will generously defend an individual on the opposite side, and the Genuine Patriot fight for a High Churchman. The whole secret of this, however is, that it is the High Churchman who writes in the Patriot, and the Evangelical in the True Blue, each well knowing that a defence by an opposing paper is worth more than one by his favorite organ. In the instance I am about to specify, however, the case was otherwise, each paper adhering to the individual of his own principles. On taking up the True Blue I read the following passage, to which I have fortunately obtained a key that will make the whole matter quite intelligible. The article was headed:—

"Susanna and the Elder; or the Conventicle in trouble.

"'For some time past we regret, sincerely regret, as Christian men, that a rumor has, by degrees, been creeping into circulation, which we trust is, like most rumors of the kind, without foundation. The reputation of a very pious professional gentleman, well known for his zeal and activity in the religious world, is said to be involved in it, but, we trust, untruly. The gentleman in question, has, we know, many enemies; and we would fain hope, that this is merely some evil device fabricated by the adversaries of piety and religion. The circumstances alluded to are briefly these: Susanna, says the evil tongue of rumor, was a religious young person, residing in the character of children's maid in the family. She was of decided piety, and never known to be absent from morning and evening worship; it seems, besides, that she is young, comely, and very agreeable, indeed, to the mere, secular eye her symmetry had been remarkable, but indeed female graces are seldom long lived; she is not now, it seems, in the respectable gentleman's family alluded to, and her friends are anxious to see her, but cannot. So the idle story goes, but we hesitate not to say that it originates in the vindictive malice of some concealed enemy, who envies the gentleman in question his pure and unsullied reputation. We would not ourselves advert to it at all, but that we hope it may meet his eye, and prompt him to take the earliest measures to contradict and refute it, as we are certain he will and can do.'

"This was all exceedingly kind, and certainly so very charitable that the Equivocal could not, with any claim to Christian principles, suffer itself to be outdone in that blessed spirit of brotherly love and forgiveness, which, it trusted, always characterized its pages.

"'We are delighted,' it said, 'at the mild and benevolent tone in which, under the common misconception, a little anecdote, simple and harmless in itself, was uttered. Indeed, we smiled—but we trust the smile was that of a Christian—on hearing our respected and respectable contemporary doling out the mistake of a child, with such an air of solemn interest in the reputation of a gentleman whose name and character are beyond the reach of either calumny or envy. The harmless misconception on which, by a chance expression, the silly rumor was founded, is known to all the friends of the gentleman in question. He himself, however, being one of those deep-feeling Christians, who are not insensible to the means which often resorted to, for wise purposes, in order to try us and prove our faith, is far from looking on the mistake—as, in the weakness of their own strength, many would as a thing to be despised and contemned. No; he receives it as a warning, it may be for him to be more preciously alive to his privileges, and to take care when he stands lest he might fall. Altogether, therefore, he receives this thing as an evidence that he is cared for, and that it is his duty to look upon it as an awakening of his, perhaps, too worldly and forgetful spirit, to higher and better duties; and if so, then will it prove a blessing unto him, and will not have been given in vain. We would not, therefore, be outdone even in charity by our good friend of the True Blue; and we remember that when about six months ago, he was said to have been found in a state scarcely compatible with sobriety, in the channel of Castle Cumber main street, opposite the office door of the Equivocal, on his way home from an Orange lodge, we not only aided him, as was our duty, but we placed the circumstance in its proper light—a mere giddiness in the head, accompanied by a total prostration of physical strength, to both of which even the most temperate, and sober, are occasionally liable. The defect of speech, accompanied by a strong tendency to lethargy, we accounted for at the time, by a transient cessation or paralysis of the tongue, and a congestion of blood on the brain, all of which frequently attack persons of the soberest habits. Others might have said it was intoxication, or drunkenness, and so might his character have been injured; but when his incapacity to stand was placed upon its proper footing, the matter was made perfectly clear, and there was, consequently, no doubt about it. So easy is it to distort a circumstance, that is harmless and indifferent in itself, into a grievous fault, especially where there is not Christian charity to throw a cloak over it.'

"'Such is a specimen of two paragraphs—one from each paper; and considering that the subject was a delicate one, and involving; the character of a professor, we think it was as delicately handled on both sides as possible. I am told it is to be publicly alluded to to-morrow in the congregation of which the subject of it, a Mr. Solomon M'Slime, an attorney, is an elder—a circumstance which plainly accounts for the heading of the paragraph in the True Blue.

"There were, however, about a week or ten days ago, a couple of paragraphs in the True Blue—which, by the way, is Mr. M'Clutchy's favorite paper—of a very painful description. There is a highly respectable man here, named M'Loughlin—and you will please to observe, my dear Spinageberd, that this M'Loughlin is respected and well spoken of by every class and party; remember that, I say. This man is a partner with a young fellow named Harman, who is also very popular with parties. Harman, it seems, was present at some scene up in the mountains, where M'Clutchy's blood-hounds, as they are called, from their ferocity when on duty, had gone to take a man suspected for murder. At all events, one of the blood-hounds in the straggle—for they were all armed, as they usually are—lost his life by the discharge—said to be accidental, but sworn to be otherwise, before Mr. Magistrate M'Clutchy—of a loaded carbine. He was to have been tried at the assizes which have just terminated; but his trial has been postponed until the next assizes, it is said for want of sufficient evidence. Be this as it may, it seems that M'Loughlin's beautiful daughter was soon to have been married to her father's young partner, now in prison. The unfortunate girl, however, manifested the frailty of her sex: for while her former lover was led to suppose that he possessed all the fulness of her affection, she was literally carrying on a private and guilty intrigue with one of the worst looking scoundrels that ever disgraced humanity—I mean Phil, as he is called, only son to Valentine M'Clutchy—who, by the way, goes among the people under the sobriquet of Val the Vulture. I need not say what the effects of this young woman's dishonor have produced upon her family. Young M'Clutchy was seen by several to go into her own apartment, and was actually found striving to conceal himself there by his father's blood-hounds who had received information that M'Loughlin had fire-arms in his house. The consequence is, that the girl's reputation is gone for ever. 'Tis true the verdict against her is not unanimous. There is a woman, named Poll Doolin, mentioned, who bears a most unrelenting enmity against M'Loughlin and his family, for having transported one of her sons. She is said to have been the go-between on this occasion, and that the whole thing is a cowardly and diabolical plot between this Phil—whom the girl, it seems, refused to marry before—and herself. I don't know how this may be; but the damning fact of this ugly scoundrel having been seen to go into her room, with her own consent, and being found there, attempting to conceal himself, by his father's cavalry, overweighs, in my opinion, anything that can be said in her favor. As it is, the family are to be pitied, and she herself, it seems, is confined to her bed with either nervous or brain fever, I don't know which—but the disclosure of the intrigue has had such an effect upon her mind, that it is scarcely thought she will recover it. Every one who knew her is astonished at it; and what adds to the distress of her and her family is, that Harman, whose cousin was an eye-witness to the fact of her receiving Phil into her chamber, has written both to her and them, and that henceforth he renounces her for ever.

"There have also been strong rumors touching the insolvency of the firm of M'Loughlin and Harman, and, it is to be feared, that this untoward exposure will injure them even in a worldly point of view. In the True Blue there are two paragraphs of the following stamp—paragraphs that certainly deserve to get the ears of those who either wrote or published them cropped off their heads.

"Unprecedented Feat of Gallantry and Courage!

"Public rumor has already exonerated us from the delicacy which would otherwise have restrained our pen from alluding to a feat of gallantry and courage performed by a young gentleman who does not live a hundred miles from Constitution Cottage. It seems that a laison once subsisted between him and a young lady of great personal attractions, and, at that time, supposed (erroneously) to be entitled to a handsome dowry, considering that the fair creature worships at the Mallet Office, and bestows, in the exercise of her usual devotion, some soft blows upon her fair, but not insensible bosom. Our readers will understand us. The young gentleman in question, however, hearing that the lady had been recently betrothed to a partner of her father's, prompted by that spirit of gallant mischief or dare-devilism for which he is so remarkable, did, under very dangerous circumstances, actually renew his intimacy, and had several stolen, and, consequently, sweet meetings with the charming creature. This, however, reached his father's ears, who, on proper information, despatched a troop of his own cavalry to bring the young gentleman home—and so accurate was the intelligence received, that, on reaching her father's house, they went directly to the young lady's chamber, from which they led out the object of their search, after several vain but resolute attempts to exclude them from his bower of love. This unfortunate discovery has occasioned a great deal of embarrassment in the family, and broken up the lady's intended marriage with her father's partner. But what strikes us, is the daring courage of the hero who thus gallantly risked life and limb, rather than that the lady of his love should pine in vain. Except Leander's, of old, we know of no such feat of love and gallantry in these degenerate days.'

"This other is equally malignant and vindictive

"'Messrs. Harman and M'Loughlin.

"'We shall be very happy, indeed exceedingly so, to contradict an unpleasing rumor, affecting the solvency of our respected fellow-townsmen, Messrs. Harman and M'Loughlin. We. do not ourselves give any credit to such rumors; but how strange, by the way, that such an expression should drop from our pen on such a subject? No, we believe them to be perfectly solvent; or, if we err in supposing so, we certainly err in the company of those on whose opinions, we, in general, are disposed to rely. We are inclined to believe, and we think, that for the credit of so respectable a firm, it is our duty to state it, that the rumor affecting their solvency has been mistaken for another of an almost equally painful character connected with domestic life, which, by the unhappy attachment of ****** to a young gentleman of a different creed, and proverbially loyal principles, has thrown the whole family into confusion and distress.'

"These, my dear Spinageberd, are the two paragraphs, literally transcribed, from the True Blue, and I do not think it necessary to add any comment to them. On tomorrow I have resolved to attend the Dissenting Chapel, a place of worship where I have never yet been, and I am anxious, at all events, to see what the distinctions are between their mode of worship and that of the Church of Englandism. Besides, to admit the truth, I am also anxious to see how this Solomon—this religious attorney, whose person I well know—will deport himself under circumstances which assuredly would test the firmness of most men, unless strongly and graciously sustained, as they say themselves."



CHAPTER XVI.—Solomon in Trouble

—Is Publicly Prayed for—His Gracious Deliverance, and Triumph—An Orangeman's View of Protestantism and of Popery—Phil's Discretion and Valor.

"Monday, half-past eleven o'clock.

"My Dear Spinageberd:

"In pursuance of my intention, I attended the Castle Cumber Meeting-house yesterday, and must confess that I very much admire the earnest and unassuming simplicity of the dissenting ritual. They have neither the epileptical rant nor goatish impulses of the Methodists, nor the drowsy uniformity from which not all the solemn beauty of the service can redeem the Liturgy of the Church of England. In singing, the whole congregation generally take a part—a circumstance which, however it may impress their worship with a proof of sincerity, certainly adds nothing to its melody.

"The paragraph of 'Susanna and the' Elder' having taken wind, little Solomon, as they call him, attended his usual seat, with a most unusual manifestation of grace and unction beaming from his countenance. He was there early; and before the service commenced he sat with his hands locked in each other, their palms up, as was natural, but his eyes cast down, in peaceful self-communion, as was evident from the divine and ecstatic smile with which, from time to time, he cast up his enraptured eyes to heaven, and sighed—sighed with an excess of happiness which was vouchsafed to but few, or, perhaps, for those depraved and uncharitable sinners who had sent abroad such an ungodly scandal against a champion of the faith. At all events, at the commencement of the service, the minister—a rather jolly-looking man, with a good round belly apparently well lined—read out of a written paper, the following short address to those present:—

"'The prayers of this congregation are requested for one of its most active and useful members, who is an elder thereof. They are requested to enable him to fight the good fight, under the sore trials of a wicked world which have come upon him in the shape of scandal. But inasmuch as these dispensations are dealt out to us often for our soul's good and ultimate comfort, the individual in question doth not wish you to pray for a cessation of this, he trusts, benign punishment. He receives it as a token—a manifestation that out of the great congregation of the faithful that inherit the church, he—an erring individual—a frail unit, is not neglected nor his spiritual concerns overlooked. He therefore doth not wish you to say, "cease Lord, this evil unto this man," but yea, rather to beseech, that if it be for his good, it may be multiplied unto him, and that he may feel it is good for him to be afflicted. Pray, therefore, that he may be purged by this tribulation, and that like those who were placed in the furnace, nine times heated, he may come out without a hair of his head singed—unhurt and rejoicing, ready again to fight the good fight, with much shouting, the rattling of chariots, and the noise of triumph and victory.'

"During the perusal of this all eyes were turned upon Solomon, whose face was now perfectly seraphic, and his soul wrapped up into the ninth heaven. Of those around him it was quite clear that he was altogether incognizant. His eyelids were down as before, but the smile on his face now was a perfect glory; it was unbroken, and the upturning of the eyes proceeded from, and could be, nothing less than a glimpse of that happiness which no other eye ever had seen but that of Solomon's at that moment, and which, it was equally certain, no heart but his could conceive. When it was concluded the psalm commenced, and if there had been any doubt before, there could be none now that his triumph was great, and the victory over the world and his enemies obtained, whilst a fresh accession of grace was added to that which had been vouchsafed him before. He led the psalm now with a fervor of spirit and fulness of lung which had never been heard in the chapel before; nay, he moved both head and foot to the time, as if he had only to wish it, and he could ascend at once to heaven. This, indeed, was a victory, this was a moment of rejoicing—here was the Christian soldier rattling home in his triumphal chariot, to the sound of the trumpet, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer.

"When the service was over he shook hands with as many of his friends as he could, exclaiming, 'oh, what a blessed day has this been to me! what a time of rejoicing; indeed it is good to be tried. Truly the sources of comfort were opened to my soul on this day more abundantly than I dared to hope for—I feel my privileges more strongly, and more of the new man within me—I am sustained and comforted, and feel that it was good for me to be here this day—I did not hope for this, but it was graciously granted to me, notwithstanding. How good, how heavenly a thing it is to be called upon to suffer, especially when we are able to do so in faith and obedience. May He be praised for all. Amen! Amen!'

"Now, my dear friend, who will say, after all this, that the stage is the great school for actors? who ever saw on the boards of a theatre a more finished performance than that of Solomon M'Slime? It so happens that I am acquainted with the whole circumstances, and, consequently, can fully appreciate his talents. In the mean time I am paying a visit of business to M'Clutchy to-morrow, that I may have an opportunity of a nearer inspection into his character. He is said to be an able, deep, vindictive, and rapacious man—cowardly, but cruel—treacherous, but plausible; and without the slightest remorse of conscience to restrain him from the accomplishment of any purpose, no matter how flagitious. And, yet, the cure for all this, in the eyes of his own party, is his boundless loyalty, and his thorough Protestantism. No wonder the church should be no longer useful or respected when she is supported only by such Protestants as Valentine M'Clutchy, and his class."

"Thursday.—At a little after ten, I waited upon this, famous agent to the Castle Cumber property, and found him in his office, looking over an account-book with his son. He had a bad face—black, heavy, over-hanging eyebrows, and an upper lip that quivers and gets pale when engaged even in earnest conversation—his forehead is low, but broad and massive, indicating the minor accessories of intellect, together with great acuteness and cunning; altogether he had the head and face of a felon. For purposes which you shall know hereafter, I declined presenting Lord Cumber's letter of introduction, which I calculated would put the fellow on his guard, deeming it, more prudent to introduce myself as a stranger, anxious, if I could do so conveniently, to settle somewhere in the neighborhood. The son's back was towards me when I entered, and until he had finished the account at which he had been engaged, which he did by a good deal of altering and erasing, he did not deem, it worth while to look about him even at the entrance of a stranger. Having heard me express my intention of looking for a residence in the vicinity, he did me the honor of one of the most comical stares I ever saw. He is a tall fellow, about six feet, his shoulders are narrow, but round as the curve of a pot—his neck is, at least, eighteen inches in length, on the top of which stands a head, somewhat of a three-cornered shape, like a country barber's wig block, only not so intelligent looking. His nose is short, and turned up a little at the top—his squint is awful, but then, it is peculiar to himself; for his eyes, instead of looking around them as such eyes do, appear to keep a jealous and vigilant watch of each other across his nose—his chin is short and retreating, and from, his wide mouth project two immeasurable buck teeth, that lie together like a'pair of tiles upon a dog kennel. Heavens! that a beautiful girl—as it is said everywhere Miss M'Loughlin is, and until now proverbially correct in her conduct and deportment—should admit such a misshapen kraken as this into her apartment, and at night, too! After having stared at me for some time with a great deal of cunning and a great deal of folly in his countenance, he again began to pore over the blank pages of his book, as if he had been working out some difficult calculation.

"'And,' said the father, after we had been chatting for some time, 'have you seen anything in the neighborhood that you think would suit you?'

"'I am too much of a stranger, sir,' I replied, 'to be able to answer in the affirmative—but I admire the country and the scenery, both of which in this immediate neighborhood, are extremely beautiful and interesting.'

"'They are so,' he replied, 'and the country is a fine one, certainly.'

"'Ay,' said Phil, 'only for these cursed Papists.'

"As he spoke he looked at me very significantly, and drew three of his yellow fingers across his chin, but added nothing more. This, by the way, he did half a dozen times, and, on mentioning the circumstance, it has been suggested to me that it must have been the sign by which one Orangeman makes himself known to another.

"'The Papists,' I replied, 'do not enter into any objection of mine against a residence in the neighborhood; but, as you, Mr. M'Clutchy, as agent of this fine property, must be well acquainted with the state and circumstances of the country, you would really confer a favor by enabling me, as a stranger, to form correct impressions of the place and people.'

"'Then,' said he, 'in the first place allow me to ask what are your politics? As an Englishman, which I perceive you are by your accent—I take it for granted that you are a Protestant.'

"'I am a Protestant, certainly,' I replied, 'and a Church of England one.'

"'Ay, but that's not enough,' said Phil, 'that won't do, my good sir; d—n my honor if it would be worth a fig in this country.'

"'I am very ignorant of Irish politics, I admit,' said I, 'but, I trust, I am in good hands for the receipt of sound information on the subject.'

"'No, no,' continued Phil, 'that's nothing—to be a mere Church of England man, or a Church of Ireland man either, would never do here, I tell you. Upon my honor, but that's doctrine.'

"'Well, but what would do,' I inquired; for I certainly felt a good deal of curiosity to know what he was coming to.

"'The great principle here,' said the son, 'is to hate and keep down the Papists, and you can't do that properly unless you're an Orangeman. Hate and keep down the Papists, that's the true religion, I pledge you my honor and reputation it is.'

"'You put the principle too strong, and rather naked, Phil,' observed the father; 'but the truth is, sir,' he added, turning to me, 'that you may perceive that fine spirit of Protestant enthusiasm in the young man, which is just now so much wanted in, and so beneficial to the country and the government. We must, sir, make allowance for this in the high-spirited and young, and ardent; but, still, after deducting a little for zeal and enthusiasm, he has expressed nothing but truth—with the exception, indeed, that we are not bound to hate them, Phil; on the contrary, we are bound to love our enemies.'

"'Beggingyour pardon, father, I say we are bound to hate them.'

"'Why, so, sir, may I ask,' said I.

"'Why so—why because—because—they—because as—aren't they Papists, and is not that sufficient—and, again, here's another reason still stronger, aren't we Orangemen? Now, sir, did you, or any one, even hear of such a thing as a good, sound Orangeman loving a Papist—a bloody Papist. My word and honor, but that's good!'

"'The truth is,' said the father, 'that the turbulence of their principles has the country almost ripe for insurrection. I have myself received above half a dozen notices, and my son there, as many; some threatening life, others property, and I suppose the result will be, that I must reside for safety in the metropolis. My house is this moment in a state of barricade—look at my windows, literally checkered with stancheon bars—and as for arms, let me see, we have six blunderbusses, eight cases of pistols, four muskets, two carbines, with a variety of side arms, amounting to a couple of dozen. Such, sir, is the state of the country, owing, certainly, as my son says, to the spirit of Popery, and to the fact of my discharging my duty toward Lord Cumber with fidelity and firmness!

"'In that case,' I observed, 'there is little to induce any man possessing some property to reside here.'

"'Certainly nothing,' he replied, 'but a great many inducements to get out of it.'

"'Does Lord Cumber ever visit his property here?' I asked.

"'He has too much sense,' returned the agent; 'but now that parliament is dissolved, he will come over to the Election. We must return either him or his brother the Hon. Dick Topertoe, who, I understand, has no fixed principles whatsoever.'

"'But why return such a man? Why not put up and support one of your own way of thinking?'

"'Why, because in the first place, we must keep out Hartley, who is a liberal, and also an advocate for emancipating Popery; and, in the second, if it be bad to have no principles, like Topertoe, it is worse to have bad ones like Hartley. He'll do to stop a gap until we get better, and then unless he comes round, we'll send him adrift.'

"'Is he in Ireland? I mean does he reside in the country?'

"'Not he, sir; it seems he's a wayward devil, very different from the rest of the family—and with none of the dash and spirit of the Topertoe blood in him.'

"'In that case, he will be no great loss; but Mr. M'Clutchy, notwithstanding all you have said I am so much charmed with the beauty of the country, that I would gladly settle in the neighborhood, if I could procure a suitable residence, together with a good large farm, which I would rent. Is there anything in that way vacant on the estate?'

"'At present, sir, nothing; but it is possible there may be, and if you should remain in the country, I shall feel great pleasure in acquainting you.'

"'Because I was told,' I continued, 'that there are two large farms, either of which would suit me admirably; but I dare say I have been misinformed. I allude to Mr. M'Loughlin's and Herman's holdings, which I understand are out of lease.'

"'Yes,' said he, sighing, 'I am sorry for those men; but the truth is, my good sir, that in this affair I am not a free agent. Lord Cumber, in consequence of some very accurate information that reached him, has determined to put them out of their holdings, now that their leases have expired. I am, you know, but his agent, and cannot set up my will against his.'

"'But could you not take their part?—could you not remonstrate with him, and set him right, rather than see injustice done to innocent men?'

"'You surely cannot imagine, sir, that I have not done so. Earnestly, indeed, have I begged of him to reconsider his orders, and to withdraw them; but like all the Topertoes, he is as obstinate as a mule. The consequence is, however, that whilst the whole blame of the transaction is really his, the odium will fall upon me, as it always does.'

"Here Phil, the son, who had been for the last few minutes paring away the pen with his knife, gave a sudden yelp, not unlike what a hound would utter when he gets an unexpected cut of the whip. It was certainly meant for a laugh, as I could perceive by the frightful grin which drew back his lips I from his yellow projecting tusks, as his face appeared to me in the looking-glass—a fact which he seemed to forget.

"'Then, Mr. M'Clutchy, the farms of these men, are they disposed of?'

"'They are disposed of; and, indeed, in any event, I could not, in justice to the landlord's interests, receive the offers which M'Loughlin and Harman made me. My son here, who, as under agent feels it necessary to reside on the property, and who is about to take unto himself a wife besides, has made me a very liberal offer for M'Loughlin's holding—one, indeed, which I did not feel myself at liberty to refuse. Mr. M'Slime, our respected law agent, I also considered a very proper tenant for Harman's; and that matter is also closed—by which means I secured two respectable, safe, and unobjectionable tenants, on whose votes, at all events, we can reckon, which was more than we could do with the other two—both of whom had expressed their determination to vote in favor of Hartley.'

"'What are the religious opinions of those men, Mr. M'Clutchy?'

"'M'Loughlin is a Papist—'

"'But Harman is worse,' interrupted Phil; 'for he's a Protestant, and no Orangeman.'

"'I thought,' I replied, 'that nothing could be so bad as a Papist, much less worse.'

"'Oh yes,' said Phil, 'that's worse; because one always knows that a Papist's a Papist—but when you find a Protestant who is not an Orangeman, on my sacred honor, you don't know what to make of him. The Papists are all cowards, too.'

"'Then,' said I, 'you have the less difficulty in keeping them down.'

"'Upon my soul and honor, sir, you don't know how a naked Papist will run from a gun and bayonet. I have often seen it.'

"At this moment a tap came to the door, and a servant man, in Orange livery, announced a gentleman to see Mr. Philip M'Clutchy. I rose to take my departure; but Phil insisted I should stop.

"'Don't go, sir,' said he; 'I have something to propose to you by and by.' I accordingly took my seat.

"When the gentleman entered, he looked about, and selecting Phil, bowed to him, and then to us.

"'Ah, Mr. Hartley! how do you do?' said Val, shaking hands with him; 'and how is your cousin, whom we hope to have the pleasure of beating soon?—ha, ha, ha. Take a seat.'

"'Thank you,'said the other; 'but the fact is, that time's just now precious, and I wish to have a few words with Mr. Philip here.'

"'What is it, Hartley? How are you, Hartley? I'm glad to see you.'

"'Quite well, Phil; but if you have no objection, I would rather speak to you in another room. It's a matter of some importance, and of some delicacy, too.'

"'Oh, curse the delicacy, man; out with it.'

"'I really cannot, Phil, unless by ourselves.'

"They both then withdrew to the back parlor, where, after a period of about ten minutes, Phil came rushing in with a face on him, and in a state of trepidation utterly indescribable; Hartley, on the other hand, cool and serious, following him.

"'Phil,' said he, 'think of what you are about to do. Don't exclude yourself hereafter from the rank and privileges of a gentleman. Pause, if you respect yourself, and regard your reputation as a man of courage.'

"'D——d fine talk in you—who—who's a fire-eater, Hartley. What do you think, father—?' Hartley put, or rather attempted to put his hand across his mouth, to prevent his cowardly and degrading communication; but in vain. 'What do you think, father,' he continued, 'but there's that cowardly scoundrel, young M'Loughlin, has sent me a challenge? Isn't the country come to a pretty pass, when a Papist durst do such a thing?'

"'Why not a Papist?' said Hartley. 'Has not a Papist flesh, and blood, and bones, like another man? Is a Papist to be insensible to insult? Is he to sit down tamely and meanly under disgrace and injury? Has he no soul to feel the dignity of just resentment? Is he not to defend his sister, when her character has been basely and treacherously ruined? Is he to see her stretched on her death-bed, by your villainy, and not to avenge her? By heavens, if, under the circumstances of the provocation which you gave him, and his whole family, he would be as mean and cowardly a poltroon as I find you to be—if he suffered—'

"'Do you call me a poltroon?' said Phil, so shivering and pale, that his voice betrayed his cowardice.

"'Yes,' said the other, 'as arrant a poltroon as ever I met. I tell you, you must either fight him, or publish a statement of your own unparalleled disgrace. Don't think you shall get out of it.'

"'I tell you, sir,' said Val, 'that he shall not fight him. I would not suffer a son of mine to put himself on a level with such a person as young M'Loughlin.'

"'On a level with him he never will be, for no earthly advantage could raise him to it; but pray, Mr. M'Clutchy, who are you?'

"'Val's brow fell, and his lip paled and quivered, as the fine young fellow looked him steadily in the face.

"'Never mind him, father,' said Phil 'you know he's a fire-eater.'

"'There is no use in altercations of this sort,' replied Val, calmly. 'As for young M'Loughlin, or old M'Loughlin, if they think themselves injured, they have the laws of the land to appeal to for redress. As for us, we will fight them with other weapons besides pistols and firearms.'

"'D—— my honor,' said, Phil, 'if I'd stoop to fight any Papist. Aren't they all rebels? And what gentleman would fight a rebel?'

"'Honor!' exclaimed Hartley; 'don't profane that sacred word—I can have no more patience with such a craven-hearted rascal, who could stoop to such base revenge against the unsullied reputation of a virtuous and admirable girl, because she spurned your scoundrelly addresses.'

"'He never paid his addresses to her,' said Val;—'never.'

"'No I didn't,'said Phil. 'At any rate I never had any notion of marrying her.'

"'You are a dastardly liar, sir,' responded Hartley. 'You know you had. How can your father and you look each other in the face, when you say so?'

"'Go on,' said Phil, 'you're a fire-eater: so you may say what you like.'

"'Didn't your father, in your name, propose for her upon some former occasion, in the fair of Castle Cumber, and he remembers the answer he got.'

"'Go on,' said Phil, 'you're a fire-eater; that's all I have to say to you.'

"'And now, having ruined her reputation by a base and cowardly plot concocted with a wicked old woman, who would blast the whole family if she could, because M'Loughlin transported her felon son; you, now, like a paltry clown as you are, skulk out of the consequences of your treachery, and refuse to give satisfaction for the diabolical injury you have inflicted on the whole family.'

"'Go on,' said Phil, 'you're a fire-eater.'

"'You forget,' said Val, 'that I am a magistrate, and what the consequences may be to yourself for carrying a hostile message.'

"'Ah,' said Hartley, 'you are a magistrate, and shame on the government that can stoop to the degradation of raising such rascals as you are to become dispensers of justice; it is you and the like of you, that are a curse to the country. As for you, Phil M'Clutchy, I now know, and always suspected, the stuff you are made of. You are a disgrace to the very Orangemen you associate with; for they are, in general, brave fellows, although too often cruel and oppressive when hunted on and stimulated by such as you and your rascally upstart of a father.'

"'Go on,' said Phil, 'you are a fire-eater.'

"'I now leave you both,' continued the young Hotspur, with a blazing eye and flushed cheek, 'with the greatest portion of scorn and contempt which one man can bestow upon another.'

"'Go off,' said Phil, 'you are a fire-eater.'

"'Phil,' said the father, 'send for M'Murt, and let him get the ejectments from M'Slime—we shall not, at all events, be insulted and bearded by Papists, or their emissaries, so long as I can clear one of them off the estate.'

"'But, good God, Mr. M'Clutchy, surely these other Papists you speak of, have not participated in the offences, if such they are, of M'Loughlin and Harman.'

"'Ay, but they're all of the same kidney,' said Phil; 'they hate us because we keep them down.'

"'And what can be more natural than that?' I observed; 'just reverse the matter—suppose they were in your place, and kept you down, would you love them for it?'

"'Why, what kind of talk is that,' said Phil, 'they keep us down! Are they not rebels?'

"'You observed,' I replied, getting tired of this sickening and senseless bigotry, 'that you wished to make a proposal of some kind to me before I went.'

"'Yes,' he replied, 'I wished, if it be a thing that you remain in the neighborhood, to propose that you should become an Orangeman, and join my father's lodge. You say you want a farm on the estate; now, if you do, take my advice and become an Orangeman; you will then have a stronger claim, for my father always gives them the preference.'

"'By Lord Cumber's desire, Phil; but I shall be very happy, indeed, sir,' proceeded Val, 'that is, provided you get an introduction—for, at present, you will pardon me for saying we are strangers.'

"'I should first wish to witness the proceedings of an Orange Lodge,' I said, 'but I suppose that, of course, is impossible, unless to the initiated.'

"'Certainly, of course,' said M'Clutchy.

"'But, father,' said Phil, 'couldn't we admit him after the business of the lodge is concluded.'

"'It is not often done,' replied the father; 'but it sometimes is—however, we shall have the pleasure, Mr. Easel—(I forgot to say that I had sent in my card, so that he knew my name),—we shall have the pleasure of a better acquaintance, I trust.'

"'I tell you what,' said Phil, leaping off his chair, 'd—-n my honor, but I was wrong to let young Hartley go without a thrashing. The cowardly scoundrel was exceedingly insulting.'

"'No, no, Phil,' said the father; 'you acted with admirable coolness and prudence.'

"'I tell you I ought to have kicked the rascal out,' said Phil, getting into a passion; 'I'll follow him and teach the impudent vagabond a lesson he wants.'

"He seized his hat, and buttoned up his coat, as if for combat, whilst he spoke.

"'Phil, be quiet,' said his father, rising up and putting his arms about him; 'be quiet now. There will be no taming him down, if his spirit gets up,' said Val, addressing me; 'for all our sakes, Phil, keep quiet and sit down. Good heaven! the strength of him! Phil, keep quiet, I say, you shan't go after him.'

"'Let me go,' shouted the other; 'let me go, I say. I will smash him to atoms. Upon my honor and reputation, he shall not escape me this way—I'll send him home a hoop—a triangle—a zoologist. I'll beat him into mustard, the cowardly scoundrel! And only you were a magistrate, father, I would have done it before you. Let me go, I say—the M'Clutchy blood is up in me! Father, you're a scoundrel if you hold me! You know what a lion I am—what a raging lion, when roused. Hands off, M'Clutchy, I say, when you know I'm a thunderbolt.'

"The tugging and pulling that took place here between the father and son were extraordinary, and I could not in common decency decline assisting the latter to hold him in. I consequently lent him my aid seriously; but this only made things worse:—the more he was held, the more violent and outrageous he became. He foamed at the mouth—stormed—swore—and tore about with such vehemence, that I really began to think the fellow was a dull flint, which produced, fire slowly, but that there was fire in him. The struggle still proceeded, and we pulled and dragged each other through every part of the house:—chairs, and tables, and office-stools were all overturned—and Phil's cry was still for war.

"It's all to no purpose,' he shouted—'I'll not leave an unbroken bone in that scoundrel Hartley's body.'

"'I know you wouldn't, if you got at him,' said Val. 'He would certainly be the death of him,' he added aside tome; 'he would give him some fatal blow, and that's what I'm afraid of.'

"Phil was now perfectly furious—in fact he resembled a drunken man, and might have passed for such.

"'Hartley, you scoundrel, where are you, till I make mummy of you?' he shouted.

"'Here I am,' replied Hartley, entering' the room, walking up to him, and looking him sternly in the face—'here I am—what's your will with me?'

"So comic a paralysis was, perhaps, never witnessed. Phil stood motionless, helpless, speechless. The white cowardly froth rose to his lips, his color became ashy, his jaw fell, he shook, shrunk into himself, and gasped for breath—his eyes became hollow, his squint deepened, and such was his utter prostration of strength, that his very tongue lolled out with weakness, like that of a newly dropped calf, when attempting to stand for the first time. At length he got out—

"'Hold! I believe, I'll restrain myself; but only my father's a magistrate———'

"'Your father's a scoundrel, and you are another,' said Hartley; 'and here's my respect for you.'

"Whilst speaking, he caught Phil by the nose with one hand, and also by the collar of his coat with the other, and in this position led him, in a most comical way, round the room, after which he turned him about, and inflicted a few vigorous kicks upon a part of him which must be nameless.

"'I am not sorry,' said he, 'that I forgot my note-case in the other room, as it has given me an opportunity of taming a raging lion so easily.'

"'Goon,' said Phil, whose language, as well as valor, was fairly exhausted, 'it's well you're a fire-eater, and my father a magistrate, or by my honor, I'd know how to deal with you.'

"Such, my dear Spinageberd, is a domestic sketch of the Agent and Under Agent of that exceedingly sapient nobleman, Lord Cumber; and if ever, excellent landlord that he is, he should by any possible chance come to see these lines, perhaps he might be disposed to think that an occasional peep at his own property, and an examination into the principles upon which it is managed, might open to him a new field of action worth cultivating, even as an experiment not likely to end in any injurious result to either him or it. In a day or two I shall call upon Mr. Solomon M'Slime, with whom I am anxious to have a conversation, as, indeed, I am with the leading characters on the property. You may accordingly expect an occasional batch of observations from me, made upon the spot, and fresh from my interviews with the individuals to whom they relate."



CHAPTER XVII.—A Moral Survey, or a Wise Man led by a Fool

—Marks of Unjust Agency—Reflections thereon—A Mountain Water-Spout, and Rising of a Torrent—The Insane Mother over the Graves of her Family—Raymond's Humanity—His Rescue from Death.

"Friday, * * *

"I have amused myself—you will see how appropriate the word is by and by—since my last communication, in going over the whole Castle Cumber estate, and noting down the traces which this irresponsible and rapacious oppressor, aided by his constables, bailiffs, and blood-hounds, have left behind them. When I describe the guide into whose hands I have committed myself, I am inclined to think you will not feel much disposed to compliment me on my discretion;—the aforesaid guide being no other than a young fellow, named Raymond-na-Hattha, which means, they tell me, Raymond of the Hats—a sobriquet very properly bestowed on him in consequence of a habit he has of always wearing three or four hats at a time, one within the other—a circumstance which, joined to his extraordinary natural height and great strength, gives him absolutely a gigantic appearance. This Raymond is the fool of the parish; but in selecting him for my conductor, I acted under the advice of those who knew him better than I could. There is not, in fact, a field or farm-house, or a cottage, within a circumference of miles, which he does not know, and where he is not also known. He has ever since his childhood evinced a most extraordinary fancy for game cocks—an attachment not at all surprising, when it is known that not only was his father, Morgan Monahan, the most celebrated breeder and handler of that courageous bird—but his mother, Poll Doolin—married women here frequently preserve, or are called by, their maiden names through life—who learned it from her husband, was equally famous for this very feminine accomplishment. Poor Raymond, notwithstanding his privation, is, however, exceedingly shrewd in many things, especially where he can make himself understood. As he speaks, however, in unconnected sentences, in which there is put forth no more than one phase of the subject he alludes to, or the idea he entertains, it is unquestionably not an easy task to understand him without an interpreter. He is singularly fond of children—very benevolent—and consequently feels a degree of hatred and horror at anything in the shape of cruelty or oppression, almost beyond belief, in a person deprived of reason. This morning he was with me by appointment, about half-past nine, and after getting his breakfast——but no matter—the manipulation he exhibited would have been death to a dyspeptic patient, from sheer envy—we sallied forth to trace this man, M'Clutchy, by the awful marks of ruin, and tyranny, and persecution; for these words convey the principles of what he hath left, and is leaving behind him.

"'Now, Raymond,' said I, 'as you know the country well, I shall be guided by you. I wish to see a place called Drum Dhu. Can you conduct me there?'

"'Ay!' he replied with surprise; 'Why! Sure there's scarcely anybody there now. When we go on farther, we may look up, but we'll see no smoke, as there used to be. 'Twas there young Torly Regan died on that day—an' her, poor Mary—but they're all gone from her—and Hugh the eldest is in England or America—but him—the youngest—he'll never waken—and what will the poor mother do for his white head now that she hasn't it to look at? No, he wouldn't waken, although I brought him the cock.'

"'Of whom are you speaking now, Raymond?'

"'I'll tell you two things that's the same,' he replied; 'and I'll tell you the man that has them both.'

"'Let me hear, Raymond.'

"'The devil's blessin' and God's curse;—sure they're the same—ha, ha—there now—that's one. You didn't know that—no, no: you didn't.'

"'And who is it that has them, Raymond?'

"'M'Clutchy—Val the Vulture; sure 'twas he did that all, and is doin' it still. Poor Mary!—Brian will never waken;—she'll never see his eyes again, 'tany rate—nor his white head—oh! his white head! God ought to kill Val, and I wondher he doesn't.'

"'Raymond, my good friend,' said I, 'if you travel at this rate, I must give up the journey altogether.'

"The fact is, that when excited, as he was now by the topic in question, he gets into what is termed a sling trot, which carries him on at about six miles an hour, without ever feeling fatigued. He immediately slackened his pace, and looked towards me, with a consciousness of having forgotten himself and acted wrongly.

"'Well, no,' said he, 'I won't; but sure I hate him.'

"'Hate whom?'

"'M'Clutchy—and that was it; for I always do it; but I won't again, for you couldn't keep up wid me if I spoke about him.'

"We then turned towards the mountains; and as we went along, the desolate impresses of the evil agent began here and there to become visible. On the road-side there were the humble traces of two or three cabins, whose little hearths had been extinguished, and whose walls were levelled to the earth. The black fungus, the burdock, the nettle, and all those offensive weeds that follow in the train of oppression and ruin were here; and as the dreary wind stirred them into sluggish motion, and piped its melancholy wail through these desolate little mounds, I could not help asking myself—if those who do these things ever think that there is a reckoning in after life, where power, and insolence, and wealth misapplied, and rancor, and pride, and rapacity, and persecution, and revenge, and sensuality, and gluttony, will be placed face to face with those humble beings, on whose rights and privileges of simple existence they have trampled with such a selfish and exterminating tread. A host of thoughts and reflections began to crowd upon my mind; but the subject was too painful—and after avoiding it as well as I could, we proceeded on our little tour of observation.

"How easy it is for the commonest observer to mark even the striking characters that are impressed on the physical features of an estate which is managed by care and kindness—where general happiness and principles of active industry are diffused through the people? And, on the other hand, do not all the depressing symbols of neglect and mismanagement present equally obvious exponents of their operation, upon properties like this of Castle Cumber? On this property, it is not every tenant that is allowed to have an interest in the soil at all, since the accession of M'Clutchy. He has succeeded in inducing the head landlord to decline granting leases to any but those who are his political supporters—that is, who will vote for him or his nominee at an election; or, in other words, who will enable him to sell both their political privileges and his own, to gratify his cupidity or ambition, without conferring a single advantage upon themselves. From those, therefore, who have too much honesty to prostitute their votes to his corrupt and selfish negotiations with power, leases are withheld, in order that they may, with more becoming and plausible oppression, be removed from the property, and the staunch political supporter brought in in their stead. This may be all very good policy, but it is certainly bad humanity, and worse religion, In fact, it is the practice of that cruel dogma, which prompts us to sacrifice the principles of others to our own, and to deprive them of the very privilege which we ourselves claim—that of acting according to our conscientious impressions. 'Do unto others,' says Mr. M'Clutchy and his class, as you would not wish that others should do unto you.' How beautifully here is the practice of the loud and headlong supporter of the Protestant Church, and its political ascendancy, made to harmonize with the principles of that neglected thing called the Gospel? In fact as we went along, it was easy to mark, on the houses and farmsteads about us, the injustice of making this heartless distinction. The man who felt himself secure and fixed by a vested right in the possession of his tenement, had heart and motive to work and improve it, undepressed by the consciousness that his improvements to-day might be trafficked on by a wicked and unjust agent tomorrow. He knows, that in developing all the advantages and good qualities of the soil, he is not only discharging an important duty to himself and his landlord, but also to his children's children after him; and the result is, that the comfort, contentment, and self-respect which he gains by the consciousness of his security, are evident at a glance upon himself, his house, and his holding. On the other hand, reverse this picture, and what is the consequence? Just what is here visible. There is a man who may be sent adrift on the shortest notice, unless he is base enough to trade upon his principles and vote against his conscience. What interest has he in the soil, or in the prosperity of his landlord? If he make improvements this year, he may see the landlord derive all the advantages of them the next; or, what is quite as likely, he may know that some Valentine M'Clutchy may put them in his own pocket, and keep the landlord in the dark regarding the whole transaction. What a bounty on dishonesty and knavery in an agent is this? How unjust to the interest of the tenant, in the first place—in the next to that of the landlord—and, finally, how destructive to the very nature and properties of the soil itself, which rapidly degenerates by bad and negligent culture, and. consequently becomes impoverished and diminished in value. All this was evident as we went along. Here was warmth, and wealth, and independence staring us in the face; there was negligence, desponding struggle, and decline, conscious, as it were, of their unseemly appearance, and anxious, one would think, to shrink away from the searching eye of observation.

"'But here again, Raymond; what have we here? There is a fine looking farmhouse, evidently untenanted. How is that?'

"'Ha, ha,' replied Raymond with a bitter smile, 'ha, ha! Let them take it, and see what Captain Whiteboy will do? He has the possession—ha, ha—an' who'll get him to give it up? Who dare take that, or any of Captain Whiteboy's farms? But sure it's not, much—only a coal, a rushlight, and a prod of a pike or a baynet—but I know who ought to have them.'

"The house in question was considerably dilapidated. Its doors were not visible, and its windows had all been shivered. Its smokeless chimneys, its cold and desolate appearance, together with the still more ruinous condition of the outhouses, added to the utter silence which prevailed about it, and the absence of every symptom of life and motion—all told a tale which has left many a bloody moral to the country. The slaps, gates, and enclosures were down—the hedges broken or cut away—the fences trampled on and levelled to the earth—and nothing seemed to thrive—for the garden was overrun with them—but the rank weeds already alluded to, as those which love to trace the footsteps of ruin and desolation, in order to show, as it were, what they leave behind them. As we advanced, other and more startling proofs of M'Clutchy came in our way—proofs which did not consist of ruined houses, desolate villages, or roofless-cottages—but of those unfortunate persons, whose simple circle of domestic life—whose little cares, and struggles, and sorrows, and affections, formed the whole round of their humble existence, and its enjoyments, as given them by Almighty God himself. All these, however, like the feelings and affections of the manacled slave, were as completely overlooked by those who turned them adrift, as if in possessing such feelings, they had invaded a right which belonged only to their betters, and which,the same betters, by the way, seldom exercise either in such strength or purity as those whom they despise and oppress. Aged men we met, bent, with years, and weighed down still more by that houseless sorrow, which is found accompanying them along the highways of life:—through its rugged solitudes and its dreariest paths—in the storm and in the tempest—wherever they go—in want, nakedness, and destitution—still at their side is that houseless sorrow—pouring into their memories and their hearts the conviction, which is most terrible to old age, that it has no home here but the grave—no pillow on which to forget its cares but the dust. The sight of these wretched old men, turned out from, the little holdings that sheltered their helplessness, to beg a morsel, through utter charity, in the decrepitude of life, was enough to make a man wish that he had never been born to witness such a wanton abuse of that power which was entrusted to man for the purpose of diffusing happiness instead of misery. All these were known to Raymond, who, as far as he could, gave me their brief and unfortunate history. That which showed us, however, the heartless evils of the-clearance system in its immediate operation upon the poorer classes, was the groups of squalid females who traversed the country, accompanied by their pale and sickly looking children, all in a state of mendicancy, and wofully destitute of clothing. The system in this case being to deny their husbands employment upon the property, in order to drive them, by the strong scourge of necessity, off it, the poor men were compelled to seek it elsewhere, whilst their sorrowing and heart-broken families were fain to remain and beg a morsel from those who were best acquainted with the history of their expulsion, and who, consequently, could yield to them and their little ones a more cordial and liberal sympathy. After thus witnessing the consequences of bad management, and worse feeling, in the shape of houses desolate, villages levelled, farms waste, old age homeless, and feeble mothers tottering under their weaker children—after witnessing, I say, all this, we came to the village called Drum Dhu, being one of those out of which these unhappy creatures were so mercilessly driven.

"A village of this description is, to say the least of it, no credit to the landed proprietors of any country. It is the necessary result of a bad system. But we know that if the landlord paid the attention which he ought to pay, to both the rights and duties of his property, a bad system could never be established upon it. I am far from saying, indeed, my dear Spinageberd, there are not cases in which the landlord finds himself in circumstances of great difficulty. Bad, unprincipled, vindictive, and idle tenants enough there are in this country—as I am given to understand from those who know it best—plotting scoundrels, who, like tainted sheep, are not only corrupt themselves, but infect others, whom they bring along with themselves to their proper destination, the gallows. Enough and too many of these there are to be found, who are cruel without cause, and treacherous without provocation; and this is evident, by the criminal records of the country, from which it is clear that it is not in general the aggrieved man who takes justice in his own hands, but the idle profligate I speak of now. Many indeed of all these, it is an act due to public peace and tranquility to dislodge from any and from every estate; but at the same time, it is not just that the many innocent should suffer as well as the guilty few. To return, however, to the landlord. It often happens, that when portions of his property fall out of lease, he finds it over-stocked with a swarm of paupers, who are not his tenants at all and never were—but who in consequence of the vices of sub-letting, have multiplied in proportion to the rapacity and extortion of middle-men, and third-men, and fourth-men—and though last, not least, of the political exigencies of the landlord himself, to serve whose purposes they were laboriously subdivided off into tattered legions of fraud, corruption, and perjury. Having, therefore, either connived at, or encouraged the creation of thess creatures upon his property for corrupt purposes, is he justified, when such a change in the elective franchise has occurred as renders them of no political importance to him, in turning them out of their little holdings, without aid or provision of some sort, and without reflecting besides, that they are in this, the moment of their sorest distress, nothing else than the neglected tools and forgotten victims of his own ambition. Or can he be surprised, after hardening them into the iniquity of half a dozen elections, that he finds fellows in their number who would feel no more scruples in putting a bullet into him from behind a hedge, than they would into a dog? Verily, my dear Simon Spinageberd, the more I look into the political and civil education which the people of Ireland have received, I am only surprised that property in this country rests upon so firm and secure a basis as I find it does.