Stories of the Irish, by William Carleton, Part 7

     * This is another absurd opinion peculiar to the
     Irish, and certainly one of the most pernicious that
     prevail among them. Indeed, I believe there is no
     country in which so many absurd maxims exist.

“I'll go down,” observed Larry, “to Paddy Donovan's, an' send him to the priest's to dive in your names to be called to-morrow. Faith, it's well that you won't have to appear, or I dunna how you'd get over it.”

“No,” said Phelim, “that bill won't pass. You must go to the priest yourself, an' see the curate: if you go near Father O'Hara, it 'ud knock a plan on the head that I've invinted. I'm in the notion that I'll make the ould woman bleed agin. I'll squeeze as much out of her as I'll bring me to America, for I'm not overly safe here; or, if all fails, I'll marry her, an' run away wid the money. It 'ud bring us all across.”

Larry's interview with the curate was but a short one. He waited on Donovan, however, before he went, who expressed himself satisfied with the arrangement, and looked forward to the marriage as certain. As for Phelim, the idea of being called to three females at the same time, was one that tickled his vanity very much. Vanity, where the fair sex was concerned, had been always his predominant failing. He was not finally determined on marriage with any of them; but he knew that should he even escape the three, the eclat, resulting from so celebrated a transaction would recommend him to the sex for the remainder of his life. Impressed with this view of the matter, he sauntered about as usual; saw Foodie Flattery's daughter, and understood that her uncle had gone to the priest, to have his niece and worthy Phelim called the next day. But besides this hypothesis, Phelim had another, which, after all, was the real one. He hoped that the three applications would prevent the priest from calling him at all.

The priest, who possessed much sarcastic humor, on finding the name of Phelim come in as a candidate for marriage honors with three different women, felt considerably puzzled to know what he could be at. That Phelim might hoax one or two of them was very probable, but that he should have the effrontery to make him the instrument of such an affair, he thought a little too bad.

“Now,” said he to his curate, as they talked the matter over that night. “it is quite evident that this scapegrace reckons upon our refusal to call him with any of those females to-morrow. It is also certain that not one of the three to whom he has pledged himself is aware that he is under similar obligations to the other two.”

“Why,” said Mr. O'Hara, “certainly to call him to each: it will give the business a turn for which he is not prepared. He will stand exposed, moreover, before the congregation, and that will be some punishment to him.”

“I don't know as to the punishment,” replied the curate. “If ever a human being was free from shame, Phelim is. The fellow will consider it a joke.”

“Very possible,” observed his superior, “but I am anxious to punish this old woman. It may prevent her from uniting herself with a fellow who certainly would, on becoming master of her money, immediately abandon her—perhaps proceed to America.”

“It will also put the females of the parish on their guard against him,” said the innocent curate, who knew not that it would raise him highly in their estimation.

“We will have a scene, at all events,” said Mr. O'Hara; “for I'm resolved to expose him. No blame can be attached to those whom he has duped, excepting only the old woman, whose case will certainly excite a great deal of mirth. That matters not, however; she has earned the ridicule, and let her bear it.” It was not until Sunday morning that the three calls occurred to Phelim in a new light.

He forgot that the friends of the offended parties might visit upon his proper carcase the contumely he offered to them. This, however, did not give him much anxiety, for Phelim was never more in his element than when entering upon a row.

The Sunday in question was fine, and the congregation unusually large; one would think that all the inhabitants of the parish of Teernarogarah had been assembled. Most of them certainly were.

The priest, after having gone through the usual ceremonies of the Sabbath worship, excepting those with which he concludes the mass, turned round to the congregation, and thus addressed them:—

“I would not,” said he, “upon any other occasion of this kind, think it necessary to address you at all; but this is one perfectly unique, and in some degree patriarchal, because, my friends, we are informed that it was allowed in the times of Abraham and his successors, to keep more than one wife. This custom is about being revived by a modern, who wants, in rather a barefaced manner, to palm himself upon us as a patriarch. And who do you think, my friends, this Irish Patriarch is? Why, no other than bouncing Phelim O'Toole!”

This was received precisely as the priest anticipated: loud were the snouts of laughter from all parts of the congregation.

“Divil a fear o' Phelim!” they exclaimed. “He wouldn't be himself, or he'd kick up a dust some way.”

“Blessed Phelim! Just like him! Faith, he couldn't be marrid in the common coorse!”

“Arrah, whisht till we hear the name o' the happy crathur that's to be blisthered with Phelim! The darlin's in luck, whoever she is, an' has gained a blessed prize in the 'Bouncer.'”

“This bouncing patriarch,” continued the priest, “has made his selection with great judgment and discrimination. In the first place, he has pitched upon a hoary damsel of long standing in the world;—one blessed with age and experience. She is qualified to keep Phelim's house well, as soon as it shall be built; but whether she will be able to keep Phelim himself, is another consideration. It is not unlikely that Phelim, in imitation of his great prototypes, may prefer living in a tent. But whether she keeps Phelim or the house, one thing is certain, that Phelim will keep her money. Phelim selected this aged woman, we presume, for her judgment; for surely she who has given such convincing proof of discretion, must make a useful partner to one who, like Phelim, has that virtue yet to learn. I have no doubt, however, but in a short time he will be as discreet as his teacher.”

“You may say that! Begad, it's himself can discoorse! What's the Protestants to that?”

“The next upon the list is one who, though a poor man's daughter, will certainly bring property to Phelim. There is also an aptness in this selection, which does credit to the 'Patriarch.' Phelim is a great dancer, an accomplishment with which we do not read that the patriarchs themselves were possessed: although we certainly do read that a light heel was of little service to Jacob. Well, Phelim carries a light heel, and the second female of his choice on this list carries a 'light hand;' (* Intimating theft) it is, therefore, but natural to suppose that, if ever they are driven to extremities, they will make light of many things which other people would consider as of weighty moment. Whether Phelim and she may long remain stationary in this country, is a problem more likely to be solved at the county assizes than here. It is not improbable that his Majesty may recommend the 'Patriarch' and one of his wives to try the benefit of a voyage to New South Wales, he himself graciously vouch-saving to bear their expenses.”

“Divil a lie in that, anyhow! If ever any one crossed the wather, Phelim will. Can't his Reverence be funny whin he plases?”

“Begad, Phelim's gettin' over the coals. But sure it's all the way the father an' mother reared him.”

“The third damsel is by no means so, well adapted for Phelim as either of the other two. What she could have seen in him is another problem much more difficult than the one I have mentioned. I would advise her to reconsider the subject, and let Phelim have the full benefit of the attention she may bestow upon it. If she finds the 'Patriarch' possessed of any one virtue, except necessity, I will admit that it is pretty certain that she will soon discover the longitude, and that has puzzled the most learned men of the world. If she marries this 'Patriarch', I think the angels who may visit him will come in the shape of policemen; and that Phelim, so long as he can find a cudgel, will give them anything but a patriarchal reception, is another thing of which we may rest pretty certain.

“I. now publish the bans of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of Teernarogarah, and Bridget Doran of Dernascobe. If any person knows of any impediment why these two should not be joined in wedlock, they are bound to declare it.

“This Bridget Doran, my friends, is no other than my old housekeeper; but when, where, or how, Phelim could have won upon her juvenile affections is one of those mysteries which is never to be explained. I dare say, the match was brought about by despair on her side, and necessity on his. She despaired of getting a husband, and he had a necessity for the money. In point of age I admit she would make a very fit wife for any 'Patriarch.'”

Language could not describe the effect which this disclosure produced upon the congregation. The fancy of every one present was tickled at the idea of a union between Phelim and the old woman. It was followed by roars of laughter which lasted several minutes.

“Oh, thin, the curse o' the crows upon him, was he only able to butther up the ould woman! Oh, Ghe dldven! that flogs. Why, it's a wondher he didn't stale the ould slip, an' make a run-away match of it—ha, ha, ha! Musha, bad scran to her, but she had young notions of her own! A purty bird she picked up in Phelim!—ha, ha, ha!”

“I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole of Teernarogarah and Sally Flattery of the same place. If any of you knows of any impediment why they should not be joined in wedlock you are bound to declare it.”

The mirth rose again, loud and general. Poodle Flattery, whose character was so well known, appeared so proper a father-in-law for Phelim, that his selection in this instance delighted them highly.

“Betther an' betther, Phelim! More power to you! You're fixed at last. Poodle Flattery's daughter—a known thief! Well, what harm? Phelim himself has pitch on his fingers—or had, anyhow, when he was growin' up—for many a thing stuck to them. Oh, bedad, now we know what his Reverence was at when he talked about the 'Sizes, bad luck to them! Betune her an' the ould woman, Phelim 'ud be in Paradise! Foodie Flattery's daughter! Begad, she'll 'bring him property' sure enough, as his Reverence says.”

“I also publish the banns of matrimony between Phelim O'Toole—whom we must in future call the 'Patriarch'—of Teernarogarah, and Peggy Donovan of the same place. If any of you knows any impediment in the way of their marriage, you are bound to declare it.”

“Bravo! Phelim acushla. 'Tis you that's the blessed youth. Tundher-an'-whiskey, did ever any body hear of sich desate? To do three o' them. Be sure the Bouncer has some schame in this. Well, one would suppose Paddy Donovan an' his daughter had more sinse nor to think of sich a runagate as Bouncin' Phelim.”

“No, but the Pathriark! Sure his Reverence sez that we musn't call him anything agin but the Pathriark! Oh, be gorra, that's the name!—ha, ha, ha!”

When the mirth of the congregation had subsided, and their comments ended, the priest concluded in the following words:—

“Now, my friends, here is such a piece of profligacy as I have never, in the whole course of my pastoral duties, witnessed. It is the act of Phelim O'Toole, be it known, who did not scruple to engage himself for marriage to three females—that is, to two girls and an old woman—and who, in addition, had the effrontery to send me his name and theirs, to be given out all on the same Sunday; thus making me an instrument in his hands to hoax those who trusted in his word. That he can marry but one of them is quite clear; but that he would not scruple to marry the three, and three more to complete the half-dozen, is a fact which no one who knows him will doubt. For my part, I know not how this business may terminate. Of a truth he has contrived to leave the claims of the three females in a state of excellent confusion. Whether it raise or lessen him in their opinion I cannot pretend to determine. I am sorry for Donovan's daughter, for I know not what greater calamity could befall any honest family than a matrimonial union with Phelim O'Toole. I trust that this day's proceedings will operate as a caution to the females of the parish against such an unscrupulous reprobate. It is for this purpose only that I publish the names given in to me. His character was pretty well known before; it is now established; and having established it, I dismiss the subject altogether.”

Phelim's fame was now nearly at its height. Never before had such a case been known; yet the people somehow were not so much astonished as might be supposed. On the contrary, had Phelim's courtship gone off like that of another man, they would have felt more surprised. We need scarcely say, that the “giving out” or “calling” of Phelim and the three damsels was spread over the whole parish before the close of that Sunday. Every one had it—man, woman, and child. It was told, repeated, and improved as it went along. Now circumstances were added, fresh points made out, and other dramatis personae brought in—all with great felicity, and quite suitable to Phelim's character.

Strongly contrasted with the amusement of the parishioners in general, was the indignation felt by the three damsels and their friends. The old housekeeper was perfectly furious; so much so, indeed, that the priest gave some dark hints at the necessity of sending for a strait waistcoat. Her fellow-servants took the liberty of breaking some strong jests upon her, in return for which she took the liberty of breaking two strong churnstaves upon them. Being a remarkably stout woman for her years, she put forth her strength to such purpose that few of them went to bed without sore bones. The priest was seriously annoyed at it, for he found that his house was a scene of battle during the remainder of the day.

Sally Flattery's uncle, in the absence of her father, indignantly espoused the cause of his niece. He and Donovan each went among their friends to excite in them a proper resentment, and to form a faction for the purpose of chastising Phelim. Their chagrin was bitter on finding that their most wrathful representations of the insult sustained by their families, were received with no other spirit than one of the most extravagant mirth. In vain did they rage and fume, and swear; they could get no one to take a serious view of it. Phelim O'Toole was the author of all, and from him it was precisely what they had expected.

Phelim himself, and the father, on hearing of the occurrence after mass, were as merry as any other two in the parish. At first the father was disposed to lose his temper; but on Phelim telling him he would bear no “gosther” on the subject, he thought proper to take it in good humor. About this time they had not more than a week's provision in the house, and only three shillings of capital. The joke of the three calls was too good a one to pass off as an ordinary affair; they had three shillings, and although it was their last, neither of them could permit the matter to escape as a dry joke. They accordingly repaired to the little public-house of the village, where they laughed at the world, got drunk, hugged each other, despised all mankind, and staggered home, Fagged and merry, poor and hearty, their arms about each other's necks, perfect models of filial duty and paternal affection.

The reader is aware that the history of Phelim's abrupt engagement with the housekeeper, was conveyed by Fool Art to Sally Flattery. Her thievish character rendered marriage as hopeless to her as length of days did to Bridget Doran. No one knew the plan she had laid for Phelim, but this fool, and, in order to secure his silence, she had promised him a shirt on the Monday after the first call. Now Art, as was evident by his endless habit of shrugging, felt the necessity of a shirt very strongly.

About ton o'clock on Monday he presented himself to Sally, and claimed his recompense.

“Art,” said Sally, “the shirt I intended for you is upon Squire Nugent's hedge beside their garden. You know the family's goin' up to Dublin on Thursday, Art, an' they're gettin' their washin' done in time to be off. Go down, but don't let any one see you; take the third shirt on the row, an' bring it up to me till I smooth it for you.”

Art sallied down to the hedge on which the linen had been put out to dry, and having reconnoitered the premises, shrugged himself, and cast a longing eye on the third shirt. With that knavish penetration, however, peculiar to such persons, he began to reflect that Sally might have some other object in view besides his accommodation. He determined, therefore, to proceed upon new principles—sufficiently safe, he thought, to protect him from the consequences of theft. “Good-morrow, Bush,” said Art, addressing that on which the third shirt was spread. “Isn't it a burnin' shame an' a sin for you,” he continued, “to have sich a line white shirt an you, an' me widout a stitch to my back. Will you swap?”

In less than two minutes he stripped, put on one of the Squire's best shirts, and spread out his own dusky fragment in its place.

“It's a good thing,” said Art, “to have a clear conscience; a fair exchange is no robbery.”

Now, it so happened that the Squire himself, who was a humorist, and also a justice of the peace, saw Art putting his morality in practice at the hedge. He immediately walked out with an intention of playing off a trick upon the fool for his dishonesty; and he felt the greater inclination to do this in consequence of an opinion long current, that Art, though he had outwitted several, had never been outwitted himself.

Art had been always a welcome guest in the Squire's kitchen, and never passed the “Big House,” as an Irish country gentleman's residence is termed, without calling. On this occasion, however, he was too cunning to go near it—a fact which the Squire observed. By taking a short cut across one of his own fields, he got before Art, and turning the angle of a hedge, met him trotting along at his usual pace.

“Art, is not this a fine place of mine? Look at these groves, and the lawn, and the river there, and the mountains behind all. Is it not equal to Sir William E——-'s?”

“They're fine enough,” replied Art; “but where's the lake afore the door?”

“You shall get something to eat and drink before you go,” said the Squire, “and half-a-crown for your trouble.”

“Augh,” exclaimed Art, “be dodda, sir, you're nosed like Sir William, and chinned like Captain Taylor.” This was always Art's compliment when pleased.

The Squire brought him up to the house, ordered him refreshment, and while Art partook of it, wrote a letter of mittimus to the county jailor, authorizing him to detain the bearer in prison until he should hear further from him.

Art, having received the half-crown and the letter, appeared delighted; but, on hearing the name of the person to whom it was addressed, he smelt a trick. He promised faithfully, however, to deliver it, and betrayed no symptoms whatever of suspicion. After getting some distance from the big house, he set his wits to work, and ran over in his mind the names of those who had been most in the habit of annoying him. At the head of this list stood Phelim O'Toole, and on Phelim's head did he resolve to transfer the revenge which the Squire, he had no doubt, intended to take on himself.

With considerable speed he made way to Larry O'Toole's, where such a scene presented itself as made him for a moment forget the immediate purport of his visit.

Opposite Phelim, dressed out in her best finery, stood the housekeeper, zealously insisting' on either money or marriage. On one side of him stood old Donovan and his daughter, whom he had forced to come, in the character of a witness, to support his charges against the gay deceiver. On the other were ranged Sally Flattery, in tears, and her uncle in wrath, each ready to pounce upon Phelim.

Phelim stood the very emblem of patience and good-humor. When one of them attacked him, he winked at the other two when either of the other two came on, he Winked still at those who took breath. Sometimes he trod on his father's toe, lest the old fellow might lose the joke, and not unfrequently proposed their going to a public-house, and composing their differences over a bottle, if any of them would pay the expenses.

“What do you mane to do?” said the housekeeper; “but it's asy known I'm an unprojected woman, or I wouldn't be thrated as I am. If I had relations livin' or near me, we'd pay you on the bones for bringin' me to shame and scandal, as you have done.”

“Upon my sanies, Mrs. Doran, I feel for your situation, so I do,” said Phelim. You've outlived all your friends, an' if it was in my power to bring any o' them back to you I'd do it.”

“Oh, you desaver, is that the feelin' you have for me, when I thought you'd be a guard an' a projection to me? You know I have the money, you sconce, an' how comfortable it 'ud keep us, if you'd only see what's good for you. You blarnied an' palavered me, you villain, till you gained my infections an' thin you tuck the cholic as an excuse to lave me in a state of dissolution an' disparagement. You promised to marry me, an' you had no notion of it.”

“You're not the only one he has disgraced, Mrs. Doran,” said Donovan. “A purty way he came down, himself an' his father, undher pretence of coortin' my daughter. He should lay down his ten guineas, too, to show us what he had to begin the world wid, the villain!—an' him had no notion of it aither.”

“An' he should send this girl to make me go to the priest to have him and her called, the reprobate,” said Nick Flattery; “an' him had no notion of it aither.”

“Ten guineas!” said the housekeeper. “An' so you brought my ten guineas in your pocket to coort another girl! Aren't you a right profligate?”

“Answer the dacent people,” said Mattery, “aren't you a right profligate?”

“Take the world asy, all of ye,” replied Phelim. “Mrs. Doran, there was three of you called, sure enough; but, be the vestments, I intinded—do you hear me, Mrs. Doran? Now have rason—I say, do you hear me? Be the vestmints, I intinded to marry only one of you; an' that I'll do still, except I'm vexed—(a wink at the old woman). Yet you're all flyin' at me, as if I had three heads or three tails upon me.”

“Maybe the poor boy's not so much to blame,” said Mrs. Doran. “There's hussies in this world,” and here she threw an angry eye upon the other two, “that 'ud give a man no pace till he'd promise to marry them.”

“Why did he promise to them that didn't want him thin?” exclaimed Donovan. “I'm not angry that he didn't marry my daughther—for I wouldn't give her to him now—but I am at the slight he put an her.”

“Paddy Donovan, did you hear what I said jist now?” replied Phelim, “I wish to Jamini some people 'ud have sinse! Be them five crasses, I knew thim I intinded to marry, as well as I do where I'm standin'. That's plain talk, Paddy. I'm sure the world's not passed yet, I hope”—(a wink at Paddy Donovan.)

“An' wasn't he a big rascal to make little of my brother's daughter as he did?” said Flattery; “but he'll rub his heels together for the same act.”

“Nick Flathery, do you think I could marry three wives? Be that horseshoe over the door, Sally Flathery, you didn't thrate me dacent. She did not, Nick, an' you ought to know that it was wrong of her to come here to-day.”

“Well, but what do you intind to do Phelim, avourn—you profligate?” said the half-angry, half-pacified housekeeper, who, being the veteran, always led on the charge. “Why, I intind to marry one of you,” said Phelim. “I say, Mrs. Doran, do you see thim ten fingers acrass—be thim five crasses I'll do what I said, if nothing happens to put it aside.”

“Then be an honest man,” said Flattery, “an' tell us which o' them you will marry.”

“Nick, don't you know I always regarded your family. If I didn't that I may never do an ill turn! Now! But some people can't see anything. Arrah, fandher-an'-whiskey, man, would you expect me to tell out before all that's here, who I'll marry—to be hurtin' the feelin's of the rest. Faith, I'll never do a shabby thing.”

“What rekimpinse will you make my daughter for bringin' down her name afore the whole parish, along wid them she oughtn't to be named in the one day wid?” said Donovan.

“An' who is that, Paddy Donovan?” said the housekeeper, with a face of flame.

“None of your broad hints, Paddy,” said Nick. “If it's a collusion to Sally Flattery you mane, take care I don't make you ate your words.”

“Paddy,” exclaimed Phelim, “you oughtn't to be hurtin' their feelin's!”—(a friendly wink to Paddy.)

“If you mane me,” said the housekeeper, “by the crook on the fire, I'd lave you a mark.”

“Your brother's daughter,” he replied. “Do you think I'd even (* compare) my daughter to a thief?”

“Be gorra,” observed Phelim, “that's too provokin', an' what I wouldn't bear. Will ye keep the pace, I say, till I spake a word to Mrs Doran? Mrs. Doran, can I have a word or two wid you outside the house?”

“To be sure you can,” she replied; “I'd give you fair play, if the diouol was in you.”

“Now, Mrs. Doran, you think I thrated you ondacent; but do you see that book?” said he, producing a book of ballads, on which he had sworn many a similar oath before? “Be the contints o' that book, as sure as you're beside me, it's you I intind to marry. These other two—the curse o' the crows upon them! I wish we could get them from about the place—is bothyrin' for love o' me, an' I surely did promise to get myself called to them. They wanted it to be a promise of marriage; but, says I, 'sure if we're called together it's the same, for whin it comes to that, all's right,'—an' so I tould both o' them, unknownst to one another. Arra, be me sowl, you'd make two like them, so you would; an' if you hadn't a penny, I'd marry you afore aither o' them to-morrow. Now, there's the whole sacret, an' don't be onaisy about it. Tell Father O'Hara how it is, whin you go home, an' that he must call the three o' you to me agin on next Sunday, and the Sunday afther, plase Goodness; jist that I may keep my promise to them. You know I couldn't have luck or grace if I marrid you wid the sin of two broken promises on me.”

“My goodness, Phelim, but you tuck a, burdyeen off o' me! Faix, you'll see how happy we'll be.”

“To be sure we will! But I'm tould you're sometimes crass, Mrs. Doran. Now, you must promise to be kind an' lovin' to the childre, or be the vestment, I'll break off the match yet.”

“Well, take this book an' swear it. Be gorra, your word won't do, for it's a thing my mind's made up on. It's I that'll be fond o' the childre.”

“Take the book in your hand, shut one eye, and say the words afther me. Be the contints o' this book,”

“Now, Mrs. Doran, acushla, if you could jist know how asy my conscience is about the childhre, poor crathurs, you'd be in mighty fine spirits. There won't be sich a lovin' husband, begad, in Europe. It's I that'll coax you, an' butther you up like a new pair o' brogues; but, begad, you must be sweeter than liquorice or sugar-candy to me. Won't you, darlin'?”

“Be the crass, Phelim, darlin', jewel, I'll be as kind a wife as ever breathed. Arrah, Phelim, won't you come down to-morrow evenin'? There'll be no one at home but myself, an'—ha, ha, ha!—Oh, you coaxin' rogue! But, Phelim, you musn't be—Oh, you're a rogue! I see you laughin'! Will you come darlin?”

“Surely. But, death alive! I was near for-gettin'; sure, bad luck to the penny o' the ten guineas but I paid away.”

“Your ten guineas, darlin'; an' right well I managed it. Didn't I secure Pat Hanratty's farm by it? Sam Appleton's uncle had it as good as taken; so, begad, I came down wid the ten guineas, by way of airles, an' now we have it. I knew you'd be plased to hear it, an' that you'd be proud to give me ten more for clo'es an' the weddin' expenses. Isn't that good news, avourneen? Eh, you duck o' diamonds? Faith, let Phelim alone! An' another thing—I must call you Bridget for the future! It's sweeter an' more lovin'.”

“Phelim, I wish you had consulted wid me afore you done it: but it can't be helped. Come down to-morrow evenin', an' we'll see what's to be done.”

“The grace o'heaven upon you, but you are the winnin'est woman alive this day! Now take my advice, an' go home without comin' in. I'm wantin' to get this other pair off o' my hands, as well as I can, an' our best way is to do it all widout noise. Isn't it, darlin'?”

“Faith, Bridget, you've dealt in thracle afore now, you're so sweet. Now, acushla, farewell: an' take care of yourself till tomorrow evenin'!”

Phelim, on re-entering his father's cabin, found Larry and Peggy Donovan placed between her father and Flattery, each struggling to keep them asunder. Phelim at first had been anxious to set them by the ears, but his interview with the old woman changed his plan of operations altogether. With some difficulty he succeeded in repressing their tendency to single combat, which, having effected, he brought out Flattery and his niece, both of whom he thus addressed:—

“Be the vestment, Sally, only that my regard an' love for you is uncommon, I'd break off the affair altogether, so I would.”

“Bekase,” replied Phelim, “you came here an' made a show of me, when I wished to have no bruliagh, at all at all. In regard of Peggy Donovan, I never spoke a word to the girl about marriage since I was christened. Saize the syllable! My father brought me down there to gosther awhile, the other night, an' Paddy sent away for whiskey. An' the curse o' Cromwell on myself! I should get tossicated. So while I was half-saes over, the two ould rip set to makin' the match—planned to have us called—an' me knowin' nothin' about it, good, bad, or indifferent. That's the thruth, be the sky above us.”

“Why I don't know yet, who done me there. I was about takin' a farm, an' my father borried ten guineas from her. Somebody heard it—I suspect Sam Appleton—an' gave in our names to the priest, to be called, makin' a good joke of it. All sorts o' luck to them, barrin' good luck, that did it; but they put me in a purty state! But never heed! I'll find them out yet. Now go home, both o' you, an' I'll slip down in half an hour, with a bottle o' whiskey in my pocket. We'll talk over what's to be done. Sure Sally here, knows that it's my own intherest to marry her and no one else.”

“If my father thought you would, Phelim, he'd not stag, even if he was to cras the wather!”

“Go home, Sally darlin' till I get this mad Donovan an' his daughter away. Be all that's beautiful I'll be apt to give him a taste o' my shillely, if he doesn't behave himself! Half an hour I'll be clownin—wid the bottle; an' don't you go, Nick, till you see me.”

“Phelim,” said the uncle, “you know how the case is. You must aither marry the girl, or take a long voyage, abouchal. We'll have no bouncin' or palaver.”

“Bedad, Mick, I've great patience wid you,” said Phelim, smiling: “go off, I say, both of you.”

They proceeded homewards, and Phelim returned to appease the anger of Donovan, as he had that of the others. Fresh fiction was again drawn forth, every word of which the worthy father corroborated. They promised to go down that night and drink another bottle together; a promise which they knew by the state of their finances, it was impossible to fulfil. The prospect of a “booze,” however, tranquillized Donovan, who in his heart relished a glass of liquor as well as either Phelim or the father. Shaking of hands and professions of friendship were again beginning to multiply with great rapidity, when Peggy thought proper to make a few observations on the merits of her admirer.

“In regard to me,” she observed, “you may save yourself the throuble o' comin'. I wouldn't marry Phelim, afther what the priest said yistherday, if he had the riches o' the townland we're spakin' in. I never cared for him, nor liked him; an' it was only to plase my father an' mother, that I consinted to be called to him at all. I'll never join myself to the likes of him. If I do, may I be a corpse the next minute!”

Having thus expressed herself, she left her father, Phelim, and Larry, to digest her sentiments, and immediately went home.

Donovan, who was outrageous at this contempt of his authority, got his hat with the intention of compelling her to return and retract, in their presence, what she had said; but the daughter, being the more light-footed of the two, reached home before he could overtake her, where, backed by her mother, she maintained her resolution, and succeeded, ere long, in bringing the father over to her opinion.

During this whole scene in Larry's, Fool Art sat in that wild abstraction which characterizes the unhappy class to which he belonged. He muttered to himself, laughed—or rather chuckled—shrugged his shoulders, and appeared to be as unconscious of what had taken place as an automaton. When the coast was clear he rose up and plucking Phelim's skirt, beckoned him towards the door.

“Phelim,” said he, when they had got out, “would you like to airn a crown?”

“A letther from, the Square to the jailer of M——— jail. If you bring back an answer, you'll get a crown, your dinner, an' a quart o' strong beer.”

“Why I'm afeard. Sure they'd keep ma in jail, I'm tould, if they'd catch me in it. Aha! Bo dodda, I won't go near them: sure they'd hang me for shootin' Bonypart.—Aha!”

“Oh! It wouldn't do to-morrow, at all. Be dodda, no! Five shillins, your dinner, an' a quart of sthrong beer!—Aha! But you must give me a shillin' or two, to buy a sword; for the Square's goin' to make me a captain: thin I'll be grand! an' I'll make you a sargin'.”

This seemed a windfall to Phelim. The unpleasant dilemma in which Sally Flattery had placed him, by the fabricated account of her father's imprisonment, made him extremely anxious to see Foodie himself, and to ascertain the precise outrage for which he had been secured. Here then was an opportunity of an interview with him, and of earning five shillings, a good dinner, and a quart of strong beer, as already specified.

“Art,” said he, “give me the letther, an' I'm the boy that'll soon do the job. Long life to you, Art! Be the contints o' the book, Art, I'll never pelt you or vex you agin, my worthy; an' I'll always call you captain!” Phelim immediately commenced his journey to M———, which was only five miles distant, and in a very short time reached the jail, saw the jailer, and presented his letter.

The latter, on perusing it, surveyed him with the scrutiny of a man whose eye was practised in scanning offenders.

Phelim, whilst the jailer examined him, surveyed the strong and massy bolts with which every door and hatchway was secured. Their appearance produced rather an uncomfortable sensation in him; so much so, that when the jailer asked him his name, he thought it more prudent, in consequence of a touch of conscience he had, to personate Art for the present, inasmuch as he felt it impossible to assume any name more safe than that of an idiot.

“My name is Art Maguire,” said he in reply to the jailer. “I'm messenger to Square S——, the one he had was discharged on Friday last. I expect soon to be made groom, too.”

He brought Phelim into the prison-yard, where he remained for about twenty minutes, laboring under impressions which he felt becoming gradually more unpleasant. His anxiety was not lessened on perceiving twenty or thirty culprits, under the management of the turnkeys, enter the yard, where they were drawn up in a line, like a file of soldiers.

“Stand here,” said the other, shoving him among the prisoners. “Keep your head up, you villain, an' don't be ashamed to look your friends in the face. It won't be hard to identify you, at any rate, you scoundrel. A glimpse of that phiz, even by starlight, would do you, you dog. Jack, tell Mr. S. to bring in the gintlemen—they're all ready.”

Phelim's dismay on finding himself under drill with such a villainous crew was indescribable. He attempted to parley with the turnkey, but was near feeling the weight of his heavy keys for daring to approach a man placed in authority.

While thus chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, three gentlemen, accompanied by the jailer, entered the yard, and walked backward and forward in front of the prisoners, whose faces and persons they examined with great care. For a considerable time they could not recognize any of them; but just as they were about to give up the scrutiny, one of the gentlemen approached Phelim, and looking narrowly into his countenance, exclaimed,

“Here, jailer, this man I identify. I can-not be mistaken in his face; the rough visage and drooping eye of that fellow put all doubt as to his identity out of question. What's his' name?”

“Arthur what, sir?” said another of the turnkeys, looking earnestly at Phelim. “Why, sir, this is the fellow that swore the alibis for the Kellys—ay, an' for the Delaneys, an' for the O'Briens. His name is Phelim O'Toole; an' a purty boy he is, by all report.”

Phelim, though his heart sank within him, attempted to banter them out of their bad opinion of him; but there was something peculiarly dismal and melancholy in his mirth.

“Why, gintlemen—ha, ha!—be gorra, I'd take it as a convanience—I mane, as a favor—if you'd believe me that there's a small taste of mistake here. I was sent by Square S. wid a letter to Mr. S——-t, an' he gave me fifty ordhers to bring him back an answer this day. As for Phelim O'Toole, if you mane the rascal that swears the alibis, faith, I can't deny but I'm as like him, the villain, as one egg is to another. Bad luck to his 'dhroop,' any how; little I thought that it would ever bring me into throuble—ha, ha, ha! Mr. S———t, what answer have you for the Square, sir? Bedad, I'm afeard I'll be late.”

“That letter, Master Maguire, or Toole, or whatever your name is, authorizes me to detain you as a prisoner, until I hear further from Mr. S.”

“I identify him distinctly,” said the gentleman, once more. “I neither doubt nor waver on the subject; so you will do right to detain him. I shall lodge information against him immediately.”

“Sir,” said Phelim to the jailer, “the Square couldn't mane me at all, in regard that it was another person he gave the letter to, for to bring to you, the other person gave it to me. I can make my oath of that. Be gorra, you're playin' your thrieks upon sthrangers now, I suppose.”

“Why, you lying rascal,” said the jailer, “have you not a few minutes ago asserted to the contrary? Did you not tell me that your name was Arthur, or Art Maguire? That you are Mr. S.'s messenger, and expect to be made his groom. And now you deny all this.”

“He's Phelim O'Toole,” said the turnkey, “I'll swear to him; but if you wait for a minute, I'll soon prove it.”

He immediately retired to the cell of a convict, whom he knew to be from the townland of Teernarogarah: and ordering its inmate to look through the bars of his window, which commanded the yard, he asked him if there was any one among them whom he knew.

The fellow in a few minutes replied, “Whethen, divil a one, barrin' bouncin' Phelim O'Toole.”

The turnkey brought him down to the yard, where he immediately recognized Phelim as an old friend, shook hands with him, and addressed him by his name.

“Bad luck to you,” said Phelim in Irish, “is this a place to welcome your friends to!”

“There is some mystery here,” said the jailer. “I suppose the fact is, that this fellow returned a wrong name to Mr. S., and that that accounts for the name of Arthur Maguire being in the letter.”

All Phelim's attempts to extricate himself were useless. He gave them the proper version of the letter affair with Fool Art, but without making the slightest impression. The jailer desired him to be locked up.

“Divil fire you all, you villains!” exclaimed Phelim, “is it goin' to put me in crib ye are for no rason in life? Doesn't the whole parish know that I was never off o' my bed for the last three months, wid a complaint I had, until widin two or three days agone!”

“There are two excellent motives for putting you in crib,” said the jailer; “but if you can prove that you have been confined to your bed so long as you say, why it will be all the better for yourself. Go with the turnkey.”

“Doesn't the gintleman identify you, you villain,” replied one of the turnkeys; “an' isn't the Square's letther in your favor?”

“Villain, is id!” exclaimed Phelim. “An' from a hangman's cousin, too, we're to bear this!—eh? Take that, anyhow, an' maybe you'll get more when you don't expect it. Whoo! Success, Phelim! There's blood in you still, abouchal!”

He accompanied the words by a spring of triumph from the ground, and surveyed the already senseless turnkey with exultation. In a moment, however, he was secured, for the purpose of being put into strong irons.

“To the devil's warmin' pan wid ye all,” he continued, “you may do your worst. I defy you. Ha! by the heavens above me, you'll suffer for this, my fine gintleman. What can ye do but hang or thransport me, you villains? I tell ye, if a man's sowl had a crust of sin on it a foot thick, the best way to get it off 'ud be jist to shoot a dozen like you. Sin! Oh, the divil saize the sin at all in it. But wait! Did ye ever hear of a man they call Dan O'Connell? Be my sowl, he'll make yez rub your heels together, for keepin' an innocent boy in jail, that there's no law or no warrant out for. This is the way we're thrated by thim that's ridin' rough shod over us. But have a taste o' patience, ye scoundrels! It won't last, I can tell yez. Our day will soon come, an' thin I'd recommend yez to thravel for your health. Hell saize the day's pace or happiness ever will be seen in the country, till laws, an' judges, an' Jries, an' jails, an' jailers, an' turnkeys, an' hangmen is all swep out of it. Saize the day. An' along wid them goes the parsons, procthors, tithes an' taxes, all to the devil together. That day's not very far off, d——d villains! An' now I tell ye, that if a hair o' my head's touched—ay, if I was hanged to-morrow—I'd lave them behind me that 'ud put a bullet, wid the help an' blessin' O Grod, through any one that'll injure me! So lay that to your conscience, an' do your best. Be the crass, O'Connell I'll make you look nine ways at wanst for this! He's the boy can put the pin in your noses! He's the boy can make yez thrimble, one an' all o' yez—like a dog in a wet sack! An', wid the blessin' o' God, he'll help us to put our feet on your necks afore long!”

“That's a prudent speech,” observed the jailer; “it will serve you very much.”

“Bring the ruffian off” added the jailer; “put him in solitary confinement.”

“Put me wid Foodie Flattery,” said Phelim; “you've got him here, an' I'll go nowhere else. Faith, you'll suffer for givin' me false imprisonment. Doesn't O'Connell's name make you shake? Put me wid Foodie Flattery, I say.”

“Foodie Flattery! There is no such man here. Have you got such a person here?” inquired the jailer of the turnkey.

“Not at present,” said the turnkey; “but I know Foodie well. We've had him here twice. Come away, Phelim; follow me; you're goin' to be put where you'll have an opportunity of sayin' your prayers.”

He then ushered Phelim to a cell, where the reader may easily imagine what he felt. His patriotism rose to a high pitch; he deplored the wrongs of his country bitterly, and was clearly convinced that until jails, judges, and assizes, together with a long train of similar grievances, were utterly abolished, Ireland could never be right, nor persecuted “boys,” like himself, at full liberty to burn or murder the enemies of their country with impunity. Notwithstanding these heroic sentiments, an indifferent round oath more than once escaped him against Ribbonism in whole and in part. He cursed the system, and the day, and the hour on which he was inveigled into it. He cursed those who had initiated him; nor did his father and mother escape for their neglect of his habits, his morals, and his education. This occurred when he had time for reflection. Whilst thus dispensing his execrations, the jailer and the three gentlemen, having been struck with his allusion to Foodie Flattery, and remembering that Foodie was of indifferent morals, came to the unanimous opinion that it would be a good plan to secure him; and by informing him that Phelim was in prison upon a capital charge, endeavor to work upon his fears, by representing his companion as disposed to turn approver. The state of the country, and Foodie's character, justified his apprehension on suspicion. He was accordingly taken, and when certified of Phelim's situation, acted precisely as had been expected. With very little hesitation, he made a full disclosure of the names of several persons concerned in burnings, waylayings, and robbery of arms. The two first names on the list were those of Phelim and Appleton, with several besides, some of whom bore an excellent, and others an execrable, character in the country.

The next day Fool Art went to Larry's, where he understood that Phelim was on the missing list. This justified his suspicions of the Squire; but by no means lessened his bitterness against him, for the prank he had intended to play upon him. With great simplicity, he presented himself at the Big House, and met its owner on the lawn, accompanied by two other gentlemen. The magistrate was somewhat surprised at seeing Art at large, when he imagined him to be under the jailer's lock and key.

“Well, Art,” said he, concealing his amazement, “did you deliver my letter?”

“It went safe, your honor,” replied Art. “Did you yourself give it into his hands, as I ordered you?”

“Whoo! Be dodda, would your honor think Art 'ud tell a lie? Sure he read it. Aha!”

“Whoo! Why, that he didn't know which of us had the least sense. You for sendin' a fool on a message, or me for deliverin' it.”

“No, sir. He said,” added the fool, with bitter sarcasm, alluding to a duel, in which the Squire's character had not come off with flying colors—“he said, sir, that whin you have another challenge to fight, you may get sick agin for threepence to the poticarry.”

This having been the manner in which the Squire was said to have evaded the duel, it is unnecessary to say that Art's readiness to refresh his memory on the subject prevented him from being received at the Big House in future.

Reader, remember that we only intended to give you a sketch of Phelim O'Toole's courtship. We will, however, go so far beyond our original plan, as to apprise you of his fate.

When it became known in the parish that he was in jail, under a charge of felony, Sally Mattery abandoned all hopes of securing him as a husband. The housekeeper felt suitable distress, and hoped, should the poor boy be acquitted, that he might hould up his head wid any o' them. Phelim, through the agency of his father, succeeded in getting ten guineas from her, to pay the lawyers for defending him; not one penny of which he applied to the purpose for which he obtained it. The expenses of his defence were drawn from the Ribbon fund, and the Irish reader cannot forget the eloquent and pathetic, appeal made by his counsel to the jury, on his behalf, and the strength with which the fact of his being the whole support of a helpless father and mother was stated. The appeal, however, was ineffectual; worthy Phelim was convicted, and sentenced to transportation for life. When his old acquaintances heard the nature of his destiny, they remembered the two prophecies that had been so often uttered concerning him. One of them was certainly fulfilled to the letter—we mean that in which it was stated, “that the greatest swaggerer among the girls generally comes to the wall at last.” The other, though not literally accomplished, was touched at least upon the spirit; transportation for life ranks next to hanging. We,cannot avoid mentioning a fact connected with Phelim which came to light while he remained in prison. By incessant trouble he was prevailed upon, or rather compelled, to attend the prison school, and on examining him, touching his religion? knowledge, it appeared that he was ignorant of the plainest truths of Christianity; that he knew not how or by whom the Christian religion had been promulgated; nor, indeed, any other moral truth connected with Revelation.

Immediately after his transportation, Larry took to drink, and his mother to begging, for she had no other means of living. In this mode of life, the husband was soon compelled to join her. They are both mendicants, and Sheelah now appears sensible of the error in their manner of bringing Phelim up.

“Ah! Larry,” she is sometimes heard to say, “I doubt that we wor wrong for flyin' in the face o' God, becase He didn't give us childhre. An' when it plased Him to grant us a son, we oughtn't to 've spoiled him by over-indulgence, an' by lettin' him have his own head in everythin' as we did. If we had sint him to school, an' larned him to work, an' corrected him when he desarved it, instead of laughin' at his lies, an' misbehavior, and his oaths, as if they wor sport—ay, an abusin' the nabors when they'd complain of him, or tell us what he was—ay!—if we had, it's a credit an' a comfort he'd be to us now, an' not a shame an' a disgrace, an' an affliction. We made our own bed, Larry, an' now we must lie down an it. An' God help us! We made his bed too, poor boy, an' a hard one it is. God forgive us! but, anyhow, my heart a breakin', for bad as he was, sure we havn't him to look upon!”

“Thrue,” replied Larry. “Still he was game an' cute to the last. Biddy Doran's ten guineas will sarve him beyant, poor fellow. But sure the boys' kep their word to him, anyhow, in regard of shootin' Foodie Flattery. Myself was never betther plased in my life, than to hear that he got the slugs into his heart, the villain!”

We have attempted to draw Phelim O'Toole as closely as possible to the character of that class, whose ignorance, want of education and absence of all moral principle, constitute them the shame and reproach of the country. By such men the peace of Ireland is destroyed, illegal combinations formed, blood shed, and nightly outrages committed. There is nothing more certain than this plain truth, that if proper religious and moral knowledge were impressed upon the early principles of persons like Phelim, a conscience would be created capable of revolting from crime. Whatever the grievances of a people may be, whether real or imaginary, one thing is clear, that neither murder nor illegal violence of any description, can be the proper mode of removing or redressing them. We have kept Phelim's Ribbonism in the background, because its details could excite only aversion, and preferred exhibiting his utter ignorance of morality upon a less offensive subject, in order that the reader might be enabled to infer, rather than to witness with his mind's eye, the deeper crimes of which he was capable.