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Full text of "The collegians .."

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THE 



COLLEGIANS. 



IN TWO VOLUMES. 
VOL. I. 



NEW-TORK : 



fnOTTRD BTJ.^X OSMPER, 83 CUFF- ST. 

^OLD BT €OLLDf 8 AND HANNAT, €0|J.1N8 AND CO., ANB O. AND C. AND H. 
«ART1LL ;— rHILADBLPRlA, CABBT, LBA, ANP CARMT, AND J. ARJOO ; 
•^BOBTON, BICBARIMION AND LOBO, AND BILLIARD, GRAT, AND GO. ; 
— BALTIH ORB| V. ^UCAS, JR., AND W. AND J. VBAL. | 



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THE 



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IN TWO VOLUMES. 
VOL. I. 



KEW-TORK : 

9RWTRD BYJ.^J, SAMPER, 83 CLIFFST. 

V>L» BT COLLIMS AND HANNAT, COU.1H8 AND CO., ANB O. ANP C. AND H. 
«AB.T1LL ;— PHILADBLPBIA, CAABT, LBA, ANB CARBT, AND J. CIBIGO ; 
—BOSTON, EICBARBBON AND LOBD, ANB SlLLIAED, GRAY, AND CO. ; 
, •— BALTIMOEB, F. |.UCA8, JB., AND W. AND J. NBAI*. | 

.1829. 










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TH£ COIiliEGkANS. 



CHAPTER L 

HOW OABEYOWEW ROSE, AND HOW IT FELL. 

The little ruined outlet, which gives its name to one of 
the most popular national songa •f Erin, is situated on the 
acclivity of a hill near the city of Limerick, commanding a 
not uninteresting view of that fine old town> with the noble 
stream that washes its battered towers, and a richly cuUi- 
vated surrounding country. Tradition has preserved the 
«>ccasion of its celebrity; and the origin of its name, which 
appears to be compounded of two Irish words signifying 
<< Owen's garden." — A person so called was the owner, 
«lK>ut half a century since, of a cottage and plot of ground 
on this spot, which from its contiguity to the town, became 
a favourite holyday resort with the young citizens of both 
sexes — a lounge presenting accommodations somewhat simi- 
lar to th^se which are offered to the Lcmdon mechanic by 
the Battersea tea-gardens. Owen's garden was the general 
- rendezvous for those who sought for simple amusement or 
for dissipation. The old people drank together ixnder the 
shade of trees—the young played at ball, goal, or other 
athletic exercises, on the green ; while a few, lingering by 
the hedge-rows with their fair acquamtances, cheated the 
time with sounds less boisterous, indeed, but yet possessing 
their fascination also. 

The fiestivities of iiur fathers, however, were frequently 
distinguished by so fierce a character of mirth, that, for any 
difference in the result of their convivial meetings, they might 
as well have beei> pitched encounters Owen^s garden was 
soon as fiimous for scenes of strife, as it wa.s for mirth and 
bumour ; and broken heads became a staple article of manu- 
&cture in the neighbourhood. 



^ THE C0LLEGUK8« 

This new feature in the diversions of the place, was en- 
couraged by a number of young persons of a rank somewhat 
superior to that of the usual frequenters of the garden. 
They were the sons of the more respectable citizens, the 
merchants and Wholesale traders of the city, just turned 
loose from school with a greater supply of animal spirit* , 
than they had wisdom to govern. Those young gentlemen 
being fond of wit, amused themselves by forming parties at 
night, to wring the heads off all the geese, and the knockers 
off all the hall doors in the neighbourh(Jod. They sometimes 
suffered their genius to soar as high as the breaking a lainp^ 
and iBven the demolition of a watchman ; but, perhaps, this 
speciesof joking was found a little too serious to be repeated 
over frequently, for few achievements of so daring a vio- 
iertce are found among their records. They were obliged 
to content themselves with the less ambitious* distinction of 
destroying the knockers and store-locks, annoying the peace* 
able inmates of the neighbouring houses, with long con* 
tinned assaults on the front doors, terrifying the quiet pas- 
sengers with every species of insult and provocation, and 
indulging their fratricidal propensities airainst all the geese 
in Garryowen. ' 

The f^rne of the << Garryowen boys'^ soon spread far and 
wide. Their deeds were celebrated by some ingiorrotUB 
minstrel of the day in that air which has since resounded 
over 'every qtiarter of the world; and ev«n disputed the 
palm of national popularity with " Patrick's day." A string 
of jolly veraea were appended to the tune which soqn enjoyed 
a notoriety ^similar to that of the famous ^* Lilli-biirlero, 
bullen-a-la,*' which sung King J»mes out of his three king- 
doms» The name of Garryowen was a? well known as that 
of the Irish Numautium, Limerick, itself, and Owen's little 
garden became almost a synonyme for Ireland. 

But that principle of existence which assigns to the life of 
man its periods of youth, maturity, and decay, has its ana- 
logy in the fate of villages, as in that of empires. A^ria 
fell, and so did GFarryowen ! Rome had its decline, and 
Garryowen was not immortal. Both are now an idle sound, 
with nothing but' the recollections of old tradition to invest 
them with an interest. The still notorious suburb is tittle 
better than a heap of rubbish, where a number df smoked 
and mouldering walls, standing out from the masses of stotiie 
and mortar, indicate the position of a once j^uldvs row of 



^welliDg-houses. A few rooib yet remain unafaaken, under 
which some impoveriahed families endeavour to work out a 
wretched subsistence by maintaining a species of huxter 
trade* by cobbling old shoes, and manufacturing ropes. A 
amall rookery wearies, the ears of the inhabitante at one 
end of the outlet, and H ropewalk which extends, along the 
adjacent slope of Galiows-green, (so called for certaih rea- 
sons,) brings to the mind of the conscious spectator, associa- 
tions that are not calculated ti» enliven the prospect. Nei- 
ther is he thrown into a more Jocular frame of mind as he 
picks his steps over the insulated paving stones that appear 
amid the green slough with which the street is deluged, and 
encounters at the other end, an alley of coffin-makers' shops, 
with a fever hospital on one side, and a churchyard on the 
other. A person who Was bent on a journey to the other 
world, could not desire a more expeditious outfit than Gar- 
ryowen could now afford him : nor a more commodious 
x^hoicc of conveyances, from the machine oh the slope above 
glanced at, to the pest-house at the farther end. 
, But it is ill talking lightly on a serious subject. The/ 
days of Garryowen are gone, like those of ancient Erin ; 
and the feats of hpr once formidable heroes are nothing ' 
more than a winter's evening tale. Owen is in his grave, 
and his garden looks dreary as a ruined churchyard. The 
greater number of his merry customers have followed him 
to a narrower play-ground, which, though not less crowded, 
afK^ds less room for fun, and less opportunity for conten- 
tion. 'The worm is here the reveller, the owT whoops out 
liis defiance without an answer, (save the echo's,) the best 
whiskey in Munster would not now "' drive the cold out of 
their hearts ;" and the withered old sexton is able to knock 
the bravest of them over the pate with impunity. A few 
perhaps may still remain to look back with a fond shAme to 
the scene of their fearly follies, and to smile at the page in 
which those follies are recorded. . 

Still, however, there is something to keep the memory 
alive of those unruly days, and to preserve the name of Gar- 
ryowen from utter extinction. The annual fair which is 
held on the spot, presents a spectacle of ffayety and uproar 
which might rival its most boistehms <Iays ; and strangers 
still inquire for the place with a curiosity which its appear- 
ance seldom fails to disappoint. Our national lyrist has im- 
mortalized the air by adapting to it one of the liveliest of 

1* 



his melodies ^-'^faeitdveiitiirMy of wbteh it was once tbe 
scene, coastitate a fund of stafidiiig joke^Mid anecdote which 
are not neglected by the ne^hbouring atoly-leUers ;— ^and a 
rough voice may still occasionaliy be heard by the traveller 
who passes Qear its ruined dwellings at evening, t« chant a 
stanza oi the chorus which was once in the mouth of every 
individual in the kingdom : 

" 'Ti* there w« 'U di«Mk tlM Bot^rowa «le, 
Ao pay tbe reck^nin' on tke nail ; 
No man for debt aball go to jai] 
Frott Onnyoim n gtont." 



CHAPTER If. 

HOW EILY O'OOKKOA PU2ZXJBn ALL THE iNfiULSITANTS OF 
«AI|pTOW«K. 

But whOe Owen lived, and while his garden flourished, he 
and bis neighbours were as merry together, as if death could 
never reach the one, nor deiolation waste the other. Amoi^ 
those frequenters of hb little retreat whom he distinguished 
with an especial favour and attention, tbe foremost was the 
handsome daughter of an old man who conducted the busi- 
ness of a rope- walk in his neighbourhood, and who was ac- 
customed on a fine Saturday evening to sit under the Shade 
of a yellow osier that stood by bis door, and discourse of the 
politics of the day — of Lord Hslifax^s administration — of the 
promising young patriot, Mr. Henry Grattan — and of the 
famous Catholic concession of 1 773. Owen, like all Irish* 
men, even of the humblest rank, was an acute critic in female 
proportions, and although time had blown away the thatch- 
ing fffom'iiis head, and by far the greater portion of blood 
that remained in his frame had colonized about bis nose, yet 
/ the manner in which he held forth on the praises of his cdd 
friend's daughter was such as put to shame her younger 
and less eloquent admirers. It is true, indeed, that the ori- 
gin of the suburban beauty was one which, in a troubled 
country like Ireland, had little of agreeable asfiBociation to re- 
commend it ; but few even of those to whom twisted hemp 
was an object of secret terror, could look on the exquisitely 



TRBr COLtZOUKS. '7 

beatttifiil'faee of Bify O'Connor, and remember that she was 
a rope-maker'a daughter :• few could detect beneatli the 
timid^ hesitating, downcast geiitienesa of manlier, which shed 
an interest over all her motiens, the traces of a harsh and 
Tttlgar education. It was true that she sometimes puk:loined 
a final letter from the King's adjectives, and prolonged the 
uttersnce of a vowel beyond the term of prosodaical ortho- 
doxy; but the tongue that.did so seemed to move on silver 
wires, and the lip on which the sound delayed, 

«LoDg marBMiriagr, loth to part,*' 

imparted to its own accents an association- of sweetness and 
grace, that made the defect ai^ additional allurement. Her 
education in the ootskirts of a'city had not impaired the natu- 
ral tenderQ6i)s of her character ; for her father, who, all rude 
as he was, knew bow to value his daughter's softness of 
mind, endeavoured to foster it by every indulgence in his 
power. Her uncle, too, who was now a country parish 
priest, was well qualified to draw forth any natural 4alent 
with which she had been originally endowed. He had com- 
pleted bis theological education m the famous university of 
Salamanca, where he was distinguished as a youth of much 
quietness of temper and literary application, rather than as 
one of those furious gesticulators, those ""^ figures Hiber- 
run3e$^^^ among whom Gil BJas, in his fit of logical lunacy, 
eould meet his only equals. At his little lodgmg, while he 
was yet a curate of ISt. John*s, Kily O'Connor was accus- 
tomed to spend a consideralde portion ot her time, and in 
retun^for her kindness in presiding at his .sin>ple tea* table, 
father Edward undertook to bestow a degree of attention on 
her education, which rendered her, in a little time, as supe-^ 
rior in knowledge, as she was in beauty, to her female asso- 
ciates. She was remarked likewise at this time, as a little 
devotee, very regular in her attendance at chapel, constant 
in ail the observances of her religion, and grave in her attfre 
and discourse. On the coldest and dreariest morning in 
winter, she might be seen gliding along by the unopened 
shop-windows, to the nearest chapel, where she was accus- 
tomed to hear an early mass, and return in time to set every 
thing in order for her father's breakfast; During the day 
she superintended his household affairs, while he was em- 
ployed upon the adjacent rope-walk ; and, in the evening, 



I she usually slipped on her bonnet, and went across the street 
to father ISdward^s, where she chatted away until tea was 
over; if^ie happened to be engaged in reading his daOy 
office, she amused herself with a volume of moral entertain- 
ment, such as Rasselas Prince of Abyssinia, or Mr. Addi- 
son's Spectator, until he was at leisure to hear her lessons. 
An attachment of the purest and tenderest nature was the 
consequence of thosn mutual attentions between the uncle 
and niece, and it might be said that if the former loved her 
not as well, he knew and valued her character still better 
than her father. 

Father Edward, however, Was appointed to a parish, and 
Eily lost her instructer. It was for her a severe loiss, and 
most severe in reality when its effect upon her spirits began 
to wear away. For some months aft^ his departure, she 
continued to lead the same retired and unobtrusivp life^ and 
no eye, save that of a consummate oiiserver, could detect the 
slightest alteration in her sentiments, the least increase of 
toleration for the world and wofldly amusements. That 
change, however, had been silently effected in her heart. 
Sh<t was now a woman — a lovely, intelligent, full grown wo- 
man — and circumstances obliged her to take a part in the 
w^> little spcial circle which moved around her. Her spirits 

P* were naturally light, and, though long repressed, became 

* readily assimilated to the buoyant tone of the society in which 

she happened to be placed. Her father, who, With a father's 
venial vanity, was fond of showing his beautiful child among 
his neighbours, took her with him one evening to Owen's 
. garden, at a time when it was unusually gay and crowded, 
apd from that evening might be dated the commencement 
of a decided and visible change in the lovely Eily's character. 
As gradual as the approach of a spring morning, was the 
change from grave to gay in the costume of this flower of 
the suburbs. It dawned at first 1n a handsome bow-knot 
upon her head-dress, and ended in the full noontide splendour 
of flowered muslins, silks, and sashes. It was hke the open- 
ing of the rose-l>ud, which gathers around* it the wjnged 
wooers of the summer meadow. " Lads, as brisk as bees," 
came thronging in her train, with proffers of " honourable 
love, and rites of marriage ;" ami even among the youths of 
a higher rank, whom the wild levity of Irish blood and high 
spirits, sent to mingle in the festivities of Owen's garden, a 



TfiB O0L£BOIAKS. • 9 

jealousy prdniled 're8|>ecting the favour oftbe rope-'knaker*6 
bandsoQoe daughter, it was no wonder that attentions paid 
by k)diVtduais so much superior to her ordinary admirerav 
should render Etly tndifferent to the sighs of those piebiap suit- 
or. Bunat O'Leary, theliair-cutter, or Foxy Dunat, as he 
va^ n&tned in ailuston to his red head, was cut to the heart by 
ber utter coldness. Myles Murphy, likewise, a good natuned 
farmer from Kitlarney, who travelled through the country 
selling^ Kerry poniies, and claiming relationship with every 
one be met, claimed kindred in vain with Eily, for his claim 
was not allowed. Lowry Looby, too, the servant of Mr. 
Daly, a wealthy middleman who lived in the neighbourhood, 
vas suspected by many to entertain delusive hopes of Eily 
O'Connor's favour — but this report was improbable enough) 
' for Lowry could not but know that he was a very ugly man ; 
and if he were as beautiful as Narcissus, Mihil O'Connor 
would still have shut the door in his face for being as poor 
as Timon. So that, though there was no lack of admirers, 
the lovely Eily, like many celebrated beauties in a higher 
i nnk, ran, aHter all, a fair chance of becoming what Lady 
Mary Montague has elegantly termed " a lay nun." Even 
i so a bookworm, who will pore over a single volume from 
! morning to night, if turned looser into a library, wanders from 
I shelf to shelf, bewildered amid a host of temptations, and 
; unable to make any elisction until he is surprised by twilight, 
I and chagrined to find, that with so much happiness within 
liis grasp, he hai> speftt, nevertheless, an unprofitable day. 

But accident saved Eily from a destiny so deeply dreaded 
and so oilen lamented as that above alluded to, — a condition 
Which people generally agree to look upon as one of utter 
desolation, and which, notwithstanding, is frequently a state 
of greater happiness than its opposite. On the eve of the 
Beventeenth of March, a day distinguished in the rope- maker's 
household, not only as the festival of the national Saint, but 
as the birthday of the young mistress of the establishment ; 
on this evening:, Eily and her father were enjoying their cus- 
tomary relaxation at Owen's garden. The jolly proprietor 
was seated as usual, with his r(>|)e- twisting friend, under the 
fellow osier, while Myles Murphy, who had brought a num* 
ber of his wild ponies to be disposed of at the neighbouring 
j&ira, bad taken his place at the end of this table, atid was 
Weavouring to insinuate a distant relationship between the 
Oweqs of Kilttery, co&ittctiuns of the person whom he ad< 



IQ «|tfi o6lXBOIAK^ 

dretted, and the Murpbys of Knockfodhra. connections of- 
his own. A party of youn^ men were playing fives at a ball- 
alley on the other side of the green ; and another^ more nu- 
merous, and graced with many female figures, were capering 
away to the tune of the fox- hunter's jig, on the short grass. 
Some poor old women, with baskets on their arms, were en- 
deavouring to sell off some Patriot" A crosses for children, at 
the low rate of oae halfpenny a piece, gilding, painty and all. 
Others, fatigued with exertion, were walking under the still, 
leafless trees, some with their hats, some with their coats off, 
jesting, laughing, and chatting familiarly with tjieir female 
acquaintances 

Mihil O'Connor, happening to see Lowry Looby among 
the promenaders, glancing now and then at the dance, and 
whistling Patrick's day, requested him to call his daughter 
out of the group, and tell her that he was waiting for her 
to go home. Lowry went, and retuuied to say, that Eily 
was dancing with a strange . young eenileman in a boating 
dress, and. that lie would not let her go until she had finished 
the slip jig. 

It continued a sufficient time to tire the old man*s patience. 
When Eily did at last make her appearance, he observed 
there wasra flush of mingled wearmess and {ileasure on her 
cheek, which ahovTed that the delay was not quite in oppo- 
sition to her own inchnations. This circumstance might 
have tempted him to receive her with a little displeasure, bu^ 
that honest Owen at that moment laid hold on both fathel 
and daughter, insisting that they should come in and take 
supper with his wife and himself. . 

This narrative of Eily's girlhood being merely introduc 
iOTji we shall forbear to furnish any detail of the rhinor in 
' cidents of the evening, or the quality of Mrs. Owen's enter 
tainment. They were very merry and happy ; so much so 
that the Patrick's eve approached itp termination, befon 
they arose to bid their host an<l hostess a good night. Owei 
advised them to walk on rai>idly in order to avoid the *^ Pa 
thrick's boys," who would promenade the streets afte 
twelve, to welcome in the mighty festival with music an< 
uproar of all kinds. Some of the lads, he said, ^^ might .Ik 
playen' their thricks upon Miss Eily." 

The night was rather dark, and the dim (glimmer of tlie oi] 
lamps which were suspended at long intervals over the strei" 
doors, tended only in a very feeble degree to qualify ti 



^ » 

gloom. Mifail O'Connor and his daughter had already per'* . 
/ formed more than half their journey, and were turning from 
a narrow lane at the head of Mungret-street, when a loud 
and tumultuous sound broke with sudden violence upon their 
hearing. It proceeded from a multitude of people who 
were moving in confused and noisy procession along . the 
street. An ancient and still honoured custom summons the 
youthful inhabitants of the city on the night of this anniver* 
sary to celebrate the approachiqg holyday of the pairon 
Saint and apostle of the island, by promenading all the 
streets in succession, pUying national airs, and filling up the 
pauses in the music with shouts of exultation. Such was 
the procession which the two companions now beheld ap- 
proaching. 

The appearance which it presented was not altogether 
destitute of interest and amusement. In the midst were a 
band of musicians who played alternately " Patrick's day," 
and " Garryowen," while a rabble of mep and boys pressed 
round them, thronging the whole breadth and a considerable 
portion of the length of the street. The men had got sprigs 
of shamrock in their hatsv an(^ several carried in their hands 
lighted candles protected froin the wasting night-blast by a 
simple lamp of whited brown paper. The fickle and un- 
equal light which th<»se small torches threw over the ftices of 
the individuals who held t^iem, afiforded a lively contrast to 
the prevailing darkness. 
^ The crowd hurried forward singing, playing, shouting, 
I laughing, and indulging, to its full extent, all the excitement 
' which was occasioned by the tumult and the motion. Bed^ 
room windows were thrown up as they passed, and the half- 
dressed inmates thrust th^^ir heads into the night air to gaze 
upon' the mob of ^enthusiasts. All the respectable persons 
who appeared as they advanced, turned short into the neigh- 
bouring by-ways to avoid the import unities^ which they would 
be likely to incur by a contact with the multitude. 
* But it was too late for our party to adopt this precaution. 
Before it had entered their minds, the procession (if we may 
dignify it by a name so sos aiding) was nearer to them than 
they were {{^ any torn in the street, and the appearance of 
light with a rabble of nuru, us with dogs, is a provocation 
of pursuit. Of tins tht y ^^f.rc aware — and accordingly in- 
•^ stead of attempting i ynm nt oat, they turned into a recess 
^formed by one o\ the sJi<'[» l< ors, and quietly awaited the 



12 TEE CptUOUKi^. 

pamng away of this noisy torrent. For son^e n^oients they 
w«re unQoticed ; the fellows who moved foremoait being too . 
busy iqi talking^ laygbing, and shouting, to pay any attention 
tp objects not directly in their way. But they were no sooner 
espied than the wags assailed them with that species of wit, 
which distinguishes the inhabitants of the back lanes of 

. a city, and forms the terror oi all country visiters. These 
expressions were lavished upon the rope-maifec and his 
daughteri until the former, who was as irritable an old fellow 
as Irishmen gejoerally are, was almost put put of patience. 
.* At length, a young man observing the lamp shine for 9 
moment on Eily's handsome face, made a chirp with his lip^ 
as he passed by, as if he had a mind to kiss her. Not Pa- 
pirius himself, when vindicating his senatorial dignity against 
the insulting Gaul, could be more prompt in action than 
Mihil O^Connor. The young gentleman received in return 
for his affectioQate greeting a blow over the temple which 
was worth five hundred kisses. An uproar, immediately 
commenced* which was likely to end in some serious injury 
to the old man and his daughter. A number of ferocious 
faces gathered round them uttering sounds of harsh rancour 
and defiance ; which Mihil met with equal loudness and 
energy. Indeed all that seemed to delay his fate and hinder 
him Gtom sharing in the prostration of his victim was the 
conduct of Eil}^,, who, fiinging herself in bare armed beauty 
before her father, defended him for a time against the upraised 
weapons of his assailants. No one would incur the danger 
of harming, by an accidental blow, a creature so young, so 

. beautiful, and so affectiuoate. 

They were at length rescued from this precarious condi- 
tion by the interposition of two young men in the dress of 
boatmen, who appeared to possess some influence with the 
crowd, and who used it for the advantage of the sufferers. 
Not satisfied with having brought them safely out of all im- 
mediate danger, the taller of the two conducted them to their 
door, saying little on the way and taking his leave as soon as 
they were once in perfect safety. All that Mihil could learn 
from his appearance was, that he was a gentleman^ and very 
yoong — perhaps not more than nineteen years of age. Tbe 
old man talked much and loudly in praise of his gallantry, 
but Eily was altogether silent on the subject. 

A few days after, Mihil O'Connor was at work upon the 
ropewalk, going slowly backward in tbe sunshine, with a 



THE C0IXE6IA3;QS. i$ 

It 
bundle <»f hvaxp between bis knees, and singmg, ^^ Maureen 
Tkiema.*^ A hunch-backed little fellow in a tfoatman's 
dress, eame up, and saluting him in a sharp city brogue, re- 
minded the old rope-maker that be had done him a service a 
few evenings before. Mihil professed his acknowledge 
ments, and with true Irish warmth of heart, assured the 
little boatman that all he had in the world was at fab service. 
The hunchback, however, only wanted a few ropes and 
, blocks for his boat, and even for those he was resolute in 
paying honourably. Neither did he seem anxious to satisfy 
me curiosity of old Mihil with respect to the name and quality 
of his companion ; for he was inexorable in maintaining that 
he was a turf boatmap from Scagh who had come up to 
town with him to dispose of a cargo of fuel at Charlotte's 
Quay. Mihil 0*Connor referred him to his daughter for the 
ropes, about which he said she could bargain as weM as him- 
self, and he was unable to leave his work until the rope he 
bad in hand should be finished. The little deformed, no way 
displeased at this intelligence, went to find Eily at the shop, 
^bere he spent a longer time than Mihil thought necessary 
for his purpose. 

From this time forward, the character of Eily O'Connor 
iSeemed to have undergone a second change. Her former 
gravity returned, but it did not reappear under the same cir- 
, cumstances as before. In her days of religious retirement, 
it appeared only in her dress, and in her choice of amuse- 
mentSL Now, both her recreations and her attire were much 
gayer than ever, so much so as almost to approach* a degree 
of dissipation, but her cheerfulness of mind was gone, and 
the sadness which had settled on her heart, like a black reef 
<inder sunny waters, was plainly visible through all her gayety. 
Her father was too much occupied in his eternal rope-twist- 
JDg to take particular notice of this change, and, besides, it 
is notorious that one's constant companions are the last to 
Observe any alteration in one's manner or appearance/ 

One morning, when Mihil O'Connor left his roonK he was 
^rprised to flisd tLat the breakfast-table was not laiiT as iisaal, 
and that his daughter was not in the house. She made her 
appearance, however, while he was himself n^aking the ne- 
cessary arrangements. They exchanged X greeting some- 
what colder on the one side^ and more Embarrassed on tb? 

^IjittUIIaiarTiiniiy. 



14 TBB cousoum* 

other« di«n w«» osuai at the monuDg meetings of fiie fiithe 
ind dtni^ter. Bui wben she told him, that she iud beei 
only to the chapel, the old bian was perfectly satisfied, for h( 
knew that E3y wouid as readily think of telling a ^Isehooc 
to the prieat, as she would to her father. And when Mihi 
O'Connor heard that people were at the chapel, he general!; 
CiHiciaded (poor old man) that it was only to pray they wen 
there. 

In the meantime, Myles Murphy renewed his proposals t( 
Eily* and succeeded in gainmg ovisr the father to hisinterests 
The latter was annoyed at his daughter's obstinate rejeclioi. 
of a fine fellow like Myles, with a very comfortable property 
and pressed her either to give consent to the match or a goo< 
reason for her refusal But this request, though reasonable 
was not complied with : and the rope-maker, though not s( • ' 
liot as Capulet, was as much displeased at the contumacy o 
his daughter. Eily, on her part, was so much afflicted at tli 
anger of her only parent, that it is probable her grief wouli 
have made away with her if she had not prevented tha 
catastrophe by making awsy with herself. 

On the fair day of Garryowen, after sustaining a long an . 
distressing altercation with her father and her mountai 
euitor, EiJy O'Connor threw her blue cloak over her shoulder 
and walked into the air. She did not return to dinner, an 
her father felt angry at what he thought a token of resentfi 
feeUng. Night came, and she did not make her appearance 
The poor old man in an agony of terror reproached himse 
for his vehemence, and spent the whole night in recallin 
with a feeling of remorse every intemperate word which I fa 
liad used in the violence of dispute. In the morning, m^i 
like a ghost than a living being, he went from tlie house v 
one acquaintance to another to inquire after his child. NIJ 
one however had seen her, except Foxy Punat, the baff 
cutter, and he had only caught a gjimpse of her as she passcfv 
liis d9or on the previous evening. It was evident that si 
was n6\ to return. Her father was distracted. Her your^ 
admirers feared that she had got privately married, andru.' 
•away with ^e shabby fdlow. Her female fi-iendsinsinuate; 
that the case knight be still worse, and some pious old peoplj 
shook their heaOs when the report reached them, and saij^ 
they knew what was likely to come of it, when Eily 0'Coi| 
nor left off attending her daily mass in the morning, an 
went to the dance at Ganyowen* 

li 



i 



¥HB COUJ^ISJSS. K5 

CHAPTER IIL 

n; ' ,■ ' ■ 

^ HOtir UR. 9ALY THE KIODLEHAN SAT DOWN TO BKEASFASX, 

^ Thb Dalys (a very respectable family in middle life) ocoa- 
^ pied, at the time of which we write, a handsome cottage on 
< the Shannon side, a few miles from the suburban district 
' above mentioned. 

' Tbey had assembled, on the morning of Eily's disappear- 

' ance, a healthy and blooming household of all sizes, in the 

^ principal sitting-room for a purpose no les» important than 

' that of despatching breakifast. It was a favourable moment 

' for any one who might be desirous of sketching a family pie- 

^ ture. The windotvs of the room, which were thrown up for 

the purpose of admitting the fresh morning air, opened upon 

a triiA and sloping meadow that looked sunny and cheerful 

with the bright green aftergrass of the season. The broad 

and sheety river washed the very margin of the little field, 

and bore upon its quiet bosom, (which was only rufSed by 

the circling eddies that encountered the advancing tide,) a 

variety of craft, such as might be supposed to indicate the 

approach to a large commercial city. Majestic vessels, 

floating idly on the basined floods with sails half furled, ia 

keeping 'with the languid beauty of the scene; lighters bur- 

thened to the water's edge with bricks or sand ; large rafts 

of timber, borne onward toward the neighbouring quays 

under the guidance of a shipman*s boat-hook ; pleasure* 

I boats, with gaudy pennons hanging at peak and topmast ; 

I or turf-boats with their unpicturesque and ungraceful lading, 

|i moving sluggishly forward, while their black sails seemed 

it gasping for a breath to fill them ; such were the mcidenis 

that gave a gentle animation to the prospect immediately 

before the eyes of the cottage-dwellers. On the farther side 

bf the river arose the Cratloe hills, shadowed in various places 

hy a broken cloud, and rendered beautiful by the chequered 

appearance of the ripening tillage, and the variety of hues 

that were observable along Uieir wooded sides. At intervals^ 

the front of a handsome mansion brightened up in a passing 

gleam of suoiihine, while the wreaths of blue smoke, ascend^ 



19 THB COXJJBOURB. 

ing tt variom distaneeB from imoog the trees, tended to p 
Ueve tbe idea of extreme solitude which it would etherwii . 
have presented. 

The interior of the eottage was not less interesting to eoi 
template than the landscape which lay hefore it. *nie pri 
eipai breakfast- table (for there were two sfuread in the rooa 
was placed before the window, the neat and snow-white d 
mask cloth corered with fare that spoke satisfactorily for tl 
circumstafices of the proprietor, and for the housewifery 
liis helpmate. The former, a fair, pleasant-faced old ge) 
tleman, in a huge buckled cravat and squaretoed shoes, som 
what distrustful of the me^re beverage which fumed out « 
Mrs. Daly's lofty and shining coffee-pot, had taken his poc 
tion before a cold ham and fowl which decorated the low 
end of the table. His lady, a courteous old personage, wi 
a face no less fair and happy than her husband's, and wi ! 
' ^yes sparkling with good nature and intelligence, did !;•: 
lionours of tbe board at the farther end. On the opposite 
side, leaning over the back of his chair with clasped han^ 
m an attitude which had a mixture of abstraction and aii ;. 
iety, sat Mr. Kyrle Daly, the first pledge of connubial affec- 
tion that was boro to this comely pair. He was a your; 
man already initiated in the rudiments of the legal professioi 

of a handsome figure . and in manner but somethiiT 

now pressed upon his spirits which rendered this an unlii 
vourable occasion for describing it. 

A second table was laid in a more xetired portion of tj.- 
room, for the accommodation of the younger pwt of tir 
family. Several well burnished goblets, or porringer^ c 
thick milk flanked the sides of this board, while a large di ' 
of smooth-coated . potatoes reeked up in the centre. A nun - 
ber of blooming boys and girls, between the ages of four a v; 
twelve, were seated at this simple repast, eating and drinking 
away with all the happy eagerness of youthfiil appetite. No: 
llowever, that this employment occupied their exclusive ?.' 
teotion, for the prattle which circulated round the table (t^ 
quently became so boisterous as to drown the conversatic 
of the older people, and to call forth the angry rebuke of t 
master of the family* 

The furniture of the apartment was in accordance wj^< 
the appearance and manners of its inhabitants. The floo 
was handsomely carpetted ; a lofty green fender fortified t^ : 
%e-place9 and supplied Mr. Daly in his facetious momei. 



9BS OOUsEQlASa. 1? 

^ith occasions for the fireqtient repetition of a favourite e^ 
nundruoti*--**^^ why is that fender like Westminster Abbey ?" 
a problem with which he never failed to try the wit of any 
stranger who happened to spend a night beneath bis roof. 
The wainscoated walls were ornamented with several of the 
popular prints of the day, such as Hogarth's Roast Beef- 
Prince Eugene — Schomberg at the Boyne — Mr. Betterton 
pkying Cato in all th6 glory of 

« Fall wig, flower'd gown, and laclicr'd chair,*' 

or the royal Mandane, in the person of Mrs. Mountain, 
strutting among the arbours of her Persian palace in a lofty 
t^te and hooped petticoat. There were also some family 
drawings, done by Mrs. Daly in her schooUdays, of which 
we feel no inclination to say more than that they were very 
prettily framed. In justice to the fair artist it should also be 
mentioned that, contrary to the established practice, her 
sketches were never re-touched by the hand of her master ; 
a fact which Mr. Daly was fond of insinuating, and which 
no one, who saw the pictures, was tempted to call in ques- 
tion. A small bookcase, with the edges of the shelves hand- 
somely gilded, was suspended in one cornei' of the room, and 
on examination might be found to contain a considerable 
Quoiber of works on Irish History — for which study Mr.^ 
Daly had a national predilection, a circumstance much de- 
plored by all the impatient listeners in his neighbourhood; 
and (some people hinted) in his own household ; some reli- 
gious books ; and a few volumes on cookery and farming. 
The space over the lofty chimney«piece was assigned to some 
ornaments of a more startling description. A gun-rack, on 
which were suspended a long shore gun, a brass- barrelled 
blunderbuss, a cutlass, and a case of horse-pistols, mani-- 
fested Mr. Daly's determination to maintain, if necessary, 
by force of arms, his claim to the fair possessions which his 
honest industry had acquired. 

^^ Kyrle,'* said Mr. Daly putting his fork into a breast of 
cold goose, and looking at his son — ^* you had better let me ' 
pot a little g6o8e^\{with an emphasis) ^^ on your plate. Yoa 
know you are going a wooing to-day." 

The young gentleman appeared not to hear him. Ura^ 
Daly, who understood more intimately the nature of her son'i 



16 VBB CCHUMOAm* 

refieetioMi deprecated, by a aignifieant look at her hosbaar 
the continuaiice oJTaiiy raillery open so delicate a subject. 

*^ Kyrle, •ome coflbe ?" said the lady of the houae^ Ih 
without being more suocesdid in awak^kig the attention ( 
the young gentlenian. 

Mr. Daly winked at his wife. 

^^ Kyrle 1" he called aloud, in a tone against which ev« 
a lover's absence was not proof— ^ Do you hear what yoi 
mother says ?" 

*^ I ask pardon, sii^— I was abdent. I— -what were you sa 
ing,.mother ?** 

^* She was saying," continued Mr. Daly with a smile 
'* that you were manufacturing a fine speech for Anne Chute 
and that you were just meditating whether yon should delii^ 
it on your knees, or out of brief, as if you were addressiii| 
the Bench in the Four Courts." 

'* For shame, my dear ! — Neve? mind him, Kyrle, I sai< 
no such thing. I wonder how you can say that, my dear 
and the children listening." 

** Pooh I the little angels are too busy and too innocet 
to pay us any attention,^* said Mr. Daly, lowering his voio 
however. " But speaking serioiAly, my boy, you tako til 
afii^r too deeply to heart ; and whether it be in our pursis 
of wealth-^or fame — or even in loye itself, an extreme ijt 
^iicitude to be successfsl is the surest means of defeating i( 
own object. Besides, it argues an unquiet and unresigne 
condition. I have had a Tittle experience, you know, i 
afiairs of this kind," he added, smiling, and glancing at h 
Air helpmate, who blushed with the simplicity of a young gif 

^* Ah, sir," said Kyrle, as he drew nearer to the breal 
jtast-table with a magnanimous affectation of cheerfulness 
*^ I fear I have not so good a ground for hope as you m^* 
have had. It is very easy, sir, for one to be resigned i 
disappointment when he is certain of success." 

<< Why, I was not bidden to despair, indeed,*^ said M: 
Dalyy extending his hand to his wife, while they exchange- 
a quiet smile, which had in it an expression of tendemeE^ 
and of melancholy remembrance. ^^ I have, I believe, beea 
more fortunate than more deserving persons. I have never 
been vexed with useless fears in my wooing days, not witi* 
vain regrets when those days were ^ded. I do not knov 
my dear lad, what hopes you have fcxrmed, or what prospeci 
you may have shaped out of the future, Imt I will nc 



ma cotLsmMm. 19 

"wiab yw a better ibrtane than that you may as nearly ap* 
proach to their aceompiishment as I have done, and that 
Time may dedl as fairly with yoo as he has done with your 
father." After saying this, Mr. Daly leaned forward on 
the table with his jtemple supported by one finger, and 
glanced alternately from his children to his wile ; while he 
sang in a low tone the following verse of a popular song : 

^'HttW should I low the prttty creatirea, 

While roaml mj kaeet thej fondi j elmig, 
To tee them look their mother's features, 

To hear them lisp their mother's toncue ^ 
Aodt when with tnrj Time traasported 

Shall thiak to rob as of 9iir jojs — 
Ton 'U is jour girb again be courted, 

And i 

^iib a. glance at Kyrle-- 

And I go wo^g with the bDyi." 

Aod this, thought young Kyrlc, in the affectionate patUM^ 
that ensued, this is the question which I go to decide upon 
this morning ; whether my old age shall resemble the pic- 
ture which I see before me, or whether I shall be doomed to 
cjvep into the winter of my life, a lonely, selfish, cheerless, 
money-hunting old bachelor. Is not thia enough to make a 
little solicitude excusable, or pardonable at least ? 

^^ It is a long time, now," resumed Mr. Daly, ^' since I have 
had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Chute. She was a very 
beautiful but a very wild girl when 1 knew her. Nothing 
has ever been more inexplicable to me than the choice she 
made of a second husband. , You never saw Anne's step-' 
father, Tom Chute, or you would be equally astonished* 
You saw him, my love, did you not ?" 
Mrs. Daly laughed, and answered in the affirmative. 
^4t showed indeed a singular taste," said Mr. Daly. ^^ They 
tell a curious story, too, about the manner of their court* 
ahip." 

^^ What was that, sir ?" asked Kyrle, who felt a strong 
sympathetic interest in all stories connected with wooers anS 
booing, 

*^ I have it, I confess, upon questionable authority — but 
yoa shall hear it, such as it is— ^Now, look at that young 
thief r* he added, laughing, and directing Kjrle'a attentioir 



so THE COU.E6UK9. 

to one of the children, a chubby young fellow, who, havii]| 
deserted the potato-eating corps at the side-table, wal 
taking advantage of the deep interest excited by the convert 
sation, to make a sadden descent upon the contents of tiifl 
japanned bread-basket. Perceiving that he was detected, th4 
little fellow relaxed his fingers, add drew back a little, glanc 
ing, from beneath his eyelashes, a half dismayed and bashfol 
look at the laughing countenance of his parent. 

*' Charles is not well to-day," said the mother, in a com- 
passionate tone, and cutting him a large wedge of her besi 
. homemade bread, which the lad began to demolish with i 
degree of rapidity that scarcely corroborated the assertioD. 

" But the story, sir ?" said Kyrle. 

*« But the story— .Well, little Tom Thute (he might hav« 
been better called little Tom-tit, only that he was not half s( 
sprightly) was a very extrnordinary man, for although he wa 
small and fat, he was not merry nor talkative. You wouU 
have pitied him to see him walking about a ball-room, witb 
ruffles that looked like small buckles, and a queue half af 
long as himself, reminding one of the handle of a pumi 
when the sucker is up — with the most forlorn aspect in tb 
world, as if he were looking for a runaway wi^e. It wf 
a curious anomaly in his character that although he — (fi 
lence, there ! my dear, will you speak to those children)- 
that although hi» always looked miserable in the midst 
society, he really wis so when out of it, as if the continii 
embarrassment and mortification which he experienced we 
a stimulus which he could not do without. Round, fat, sfc 
awkward, and oily, as he was, however, be tumbled his litt 
rotund figure into the heart of Mrs. Trenchard, who was 
that time, though a widow, one of the leading belles in Mo 
ster. A fair friend was the first to disclose this rapturo 
secret to poor Tom, for he might have known Mrs. Trenc 
ard for a century without being able to make it out himsc 
He did not know whether he should be most frightened 
pleased at the intelligence — but certain it is that in t 
warmth of his first feelings, he made a tender of his hai 
to the lady, and was instantly accepted. A dashing, bar 
some fellow who had been rejected by her sometime befoi 
and who knew Chute^s irresolute temper, resolvod to indei 
nify himself for the mortification he had received by throwi 
some embarrassment in the way of the nuptials, aad effect 
it amply enough. It seems the lady's accompiliahinei 



J 



ere of ^ "fWf general descriptioD, for besides playing the 
irpslet&Qrd to admiration, she could manage a horse with 
ly liero of the County CIuIh and was know to join their 
intlng^ parties, and even to ride a steeple chase with eclat. 
ideed it was generally admitted that she poseessed^ore 
>irit tban might have answered her purposes, or her fcus- 
and's either. What fancy she could have taken to 7^om 
dilute, I cannot for my life conceive. Well, this fellow met 
[*oia going to her house one evening, as spruce as a water 
vagteil, with his queue poking up behind like the fiag-stafit 
tk the 8tem of a privateer. They got into conveisatiqa 
.bout the widow. ^^ Beautiful creature, isn't she ?" aim* 
lered Tom, blushing up to the eyes, for it was another funny 
bible of Tom*s, to redden up like a rose whenever there 
iras any discourse of ladies; even when nobody dreamed 
of any thing like raillery. <* Beautiful creature, isn't she V^ 
^a^a Tom. ^^ Beautiful, indeed," replied the other. And: 
Tom stood on his toes, threw out his right elbow, and took 
snufT. ^' And accomplished, I think V" ^' And very sensi- 
sibJe,*^ says the other. "And lively," says Toni. *< And 
bigh-spirited," says the other. ," So, they say, her late hus- 
Wkd found, poor man» to his cost." Tom dropped liis jaw 
a little, and looked inquisitive. But the other, who saw that 
Ais business was done^ declined all explanation, and hurried 
off with a concluding feraark, that *^ the lady was unques- 
tionably a capital vAtp." Well, Tom got a sudden attach 
I of — I don't know what complaint, went home that nighty 
and sent an apology to the widow. He was not seen near 
her house for a fortnight afler, and a report reached hereavs 
that he had some notion of quitting the country. But if he 
bad, she put a stop to it. One morning when Tom was 
looking over his books, he was startled by the apparition of 
a tall woman in a riding dress, with a horsewhip in one 
band, and a case of duelling pistols in the other. She 
nodded to Tom. " I understand," said she— - 

At this moment a potato peel, flung from the side-table, 
whisked past Mr. Daly's nose, and with happier aim, lighted 
on that of Prince Eugene in the print before mentioned. The 
venerable, but too little venerated, story-teller, who had 
been for the last few minutes endeavouring to raise his voice, 
80 as to make it audible above the increasing uproar of tho 
young people, now turned round, at this unparalleled and 
violent aggression, and confronted the daring group in awful 



22 THB OOLLSGIAKS. 

silence. Satisfied, howerer, with the sudden hash of tei» i 
which this action occasioned^ and willing to reserve i | 
burst of wrath for a future transgression, he turned agi ^ 
in silence; and directing the servant girl who was in d 
room, to take the potato-peel off Prince Eugene's nose, I 
resumed the thread of hie narrative. 

^^ I understand/' said Mrs. Trenchard — ^for it was no otir 
than the widow — *^ that you intend leaving Ireland ?*' To 
stammered and hesitated.— <' If my brother were living 
continued the lady, ^* he would horsewhip you — but ahhon} 
he is not, Hetty Trenchard is able to fight her own wa 
Come, sir, my carriage is at the door below ; either sti 
into it with me this minute, or take one of those pistols, ai 
stand at the other end of die room." Well, Tom loob 
as like a fool as any man in Ireland. He wouldn't figi 
and he wouldn't be horsewhipped ; so that the busioe 
ended in his going into the carriage and marrying the lac 
Some persons indeed insinuated that 'Tom was observed 
the course of the day to chafe his shoulders two or tb 
times with an expression of pain, as if his change of coo 
tion had been the result of a still harsher mode of reasotf 
than I have mentioned ; but this part of the story is with 
foundation. 

^< What a bold creature!" said the gentle Mrs. Daly. 

^* And is it possible, sir," asked Kyrle, *Uhat this ama2 
is the kind dd lady whom Anne Chute attends with so mc 
affection and tenderness in her infirmity ?" 

** Ah, ha ! Kyrle, I see the nature of the bolt that i 
wounded you, and I like you the better for it, mj boy. 
good face is a pippin that grows on every hedge, but a go 
heart, that is to say, a well regulated one, is the apple of ( 
Hesperides, worth even the risk of ease and life itself 

Kyrle assented to this sagacious aphorism with a de 



'^ Are the Cregans and they on terms now ?" asked M ^ 
Daly. 

^* As much on terms as two families of such opposite hal 
can be. The Chutes invite the Cregans to a family-dim 
oileii or twice in the year^ and the Cregans ask the Ghu 
to their Killarney cottage ; both of which invitations i ^ 
taken as French camplimeniSf and never accepted. Cre^ 
himself hates going to Castle Chute, because he has nob 
there to make the jovial oigfat with him, and young M 



TUB GtaXBlSiASB. 2S 

areas, (jora friend, Kyrle») is too wild a lad to confine him- 
self to mere drawing-room society. Apropos, talk of «— — ^ 
'tis a vulgar proverbtand let it pass; but there goes his trim 
pleasure-boati the Nora Creina, flying down the river, and 
there sits the youth himself, tiller in hand, as usual, Patcy, 
bring me the telescope; I think I see a female dress on 
board," 

The telescope was brought, and adjusted to the prc^r 
focus, while a dpzen eager faces were collected about the 
3m9\X window, one over another, in the manner of those 
groups in painting called *> Studies of Heads," 

^* That is he, indeed," continued Mr. Daly, resting the 
glass on the window-frame, and directing it towards the ob- 
ject of th^r attention^* there is no mistaking that dark 
and handsome face, buried up as it is in his huge oiled pent« 
house hat, and there is his hunch-backed boatman, Danny 
Mann, or Danny the Lord, as the people call him since his 
misfortune, tending the foresheet in the bow. But that fe- 
male — there is a female there, unquestionably, in a blue 
mantle, with the hood brought low over her eyes, sitting on 
the ballast. Who can she be ?" 

** Perhaps, Danny Mann's cousin, Cotch Cooherty ?" said 
Mrs. Daly. 

*< Or some western dealing woman who has come up to 
Limerick to purchase a reinforcement of pins, needles, whis- 
key, and Reading-made-easys, for her village counter, and 
i is getting a free passage home from young master Har-^ 
dress." 

^' Like enough, like enough ; it is jui^t his way. — Hillo I 
the fellow is going to run down that fishing cot, I believe !" 
A hoarse cry of ^^ Bear away ! Hold up your band !" was 
heard from the water, and reiterated with the addition of a 
few expletives, which those who know the energy of a boat- 
man's dialect will understand without our transcribing them 
here. The pleasure-boat, however, heedless of those rough 
remonstrances, and apparently indisposed to yield any por- 
tion of her way, still held her bowsprit close to the wind, 
and sailed on, paying no more regard to the peril of the ple- 
beian craft, than a French aristocrat of thevieZfe caur might 
be supposed to exhibit for that of a sans euloites about to be 
t<^rlen down by bis leaders in the Rue St. Honor6. The 
tjshemien, with many curses, backed water, and put about 
'.s rapi jly as possible ; but without being able to avoid the 



^ Tub coLLEOXAire. 

shock of the Nora Qreina, who just touched their stern wH 
sufficient force to make the. cot dart forward nearly an oar': 
length through the water, and to lay the rowera sprawliii 
on their backs in the bottom. Fortunately, the wind, whid 
had sprung up with the returning tide, was jiot sufficienth 
strong to render the concussion more dangerous. 

** Like his proud mother in every feature," said Mr. Daly— 
^* Is it not singular that while we were speakiiig of the dia 
racters of the family, he could not pass our window withoiT 
furnishing us with a alight specimen of his own. See hoi 
statelily the fellow turns round and contemplates the confb 
sion he has occasioned. There is his mother's grandea 
blended with the hair-brained wildness and idle spirit of hi 
father.*' 

^' Hardress Gregan's is the handsomest boat in the river,' 
said Patcy, a stout sunburnt boy— <^ She beat all the Oalwf. 
hookers from this to Beale. What a nice green hull ! — am 
ivhite sails and beautiful green colours flying over her peal 
and gaff-topsail ! Oh ! how I M like to be steering her !*' 

Mr. Daly winked at his wife, and whispered her that h 
bad known rear-admirals come of smaller beginnings. Ms 
Daly, with a little shudder, replied that she should not wi| 
to see hipn a rear-admiral, the navy was so dangerous \ 
service. Her husband, in order to soothe her, observed tha 
the danger was not very near at hand. 

In the meantime, Hardress Cregan became a subject $ 
vehement debate at the side-table, to which the juvenik 
squadron had returned. One fair-haired little girl declared 
that she was his *^ pet." A second claimed that distinction 
for herself. 

*^ He gave me an O'Dcll-cake when he was last here^'' 
said one. 

^^ And me a stick of peppermint." 

*'He gave me a " in a whisper— '"a kiss.'*' 

*' And me two." , 

« He didn't"— 

« He did." 

" I '11 tell dadda it was you threw the potato*peel wfail< 



'' Ah ha, tattler-tell-tale!^' 

^^ Silence there! fie! fie! what words ai« these?" mi 
Mrs. Daly, ^^ come, kiss and be friends, new, ktdi of yen 
lAd let me hear no more." 



-^ 



• THS COIXBGIAirS. ^6 

The young combatants complied ivith her injunction^ 
nd, as the duelling paragraphs say, *^ the affair terminated 
.mioaWy." 

*•'- Sut I was speaking," Mr. Daly resumed, <*of the family 
>ride of the Cregans, It was once manifested by Hardress's 
ather in a manner that might make an Englishman smile. 
When their little Killarney property was left to the Cregans, 
njnang many other additional pieces of display that were 
made on the occasion, it behooved Mr. Barney Cregan to 
erect a family vault and monument in his parish churchyard. 
He had scarcely however given directions for its construc- 
tion when he fell ill of a fever, and was very near enjoying 
the honour of hanselling the new cemetery himself. But 
he got urer the fit, and madp it one of his first cares to saunter 
out as far as the church, and inspect the mansion which had 
been prepared for his reception. It was a handsome Gothic 
monument occupying a retiredcorner of the churchyard, and 
shadowed over by a fine old sycamore. But Barney, who 
had no taste for the picturesque, was deeply mortified at 
Sliding his piece of sepulchral finery thrown so much into the 
shade. "What did I or my people do," he said to the archi- 
tect, ^* that we should be sent skulking into that corner ? I 
paki my money and I '11 have my own value for it.*' The 
mQnument was accordingly got rid of, and a spirting, flashy 
one erected opposite the gateway with the Cregan crest and 
shield, (in what herald's office it was picked up I cannot 
take upon me to say,) emblazoned on the frontispiece. 
Here, it is hoped, the aspiring Barnaby And his posterity may 
one day rest in peace. 

*^ That would be a vain hope, I fear," said Kyrle, "at 
'east, so far as Mr, Cregan is concerned, if it were true, as our 
peasantry believe, that the churchyard is frequently made a 
scene of midnight mirth and revel, by those whose earthly 
carousals are long concluded. But what relationship is there 
between that family and Mrs. Chute ?" 
'• She is step-sister to Mrs. Cregan.*' 
** Indeed? So near?" 

"Most veritable, therefore look to it. They tell a 
story-i-'' 

But the talkative old gentleiinan was interrupted in his 
anecdotical career by the entrance of a new actor on the 
afcene. 
Vox. 1.— 3 



26 THS COIliStfUlIK 



;ghapter iv". 

HOW HB* PALY THE MIDDLEMAN ROSE UP F^OM BKEAl^A; 

But what pen less gifted than his of Chios, or his of Ato 
, tiie delineator 6f Vulcan or of Grumio, can suffice to convc . 
u> the rteader any idea of tlie mental and bodily propprtio. 
of this new comer, who thrust his small and shining hes 
•in upon the family-party, to awaken their curiosity, and ' 
rob Mr. Daly of so many attentive listeneri? as he nuniben 
around him at this moment \ ' ' 

The person who opened the door acted as a kind of herd 
man or^ut-dopr servant to the family, and was a man of 
rather singular appearance. The nether parts of his fraff 
were of a size considerably out of proportion with the trilRi 
and head which they supported. His feet were broad tf 
flat like those of a duck ; his legs long and clumsy, f* 
knees , and ancles like the knobs on one of those grotesq> 
walking-sticks, which were in fashion among the fine genii 
men of our own day, some time since ; his joints hi| 
liaosely, like those of a pasteboard merry- andrew ; his be 
was very small ; his chest narrow ; and his head so dimir 
tive, a$ to be even too little for his herrin|f shoulders, 
seemed as if nature, like an extra?ag%dt projector, bad I: 
the foundation of a giant, but running short of material, 
the structure proceeded, had been compelled to termin; 
her undertaking within the dimensions of a dwarf. So ; 
was this economy pursued, that the head, small as it wi 
was very scantily furnished with hair j and the nose, w 
which the face was garnished, might be compared for 
flatness to that of a young kid . '^ It looked," as the owner 
this mournful piece of journeywork himself facetiously c 
served, '^as if his head were not thought worth a roof, cor 1 
countenance worth a handle." His hands and arms were lilv 
wise o£ a smallncss that was much to be admired, when co 
trasted with the hugeness of the lower memberSi, and brough 
to mind the fore-paws of a Kangaroo, or the fins of a sea) 



TMS COLLEGIIlNS^ ^"7 

le latter similitude prevailing when the body was pu^ in 
iotion*, on which occasions they dabbled about in a very ex- 
raordinary maiiner. But there was one feature in which a 
;orre3ponding prodigality had been manifested, namely, the 
Ai;s, whiph were as long as those of Riquet with the Tuft, 
>r of any ass in the Barony. 

The costume which enveloped this singular frame, was no 

less anomalous than was the nature of its own construction* 

A: buge riding coat of gray frieze hung lazily from his 

shoulders, and gave tp view in front a waistcoat of catf-skia 

with the hairy side outwards ; a shirt, of a texture algaost as 

coarse as sail-cloth, made from the refuse of flax ; and a pair 

of corduroy nether garments, with two bright new patches 

upon the knees. Gray worsted stockings, with dog-skin 

brogues well paved in the sole, and greased until they shone 

again, completed the personal adornments pf this unaspiring 

personage. On the whole, his appearance might have 

brought to the recollection of a modern beholder one of 

those architectural edifices, so fashionable in our time, in 

which the artist, with an admirable ambition, seeks to unite 

^li that is excellent in the Tuspan, Doric, Corinthian, and' 

Ionic orders, in one coup d'ceil. 

The expression of the figure, though it varied with cir- 
cumstances, was for the most part thoughtful and delibera- 
tive ; the effect in a great measure of habitual penury and 
dependence. At the time of Lord Halifax's administration^ 
Lowry Looby, then a very young man, held di spot of ground 
^n the neighbourhood of Lin^erick, and was toell to do in 
^he world, but the scarcity which prevailed in England at 
^he times and which occasioned a sudden rise in the price 
^f beef, butter, and other produce of grazing land in Ireland, 
'hrew all the agriculturists out of their little holdings, and 
occasioned a general destitution, similar to that produced 
by the anti-cottier system in the present day. Lowry was 
among the sufferers . He was saved, however, from the neces- 
sity of adopting one of the three ultimata of Irish misery, 
Pegging, listing, or emigtating, by the kindness of Mr. Daly, 
^ho took him into his service as a kind of runner between 
^s farms, an office for which .Lowry, by his long and 
^i^cular legs, and the lightness of the body that encum- 
'^^ed them, was qualified in an eminent degree. His ex*- 
^^^iog honesty, one of the characteristics of his country, 
^"^.h he was known to possess, renderea him a still more 



25 THE C0LLEGIA19S. 

Valuable acquisition to the family than had been first ant 
patcd. He had moreover tlie national talent for adroit f 
tery, a quality which made him more acceptable to bis pat 
than the latter would willingly admit, and erery emulsioi 
this kind was applied under the disguise of a sjoiplem 
which gave it a wonderful efficacy. 

' " Ha ! Lowry — " said Mr. Daly, ** Well, have you m 
your fortune sinoe ^ou have agr.eed with the Post^master 

Lowry put his hands behind his back, looked miccessir 
at the four corners of the room, then round the cornice, tt 
cast his eyes down at his feet^ turned up the solet a little, i 
finally straightening his person, and gazing pn his masl 
rejsflied, " To lose it I did, Sir, for a place." 

" To loso what ?" 

"The place as postman, sir, through the country w< 
wards. Sure there I was a gentleman for life if it was* 
my luck." 

" I do DOtqnderstand you, Lowry." 

" I '11 tell you how it was, masther. Afther the last pc 
man died, sir, I took your ricommendation to the Post-is 
ther, an' axed him for the place. ^ I *m used to thraveV 
sir,' says I, ^ for Misther Daly, over, and — •' ^ Ay^' aaji't 
takin' me up short, * an' you have a good long pair o' leg 
see.' ^ Middling, sir,' says I, (he 's a very pleasant g^ 
man) it 's equal to me any day, wintber or summer, whette 
go ten miles or twenty, so as I have the nouririiinei 
^ 'Twould be hard if you didn't get that any way,' niys i: 
^Wdl, I think I may as well give you the place, fbr 1 do' 
know any gentleman that I 'd sooner take his rieomm wdatk 
then Misther Daly's, or one that I 'd sooner pay him a con 
pliment, if I could." 

"Well, and what was your agreement ?" 

" Ten pounds a year, sir," answered Lowry, opening b) 
9y^, as if he announced something of wonderful importance 
and sneaking in a loud voice, to suit the magnitude of tU| 
sum, *^ besides my clothing and shoes throughout the jrear. 

" 'Twas very handsome, Lowry " 
. " Handsome, masther T 'Twa3 wages fun a priRC<», f^* 
Sure there I was a made gentleman all my days, if it was'^^ 
my luck, ^ I said before." 

*' WeH, and how did you lose it ?" 

" I 'n tell yoillsir," answered Lowry^ *« I was gob^^^ 
to the Post-maather ycstherday, to get the Thralee mai'"^ 



1^B£ COLLEGIANS. 89 

him, and to start off with myself, on my first journey. Well 
an' good, of all the world, who should I meet, above upon 
the road, just at the turn down to the Post-office, but that 
red-headed woman that sells the free-stone, in the sthreets ? 
So I turned back." 

« Turned back, for what ?" 

'^ Sure the world knows, masther, that it isn't lucky to 
meet a red-haired woman an' you going of a jo|umey.'* 

** And you nev,er went for the mail-bags !" 

" Faiks, I 'm sure I didn't that day." 

" Well, and the next morning ?" 

^< The next morning, that 's this morning, when I went, I 
found they had engaged another boy in my place." 

" And you lost the situation I" 

" For this turn, sir, any way. .'Tis luck, that does it all. 
Sure I thought I was cock sure of it, an' I having the Post* 
masther's word. But indeed, if I meet that free-stone era- 
thur again, I '11 knock her red-head against the wall.'* 

" Well, Lowry, this ought to show you the folly of your 
superstition. If ydu had not minded that woman when you 
met her, you might have had your situation now." 

** 'Twas she was in fault still, begging your pardon, sir," 
sad Lowry, " for sure if I did'nt meet her at all this would'nt 
liave happened me.'V 

*' Ob," said Mr. Daly, laughing, " I see that ypu are well 
provided against all argument. I have no more tp say, 
Lowry." 

The man now walked slowly toward Eyrie, and jbending 
down with a look of solemn importance, as if he had some 
weighty intelligence to communicate, he said— " The horse, ^ 
sir, is ready, this >yay, at the doore abroad." 

" Very well, Lowry. I shaU set out this instadt." 

Lowry raised himself erect again, turned slowly round, and 
walked to the door with his eyes on the ground, and his 
hand raised to his temple, as if endeavouring to recollect 
something farther which he had intended to say. 

'^ Lowry !" said Mr. Daly as the handle of the door was 
turned a second time. Lowry looked round. 

"Lowry, tell me— did you see Eily 0*Connor, the rope- 
maker's daughter, at the fair of Garryowen yesterday ?" 

" Ah, you 're welcome to your game, Masther." 

" 'Pon my word, then, Eily is a very pretty girl, Lowry, 
8* 



aQ ' THE COLLEOUHS. 

and I 'm told tbe old father can give her something besides 
her pretty face.'* , , 

Lowry opened his bage. mouth, (we forgot to mentieft 
that it was a huge one.) and gaye vent to a few explosions 
of laughter which rouen more nearly resembled the braying 
of an a8S« *^ You^are . welcome to your game, mastber/* l^ 
repeated ;— >^^ long life to your honour.** 

*' But is it true, Lowrf, as 1 have heard it inrinuated, that 
old Mihil O'Connor used, and still does, tirisl ropes for the 
use of the County Jail ?'* 

Lowry closed his lijfs hard, while the blood rushed into bis 
face at this unworthy^llegati9n. Treating it howoTer as a 
new piece of ^^ the masther's game," he laughed and tossed 
his head«. 

« Folly* on— sir— fcBy on.** 

*^ Because, if that were tbe case, Lowry, I should expect 
to find you a fellow of too much spirit to iNBcome connected, 
even by aiSnity, with such a calling. A ropennaker! a 
manufacturer of rogues' last neckcloths— an understrapper to 
the gallows— a species of collateral hangman !" 

'^ A' then, Missiz, do you hear this ? And all rising out 
of a little ould fable of a story that happened as good as &ve 
year ago, because Moriarty the crooked hangman, (the Aief Q 
stepp^ into Mihil's little place of a night; and nobody 
knowen of him, an bought a couple o' pei>*orth o* whip-cord 
for some vagary or other of lus own. And there 's all the 
call Mihil O'Connor had ever to gallowses or hangmen in 
his life. That *B the whole tote o* their itiainiwaytions.*' 

*^ Never mind your master, Lowry,*' said Mrs. Daly, ^' Im 
is only amusing himself with you." 

M ^^ Oh, ha ! t'm sure I know it, ma'am ; long life to him-, 
and 'tis he that's welcome to his joke,** 

" But Lowry ** 

^^ A* heavens bless you, now masther, an let me alone. 
1 11 say nothing to yon.*' 

^' Nay, nay, I only wanted to ask you what sort of aiair it 
was at Garryowen yesterday.** 

^' Middling, sir, like the srtiall fiatees^ ihej tell me,'* said 
Lowry, suddenly changing his manner to an appearance of 
serious occupation, ^^ but *tis hard to make out what sort 9 
fair is when one has nothing to ^ell himself. I met ahuxtet 

« Follfw. * 



it^" TBS COlLCGUirf^ 31 

tiQ ahe toid me 'twas a bad lair became ahe could not sdt 
her p^[giD9, an I met a pig-jobber, an he told me 'twas % 
dear fair, pork ran so high, an I met another little flRoagre 
creator, a neighbour that has a cabin on Uie road above, an 
be said 'twas the best fair that ever come out o^the skj, be^ 
Cause he got a power for bis pig. But Mr. Hardresa Ore* 
gan was there, and if he did^nt make it a dear fair to somo 
of 'em, you may call me an honest man/' *, 

^ A tery notable undertaking that would be, Lowiy. But 
how was it?*' 

^^ Some o' them boys, them Garryoweii lads, Inr, to get 
about Danny Mann, the Lord, Mr. Hardress's boatman, 
as be was comen down from MihiFs with a new rope ibr 
some part o' the boat, and to begin r^eting on him in 
regard o^ the bump on his back, poor creatur! Well, if 
they did, Masther Hardress . heerd 'em, and he having » 
stout blackthorn in his hand^ this way, and be made up to 
the foremost of 'em, * What *s that you 're saying, you sc'oun-* 
drel V says he. * What would you give to know ?' says the 
other, mighty impudent. Masther Hardress made no more, 
only up with ihle stick, and without saying this or that, or by 
your leave, or how do you do, he stretehed l\im. Well, such 
a scuffle as began among *em was never seen. They all fell 
upon Masther Hardress, but faiz they had only the half of it, 
Unr he made his way tbroi^fh the thick of 'em without as 
much as a mark. Aw, indeed, it isn't a goose or a duck 
they bad to do with when they came across' Mf . Cregan, 
for all." 

'* And where were *you all this while, Lowry ?" 

'' Above, in Mihil's doot, standen an looken about the 
fair for myself" 

"AndEily?" , 

** Ah, hear to this again^ now ! I '11. run away out o' the 
place entirely (rom you, masther, that 's What 1 '11 do." And, 
suitmg the action to the phrase, exit Lowry Looby. 
. '"> Well, Eyrie," said Mr. Daly, as the latter rese and laid 
aside his chair, ^^ I suppose we are not to expect you back 
to ni^t ?" 

^^ Likely not, sir. If I have any good news to tell, I shaH 
send an answer by Lowry, who goes with me ; and if— ^" 
something seemed to stick in bis throat, and he tried to laugb 
it out-«-*-»<< if I should be unsuccessful,.! will ride on to the 



3t THB COIXSOUKSf^ 

" i' 

disdr3r*&riii tt Gurtenaflpigi where HardresuiCfegiiD prom 
to meet me.** ., 

Mr. Dalj wished him better fortane than he seeme . 
hope for, and repeated an old proverb about a faint h 
and a fair l4dy. The affectionate piotber^ who r It the fe 
ishness of the young' lover's hand as he placed it in h 
and probably in secret participated in h^s apprehensions, 
lowed him to the steps of the hall-door. He was aire 
on horseback. 

^^ Kyrle,'* said Mrs. Oaly, smiling, while she looked uj 
his face and shaded her own with her hand, ^^ Rexneml 
Kyrle, if Anne Chute should play the tyrant with yot., * 
there is niany a prettier girl in Munster.*' 

Kyrle seemed about to reply, but his young horse beci 
restive, and as the gentleman felt rather at a loss^ he m 
the impatience of the animal an apology for his mlence. 
Wi^ved his hiemd to the kind old lady, and rode away. 

" And if she should play the tyrant with you, Kyrle,*' B 
Daly continued in st)Iiloquy, while she saw his hands< 
and gracefiil figure diminish in the distance, ^< Anne'CJ 
js not of my mind. '^ 

So said the mother as sbe returned to the parlour, an^ 
would many younger ladies have said, bad they knowu K; 
Daly as well as she did. 

While Mrs. Daly, who was the empress of all housekc 
ers, superintended the removal of the breakfast table, 
disdaining, with her own fair hands, to restore the plate 
china to their former neatness, the old gentleman callec 
his children around him, to undergo a customary exam 
tion. They came ffocking to his ^ees, the boys with ti 
satchels thrown over then* shoulders, and the girls with tl 
gloves and bonnets on, ready for school. Occasionally 
they stood before the patriarchal sire, their eyes wande 
from hi3 face toward a pile of sliced bread and butter, . 
a bowl of white sugar whi6h stood near his elbow. 

^^Northeast!*', Mr. Daly began, addressing the eldest.- 

It should be premised itizt this singular name was gi 
to the child in compliance with a popular superstition ; : 
sensible as the Dalys were accounted in their daily affa 
they were not wholly exempt from the prevailing weakn 
of tiieir countrymen. Mrs. Daly's first three children d ^ 
'^ Horse, and it was suggested to the unhappy parents tl \ 
he next little stranger were baptized by the name -j 



THE COLLEGIANS. S^ 

NortheasVthfev.curse would be removed from Ihclr house- 
hold, Mrs. '»aly acceded to the proposition, adding to it 
at the same tfme the slight precaution of changing her 
nurses.^ With what success this ingenious remedy was at- 
tended^ the £ >{jrishing state of Mr, Daly's nursery thence- 
forward sufficiently testified. 

" Northeast," said the old gentleman, " When was Ire^ 
lanii first peopled ?" 

^^ By Partholanus, sir, in anno siundi 1956, the great, 
great, great, great, great, great grandson of Noah." 

** Six greats. Right, my boy. Although the Cluan Mac 
Noisfcimakes it 1969. But a difference pf a few years at a 
distance pf nearly four thousand, is not a matter to be quar- 
relled with. Stay, I have not done with you Jret. Mr. 
Tickleback tells me you are a great Latinist. What part 
of Ovid are you reading now ?" , ' 

^' The Metamorphoses, sir, book the thirteenth." 
^^ Ah, pocH- Ajax ! He 's an example and a warning for 
all Irishmen. Well, Northeast, Ulysses ought to supply you 
with Latin enough to answer me one question. Give me 
the construction of this, Mater mea sus est mald.^^ 

The boy hesitated a moment, laughed^ reddened a little, 
and looked at his mother. ^^ That 's a queer thing, sir," he 
said at last. ^ 
" Come, construe,^ construe." 

*« Mjf mother ii a bad sow^^^ said Northeast, laughing, 
'that's the only English I can find for it." 

'* Ah, Northeast ! Do you call me names, my lad ?"^ said 
Mrs. Daly, while she laid aside the china in a cupboard. 

^* 'Tis dadda you should blame, ma^am, 'twas he said it. 
X only told him the English of it." 

This aflair produced much more laughter and merriment 
than it was worth. At length Mr. Daly condescended to 
explain. 

<^ You gave me^one construction of it," said he, ^ but not 
the right one. However, these things cannot be learned all 
in a day, and your translation was correct. Northeast, in point 
of grammar, at all events. But," (he contmued, with a look 
of learned wisdom,) ** the true meaning of the sentence is 
this, Jllater^ mother, mea, hasten, «««,<'the sow, est^ eats up^ 
{ederef my boy, not esse^) mala^ the apples." 
"Oh, itfr a cron I see," said the boy with some indigna* 



S4 THE C0LZ.E6IAHS. 

tipn of tone. ^^ One isn't obliged to know cram. I,'d t 
puzzle you if I was to, put you all the crans I know," 

^^ Not so easily as you suppose^ perhaps,*' said his B 
in dignified alarm, lest his reputatjion should suffer in 
eyes of his wife, who really thought him a profound lingt 
'^ But you are a good boy. Go to school, Northeast, hi 
open your satchel." 

The satchel was opened, a huge slice of bread froa 
top of the pile above mentioned was dropped into it. 
Northeast set off south'-sbuth- west out of the house. 

*' Chat les, who is the finest fellow in Ireland ?" 

" Henry Grattan, sir.'* 

" Why so. Sir ?" 

" Because he says we must have a free trade, sir." 

^< You shall have a lump of sugar with your bres<' 
that. Open your satchel. There, run away now to scl ^ 
Patcy I" 

.t Sir ?" 

^^ Patcy, tell me, who was the first Lord-Lieutenai 
Ireland in the present reign ?" 

Patcy, an idle young rogae, stood glancing alternate' 
the pile of bread, and at his father's face, and shifting i^- 
oi>e foot to another like a foundered nag. At last he r 
stoutly — 

" Julius Caesar, sir." 

'* That's u good boy. Ah, you young villain, if I 
asked you who won the last boat*race, or how many h( ^ - 
ers went hf this morning, you 'd give me s^ better am ' 
than that. .Was it Julius Gsesar sailed round the rev(''>^ 
.Cutter, near Talbert, the other day?" 

" No, sir, h was Larry Kett." 

" I '11 engage you know that. Well, tell me this, and I 
forgive you — Who was the bravest seaman you ever b' - 
of? always excepting Hardress Cregan." 

" Brown, sir, the man that brought the Bilboa ship '* 
Youghal, a^er making prisoners of nine Frenchmen- ^ ' 
fellows, dadda," the boy continued warming with his&ub; ' 
— " that were sent to take the vessel into France, and Br ^ 
had only three men and a boy with him, and they retook " 
ship and brought her into Youghal. But sure one Irishi 
was more than a match for two Frenchmen." 

" Well, I perceive you have some knowledge in phyi 
and comparative physiology. There 'a some hope of ; 



TBS COXXXOIAKS. 35 * 

Go to sehooL" And the pile of bread tppeated a few 
inches lower. ' 

The reniainder was distributed among the girls, to whom 
the hapfpj father put questions, in history, geography, cate- 
chism, &c. proportioned to the capacity of each. At length, 
he descended to* the youngest, a little cherub with roses of 
three yeans* growth in her cheeks. 

^* Well^ Sally, my pet, what stands for sogar ?'* 
" I, dadda." 

^^ Ah, Sally ^s a wag, I see. You do stand for it indeed, 
and youjshall.get it. We must not expect to force nature," 
he added, lookinfg at his wife and tossing his head. ^* Every 
beginning is weak — and Sam Johnson himself was as indif- 
ferent a philologist once in his day. And now, to school at ' 
once^ darlings, and bring home good judgments. Nelly will 
go for you at three o'clock." 

The little flock of innocents, who were matc})ed in size 
like the* reeds of a pandean pipe, ^ each under each' having 
left the scene, Mr. Daly proceeded to despatch his own affairs, 
and possessed himself of his hat and cane. 

** I *tl step over to the meadow, my dear — and see how the . 
bay gets on. And give me that pamphlet of Hutchinson's 
— Commercial Restraints — I promised to lend it to father 
Malachy. And let the stranger's room be got ready, my 
love, and the sheets aired, for 1 expect Mr. Windfall the tax- 
gatherer to sleep here to-night. And, Sally, if Ready should 
come about bis pigs that I put in pound last night, let him 
have them free of cost, but not without giving the fellow a 
fright about them ; and above all, insist upon having rings in 
their noses before night My little lawn is like a fallow 
field with them. I '11 be back at five." 

Saying this, and often turning his head as some new com- 
mission arose to his memory, the 'Munster^ Middleman' 
sallied out of his house, and walked along the gravelled^ 
avenue humming, as he went,a verse of the popular old'song — 

" And when I at lait moit throw off this Ml coveriaj^ 

Whieh I 't« worn for J9an thrtcMore and ten. 
On the brink of the mre I Ml not seek to keep hovering, 

Not my thread wish to sjrin o'er again* 

Mv face in the glass I 'It swanaly snrrej, 
And vith smiles eoont eaoh wrinkle and furrow, 

f*or this old worn oat stuff that is thraadharc to-da j^ 
"Mbj beeomie everlasting to-mmfow. 

To*niorrow! To-^noRowl 
May become cvenattbig^to-monmr !" 



3$ THS COLLSaUMI. 

Sucbf ifi happier days than ours, wac the life of a Munst 
farmer* Indeed, the word is ill adapted to convey to^ . 
BngUsh reader an idea of the class of persons whom if 
intended to designate, for, they were and are^ in mind a. 
education, far superior to the persons who occupy that rv 
' in most other countries. Opprobrious as the term * inidd . 
man^ has bcjon rendered in our own time, it is certain tt 
the original formation of the sept was both natural and bf 
eficial. When the country was deserted by its gentry, a gf 
eral promotion of one grade tqok .place among those w 
vremained at home. The farmers became gentlemen, a 
the labourers became farmers, the former assuming, togett 
with the station and influence, the quick and honoural 
spirit, the love of pleasure, and the> feudal authority whi 
distinguished their aristocratic archetypes — while the hu 
bier classes looked up to them for advice and assistant 
with the same feehng of respect and of dependence whi 
they had once entertained for the actual proprietors of t 
soil. The covetousness of landlords themselves, in sell: 
leases to the highest bidder, without any inquiry ihio 
character or fortunes, first tended to throw imputations '. 
this respectable and useful body of men, which in progc 
of time swelled into a popular outcry, and ended in an ; 
of the legislature for their gradual extirpation. There v 
few now in that class as prosperous, many as intelligent a:*^ 
high-principled, as Mr. Daly. 



. CHAPTER V. 

HOW KYBlE DALY UODB OTTT TO WOO, AKD UOW LOWJE^*^ 
^ LOOBT TOLD HIX SOlUS ST01U£8 ON THE WAY. 

£yrl£ Dalt had even better grounds than he was will •: * 
to insist upon for doubting his success with Anne Chv 
He had been introduced to her for the first time in the cou 
of the preceding Spring, at an Assize ball, and thought 1: 
with justice, the finest girl in the room ; he danced two s 
of country-dances-^(Ah! ces beaux jours!) — with her, t.j« 
was ravished.with her manners ; he saw ^er home at nig' 
-atld left his heart behind him when he bade her farewell. 



mm,cmAwm(!». air 

The oooqaMl oC hi» aflbetioM! migllt tKil We been aor 
jiartttAiPt as iotdUtarb bia 4|«iel, bnl koel beea tpicdcljrr 
foUowed' I^F that of hW roaaoa lifcomse* Sis aabsaqtient' ac-<^^^ 
^uaiolaiMW: with' the youogr My, proMbieM aeoafiroiatieii'ofl 
bis finit'MpiesMOBSf fcQEii'Whifsfa be oeitharaougfhtflor boped 
to be MtTeeedk The approbatieti ef bb paceats fixed tb» 
closiflg rivet m the cimBi wbieb boiuid him. Mrs* Daijt 
loved Anne Chute for her filial teiidenieaB and devotblii anA 
Mr. llaly, with irbom portionlMs viitHie woakl have mat but 
a tard^ aod eaim aoeeptapoe, was struck motioidesa when we*, 
heard that aha was to have the mansion and detnesne of Caa^ 
tie Clnita» vthkoh be knew had been held by her fatber^a&ni'r 
ily at a pepper-oora rent. Insomuch that Kyrle might hate 
Baid with Lubin in the Freneb comedy, ** 11 ne tiendra- qu'iti 
eUe q^Q nolis ne soyens mari^s ensemble.'* 

Notbinff4iowever in the demaaaeor of the youag lady led* 
him to believe that their acquaintance would be likely toter-^ 
mini^ in such a catastrophe. It wastrne she liked him, for 
Kyrld was a popular charactek* among all his fair acquaint^^'. 
anoes. He had, in addition to his haodsome appearance^ 
that frank and cbeerfel manner, not unmingled witb a. car- 
tain degree of tenderness and delicacy, which is said to bei' 
most succesdbl in openingr ^he way to the female heart/ 
Good nature spoke in hb eyes, in his voice, and in ^^ the: 
laughter of his teeth," — ^and he Carried around him a certain 
air of ease and freedom, governed by that happy andinstinc* 
tive discretion which those who affect the quality in vain 
attempt to exercise, and always overstep. But he could n6t 
avoid seeing that it was as a mere acquaintance, he was 
esteemed by Miss Chute^ an intimate, familiar, and» he some* 
times flattered himself, a valued one, but still a taere 
acquaintance. She had even received some of his attentions 
with a coldness intentbnally marked, but as an degaht cold* 
ness formed' a part of her general manner, the lover, with a 
lover's willing blindness, would not receive |hose intimations 
as be at first thought they were intended. 

When the affections are once deeply impred^ with> this 
image of beauty, every thing in nature that is beautifiil to the 
eyes, musical to the ears, or pleasing to any of the senses^ 
awakens a sympathetic interest within the hearty and 
Btrengtbens the impression under n^hich it hmgnishas. The 
loveliness of the* day^and of the e^eiies tbrougb Which he 
p^fesed, occasioflilljd a deep tecens^f paasioiif in the brcwat qI^> 

Vol. I.-.* 



St not ooitxmiAjm. 

^or ftiflil wooer. The akjr xna mottled over with fba 
tnall bright clouds wbicfr sailors, wlio look on them, a 
taunous of bad freather, term madtei^ large manes c 
wpour lay piled above the horizon, and the deep bhw opeo 
mgs over-heady vrhich were visible at iatttvals, appearo 
•Ireaked with a thin and drifted mist which remained mo 
lionless, while the clouds underneath were driven ftst acres 
% a wind that was yet unfblt on earth. 

The wooded point of land which formed the site of Castle 
Chute projected considerably Into the broad river at a dis 
isnce of many miles from the road on which he now travelled 
, and formed a point of view on which the eye, after traversini 
ihe extent of water which lay between, reposed with mucl 
'ielight. Several small green islands, aiid rocks black witt 
seaweed, and noisy with the unceasing' cry of, seafowl, di 
versified the surface of the stream, while the shores were 
dothed in that graceful variety of shade and light and. hue 
which is peculiar to the season. As Kyrle with the fidelity 
^ a lover^s eye.fi^ed his gaze on the point of land above 
mentioned, and on th«.tall castle which overtopped the elms, 
nod was reflected in the smooth and shining waters under- 
Sieath, he saw a white sailed pleasure-boat glide under it? 
Walls ^d stand out again into the b«d of the river. A suddei 
lash shot from her bow, and after the lapse of a few seconds 
Ihe report of a gun struck upon his ear. At the same mo- 
vent, the green flag which hung at the peak of the boat 
was lowered in token of courtesy, and soon |fter hoisted 
again to its former position. Kyrle, who recognised the 
Nora Creioa, felt a sudden hurry in his spirits at the sight o) 
Ibis telegraphre communion with the family of his beloved. 
The picture insgtantly rushed into his mind of the efiects pro 
duced by this incident in the interior of Castle-Chute. Anne 
Chute looking up and starting from her work-table ; her 
mother leaning on her ^old-headed cane and rising with diffi- 
culty from her ea^ chair to move toward the window ; the 
cross old steward, Dan Dawley, casting a grum side-glance 
Irom his desk, through the Jiall window ; the house-maid, 
Syl Carney, pausing, brush in hand, and standing like an 
evoked spirit in a cloud of dust, to gape in admiration of the 
lihle pageant ; the lifting of the sash, and the waving of a 
white handkerchief in answer to the greeting from the water ; 
but could it be visible at that distance ? He put spurs to hi^ 
Itorse and rode forward fit a brisker rate. 



nm wfjiKOfATBr. 3f 

The 6gnre of Lowry Looby» moting forward at a sGi^ 
trot on the road before him, was the first object that directet 
his attention from the last mentioned incident, and tumel 
his thoughts into a merrier channel. The Mercnry of the 
cabins, with a hazel stick for his herpe, and a pair of well- 
paved i»rogttes for his talaria, jogged forward at a rate which 
obliged bis master to trot at the summit of his speed in order 
to overtake him. He carried the skirts of his great frieze 
^^ riding coat" under his arm, and moved-^or, more properly, 
sprung forward, throwing otit bitt loose-jointed legs forciblf 
and with such a careless freedom, that it seemed as it when 
once he lifted his foot from the ground he could not tell 
where it would descend again. His hat hung so far back on 
his head that the disk of the crown was fully visible to his 
^Uowers, while his head was so much in the rear of hit 
shoulders, and moved from side to side with such a jauntf 
air, that it seemed at times as if the owner had a mind to 
leave it behind hhn altogether. In his right hand, fairljr 
balaneed in the centre, he held the hazel stick before alluded 
to, while he half-hummed, half-sung aloud a verse of a popu*' 
lar ballad;— 

** BryiB O'Lyan had no imtU-dothe* to Wear, 
He cat up a sheepskin to make him i pah^ 
With the shinny tide out and the wooUf aide in, 
* *Tii pleaiant and eool,' anya Biyas OUiynn. 

^' Lowry !" shouted Kyrle Daly. 

"Going, sir!" 

*^ Going ? 1 think you are going, and at a pretty bri^k 
rate too ; — ^you travel nierrily, Lowry ?" 

" Middlen, sir, middlen ; as the world goes. I sing fot 
company, ever and always, when 1 go a long road by my- 
self, an' I find it a dale pleasanter and lighter on me. Eqiud 
to the lark, that the louder he sings the higher he mounts, its 
the way with me an' 1 travellen, the lighter my heart, the 
faster the road slips from under me. 

<*I am a bold bachelor, aiiy and free. 
Both citiee and eonntiea art eqoal to me : 
Among the fahrfemalee of erery degree 
I caia not hoir long I do taflg^'* 

*' liowry, what do yoo think of the day ?" 

'"^What do I Uunk of it^aiie? J'm thinken 'twill laioi 



T«n' I te sorry for it^isn^tfaje siasl^er'a bay jovt yet 71 
:8ign8 o* wind ti)'>rain. tThe forty day» trint out y«t,( 
th«re was a sighth p' rasn Ibe iBst'Samt 'Sweeteii.*' ^nd 
again vennnedliis tnelcMiy^'SiifTeriiig itto siftk and ffvv^^I in 
maoiier aiternati^y'diBtiiKt and inarticulate, with a B]i| 
QDixture of that species of enunoialion wliich Itafians tt 
the Toice of the head :-*- 

<< I nertr willttwry irkileyeiitVf ntsiy «ite. 
For nnr heart i^ is light and the world la wid<;, 
X'll oe^er be a slave to a haugbtj old bride, 
To e«rb me and fceepvie imeaay." 

^'And wl^y shimM last Saint fiweetdn. have any thing ti 
do with this day ?" 

^ Oyeb, then^ sure enough, sir. But they tell an ould fabL 



1 



u,i 



about Saint Sweeten when he was first buried — " 

" Why, was he buried more than once, Lowry ?" 

<^ Ayeh, hear to this ! Well, well,'— 'tis mdien a hand o 
me your honour is fairly, kind father for you. He wa*^ then 
buried pore than once, if you go toHhat of it. He was/ 
great Saint living, an' had a long berrin when he died, aire 
when they had the grave dug an' were for putten him into it 
the sky opieqed an' it kep poweren, poweren ?ain for the bare 
life^ an' stopt so for forty days an' nights-r-" 

" And they <iould'nt bury him ?" 

"An' they could'nt bury him, till the forty days wert 
over^ — " 

" He had a long wake, Lowry." 

** Believe it, sir. But ever smeethat, Ihey remark what- 
ever way Saint Sweeten's day is, it's the sanve way for forty 
days after. You don't b'lieve that air, ijow ?" 

" Indeed, I am rather doubtful." 

^ See that why ! Why then I seen a schoolmaster w^t- 
wards that had as much Latin and English as if be bad swal- 
lowed a dictionary, an' he'd outface the world that it was as 
true as you 're going the road this minute. But Hie ^quclUty 
does'nt give in to them things at all. Heaven be with ould 
times ! There is nothing at all Uiere, as it used to be, Mas- 
ter Kyrle. There is'nt the saine weather there, nor the 
same peace, npr comfort, nor as nmeh iQo&«y,nor as strong 
whiskey, nor as good fiaiees^ nor the gentlenaen is'nt so 
pleasant in themselves, nor thepoea'peojSesaiqiiiet^Dor the 
bsTABo divartenS nor the girba^conenS nomotken' at all 



..f# 



K^ere ss it used to be formerly. B^a 
^«Udw as brigbt in the day, as' nothen' 8! 
[ 'Btil%' neither spirits nor good people. In' 
' cooNriit go a lonesosm road at night withot 
lSb%t would make the hair of his head. stiffs e 
Noif you mi#)t ride from this to Dingle with 
thing QgUer than yourself on the way. But nrha 

h < < OneeiB fair England ny Blaekbird dM lloiiiB«h, i 

^ Ha was (he chief flower Ctial in it did fpring ; 

/ Prime ladies of hdnour his person did nonrish, 

f Becaase that he was the true son of a king; ^ 

Bat this false fortune, 

,' Which still is uncertain, 

'^ Bats caused this lone parting between him an ine» '^ 

k His name 1 Ml «dTance, ^ 

u In Spain an' in France, 

An' seek out my Blackbird wherever ka be.** 

" An' you wouldn't b'iieve, now, M asther Kyrle, that 
ihmg does be showen' itself at night at all ? Or used to 

of OVld?"' \ 

' '* It must be a very long while since, Lowry." 

" Why then, see .this, sir. The whole country will tell 
' you, that atter Mr. Chute died, the ould man of AH, Mr» 
Tom's father, you heerd of him ?\' 

" I recollect to have hcarc of a fat man, thr — " 
" Fat 1" exclaimed Lowry ^ in a voice of suij r.te ; "you 
may say hU The re isn't that doore on hinges that he 'd 
pass in, walken with a fair front,' widout he turned sideways 
Or skamed in, one way or other, lou an' I, an' another 
along wid us, might be made out o' the one half of him, 
aisy. His body coat, when he died', fned a whole shoot for 
Dan Dawley the steward, besides a jacket for his little boy ; 
an' Dan was no fishing-rod that time, 1 tell ifou. But any 
way, fat or lain, he was buried, an' the world will tell you 
that he was seen rising a forthnight after be Dan Dawley, in 
the shape of a drove o' young pigs." 
«A whole drove?"' 

^^ A whole drove. An' tisn't lain, ianky caishes of store 
pigs either, only fat^ fit for bacon. He was paSsen' the 
faige^ near the ould gate, an' the moon shiBen' as birigbt aft 
* silver, when he seen him comen' again' him on the road. 
Sore he isn't the same maiv ever since." 
'^ Dan Dawisy is set easily caught by appearaBce8.^Wkat 
4^ 



hafve had* Unny, to f^fiogpm iia% 

>> rl#y 9«mi« tim» 9' tbn kind. ])i.. 
•' i. J^tppcmd Datit in regiird of hi$ t 



:'/; t:)' I'n teU you. Dan was married t; u 
it > r^et^ a vei7 intfariicale liftle dreattir^ thatl ^ ' 
*'i V imifif life from the day they married, |^ 
i.'^ 1 ) 0*8 luck fibe got a aticb an' died on/e morife^ 
Jr>K .7an made a ipiUiloo an* a laffo over her. c 
> :i)'. ' elpngen' to him. They buried l^er, for >0i 
^» /J itten' in his own doore^ and he twisten' a | : ' 
. ^.t e taste o* bacon he had, an* be singen' li* 
,' .^? neyman for himself, when, tundther alive ! v J. 
v. h': in the doore to him, only his dead wife, an* rfc" 
^ w ell as ever ! Take it from roe he didn't stay Ic \' 
.-.ril was. *£'is that you, Cauth ?' says he. 'Tb: 
* v\ e,* says she, *how does the world use you, Dar: ■ 
-^^ .t»a, middlen/ says Dan again. * I didn't think wc '^ 
M'i ou any more, Cauth,' says he. ^ Nor you would. 
i * iCr,* says she, * only for yourself.' ' Do jri^u tell me so 't 
' ys Dan Dawley, ' how was that V * There are two dog 
iiys she, ^ that ^re sleeping on the road 1 was going in t 
other World, an' the noise you made cryen* over me wakens 
^fem, an' they riz again' me, an wouldn't let me past>. 
*. See that why !' says Dan, grinning, * warji't the y the co/ 
thrairy pair ?' Well, after another twelvemonth, Cauth dii . 
the second time : but I'll. be your bail, it was long fron 
Pan Dawley to cry over her this turn as he did at hw 
"1 was all his trouble to see vfDuld he 'keep the womtn ; 
the wake from keening over the dead corpse, or doing art 
thing in life that would waken the. dogs. Signs on, she 
passed *em, for he got neither tale nor. tiden's of her, froi/i 
that day to {his. ^ I^oor Gauth !' says Dan, ' why should ' 
dry, to have theia dogs tearen* her may be!" 

^' Dan Dawley was a luoky man," said Kyrle. ^^ Neithe 
Orpheus, nor. Theseus bad so much to say for themselves 41 
he had." 

'' I never hear talfe o' theiRi gaMlamaib sir. Wov they 
o* these parts?" 



4ft^ 

"* Not tane^. Que <if tkMs mw torn tin eoonty (tf 
Attiea, and Uw otbfv from tiie emmty Thrac#.*' 

^^I Hollar heinr of 'em* I partly giiMsed tftey wor 
8traii0M«,'^ Lowry ooBlknied ivitli mvch sitaiplicky ; ^' but ' 
any wty DiftB Dtwky was a maleb for tbe bast of 'em, an' 
a luckier mas than I told you yet, moxepf er, that 's in tibe 
first befinnen' of bia days.'' * 

At this noineflt^ a number of anatt young ifeUows, 
dressed out in new felt hats, ^am shoes and stockings with 
ribands flying at the knees, passed them on tbe road. They 
toucslked their hats respectfiilfy to Mr. Cafy, while thej^ 
recolfDised his. attendant by a nod, a isicile, and a familiar. 
" is that the way, Lowry ?" 

^^ Tbeyery way, then, lads," said Lowry, casting a long- 
ing k>ok after them, ^'^ Going to Garryowen they are now, 
divarten, for the night,'' he added in a half envious tone, 
after wjhieh he threw the skirt of his coat from the left to 
the right arm, looked down at his feet, struck the ground, 
with Oie end of his stick, and trotted on, singing 

<* I '■» Boted iw dapocB • jic in good ordtr, 
A miB^et I M nittrch,.aii IM foot a c«od teel, 
!■ a coQBtry daBce 0till I 'd b« tht; leadiBg partner, 
> • I ae'ar faltered yet froii 'a cnck on the heel." 

My heart is with ye, boys, this night. But i was tellen you. 
Master Kyrl(^, about Dan Dawley's luck ! Listen hether." 

He dried bis face, which was glistening with moisture and 
lushed with exercise, in his frieze coat, and commenced his 
»tory. " 

" 'Tisn't in Castle Chute the family lived always, sir, 
only in old Mr. Chute's time, he built it, an! left the fort 
^bove^ an' I *il tell you for what raison. The ould man of 
all that had the fort before him, used to be showing himself 
there at night, hirhself an' his wife, an' his two daughters, . 
ui' a son, an' there were the strangest noises ever you hear, 
going on above stairs. The master had sis or seven sar-vints, 
one after another, stopping up to watch him, but there is'nt 
one of 'em but was killed by the spirit. Well, be was 
forced to quit at last on the 'count of it, an' it is then he 
built Castle tlhute, the new part of it, wbere Miss Anne 
^n' the old lady lives now. Well an' good, if he did, he 
was standen one momen oppoztil his own.gjAte on the road 
Bide, out, an' the sun shining, an' the bmis singing for 



44* 

ihemselm in the buslidSt when who should he see only Df 
Dawley, an' he a liitie gaffer the same time, serenade 
down the road for the bare life. ^ Where to new, lad 
says Mr. Ctute, (he was a mighty pleasant man.) ^ Loo 
ing for a master, then,' says Dan Dawley. * Why the 
never go past this gate for him,^ says Mr. Ghutei, ^ if y^u 
Mo what 1 bid you,^say8 he. ^ What's that, sir ?' says t 
boy. So he up an told him the whole story about the fv 
an' how something used to be showen itself there, oonsta 
is the dead hour o' the night ; ^ an' have you the coiirag 
says he, * to sit up a night an' watch it V ^ What would, 
get by it ?' says Dan, looking him up in the face. ' I 
give you twenty guineas in the momen, an' a table, an' 
chair, an a pint of whiskey, an' a fire, an' a candle, an' ye 
dinner before you go,' says Mr. Chute. ^ Never. say 
again,' says the gorsoon, * 'tis high wages for one nighi 
work, an' 1 never yet done,' says he, * any thing that wou 
make me in dread o' the living or the dead ; or afraid 
trust myself into the hands o' ihe Almighty.' * Very wei 
away with you,' says the gentleman, * an' I '11 have your lil 
if you tell me a word of a lie i^ the mornen-,' says he. ' 
will notf sir,' says the boy, « for what V Well, he went ther 
an' he drew the table a- near the fire for himself, an' gc 
his candle, an' began readen his book. 'Tis the lonesomesl 
place you ever see. Well ! that was well an' good, 'till fajf 
heerd the greatest racket that ever was, going on abovi 
stairs, as if all the slates on the roof were fkllen. < I 'm ii 
dread,' says Dan, * that these people will do me some bat 
hurt,' says he^ An' hardly he said the word, when the 
doore opened, and in they all walked, the ould gentlemai 
with a great big wig . on him, an' the wife, an* the two 
daughthers, an' the son. Well, they all put elbows tipon 
themselves, an' stood looken at him out in the middle o' the 
floore. He said nothen, an' they said nothen, an' at last 
when they were tired of looken, they went out an walkei 
the whole house, an' went up stairs again. The gentlemai 
came in the momen early. * Good morrow, good boy,' say 
he, ^ Good morrow, sir,' says the boy, * I had a dale o' fin 
company here last night,' says he, < ladies an' gentlemen 
* It 's a lie you 're tellen me,' says Mr. Chute. * 'Tis not 
word of a lie, sir^' says Dan, * ther was an ould gentlems 
with a big wig, an' an ould lady, an' two young ones, ar 
a iyouDg gentteman/ says he. ^True for you»* says M 



€h«ll^*f4Mai»4aiid.iti:UBpocJtec rfiaobea faisi twtn^ 
gmmmssk . ^ Will jrou ttfty tbm anoilier night ?' says he. ^ I 
will, sir,' «ay8 Ban. W^, Jie meT\i iwaBcen' ahout the fields 

for hiinself, an' when night cbme " 

^ You may p«as met the adventures' of die «eeond night, 
"Loynrjf** said J^yrle, ^^ fori suspect that nothing was effect- 
ed until the third/' 

^' Why then, you just guessed it, sir. Well, the third night 
ja aaid to himself. ^ Escape how I ^CMi,' says he, 4 '11 speak 
to Hist eoldintan with the wig, Ihat^loes be putten* an elhow 
on himself an looken at me !' Well, the ould man an' all of 
^em <iame an* stood oppozzit him with elbows on 'em as he- 
fore. Dan get frightened, seeing *em'8top so long in the 
one place, and the oUld man looken' so wicked — (he was 
after killing six mr seven :in the same JFort,) an' he went 
down on his two knees, an' he put his hands together, and,, 
says he-——" 

A familiar incident of Iri^ pastoral life, occasioned an 
interruption, in this part of the Legend. Two blooming 
country girls, their hair confined with a simple black riband, 
their cotton gowns pinned up in front, so as to disclose the 
greater portion of ^e blue stufi* petticoat tmderneath, and 
their countenances bright with health and laughtery ran out 
from a cottage door and intercepted the progress of the 
travellers. The prettier eftlie two skipped across the'road, 
holding between bttr fingers a worsted thread, while the other 
retained between Jier hamda -the large ball fi^om whieB it had 
been unwound, ^yrle paused, too well acquainted with the 
Country customs to break through the slender impediment. 

*' Pay your fvctmg^ now, Master Kyrle Daly, before you 
go farther," said one. 

^^ Don't overlook the wheel, sir," added the girl who re- 
mained next the door* 

Kyrle searched hispocketibr a shilling, while Lowry, with 
a half smiling, half oeusm'ing) face, murmured'*— 

** Why then, heaven send ye -sense as it is it ye want this 
Hiomeii." 

^* And you manners, Mr. 'Looby. Single your fi-eedoni, 
an' double your distance, I beg o' you. Sure your purse, if 
you hawe os(e, is aafe in your pocket, liong life «n' a good 
mk to you. Master iKyrle, an' I «irisht I had a better ibould 
than thia o' you. I wisht that you were in Jeee^ an' that I 
had tha fiadbg of yoi Ibia Diesnen'." 



m StBB 0OZUeiAS8. 

go saying, while she smiled merrily on Eyrie, aad dnrtu^ 
a scornful glance at Lowry Looby, she retunied to her wool- 
ten wheels singing as she twirled it round :<— 

** I w^t up leetoTM ftom a leaned maiter, 
He ttay beitow 'em on hia silly ti 
I 'd sooner w&lk tfaroagli mj bloo 
• An' hear the whistle of my j<^y i 

To which Lowry^ who received the lines, as thqr were 
probably intended, in a satiiical sense, replied, as he trotted 
Ibrwards, in the same strain :— • 

** Thoat dressy an' smooth-faced yoang maidensy 

Who now looks at present so gay. 
Has borrowed tome words o* good'sngliah. 

An* knows not one half ^what they say. 
No female is fit to be married. 

Nor fancied by no man at all. 
But those who can sport a drab mantle. 

An' likewise a cassimere.shawL" 

^ Hoop-whishk 1 Why then, she 's a clean made little giil 
for ally is'nt she. Master Kyrle ? But I was telien' ypu^^ 
where 's this 1 was ? I98, just. Dan Dawley going on his * 
knees an^ tsJfcing to the ^perrii. Well ! he raised hia two 
hai;d.s this way, an* ^ The Almighty be betune you an' me 
this nfght,' says he. ' Ah! that 's my good boy,' says the 
ould man, ^ I was waiting these three nights to have you 
speak firsts an' if you had'nt that time, I 'd have your life 
equal to all the others,' says he. ^But come with me now, an* , 
I '11 make a gentleman o' you, for you 're the best boy that 
ever I see,' says he. WeU, the boy got a trembling, an' be 
eould'nt folly him. ^ Do'nt be one bit afeerd o' me,' says 
the ould gentleman, ' for I wont do you a ha'p'orth o^ hurt.' 
Well, he carried Dan after him through the house, aa' he 
showed hint three crockffo^ goold buried behind a doore, an* 
^ D'ye hear to me now/ says Jie, * tell my son to give one 0' 
these crocks to my daughter, an' another to you, an' to keep 
the third himself; an' then I won't show myself this way any 
more,' says he— ^ for it's the goold that does be always 
troubling i»iir the ground. An' tell himif he lives/ says be, 
^-to give you my daughter in nwriage, an' this Fort aloog 
with her.' ' Allilu ! me tell him (' cries Dan Dawley. Tm 
surel wottld'nt take him luch a message for the world.' 
«Do, ayeh/ says the ould man, ^an* show him this ringfor a 



TBE «0LLS6IAK$. 47 

tjoken^ * vao? tell him I '11 h6 shewing myself be day and be 

nigbt to him, until be *11 gi^e her to you.' So he vanished 

io-tiie peatest tundther ever you hear. That was well an' 

Spod — iRrell, the next momen' Mr. Chute come, an' if he 

did, ^ Grood raOrrow, good boy/ says he ; ^ Good morrow, 

m^ says Dan. '^ Have you any news for me after the night !' 

says he, * I have, very good news,' says Dan, ^ I have three 

erocks o' goold for you, 1 got from the ould gentleman,' says 

be, an' he up an' tould him all about it, an' showed him the 

•goold.. * It 's a lie you 're tellen' me,' says Mr. Chute, ' an' 

1 'ft have your life,' says he — ^*you went rooten' an' found 

these yourself.' So Dan put a hand in his pocket an' pulled 

out tfae ring and gave it into his hand. It was the ring, sir, 

his lather wore the day he was buried. ^ I give it in to you,' 

says Mr. Chute, * you did see them surely. What else did 

he say to you V Well, Dan begin looken' down an' up, an' 

this way, an' that way, an' did'nt know what to say. * Tell 

me at once,' says Mr. Chute, * an' fear nothing.' Very well. 

He did. ^ Sir,' says he, ^ the ould gentleman told me, an' 

sure 'tis a thing I don't expect — ^but he said I should get Miss 

Anna, your sister, in marriage.' Well, Mr. Chute stood 

looken' at Oan as if he had three heads on him. ^ Give you 

my sister, you keatot of a geocogh /' says he, ' You flog 

Europe for bouldness — Gret out o' my sigbtb,' says he»*^is 

lainute, or I '11 give you a kick that '11 raise you from peverly 

to the highest pitch of affluence.' ^ An' wont I get the 

crock o' goold, sir ?' says Dan. ^ Away out o' that with 

you,' says the gentleman, ^ 'tis to rob me you want, I believe, 

you notorious delinquent.' Well, Dan was forced to cut, 

\>ut in a while afler, the ould man sent for him, an' made him 

a compliment o' something handsome, an' put him over his 

business, as he is to-day with the present people, and an 

honest creatur as could be. There 's more people says that 

it was all a fable, an' that Dan Dawley drenU of it, but this 

was his own story. — An' sure / might as well be dreming, 

too," he added, casting a side glance at Kyrle, "for it 's little 

attention you are paying to me or my story." 

In this assertion, Lowry was perfectly correct, for bis 
young master's thoughts at that moment were occupied by 
A far more interesting subject. 






CfHAPTBRVL 

9I0W KVBlA OAJLt WAS KORB FVaZUU> BIT A VHOCS^^ 09 
JPABBH, THAU THK ABOUSfiSSS (»< TflK SttlUL&^OlXte ei7X*< 
jaiVCT TBBmsftVMB. 

Iir taking eu^ of kk pocket the piece of ali^ which he 
wftoted to bestow oa the cottage Omphi^f he drew forth 
wiA it a litde paper containing, a copy of Yersea which .he 
had taken fram one of Atine Chnte*8 music hooka. They 
we«e written in a boyish hand, and signed with the lelteia H. 
C. ; and Kyfie was taxing his memory torecapitulate dl the 
badivloni in thecountif who bore thoso initiala. There waa 
in the first place Myland Creagh, commonly called Fireball 
€reagh^ a. great BweaUt and pMer-^a notorious duellist, 
who had bran concerned either on behalf of himself or his 
friends, in more than oiie hundred ^* affainKof honour,"-^a 
member of' the Hell-firechib^ a society constituted. on prin« 

, cif^ed similar to that of the Mohocks which flourished in 
London diout half a century before Kyrle's time, and whose 
rules and orders the reader may perui»e at foil length in the 
manifesto of the Bmperor Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladat, as 
Bet forth in Mr. Addison's amusing joumaL Of the pro- 

. vincial branch of this society above mentioned, (it is a name 
that we are loth to I'epeat oflener thian is necessary) Mr. Hy- 
land Fireball Creagh had, been a member in his early days^ 
and was still fond of recounting their customs and adven- 
tures with greater minuteness than always accorded with the 
inclinations of his hearers. There were some qualities in the 
composition of this gentleman, which made it probable 
enough that he might write verses in a lady's music-boOk. 
He was as gallant aa any unmarried Irishman of his day, and 
he had KfykUngname^ E' reputation which was at that time 
in much higher request than'it is in our own. He had <:ofi- 
loeraaiUm — (an essential talent in a man of gallantry,) he 
dressed well, though with a certain antiquated air — and he 
had a little poodle dog, which shut the door when you sai^ 
*^JI^tf«eAer«Atfi.^' and chucked a crust of biToad from his nose 



THE COLEiEGIANS. 49 

into his mouth, at the word " Fire !" And Mr. Creagh, 
whenever his canine follower was called on to perform those 
feats, was careful to make the ladies observe, that Pincher 
never ventured to snap, at the word '^ Make ready !" or 
** Present!" while if you whispered "Fire!" in never so 
gentle, a tone — pop ! the bread vanished in an instant But 
then there were' some objections which were likely to 
neutralize these accomplishments of Fireball and his dog ; 
and to render it unlikely afler all, that be (that is, the former) 
had been the perpetrator of the verses. He had run through 
his property and reduced himself to the mean estate of a 
needy guest at other men's tables, and a drinker of other 
men's wine — or rather whiskey, for that was the fundamen- 
tal ingredient of his customary beverage. This circumstance 
laid him under the necessity of overlooking a greater number 
of unhandsome speeches than was consistent with his early 
faipe. And there was one other objection which rendered 
it still more improbable that Anne Chute would thirik any 
of his effusions worth preservm^. He was just turned of 
sixty-five. 

It could not, therefore, be Mr. Hyland Fireball Creagh. 
H. C. ? Who was it?— Hepton Connolly? . 

Now, reader, judge for yourself what a wise conjecture, 
was this of Mr. Kyrle Daly's. Mr. Hepton Connolly was 
a still more objectionable swain than the Irish diner-out above 
described ; indeed he had no single qualification to recom- 
mend him as a social companion, except that of being able 
to contain a prodigious quantity of whiskey-punch at a sit- 
ting, a virtue in which a six-gallon jar might have excelled 
him. Nor do I find that there was any part of Anne Chute's 
demeanour which could lead Kyrle Daly to suppose that this 
circumstance would take a powerful hold of her affection? ; 
although it secured him an envied place in those of her uncle, 
Mr. Barnaby Cregan of Roaring- Hall. — For the rest, Mr. 
Hepton Connolly was one individual of a species which is 
now happily extinct among Irish gentlemen. He just re- 
tained enough of a once fiourishing patrimony to enable him 
to keep a hunter, a racer, and an insolent groom. He was 
the terror of all the petty-fogging lawyers, the three- and- nine- 
penny attorneys, bailiffs, and process^servera in the county. 
Against these last in particular, he had carried his indigna- 
tion to such a length, as to maim one of them for life by a 
shot f^om his hall window. And he told fifly anecdotes 

Vol. L— 6 



^50 VHE COLLEOIAIf3. . 

which made it appear astonishing that he had escaped 1 
gallouvs so long. But he rehed strongly (aiid in those di 
not without reason) on the fact» that there could not be 
jury empannelled against him on which he might not nu 
ber a majority of his own relations. It was not indeed th 
he calculated much on their personal regard^ or affection 1 
himself, but the stain upon their own name was such, 1 
knew, as they would not willingly incur. His reliance upt 
this nicety of honour in l^is friends was so complete, that 1 
never suffered any uneasiness upon those occasions when 
became necessary for him to plead to an indictment, hoi 
ever irresistible the evidence by which it was supported ; ar 
the only symptoms of anxiety which he ever manifested, co; 
sisted in a frequent reference to his watch and a whisper . 
the under- turnkey, to know whether he had lefl directions ' 
the jail to keep his dinner hot. One amusing effect pn 
duced by Mr. Connolly's repeated collision with judicial ai 
thoritiea was, that he acquired a gradual fondness for thela^ 
itself, and became knovlring upon the rights of persons an 
the r^hts of things,, in proportion to the practical liberti< 
which he was in the habit of taking with the one and tt 
other. While he made little account of breaking a man 
head at a second word, he would prosecute to the rigour t 
the law a poor half-naked mountaineer for stealing a baske 
of turf from his ricks, or cutting a fagot in one of his hedges 
To do him justice, however, it should be mentioned that hi 
never was known to pursue matters to extremity in the in 
stance of punishment, and was always satisfied with display 
ing his own legal skill before the petty sessions. Nay, hi 
had even been frequently known to add considerably to bis 
own loss in those cases by making a gifl to the culprit o! 
many times the amount of the pilfered property. If Anne 
Clute could receive this single trait of good feeling as a 
counterpoise for much bad principle ; if she could love to sec 
her house filled with jockeys, horse-riders, grooms, and 
drunken gentlemen ; if she could cherish a fondness for dogs 
and unlicensed whiskey ; if, in a word, she could be the hap- 
py wife of a mere sportsman, then, it was possible that Mr. 
Hepton ConrioUy migfcM; be the transcriber (author was out 
of the question) of ^e little effusion that had excited Eyrie 
Daly's curiosity. 

Who wai^ it ? The question still remained without a so* 
lution. Ha!— Her cousin and his college friend, Mr* Har* 



THB COLLEGIANS. 51 

dress Cregan ? The conjecture at first iqade the blood fly 
into bis face, while bis nerves were thrilled by a horrid sen- 
sation of mingled fear, grief, and anger. But a moment's 
reflection was sufllicient to restore quiet to his mind, and to 
smite down the spirit of jealousy at its first motion within 
his breast. H^rdr^ss Cregan was perfectly indifferent to the 
lady, he seldom spoke of her, and scarcely ever visited at 
Castle Chute. It could not be Hardress. He was a great 
deal too shy and timid to carry on a lengthened interchange 
of raillery with any young lady, and if it were more than 
raillery he knew the intensity of his friend's character too. 
well, to suppose that he would refrain from persuing his for- 
tunes. It could not be Hardress. He was perfectly aware 
of Kyrle Daly's secret ; he had repeatedly expressed the 
warmest wishes for his success, and Hardress Cregan was 
no hypocrite. They had been friends, attached, friends at 
College, and although their intercourse had been nmph in- 
terrupted since their return home, by diflference of pursuits 
and tastes or habits, still their early friendship remained un- 
changed, and they never met but with the warmth and the 
tfiection of brothers. It was true he had heard Hardress 
speak of her with much esteem, on his first introduction to 
C611ege, and when be was yet a very young lad ; but a little 
raillery was abundantly sufficient to strike him dumb for ever 
on the subject, and he had not taken many lounges among 
the beauties of Capel-street, and the Phoenix-park, when he 
appeared to have lost all recollection of his boyish attach- 
ment. Kyrle Daly had penetration enough to be aware that 
he could not with certainty calculate on a character at once'so 
profound and so unsettled as that of his young friend, who had 
always, ^ven in his mere boyhood, been unapproachable by 
his most intinfiate acquaintances ; and whom be suspected to 
be capable of one day wielding* a mightier influence in so- 
ciety than he* seemed himself to hope or ambition. But 
Hardress was no hypocrite. That was a sufficient secu- 
rity, that if thsre were a rival in the case, he was not 
the man, and if Kyrle needed a more positive argu- 
ment, it might be found in the fact of a new attachment, 
which had of late been intimated to him by his young friend 
himself. 
The love which Kyrle entertained for this lady was so sin- 
s cere, so rational, and regulsPted by so fine a principle of judg- 
> ment, that the warmest, the wisest, and the best of men 

\ 



52 THE COLLEGIANS. 

might condescend to take an interest in its success.' Natu- 
rally gifted with the gentlest qualities of heart,, and educated 
by a mother^ who taught him the use of that mind by which 
they were to be directed, it would not be easy to discover a 
more estimable character among the circles in which he 
moved. Re was the morie fortunate, too, thsft his ^goodness 
was the result pf natural feeling rather than of principle 
alone ; for it is a strange and a pitiable peculiarity in our 
nature, that if a inan by mere strength of reason and perse- 
verance have made himself master of all the social virtues, 
he shall not be as much loved in the world as another who 
has inherited them from nature ; although in the latter in- 
stance they may be obscured by many hideous vices. It 
may appear presumptuous to hazard an opinion upon a sub- 
ject of so much gravity, but perhaps the reader will not 
charge us with having caught the paradoxical air of the day, 
if we ventdre to intimate, that the true source of the pre- 
ference may be referred to the common principle of sel^ 
preservation. A character that is naturally, and by necessity, 
generous, may be calculated upon with more certainty, than 
that which is formed by education only, as long as men^s opi- 
nions shall be found more variable than their feelings. Other- 
wise, why should we bestow more affection on that character 
which is really the less admirable of the two ? But the reader 
may receive or reject this conjecture as be pleases ; we pro- 
ceed with our history. 

For this, or (or some better reason, it was, that Kyrle Daly, 
though highly popular among his inferiors and dependants, 
had only a second place in their affection, compared with 
his friend Har^ress. A generosity utterly reckless and un- 
reasoning is a quality that, in all seasons has wrought most 
powerfully upon the inclinations of the Irish peasantry, who 
are, themselves, more distinguished for quick aftd kindly 
feeling than for a just perception of moral excellence. Be- 
cause, therefore, the fiow.of generosity in Hardress Cregan 
was never checked or governed by motives of prudence or 
of justice, while good sense and reason regulated that of 
Kyrle Daly, the estimation in which they were held .was pro- 
portionably unequal. The latter was spoken of among the 
people as'^ a good master ;'' but Hardress was their darling. 
His unbounded profusion made ^them entertain for him that 
natural tenderness which we are apt to feel towards any ob- 
ject that seems to require protection. " Plis heart," they ob- 



^THE C0LL£GIANS. 53 

served, **>aa in. the right place." " It would be well for 
him if he had some of Master Kyrle's sense, poor feUow." 
^^ Master Kyrle would buy and sell him at any fair in Mun- 
Iter." 

It was only therefore among those who were thoroughly inti- 
mate with his character, that Kyrle Daly was fully understood 
and appreciated ; and it is not saying a little in bis praise, 
to remark that his warmest admirers, as well as bis best ^ 
lovers, were to be found within the circle of his own family. 

It is impossible that such a mind as we have described, 
could give a tranquil entertainment to any serious passion* 
.Few could suppose, from the general gayety and cheerfulness 
of his demeanour, and the governed and rational turn ci 
his discourse, that he held a heart so acutely susceptible of 
passion, and so obnoxious to disappointment. It is true that 
in the present instance he was in seme degree guarded by his 
pwn doubts and fears against the latter contingency^ but he had 
also cherished hope sufficient to ensure him; in case of rejec-- 
tion, a grievous load of misery. He had well weighed the la- 
dy's worth before he fixed his affections upon her, and when he 
did so, every faculty of his mind, and feeling of his heart, 
subscribed to the conviction, that with her, and her alone, 
he could be earthly happy. 

The sun had passed the meridian before Kyrle Daly again 
beheld the small and wooded peninsula, which formed the 
site of Castle Chute. The languor of heart that- always ac- 
companies the passion in its hours of comparative inaction, 
that luxurious feeling of mingled pensiveness and joy, which 
fiUsUp the breast, and constitutes in itself an elysium even to 
the doubting lover, were aided in their influence by the sunny 
calmness of the day, and the beauty of the landscape which 
every step unfolded to his view. The feVer of suspense be- 
came more tormenting in proportion as he drew nearer to 
the solution of his doubts, and the last few miles of his jour- 
ney seemed incomparably the most tedious. His horse, 
however, who was not in love, apd had not broken fast since 
morning, began, at sight of a familiar baiting place, toehow 
symptoms of inanition, to remedy which, ina considerate 
master drew up, and alighted at the inn-door. 



5* 



54 Tiis cauLEQtAsiar. 



CHAPTER VIL 

HOW KTBLS^ DAIY DISCOVERS THAT AlX TUB SOBBpW IT^DEll 
THE SUN DOES I^OT REST ITPOIf Htt BHOITLDERS ALOKE. 

|Is left Lo wry' Looby standing by the trough to see justice 
(lone to Che dumb creature, while he strolled onwards in the 
sunshine, unwilling to disturb the current of his own thoughts 
by any conversation with the people of the Inn. 

The owner of this place of ** Entertainment/' also filled 
the dignified post of pound keeper to the neighbouring village, 
and bis roofless Bastile was situated at no great distance far- 
ther OB the road side. As Kyrle walked by the iron gate he 
was surprised to see it crowded by a number of Kerry po- 
nies, such as may be discerned alqngthe mountain sides from 
the Upper lake of Killarney. They were of various colours 
— bright bay, dun, and cream ; but the shagginess of their 
coats, and the dinAinutiveness of their size, rendered them but a 
little more respectable' in appearance, than the same number 
of donkeys. Several of these half-starved creatures had their 
heads thrust out over the low pound wall, as if to solicit the 
interference of passengers, while others, resigned to their 
fate, stood in drooping postures in the centre of the enclosure, 
quite chop-fallen. Kyrle Daly's curiosity was sufiiciently 
excited to induce him to turn once more upon his path, and 
make some inquiry at the Inn, conceroisig the owner of the 
herd. 

He found the landlord at the door, r small withered old 
man, with an air of mingled moroseness and good nature ifi 
his countenance ; the former the eflfect of his ofiSce — the 
latter of his natural disposition. He was standing on a three 
foot stool, and occupied in taking! down a sign-board, for 
the purpose of transmitting it to b scene of rural festivity 
which was going forward in the neighbourhood. 

He suspended his labours, and was about to enter into an 
ample exposition of the history of the ponies, when his 
wife, a blooming middle-aged woman, in a t^te and glossy 
green .petticoat, ^came to the door, and looked out to know 
what made the hammering cease. The glance of her eye 
— 1 enough <for the innkeeper^ who re-commenoed his work 



rTHE 0OIXXOZA1M. & 

with fresh diligence, while his watchful helpmate undertook ^ 
to satisfy the curiosity of our traveller. 

The ponies, she told him, were the property of a moun" 
taineer, from Killarney, who was making a ^Wotoer" of the 
country, to try and sell them at the, fairs and patterns. He had 
come to their neighbourhood last nigfht, and turned bis ponief 
out on the commons ; but finding that it furnished only short 
commons for them, the poor things had made tlieir way into 
ibe improvements of Castle Chute^ and were apprehended 
by Mr. Dan Dawley in the act of trespass. That inexo- 
rable functionary had issued an order for (heir immediate 
committal to pound ; and Miles Murphy, the owner, was now 
gone off to make interest with Miss Anne, ^^ the young mis- 
tress," for their release. 

" He *11 be a lucky boy," she continued, " if he overtakes > 
her at home this way — for herself an' a deal 'o quality are 
to be at the sands below, to see the races and doings 
there." 

" Races ?" repeated Kyrle. " I never heard of racies in 
this quarter." 

*' Oyeh, what races ?" exclaimed her husband. " A parcel 
of ould ^taggeenM^ sir, that 's miming for a saddle, that 's all 
flie races they 'If have." 

<^ So itself, what hurt ?" retorted the wife—-" The whole 
European world will he there to look at 'em ; and I '11 be 
bound they '11 drink as hearty as if Jerry Sneak an' Sappho 
were on the coarse. An' 'tis there you ought to be an hour 
ago in your tent, instead oi crusheening liere about Myles 
Murphy an' his ponies." 

" Myles Murphy 1 Myles-ira-coppuleen ?^— Myles of the 
ponies, is it V said Lowry Looby, who just then led Kyde 
Daly's horse to the door. " Is he in these parts now ?" 

" Do you know Myles, eroo?^^ was the truly Irish reply. 

" Know Myles^na-coppuleen ? Wisha, an' 'tis I that do, 
an' that well ! O murther. an' are them poor Myles's ponies I 
see in the pound over ? Poor boy ! 1 declare it I ^m sorry for 
his trouble." 

*^ If you be as you say ,^' the o(d innkeeper muttered with 
a distrustful smile, ^^ put a hand in your pocket an' give me 
Tour and eight pence, ah' you may take the fourteen x^f 
em' after liim." 

"Why then, see ! 1 *m blest, if I had it, but 1 -would n\ 
•reakyour word, this d^y. *Or more than tbit, if itwasin^ny 



56 THB COLLEGIANS. 

power for poor Mjlea. There is n't a better son nor brother 
this moment, going the road^ than what he is." 

^' It 's true for yoi| by all accounts," 3aid the pound-keeper, 
as he counted over Kyrle Daly's change, ^' but people must 
do their duty for all." 

" Surely^ surely," said Lowry, turning off. 

Mrs. Normile, the hostess, here made her reappearance a 
the doqTi with a foaming pot of Fermoy ale in her band, tc 
Which she directed Lowry's attention. 
' " A* then what 's that you 're doing ?" he said with a lool 
of rough remonstrance, while he fixed nevertheless a steady 
and wistful eye upon the draught. 

" Drink it off, I tell you." 

•'Sorrow a drop." 

" You must, again." 

« I wont, I tell you." ^ 

" Do you refuse my hansel^* an' I going to the races? Bi 
said by me, I tell you. The day is droutky,^* 

Lowry offered no farther objection, but made his own o 
the ale, observing as he returned the vessel, with closed an 
watery eyes, that it was *' murtberen' sthrong." The co 
loquy above detailed was carried on with so much roughnes 
of accent, and violence of gesture, that a person at a Uttl 
distance might have supposed the parties were on the eve c 
coming to blows in an actual quarrel. But it was all pc 
liteness. 

Kyrle Daly obtained from his attendant as they proceede 
on their way, an account of the individual in whom he ha 
expressed so deep an interest. Miles Murphy, or as he wa 
more generally called, Myles of the ponies, was the occAipie 
of a tract of land on one of the Killarney mountains, com 
prising about seven hundred acres. For this extensive hold 
ing, he paid a rent of fifteen pounds sterling in the year, an 
if there were a market for gray limestone in the ncighbow 
hood, Myles would be one of the wealthiest men in Kerr] 
But, as the architectural taste of the vicinity ran chiefly i 
favour of mud, his property in mineral was left, as an hei 
loom, upon bis hands. Of the whole seven hundred' acre 
there was no more under tillage than sufficed to furnish p< 
tatoes for the consumption of his own family. The va 
remainder was stocked with numerous herds of wild ponie 

*Itif considered not lacky to refute a haniel. 



Ti^ 67 

who found scanty pasturage betwejen the flsurcs of the crags, 
and yet were multiplied to such a clegree^ that A^les could 
Dot estimate the amount of his own stud. 

**• His own goodness, it was,'^ continued Xowry, " that got 
that for htm. He was left, poor fellow, after his lather dying 
of tke sickness^* with a houseful o' childer ; fourteen sons 
and tyro daughters, besides hiniself, to provide tor, an' his 
old mother. J^e supported 'em all be the labour of his two 
hands, till Lord K— hear talks o' him of a day, an^ gave 
bim a lease o' that tarm, an' behaved a good landlord to him 
since. Still an* all, Myles do be poor, for he never knew 
how to keep a hoult o' the money. He provided tor all his 
brothers ; had one priested^ and another bound to a brogue- 
raaker, and another settled as a schoolmaster in the place, and 
more listed from him, an' two went ib say^ an' 1 do n't know 
what he done with the rest, but they 're all very well off; and 
left poor Myles with an empty pocket in the latter end.*' 

Lowry went on to inform our traveller that this said Myles 
T?as a giant in stature, measuring six feet four inches '^ in his 
vamps"— that he never yet met ^Mhat man that could give 
liim a stroke, and' he having a stick in his hand" — that he 
Has a clean made boy as eveji^l^ walked the ground," and 
0Qch a master of his weapon ^at himself and Luke Ken- 
nedy, the Killarney boatman, used to be two hour9 ^^ op- 
pozzit" one another, without a single blow being received on 
either side. On one occasion, indeed, he was fortunate 
enough to ^^ get a vacancy at Kennedy" of which he made so 
forcible a use, that the stick, which was in the hand of the 
latter, flew over Ross Castle into the lower lake, merely from 
a successful tip in the elbow. 

" But," Lowry added, ^' there 's a change come in poor 
Myles of late. It was his leock to meet Eily O'Connor, the 
ropemaker's daughter, of a day, an' he selling his ponies, 
an* 'tis a new story with him, since. He's. mad, sir, mad 
in l(»ve. He isn't good for anything. He says she gave him 
powders one day in an apple at Owen's garden where' they 
bad a benefit^ but I wouldn't give in to such a story as that, 
at all ; — lor Eily is as delicate and tender Iq herself as a 
lady." 

They trere interrupted at this juncture by a startling inci- 
dent, A mounted countryman galloped up to them, dressed 
in a complete suit of frieze made from the umiyed wool of 
black sheep, such as formed the texture of the jpAafoii^ui the 
• Typbui fcTcr. 
I 






58 . ^ Iff E ^ COLLEGIA^?. 

days of Gerald Barry* l^is face was pale and moist, am 
grimed with dust. A Smooth yellow wig was pushed awr 
upon his temples, disclosing a mass of gray hair that wa 
damp and matted with the effects of violent exercise. H< 
looked alternately at both travellers with an expression c 
mingled, wildneas and grief in his countenance ; and agai 
clapping spurs to his horsey rode off 'and disappeared at 
short turn in the road. 

^^ I 'm blest but that flogs Europe !*' exclaimed Lowr 
Looby, in a tone of utter' surprise and concern — '* There' 
something great happened, surely." 

^^ Who is he, Lowry ? f think I ought to. know his face f 

*< Mihil O'Connor, sir, iatber to the girl we were jus 
talking of. He looks to be in trouble. Easy! Here ' 
little Foxy Dunat, the hair-cutter, trotten' after him, ar 
he'lltellus-" 

The person whom he named, a small red-haired mai 
rode up ai the same moment, appearing to keep his seat o 
irseback with much difficulty. The animal he rode, thoug 
1 n and bony, was of a great size, and presented a circun 
ference much too extensive to be embraced by the short le| 
of the hair-cutten His feet, for the greater security, wer 
stuck fiist between the sti ^>$p leathers, while the empt 
irons remained dangling i^«vierneath. For the purpose o 
making assurance tioubly sure, he had grasped fast with om 
hand the lofty pommel of the saddle, while the other was en 
twined in the long and undressed mane. • 

** Pru-h ! Pruh ! Stop her, Lowry, eroo ! Stop her, an 
heavens bless you. I 'm fairly flayM alive from her, that' 
what I am, — ^joulten*, jeuken' for the bare life. Your sar 
vant, Mr. Daly, — I 'm not worth looken at. See my wig,* 
he pulled one out of his pocket, and held it up to view. ^^ 
was obleeged to take it off an' put it in my pocket, it wa 
so tossed from the shaking I got. I never was a horsebacl 
before but once at Molly Mac's funeral, an' I never '11 be < 
horseback again till I 'm going to my own. O murther 
murther ! T have a pain in the small o' my back that wouli 
k^ the Danes. Well, Mr. Daly, I hope the master like« 
his new wig ?^i hep it a long time from him, surely, 
never '11 be the betther o' this day's riden.' Pid you sc 
Mihil-na-thiadarucha* go by this way ? I 'm kilt and spoiled 
that's what I am." 

^ Michael of the Ropee. This praetice ef nanuBg iiwliTidQali from tbeii 
'■ioBf, (in whidi the great proportioa of eiirBamei ax^iaid to hafeori 



TBC COXXBGIANS. 59 

^<l did see him," said Lawry, ^^ what^s the matter, with 
him?" 

^^Eily^fais daughter, is igone from him, or spirited away." 

«^ Erra, you don't tell me so ?" 

*^ She is, I tell you, an' he 's like a wild man about it* 
Here he 's back himself.'* 

O'Connor again appeared at the turn of the road and gal- 
lopped roughly back upon the group. He looked ferociously 
at Lowry, and pointing his stick into his face, while his frame 
trembled with rage, he roared out, ^^ Tell me, did you see 
her, this minute, or I '11 thrust my stick down your throat t 
Tell me, do you know any thing of her, i advise you.*' 

*^ I don't !" said Lowry with equal fierceness. Then, as if 
ashamed of resenting a speech uttered by the poor old man, 
under so terrible an occasion of excitement, he changed his 
tone, and repeated, more gently, *^ L don't, Mihil, an' I don't 
know what cause I ever ga^e you to speak to metn that strain^] 

The old ropemaker dropped the bridle, bis elapsed hsLU^ 
fell on the pommel of the saddle, and drooped his he^ \ 
while he seemed to gasp for utterance — " Lowry," he said, 
*' heavens guide you, an' tell me, do you- know— or could 
you put me in a way of hearing any thing of her ?'* 

" Of who, ayeh?" 

<^ Eily, my daughter! Oh, Lowry, aWagal^ my daughter! 
My poor girl !" 

" What of her, Mihil ?" 
*^ What of her ?— Gone ! lost ! Gone, from her ould 
father, an'no account of her — " 

" Erra, no ?" 

*' Yes, I tell you !" He threw a ghastly look around — 
^^ She is stolen, or she strayed. If she is stolen, may the 
x\lmighty forgive them that took her from me, an' if she 
;itrayed of her own liking, may my curse—" 

"Howl! howl:* f tell you man," cried Lowry, in a 
loud voice, " don't curse your daughter without knowing 
what you do. Don't T know her, do you think ? And don't 
I know that she wouldn't be the girl you say for her apronful 
ofgoold?" 

" You 're a good boy, Lowry ; you 're a good boy," said 

ginated,) ii quite eenenl among the Irish paatantry. So far ii the humour 
temetimea carried, that m poor tiridow in our viUaee haa been nicknapied 
Vauria »' thau Llanuo, i c . Mary pf the two fhUdren, 

♦Hold, r 



60 T?E qOLLEGIA^ 

the old man wrmqing his hand, <^ hat she's ^ne. I ba^ 
n3Qe but her, aa* they took her from me. Her mother i 
dead these three years^ aa' all har brothers and sisters die 
young, an' I rearr^d her like a lady, an' this is the way sh> 
left me now But vrhat hurt ? Let her go." 

"The \f'AIihoas were at the fair'* of Garryowen yester 
day,7 said Lov?ry, musing. " I wonder could it be them ai 
all. I tell you, there are bad boys among them. Ther< 
was of 'em hanged for spiriting away a girl o' the Hayes' 
before." 

" If I thought it wa3 one o' them," O'Connor exclainaed 
stretchin * hn arm to its full length, ai^d shaking his clenchei 
hand with great passion, ^' and if I knew the one that robbe< 
me, I *d 6nd him out, if he was as cunning as a rabbit, ar 
I ^d tear him betiveen my two hands if he was as strong as 
horse. They think tQ piay their gane on me because nr 
hair is gray. But I can match the viiUins yet. if steeU < 
fire, or pikes, or powder, can match 'em, I Ml doit. Let^ 
my horse's bridle, an' donH be holding me here v^iien 
should be flying like the wind behind 'em." * 

Here he caught the eye of Kyrle Daly, as the latter ask 
him whether he *' had not lain informations before s^ Mag 
trate?" 

Instead of fmswering, th,e old man, who now recognis« 
Daly for the firsMiirie, took off his hat with a smile in, whii 
grief and anger were minified with native courtesy, and sa/ 
" Mr. Daly, astore^* I ask your pa^rdon for not knowing yo 
I meant no offence to you, or to your father's son. 
couldn't do it. How are you, sir? How is the masth 
an' the mistress ? The Lord direct 'em, an' spare 'em the 
children!" Here the old man's eyes grew watery, and tl 
words were broken in his throat. " Lay informations ?" 1 
continued, tajcing up Kyrle Daly's question. " No — n 
sir. My back] isn't so poor in the country, that 1 need 
do so niean a thing %s that." 

" And what other course would you take to obtain y 
tice ?" 

"I'll tell you the justice I'd want," said O'Conn 
griping his stick hard, and knitting his brows together, wb 
the very beard bristled upon his chin for anger. *' To plj 
him overright me in the heart o\ Garryowen fair, or wh< - 



THE COLLEGIANS. 61 

slse lie 'd like, an' g^ve him a stick, and let me pick justice 
out of his four bones !" Here he indulged himself with one 
rapid ilourisb of the blackthorn stick above his head, which 
considerably endangered that of the young gentleman to 
wliom he addressed himself. 

At the same mbment a neighbour of O'Connor's galloped 
up to them, and exclaimed — '* Well, Mihil, agra, any tidings 
of her yet?" 

«' Sorrow tale or tiding." 

^^ An' is it here you 're stoppen' talken', an' them villains 
spiriting your daughter away through the country ? Wisha, 
but you 're a droll man, this day." 

Not Hamlet, in that exqwsitely natural burst of passion 
over the tomb of" the fair Ophelia" — where he becomes in- 
censed against the affectionate Laertes for " the bravery of 
his grief," and treats it as an infringement on his own pre- 
rogative of sorrow — not Hamlet, the Dane, in that moment 
of'*' towering passion," could throw more loftiness of rebuke 
into bis glance, than did Mihil O'Connor, as he gazed upon 
the daring clansman who had thus presumed to call his 
fatherly affections to account. More temperate, however, 
tXian the Danish prince, he did not let his anger loose, but 
compressed his teeth, and puffed it forth between them. 
Touching his hat to Kyrle, and bidding Lowry " stand his 
friend,*' he put spurs to his horse, and rode forwards, fol- 
lowed by his friend, while Lowry laid his hand on the hair- 
(^uUer's arm, and asked him for an account of the parti- 
culars. 

** Sonuher* to me if I know the half of it," said the foe of 
unshaven chins, speaking in a shrill, professional accent ; 
'^ but I was standing in my little place, above, shaving a boy 
o' the Downes's against the benefit at Bat Coonerty's, an' 
being delayed a good while, (for the Downes's have all very 
strong hair— I 'd as leave be shaving a horse as one of 'em,) 
I was sthrappen' my razhor, (for the twentieth turn,) an' 
looken' 0ii into the fair, when who should I see going by, 
only Eily O'Connor, an' she dressed in a blue mantle, with 
the hood over her head, an' hei" hair curling down about her 
i^eck like strings of goold. (Oh, the beauty o' that girl !) 
Well, ' It 's a late walk you 're taking, Eily,' says I. She 
made me no answer, only passed on, an' I thought no more 

. ♦Agoodwife. 
Vol. I.--6 



62 THE C0LLE6tAI?9». 

about it till tills morning, when her father walked in to me. 
1 thought, at first, 'tis to be shaved he was coming, for, dear 

Jknows, he wanted it^ when all at once he opened upon me 
in regard of his daughter. Poor girl, I 'm sure sorrow call 
had 1 to her gqen' or stayen' more than I bad to curl the 
Princess Royal's front — a job that '11 never trouble me, I 'm 
thinking." 

" Wisba, but it's a droll business," ejaculated Lowry, let- 
ting go the stirrup-leather, which he had held fast during Uie 
foregoing narrative. " Ride on after him, Dunat, or you 
won't catch him before night. Oh, Vo I Vo I Eily, astora I 
O, wirra, Eily! this is the black day to your ould father." 

" An' the black an' blue day to me, I 'm sure," squeaked 
out die hair-cutter, trotting forwards and groaning aloud at 

^ every motion, as he was now thrown on the pummel, now 
on the hind-bow of the saddle ; those grievances telling the 
more severely, as he was a lean little man, and but scantily 
furnished by nature with that material which is best able to 
resist concussion. 

The misfortune of the poor ropemaker indisposed Lowry, 
(who had once been a respectful and distant admirer of 'the 
lovely Eily,) from proceeding with the conversation, and his 

, young master had ample leisure for the indulgence of his 
own luxurious reveries until they reached the entrance to the 
fair demesne of Castle Chute. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW THE REAPER, CONTRARY TO THE DECLARED INTENTION 
OF THE HISTORIAN, OBTAINS A DESCRIPTION OF CASTLE 
CHUTE. 

An old portress, talking Irish, with a huge bunch of keys 
at her girdfle, a rusty gate lock, piers, lofty, and surmounted 
by a pair of broken marble vases, while their shafbs, far from 
exhibiting that appearance of sotidity so much admired in 
the relics of Greciap architecture, were adorned in all their 
fissures by tufts of long grass ; an avenue with rows of elms 
formed a vista to the river ; a sudden turn revealing a broad 
and sunny lawn : hay-co(*s, mawers at work ; a winding 



THE COLLEGIAKS. • 63 

gravel walk, lost in a grove ; the house appearing above the 
trees; the narrow paned windows glittering amoDg the 
boughs ; the old ivy'd castle, contrasted in so singular a man- 
ner with the more modern - addition to the building; the 
daws cawing about the chimneys ; the stately herons settling 
on the castellated turrets, or winging their majestic way 
through the peaceful kingdom of the winds ; the screaming 
of a peacock in the recesses of the wood ; a green hill ap* 
pearing sunny-bright against a clouded horizon ; the heavy 
Norman arch-^ay ; the shattered sculpture ; the clo^^e and 
fragrant shrubbery ; the noisy farm-yard and out-offices — 
(built, as was then the fashion, quite near the dwelling- 
house) — the bowering monthly rose, embracing the simple 
pediment over the hall door ; the ponderous knocker ; the 
lofly gable — the pieces of broken sculpture and tender fo* 
liage, that presented to the mind the images of youth and 
age, of ruined grandeur and of rising beauty, blended and 
Wreathed together under the most pleasing form. 

Such were the principal features of the scenery through 
which Kyrle Daly passed into the dwelling of his beloved. 

The necessities of our narrative forbid us to dwell at a 
more ample length on the mere description of a landscape. 

To his surprise, and in some degree to -his dieappoint- 
ment, he found the castle more crowded with company than 
he bad expected, lie was admitted b> a richly ornamented 
Gothic arch- way, while Lowry remained walking his horse 
under the shade of the trees. A handsome, tho'«igh rather 
ill-used curricle, which appeared to have been lately driven, 
was drawn up on the gravel plat ; and a servant in tarnished 
livery was employed in cooling two horses on the slope 
which shelved downward to the river side, — the foam that 
flecked their shining necks and covered the curbs and 
branches, showed that they had been ridden a considerable 
distance, and by no sparing masters. 

" Oh, murther, Masther Kyrle, is this you ?" exclaimed 
Falvey, the " servant boy," as he looked into the narrow 
hall, and recognised the young "collegian." '-'' Ma grine 
ckree hu ! it 's an opening to the heart to see you !" 

" Thank you, Pat. Are the ladies at home ?" 

"They are, sir. O murther, murthefl are you come at 
last, sir ?" — he repeated with an air of smiling wonder ; 
then suddenly changing his manner, and nqdding with great 



64 THB C0LL£GIA1)7S. 

freedom and cunning, ^^ Oh, the ladie3 ?-^th«7 are at home. 
sir — both q[^ em,** ' 

** And well!?' 

" And well. I give praise — both of 'em well. Where is 
the horse, sir ?** 

^^ Lowry is walking him near the shrubbery." 

" An' is Lowry come too ? Oh, murther^ murther !" He 
ran to the door and looked out, nodded and raised his hand 
in courtesy, and then hastened back to Kyrle — ^' tji' roe the 
hat, sir, an I '11 hang it up — poof, it 's full o' dust — Come in 
^ here, Mastber Kyrle, an' I '11 give you a touch before you go 
up stairs — there 's a power o' qubllity in the drawen' room — 

an' " here he again cast down his head with a knowing 

smile— <' there's reasons for doin's — the ladies must be 
plaised, surely-. An' how is Mr. Daly an' herself an' all of 
'em, sir ? Oh, murther, murther I" 

" They are all well, Pat, thank you." 

" The Lord keep 'em so ! — Tliere 's a sighth above stairs 
in the new house. Mr. Cregan of Roaring Hall — (ah, 
that 's a rale sporting jettleman) — an' Mr. Creagh an' Fin- 
cher, an' Docthor Lake^ an* the officer, westwards ;" then 
with another famihar wink — " there 's the drollest cratur m 
life in the servant's l^all abroad, the officer's sarventboy^ ^ 
Londoner, afeerd o' the world that he '11 Kave bis throat cut 
be the Whiteboys before he quits the country, ^oor cratur 1 
lie makes me laugh, the way he talks of Irehmd, as if he was 
a marked man among us — the little sprissawneen, that nobody 
ever would trouble their heads about— Coming !"— a bell 
rung—" That 's for the luncheon — I must smarten myself, or 
Miss Anne will kill me. They're all going off, after they 
take something, to the races near the point below, where 
they 're to have the greatest divarsion ever you hear— An' so 
the master is well, eastwards ? Why, then I 'm glad to hear 
it — that 's a good jettleman as ever sat down to his own 
table" — the bell rang again — " O murther! there's the bell 
again — I '11 be kilt entirely !— There now, Mastber Kyrle, 
you 're purty well, 1 think — They 're all ' up stairs in the 
drawen' room in the new house. I needn't tell you the way. 
Syl Carney will open the doore for you, an* I *11 wait aisy a 
minute, for it wouldn't look seemly for me to be taking in 
the thray an' things close behind you." 

While this communicative retainer slipped away, napkin 
in hand, to the pantry, Kyrle Daly ascended^a corkscrew 



THE COLLEGIANS. 65 

flight of narrow stone steps, at the head of which he wag 
' met by the blooming handmaiden above named. Here bo 
had as many " Masther Kyrle's" and pretty smiles, and offi- 
cious, though kindly meant, attentions to undergo, as in the 
narrow hall. These he repaid in the usual manner, by com- 
plimenting Syl on her good looks — wondering she had not 
got married — and reminding her that* Shrovetide would be 
shortly coniing round again ; — in return for which the pretty 
Syl repeatedly told him that he was ^' a funny gentleman** 
and " a great play-boy." 

Tllfey passed through an old banquetting ro«m which had 
once' formed the scene of a council of the Munster chieftains^ 
in the days of Elizabeth ; and descending a flight of a few 
wooden steps, stood in the centre of a )o*by of much more 
modern architecture. Here Kyrle P^tfy felt his heart beat a 
little wildly as he heard voices ^t^d laughter in the adjoining 
room. Modestly conscious,^ we ver, of his graceful per- 
son, and aware of the imfjt)rtance of displaying it to some 
advantage in the eyes <^ his mistress, he adjusted his ruffles, 
and with somethi»^' Jike the feeling of a young debutant, 
conscious of jaatstit, yet afraid of censure, made Ms entrance 
on the little? domestic scene. 

The company all rose and received him with that pompous 
display of aJSability and attention which our fathers mistook 
for politeness, bi^t which their wiser descendants have dis^ 
covered to be the exact contrary, and have discarded from 
i\^e drawing-room, as unbefitting the ease and sincerity of 
fiocial life. Mrs. Chute was unable to rise, but her greeting 
was at once cordial and dignified. Anne gave him her 
hand with the air of an afiectionate relative ; Mr, Hyland 
Creagh placed his heels together — adjusted his ample shirt 
frills, and bowed until the queue of his powdered wig cul- 
minated to the zenith — while Pincher wagged his tail, looked 
up at his master as if to inquire the nature of his movements, 
and finally coiled himself up on the carpet and slept ; Mr. 
Baraaby Cregan griped his hand until the bones cracked^^ 
exprtesing, in very concise language, a wish that his soul 
might be doomed to everlasting misery in the next world if 
he were not rejoiced to meet him ; Doctor Leake tendered 
him a finger, which Kyrle grasped hard, and (in revenue per- 
haps for the punishment inflicted on him by Cregan ) shook with 
60 lively an expression of regard, that the worthy physician 
tM tempted to repeht hia condeacenaioii. To the. young 

6* 



Q6 THE C0LLSGIAS8, 

o65ieer, an Englishman, Kyr1« was introduced by the for- 
mal course of—** Captain Gibson, Mr. Daly— Mr. Daly, 
Captain Gibson"-^on which they bowed as coldly and stiiy 
as the figures io a clockmaker's window in Holborn, and all 
resumed their places. . 

ARer the usual inquiries into the condition of both fami 
lies had been made and answered, Kyrle Daly indulged him- 
self in a brief perusal of the personal appearance of the in- 
dividual in whose siiciety he was placed. The information 
which hR derived from the few glances that happened to fall 
wide of Miss Chute, shall here be laid before the reader. 

Mrs, Chule» the venerable lady of the mansion, was seated 
in a richly carvo<l arm-chair, near an ebony work-table, on 
which u ere placed a pair of silver spectacles and the last 
racing calendar, A gold-headed cane rested against her 
chair, and a small spanie^in the attitude which heralds 
term couckant, lay at her sid^ burlesquing the lion of Brit- 
tania in the popular emblem. l«i, her more youthful days, 
indeed, Mrs, Chute might have assih^ed her part in thelat 
ler, without exciting any ludicrous assK)<;iation ; and even 
in this decay and mouldering of her won^M^y attractioiKi 
there was a y-race, a dignity, a softened fire,^Mid even* 
beauty to be traced, which awakened the spectitor^h respect 
and sometimes warmed it into admiration. Old age, while 
it took nothing away from her dignity, had imparted to her 
manner that air of feminine dependence, in which she was 
said to have been somewhat too deficient in her youth, and 
replaced in tenderness and interest the beauty which it half 
removed. 

Her daughter, who bore a vei'y perceptible resemblance 
to the old lady in the cast of her features, as well as in their 
expression, looked at this moment exceedingly beautifiil. 
A dark blue riding dress displayed her figure to such advan- 
tage, that if a young sculptor could hare taken it as a model 
for a study of Minerva, and could likewise afbrd a lobster 
and a bottle of sherry to a critic in the " Fine Arts," there 
is little doubt that he would make his fi>rtune. Her hair, 
which was shining black, cut short and curled so gracefully 
that it might vie with the finest head in Mr. Hope's book of 
costumes, crept out from beneath her small round hat, and 
shaded a countenance that glowed at this moment with a 
sweet and fascinating cheerfulnesSf The common herd of 
mankind free^uently exhibit personal anomalie? of ^o curious 



THX COLLE0IAZICL 67 

a description as to remiDd one of Quevedo's fancifiil vision 
of the general resurrection, where one man m his hurry claps 
his neighbour's head qpon his own shoulders, and the upper 
portion of a turtle-fed Alderman is borne along by the trem- 
bling shanks of a sts^rrelmg Magazine poet. But nothing 
of this incongruity was observable in the charming person 
of the heiress of Castle Chute. Her countenance was ex- 
quisitriy adapted both in form and character to the rest of 
her frame ; and she might be justly admired ais a piece of 
workmanship not intrusted by Nature (as in a pin-manu- 
factory) to Uie hands of nine journeymen, but wrought out 
and polished by that great Adept herself as a sample of wo- 
mankind for the inspection of customers. 

It was indeed remarked by those who enjoyed only a 
visiting acquaintance with Anne Chute, that her general 
manner was somewhat cold and distant, and that there was 
in the wintry lustre of her large black eyes, and the noble 
carriage of her fine person, a loftiness which repelled in the 
spectator's breast that enthusiasm which her beauty was cal- 
culated to awaken, and induced him to stop short at the 
feeling of simple admiration. Hardress Cregan, who, with 
all his shyness, had the reputation of a fine critic on 
these subjects, had been hear$i to say of her on his return 
from College, that ^^ she was perfect. Her form and face 
were absolutely faultless, and a connoisseur might with a 
better taste pretend to discover a fault in the proportions of 
the Temple of TheiseuH. But there,' ^ he added, ^^ 1 must ter- 
minate the eulogy ; for I could no sooner think of loving 
such a piece of frost-work than of flingiag my arms in 
ecstacy around one of the Doric pillars of Sie old edifice 
itself." 

But Hardress Ciregan had been only once, and for a few 
minutes, in the lady^s company, when he pronounced this 
judgment. Neither was he an impartial observer, for the 
embarrassment which he experienced in consequence of her 
unconscious dignity, made him throw more asperity into his 
cjjkicism than the occasion actually required. Those who 
enp>yed a longer and a nearer intimacy with Miss Chute, 
found an additional fascination in that very ooldness whi^h, 
kept ordinary acquaintances at a distance, and which for 
them was so cheerfully and so winningly removed. In pro- 
portion to the awe wluch it Inspired on a first introductien, 
was the delight occasioned by its subs^uent dissipation, and 



68 THE COLLEGIANS. 

it gave to her whole character that effect of surprise, wbicli ; 
is dangerous or available to the influence of the fair possess- j 
or, according as the changes which it reveals are attractive 
or otherwise. The feelings which accompanied a growing 
intimacy with this lovely girl, resembled those of one wbo 
endeavours, by a feeble light, to discover the graces of a 
landscape which he knows to be beautiful, but which be is 
unable to appreciate, until the morning light streams ia upoQ 
the picture, and brings it forth in all its exquisite reality be- 
fore his eyes. 

The remainder of the company are not so interesting as 
to 'claim an equal portion of the reader's notice. Mr. Bar* 
naby Cregan, a stout top-booted elderly gentleman, with a 
nose that told tales of many a rousing night, was seated close 
to Mrs. 'Chute, and deeply engaged in a discussion upon 
cocks and cockrels, sparring, setting, impounding, the long 
law, the short law, and every other law that had any con- 
nection with his reigning passion. The rosy and red-coated 
Captain Gibson, who was a person of talent and industry io 
his profession, was listening with much interest to Doctor 
Lucas Leake, who possessed some little antiquarian skiDin 
h'mh retimins^ and who was at this moment unfolding tl^^ 
difference which existed between the tactics of King Log^'' 
Latuh-Fada, and those issued from his late most gracioffi 
Majesty's War-Office ; between one of King Malachy'Bhol^ 
bilers and a life ^guards man ; between an English halbef^ 
and a stone-lieaded gaibulg, and between his own commis' 
sion of lieutenant and the Fear Comhlan Caoguid of ^ 
Fion Eirin. 

Mr. Hyland Creagb, who, as befoce mentioned, notwitb- 
standing the perfect maturity of his years, still continued to 
affect the man of gallantry, was standing near Miss Chute, 
and looking with a half-jjuzzled, half-smiling air over a draw- 
ing which she had placed in his hands. Now and then, a^ 
he held the picture to the light, he looked askance, and willi 
a forbidding expression, at Kyrle, who was carelessly saun- 
tering towards the fair object of his attentions, and yetfi^' 
deavouring to give his approximation rather the appearance 
of accident than of design. Mr. Creagh's experience i" 
society had long since made him aware that youth wa^J 
quality which contributed materially to success with the 
ladies, and the consequence of this discovery was a hearty 
d6testatioa*(a tenn more qualified would not express v» 



THE C0LLC6IANS. 6l9 

reeUng)^)f every gentleman who was younger than him- 
self. *^ Puppies !'^ he would exclaim, ^Uhey assume the air 
and port of men when they should be confined to bibs and 
irills, and bestride a blood-horse when their highest corvet 
should be made in the hal), on their grandfather's walking 
cane." But he had the mortification to find that his senti- 
ments on this head were adopted by no unmarried ladies ex- 
cept those whose wisdom and experience were equal to his 
own ; and about their opinions, unhappily, Mr. Creagh was 
as indifferent as the young coxcombs whom he censured. 

'^ 1 profess my ignorance," he said, after contemplating 
the picture for several minutes. ^^ The drawing is admira- 
ble — the colouring has a depth and softness of tone, that i 
have seen rarely produced by water colours, and the whole 
design bears the stamp of reality upon it ; but 1 profess my 
ignorance of the place which you say it is intended to re- 
prewent." 

^^ Indeed !" said Anne, affecting a disappointed tone, and 
pleased to put the old gentleman's gallantry to the' torture. 
^^ Then I must have made a sad failure, for the scene ought 
to be quite facniliar to you." 

*' I am the worst person in the world at tracing a resem- 
blance," said Mr. Creagh, looking puzzled. '' Perhaps, it 
is meant for Ballylin Point ?" 

" Oh, Mr. Creagh, can you find any resemblance ? What 
a wretched, bungler you must think me ! You did well to 
say meaat for-^bdX expression indicates so exactly the de- 
gree of relation between my sketches and the originals." 

^« Pon my honour, Miss Chute— 'pon my honour as a gen- 
tleman." 

" Mr. Daly !" — Kyrle flew to her side. — " Perhaps you 
could restore me to my self-esteem. Do you know that Mr. 
Creagh has mistaken this for a sketch of Ballyhn Point ! 
Try if you can restore my credit, for it is sinking very fast, 
even in iny own estimation." 

"Ballylin point!" exclaimed Kyrle, taking the drawing 
into his hands — " i do not see the least resemblance." Mr. 
Creagh's eyes flashed fire, at this unceremonious declaration, 
but he checked his resentment, and congratulated Misa 
Chute on this proof, that the fault lay in his want of obser- 
vation, not in her want of skill. 

" And do you recognise the scene ?" continued Miss 
Chute, who was well aware of the old servenie*sfoMey and 



iO THE COLLEOIAKff. 

loved to toy with it for her amusement. ^^ Let me hear if 1 
have been indeed so very unsuccessful.'* 

Her lover delayed answering, not because he shared the 
difficulty of Mr. Greagh, but that he was wrapped in admira- 
tion of the drawing. It was an interestmg landscape, and 
finished with more taste and fineness of touch than are usu- 
ally to be traced in the efforts of accomplished young ladies. 
The foreground of the picture exhibited a grassy slope, wbicli 
formed a kind of peninsula in a magnificent sheet of water, 
running a little to the leO:, and terminating at what auists 
term the middle distance in a gracefully wooded point. TIk 
remains of an old castle appeared among the trees, the gloom 
and majesty of which were exhibited in a striking degree, 
by a brilliant effect of sunshine on the water and on the green 
slope above mentioned. Two small islands, afibrding an 
anchorage to some open boats, broke the expanse of water 
on the right ; while the small bay, formed by the point be^^ 
fore described, on the lefl, was graced by the figures ol 
fishermen in the act of casting their nets. The waters were 
bounded in the distance, by a range of blue hills, someot 
which projected into rocky or wooded headlands ; whilelite 
whole was soflened by that deep and rir*h.iilue tint, whi<^^^ 
peculiar to the moist atmosphere of the chmate ; andbj 
imparting at once distinctness and softness to the landscape) 
IS far better adapted to scenes of rural Solitude, than evff 
the lonely spleridour of a Tuscan sun. 

"' Ballylin I" echoed Mr. Cregan, who had walked ovcf 
to look at the drawing. " Tis as like Ballylin, as Roaring 
Halt is to Dublin Castle. 'Tis Castle Chute, and right well 
touched off, too, by Jingo." To this observation he added, 
in language which the altered customs of society prevent 
our copying mrbatim^ that he wished the spiritual foe of ^ 
human race ntight lay bold of him, if it were not an admii^' 
ble resemblance. 

Mr. Croagh bad his own reasons for not taking offence at 
any resentment that was urged by his good friend and fre* 
qiient host, Mr. Cregan, but he did not forget the difference 
of opinion that was hazarded by his young acquaiotaoce- 
To the fair artist's raillery, he replied with a bow and an air 
of old fashioned politeness, that ^' frequently as he had bail 
the honour of visiting at Castle Chute, he was yet unfamilii^^ 
with the scenery, for his thoughts in approaching it wer^ 
exclusively occupied by one object." 



THE COLLEGIANS. 71 

" And even though they were at liberty," added Kyrle, 
'^ it is more than probable Mr. Creagh has never seen Castle 
^bote a^ this point of view, so that it could hardly be ex- 
pected to remain on his recollection." Then moving closer 
to Anne, and speaking in a lower tone of voice, he said — 
'' TIms is the very scene of which I told you Hardress Cregan 
was so enthusiastic an admirer. You have drawn it since ?'' 

Miss Chute answered in the affirmative, and turning 
quickly away, replaced the sketch in her portfolio. Then, 
piroing to Creagh, she told him that he would be very shortly 
^alified to give an opinion as to the fidelity of her design, 
kr they would pass the spot in question, on their way to the 
little race course. There was some farther conversation, 
mi worth detailing, on the subject of Hardress Cregan's 
salute — and some conjectures were hazarded concerning the 
female in the blue cloak, none of whicb, however, threw 
ley certain light upon that mystery. 



CHAPTER IX. 

I 

IQW UTLES inntPBY IS nEABO ON BEHALF OF HK PONIES. 

Pat.Falvey, si^pposingthat he had remained a sufficient 
tbe without, to prevent the suspicion of any private under- 
standing between him and Mr. Daly, now made his appear- 
aace with luncheon. A collared head, cVeam cheese, honey, 
a decanter of gooseberry wine, and some garden fruit, were 
speedily arranged on the table, and the visiters, no way loth, 
were pressed to make a liberal use of the Utde banquet ; for 
the time had not yet gone by, when people imagined that they 
could not display their regard for a friend or guest more ef- 
fectually, than by cramming him up to the throat with food 
and strong drink. Kyrle Daly was in the act of taking wine 
with Mrs. Chute, when he observed Falvey stoop to his 
young mistress's ear, and whisper sotnething with a face of 
much seriousness. 

" A boy wanting to speak to me ?'' said Miss Chute. 
^ Has he got letters ? — Let him send up his message." 

^^ He says he must see yourself, Miss. 'Tis in regard of 



72 THB OOCLEGIANS. 

some ponies of his thai Were impounded be Mr. Dawley for 
tredpassinf^ abore here, last night. He hasn't, the mains of 
relasing 'em, poor cratur, an* he 's far from home. I 'm sure 
he 's an honest boy. He says he 'd ha^e a good friend in 
Mr. Cregan if he knew he was below." 

*^Me?" said Mr. Cregan— " why what's the feUow's 



name 



?») 



<^ Myles Mtirphy, sir^ from Killarney, westwards." 

"Oh, Myles-na-Coppulleen ? — Poor fellow, is he in tribu- 
lation ? We must have his ponies out by ali means." 

*.' It requires more courage than I can always command,'' 
said Miss Chute, " to revoke any command of Dawley's. 
He is an old man, and; whether that he was crossed in love, 
or from a natural peevishness of disposition, he is such a 
morose creature, that I am quite afraid of him. But I will 
hear this Myles at all events." 

She was moving to the door when her uncle's voice made 
her turn. **Stay, Anne," said Mr. Cregan, "let him cosje 
up. 'Twill be as good as a play to hear him and the stew- 
ard pro and con, Kyrle Daly, here, who is intended for tfte 
bar, will be our assessor to decide on the points of law. 1 
cati tell you, Kyrle, that Myles will give you a lesson in ibe 
art of pleading that may be of use to you on Circuit at om 
time or another." 

Anne laughed and looked to Mrs. Chute, v^ho with a smik 
of tolerating condescension said, while she cleared with a 
silken kerchief the glasses of her spectacles, " If your unde 
desires jt, my love, I can see no objection. Those moun- 
taineers are amusing creatures." 

Anne returned to her seat, and the conversation proceed- 
ed, while Falvey, with an air of great and perplexed import- 
ance, went to summon Myles up stairs. 

** Mountaineers !" exclaimed Captain Gibson, " You call 
every upland a mountain here in Ireland, and every one that 
lives out of sight of the sea a mountaineer." 

** But this ^llow is a genuine mountaineer," cried Mr. 
Cregan, ^^ with a cabin two thousand feet above the level of 
the sea. If you are in the country next week, and will 
come down and see us at the. l«akes, along with our friends 
here, I promise to show you as sturdy a race of moun- 
taineers as any in Europe. Doctor Leake can give you a 
history of 'em up to Noah's flood, some time when you 're 



THS C0LLEGIAK5. 73 

alone to|feiher^--w]ier6 the country was first peopled by one 
Parable, or Sparable.'' — 

^^ Paralon,'' said Doctor Leake, Paralon of Migdonia, as 
the Psalter sing9: 

"Cb the fourtemth day, being Tvuuiwj, 
They brought tbeir bold sfaipt to amhor, 
Id the blue fair port with beauteous ihore, 
or well defended Inrer Scei&e." 

*Mn the rest of Munster, where——" 

** Yes— well, you '11 see *em all, as the Doctor says, if you 
come to Killarney," resumed Mr. Oreg&n, interrupting the 
latter to whose discourse, a country residence, a national 
ttirn of character, and a limited course of reading/had given 
a tinge of pedantry ; and who was moreover a firm beHerer 
in all the ancient Shanachus, from the yellow book of M^ 
ling, to the black book of Molaga. ^^ And if you like to 
listen to him, he '11 explain to you every iaction that ever 
befell, an land or water, from, Ross Castle up toCarriguline." 

Kyrle, who felt both surprise and concern at learning that 
Miss Ohutewas leaving home so soon, aind without haying 
thought it worth her while to ^ake him aware of her inten- 
tion, was about to address her on the subject, when the clat- 
ter of a pair of heavy and well paved brogues, on the small 
flight of stairs in the lobby, produced a sudden bush of ex- 
pectation among the company. They heard Pat Falvey 
urging some instructions, in a low and ismothered tone, to 
which a strong and not unmusical voice replied in that com- 
plaining accent which distinguishes the dialect of the more 
western descendants of Heber, .^'A' lay me alon^, you 
foolish boy ; do you think did I ever speak to quoUity in my 
life before ?" 

The door opened, and the uncommissioned master of 
horse made his appearance.. His figure was at once strikingly 
majestic and prepossessing, and the natural ease and dignity 
with which he entered the room might almost have becpme 
a peer of the realm, coming to solicit the interest of the 
family for an electioneering candidate. A broad and sunny 
forehead, light and wavy hair, a blue cheerfiil eye, a noeo 
that in Persia might have won him a throne, healthful cheeks, 
a mouth that was fiill of character, and a well knit and 
almost gigantic person, constitt|ted his external claims to 
attention ; of which his loAy and confident, although most 

Vol. Ij— 7 



74 ' TUE COLIEGIJLNS. 

unaBSuming carriage, showed him to bo in sotoe degree con- 
scioua. He wore a complete suit of brown frieze, with a 
gay coloured cotton handkerchief around his neck, blue 
worsted stockings, an<j[ brogues ica^efuHy greased, while be 
held in his right hand an inpmaculate felt hat, the purchase 
of the preceding day's fair. In the lefl he held a straight han- 
dled whip and a wooden rattle, wl^ich he used for the pur- 
pose of collecting his pomes when they happened to straggle. 
An involuntary murmur of admiration ran among the guests 
at his entrance. Doctor Leake was heard to pronounce 
him a true Gadelian, and Captain Gibson thought he would 
cut a eplendid figure in a helmet and cuirass, under one of 
the arches in the horse-guards. 

. Before he had spoken, and while the door yet remained 
open, Hyland Creagh roused Pincher with a chirping noise, 
and gave him the well known countersign of ** Baither- 
shin!" 

Pincher waddled towards the door, raised himself on bis 
hind- legs, closed it fast, and then trotted to his master's feet, 
followed by the staring and bewildered gaze of the mooD- 
taineer. 

|; **Well,'* he exclaimed, " that flogs cockfighting. ' I never 
thought I 'd live to hayc a dog taich me manners, aiay way. 
^ Baitherahin /' says he. An' be shets the doore like i 
Christian!" 

The mountaineer now commenced a series of most pro- 
found obeisances to every individual of the company, begin- 
ning with the ladies, and ending with the officer. After 
which he remained glancing from one to another with a 
smile of mingled sadness a'hd courtesy, as if waiting, like an 
evoked spirit, the ^pell word of the enchantt-ess who had called 
him up. — " 'Tisn't manners to speak first before quoUity,'' 
was the answer he would have been prepared to render in 
case any one had inquired the motive of his conduct, 

" W^l, Myles, what wind has brought you to this part of 
the country ?" said Mr. Barney Cregan. 

^^ The oold wind always, then, Mr. Cregan," said Alyles, 
with another deep obeisance, ^< seeing would I get a feovo 
o' the ponies off. Long life to you, sir; I was proud to 
hear you wor above stairs, for it isn't the first time you 
stood my friend in trouble. My father, (the heavens be his 
bed this day!) was a fosterer o' yiur uncle Mick's, an' a first 
an* second cousin, be the mother's side, to ould Mrs. O'Leary. 



THE COLLISO^NS. 75 

your honour's aunt, westwards. So 'tis kind for your honour 
to haVo a leaning towards uz." 

*^A clear case^ Myies ; — but what have you to say to Mr^, 
Chute about the trespass ?'* 

^'Wbat have I to say to her? why then a deal, it's a 
long while since i see her now, an she wears finely, the 
Lord bless her ! Ah, Miss Anne !->^Oyehy marther ! mur- 
tber ! Sure I *d know that face all over the world, — ^your 
own liven' image, ma'am, '(turning to Mrs. Chute,) an* a 
little, dawney touch o' the masther (heaven rest his soul I) 
about t)ie chin you 'd think. My grandmother an' himself 
wor third cousins. Oh, vo ! vo !'** 

*< He has made out three relations in the company already,*' 
said Anne, to Kyrle, '*^ could any courtier make interest more 
skilfully ?" 

^^ Well, Mylea, about the ponies." 

** Poor craturs; true for you sir. There 's Mr, Creagh 
there, long life to him, knows how well ( airn 'em, for 
ponies. You seen what trouble I had with 'em, Mr. Creagh, 
the day you fought the jewd with young MTarlane from 
the North. They wen^ akelping like mad, over the hills, , 
down to Glena. when they heerd* the shots Ah, indeed, 
Mr. Creagh, you emoed the North Countryman that morn- 
. ing fairly. • My honour is satisfied,' says he, 'if Mr. Creagh 
will apologize.' * I didn't come to the ground to apolo- 
gize,' says Mr. Creagh. * It '» what I never done to any 
man,' ' says he, ' an' it '11 be long from me to do it to you.' 
' Well, my honour is satisfied any way/ says the other, when 
he heerd the pistols cocking for a second shot. 1 thought • 
I 'd split laughing." 

^' Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense, man," said Creagh, endear 
vouring to hide a smile of gratified vanity, " your unfor- 
tuna,te ponies will starve, while you stay inventing wild 
stories." 

'^ He has gained another friend since," whispered Miss 
Chute. 

" Invent!" echoed the mountaineer. ** There 's Doctor 
Leake was on the spot the same time, an' he knows^if 1 in- 
vent. An' you did a good job too that time, Docthor," he 
continued, turning to the latter, '^ OJd Keys, the piper, gives 

* RquiTaleot to the Freii^ Uilai ! th« ItpM^n Oirne ! and the Sptniih 
4tj demi! kc, • ^ • , 



7S , THE COLULQIARS. 

it ap to yoa of all the doothors going, for .curing his eje- 
sighth. And he haa a great leaning to you^ moreover, your 
such a fine IrishUtn.**^ 
. ** Another*" said Miss Chute^ apart. 

^^ Yourself an' odd Mr* Daly ;" he ^continued, «^ I hope 
the master is weU in his health, sir ? (turning to Kyrle with 
another ptofound congi) may the L,ord fasten the life in jou 
an' him \ That 's a gentleman that wouldn't see t poor 
boy in want of his supper, or a bed to sleep in, an.' he ^ 
from hu own people, ner persecute him ip. regard to a litde 
trespass that was done unknoumaV^ 

*^ This fellow is inesistible," said Kyrle. *^ A perfect 
Ulysses." 

*< And haye you nothing to say to the Captain, Myles ? Is 
he no relation of yours f" 

*^ The Captain, Mr. Cregan ? Except in so far as we aie 
all servants of the Almighty, and children of Adam, I knov 
of none. But t have a feeliMg. for the red coat, for all. 1 
have three brothecis in the army, serving in America. One 
of .'em was made % corporal, or an admiraU or some roJ or 
another, for behavin' welt at Qdaybec, the time of WouFs 
death. The English showed themselves a great people tkat 
day, surely." 

Having thus secured to himself what lawyers call *•*' the ear 
of the court," the mountaineer proceeded to plead the cause 
of his ponies with much force and pathos, dwelling on their 
distance from home, their wild habits of life, which left them 
ignorant of the common rules of boundaries, enclosures, and 
field-gates, setting forth witli equal emphasis, the length of 
road they had travelled, their hungry condition, and the bar- 
renness of the common en which they had been turned out ; 
and finally urging in mitigation of penalty, the circumstance 
of this being a first offence, and the improbability of its being 
ever refoewed in future. 

The surly old steward, Dan Daweley, was accordingly sum- 
moned for the purpose of ordering the discharge of the pri- 
soners, a commission which he received with a face as black 
as Winter. Miss Anne might ^^ folly her liking" he said— ' 
but it was the last time he 'd ever trouble himself about 
damage or trespass any more. What aSair was it of his, if 

* OMdOUdl IB the Irifb antiqvitief, UBgvag«» fco. 



THE C0LLEGl4£iS. 77 

mil the horses in the barony were turned loose into the kitchen 
garden itijelf? 

^* HorseSf do you call *em ?" exclaimed Myles, bending 
on the old man a frown of dark remonstrance-^^^ A parcel 
of little ponies not the heigh th o' tbat chair." . 

« What signify is it ?" snarled the steward — " they 'd eat 
as much, an' more, than a racer/' ^ 

**l8 it they, the craturs ? They 'd hardly injure a plate o' 
stirabout if it was put before *em.'* 
" Ayeh !— hugh !" 

" An' tis'nt what I 'd expect from you, Mr. Dawley, to be 
going again, a relation o' your own in this manner." 

*' A relation o' mine !" growled Dawley, scarcely deigning 
to cast a glance back over his shoulder as he hobbled out of 
the room. ' ' 

" Yes, then, o' yours.*' 
Dawley paused at the door and looked back.. 
"Will you deny it o' me, if you can," continued Myles, 
fixing his eyp on him, ^* that Biddy Nale, your own gossip, 
an* Larry Foley wor second cousTns ? Deny that o' me, if 
you can J" 

" For what would I deny it ?" 

" Well,' why ! An' Larry Foley was uncle to my father's 
first wife — (the angels spread her bed this night!) An* I tell 
you another thing, the Dawleys would cut a poor figure in 
many a fair westwards, if they had'nt the Murphys to back 
'em, so they would. But what hurt ? Sure you can folly 
your Qwn pleasure." 

The old steward muttered something which nobody could 
hear, and lefl the room. Myles of the ponies, afler many 
profound bows to all his relations, and a profusion of thanks 
to the ladies, followed him, and was observed in a few niin* 
utes afler on the avenue talking «with much earnestness and 
apparent agitation to Lowry Looby. Kyrle Daly, who re- 
membered the story of the n|}ountaineer's misfortune at 
Owen's garden, concluded that Lowry was making hiifi 
aware of the abduction of the beautiful Eily, and felt a pang 
of sympathetic affliction for thei poor fellow, in which, pro- 
bably, no one else in the room would have participated ; at 
least, not altogether so deeply. 



7* 



7B TIU& COVLBGl&W. 



CHAPTER X. 

HOW KTUK IMO^T VfWB m BX8 WOOIRG. 

TsB mo Wis in the west when the party arrived ili&<r 
bridle road that turned off to the race p'ound. To K^e 
Daly's great ddight, Mr* Cregan had taken his horse, resign- 
iBg to him the agreeable office of driving Anne Chute in tbe 
curricle, while he rode forward with the geotlemen. SeldoD 
io^toed, I befieve, did the wheels of that vehicle eo(er so 
many ruts» or come in coqtact with so many obstacles as in 
this short drivcy a circumstance rather to be attributed to tbe 
perplexity of the driver's mind, than to any deficiency of skill 
, or practice in his hand. 

None of the company knew, or indeed cared to be inform- 
ed, what the nature was of the conversation which had passeii 
between Miss Chute and her young escort, On the foti 
They observed, however, when the curricle drew up, M 
Kyrle looked pale and flurried, and that his manner was ab* 
sent ; while that of his fair companion wad oiariEed. by an 
unusual degree of seriousness, not unmingled with confusioa. 

*^ What!" exclaimed Cregan, ^^you lopk as ruffled as if 
you had been sparring. Get your hutts in order, then, for 
you must be set again before you come to the ground. You 
have a quarter of a mile through the fields to travel yet." 

*^ Why, uncle, does not the road sweep by it ?** 

^^ No nearer than I tell you ; and the curricle can go n» 
farther. Come, Creagh, give my niece her little hunter, and 
walk with iae across the fields. Mr. Daly, I resign your 
seat to you once ;nore. A pretty stepping thing this is of 
yours. 1 M like to see her tried with ten or twelve stone 
weight at a steeple chase.*' 

*^ Do not,'* said Kyrle, in a low and earnest tone, address- 
^g Anne Chute, ^^ do not, I entreat of you, deprive me of 
this last opportunity. I would give the world for a minute's 
conversation." 

*^ I believe I shall walk, uncle," said the young lady witli 
soma hesitation, ^* aod Mt. Daly is kind enough to say. he 
will accompany me on foot." 



TBS C0UJEOUR8* 79 

(* Willi all my heart," cried the cock^-fif hter. <^ I remem'' 
ber die time, Daly, when I would not have gireb up a walk 
through the fieldg with a fine girl on a sanskSny evening, for' 
all the races in Munster. If Hepton Connolly be on the 
ground, as his insdient groom tells me he iSf 1 will make him 
keep the htaggeena at the, starting post until you come up." 

So saying, he rode on with the ci-devant sweater, to over* • 
take the doctor and captain* who, he obeervedy hlgid grown as 
thkk as two pickpockets, since morning. 
. ^^ I am afraid," said Kyrle, with a mixture of dignity and 
disappointment in his manner, *^ I am afraid, Miss €hute, 
that you wtil think this importunate, ailer what you have 
akeady told me. But that rejection was so sudden— I will 
not say so unexpected — that I cannot avoid, entering more 
at length into the subject Besides, it may, it must be a long 
time before we shall meet again." 

*^ I am sorry you should think that necessary, Mr. Daly," 
said Anne, ^^ 1 always liked you as a friend, and there is not 
a person I know whose society, in that light, i could prize 
more highly ; but if you think it necessary to y^ur own peace ' 
of mind, to remain aw^y from us, it would be very unrea- 
sonable in me to murmur. >Yet, I think, and hope," she 
added, afiecting a smiling air as she looked round upon him« 
**that it will not be long b^ore we shall see you again 
with altered sentiments, and a mind as much at ease as ever." 

*^You do me wrongs Annel" said Kyrle, with sudden 
passion. , ^^ I am not so< ignorant of my own character as to 
suppose that possible. No, Miss Chute. This is not with 
me a boyish fancy— a predilection suddenly formed^ and 
capable of being just as suddenly laid aside. If you had 
said this last summer^ a few weeks after I first saw you, 
the remark perhaps might have been made with justice. I 
knew little of you then, besides your beauty, your talents, 
and your accomplishments ; and I will say, in justice to my- , 
self, that tho^ qualities, in any woman, never could so deeply 
fix or interest me as to produce any lasting disquiet in my 
P)ind. But our acquaintance has been since too much pro* 
)oi)ged* I have seen you too ofttn — I have known you too 
we'll — I have loved you too deeply, and too sincerely,, to feel 
th'i? disappoinlmcrit as any thing less than a dreadful stroke. 
f,e nia entreat of you," he continued with increasing warmth, 
anc disregarding the efforts which Miss Chute made to in- 
leriipt him, *^ let me implore you to recall that hasty nega- 



80 , XHB ota^aauNB. 

ti?e. You said you were uoprepared— tbat you did d( 
asfMCt such a proposal from me. I do not press you to a 
aliswer at this momeat ; the torture of syspeDse itself is pr< 
feraUe to ahsolute despair* Say you will think ofit^et, 
any tfaii;ig rather than at onee decide on my-rrdestructiofl,] 
cannot but call it,'* • . 

^^ I must not, 1 will not act with so much injustice/* sail 
Anne, who was considerably distressed by the deptboffeel 
ing that was evident in her )ove^*s Yoice and manufsr* ^^ 
tdj^Uld he treating you most unfairly, Mr. Daly, if I ^ so 
it is tnie that I did not expect such a declaration as yoii^^^> 
made, not in the least ; but my decision is taken notwith 
standing. It is impossible J can, ever give you anyotbe 
answer than you have already received. Do not, 1 will in 
treat of you in my turn, give way to any groundless expecta 
tions, any idea of a change in my sentiments on this sui^) 
It is as impossible we should ever be united as if we lived ii 
two separate planets." 

The unhappy suitor loioked the very image .of pale am 
ghastly despair itself. His eye wandered, his cheek ^ 
wan, and every muscle in his face quivered with passior 
His words, for sevisral moments, w»e so: broken as toii 
proach a degree of incoherency, and hisicnees trembled ffi^ 
a sickly faintness. He continued, nevertheless, to urgebj 
addresses. Might he not be favoured wHh Miss Chote 
reasons ? Was there any thii\g in his own conduct ? Af 
thing that might be altered ? The dejection that was ink 
accents as well as in his appearance, touched .and alnv 
terrified his obdurate mistress, and she took some pains' 
alleviate his extreme dtespondency^ without, however, affof 
ing the slightest ground for a hope which she felt could ne^' 
be accomplished. The conijolations which she employe 
Were drawn rather from the probability of a change in ^ 
sentiments than he^own. 

J " You are not in a condition," she said, ** to judge of 4 
state of your oUrn mind. Believe me, this depression ^ 
not continue as you seem to fear. The Almighty is too jj 
to interweave any passion with our nature which it is a 
in the power of our reason to subdue." 

♦< Aye, Anne," said Kyrle, " but there are some per?) 
for whose happiness the struggle is quite sufficient. !> 
not so ignorant as you suppose of the eiSSsct of a disapp<^i 
incnt like this. I know that it will not be at all timet 



TBS COLLBOIAHS. .91 

tmi oppressiy^ as I feel U ti this moment ; but 1 

to6, that U will be as lasting as life itself. I bate 

irienced a feeling of regret that amounted to actual 

looking back to years that have befdndistinguisfaed 

beyond the customary enjoyments of boyhood. Ima- 

if you can, whether I have not reason to apprehend 

Ififkiyal of those hours when I shall sit alone in the eren- 
iB^niiid think gS the time that was spent in your society !'* 

HiiB Chute heard this speech with a feeling of deep, and 
eron qnnpathetic emotion. As Kyrle ventured to glance at 
ber countenance, and bbsenred the peculiar expression of 
Iwr^tnrrow, the idea of a rival, which till that moment had 
iKMf'imce occurred to him, now flashed upon his mind, and 
dttnged the current of his feelings to a new direction. The 
seitiment of jealousy was almost a useful stimulus, in the 
excossiTe dejection under which he laboured. 

^ Will you fbrgif e me," he said, ^^ and take the present 
Itftte of my feeling? as an apology, if there should be any 
^Dg offensive in the question I am about to ask you ? There 
I An be only one reason for my rejection which would satve 
I If pride the mortification of believing myself altogether 
mrorthyr I should feel some consolation in knowing that 
mr own misery was instrumental to your happiness ; indeed, 
Itfionld not think of breathing another word i^n tbb sub- 
pet, if I thought that your, affections had been already en- 
ligedr 

The agitation seemed now to have passed over to the 
Itdy's side. Her brow became dark red, and then returned 
to more than its accustomed whiteness. *^ I have no other 
engagement," she said, after a pause-*-** If 1 had, I diouid 
^nk it hardly fair to press such an inquiry. But, I assure 
jou, I have none. And since you have spoken of my own 
jiows in life, 1 will be more explicit, and confess to f ou, that 
I do not at present think it is likely f shall ever contract any. 
1 love my mother ; and her society is all that I desire or hope 
^ enjoy at present. Let me now entreat you, as a finend, 
i<^ my sake as well as your own, never again to rene«r any 
<^vmation on this subject." 

This was said in a tone of such decision, that Kyrle saw it 
wouU be impossiUe, without hazarding the loss of the young 
^y's firiendship,to add another word of remonstrance, or of 
^gum<3int. Both, therefore, continued their walk in silence, 
i^or did they exchange even an indifferent observation until 



at vm^ CQtumjujm^ 

th»y reaoh«d the aommit of the Utile dope fiom whioh I 
course was fiaiblet 

Their thoughts, bovevern were not subjected to the sag 
restrktioB, and tbs tr^ie ef reflection ia either, case was £ 
calculated to awaken en¥y. 

She received my queslion with embarrassmei)!; Hiciog 
KyrlCf and she evaded a reply. I ha?e a rival, i^ ^^ridcr 
and a faroured, at least, if not a declared one.-^VirdU« Vt 
is to be happy, I am content ; but unquestionably the » 
miserable contented, m^ upon the earth. 

The lady's meditations also turned upon the same criaii 
the conversation. All that I desire ? . she mentally repeiali 
quoting her own words to her rejected suitor. And bavi 
so far conquered my own feelings as to be capable witfc p' 
feet sincerity of making an assertion such as that t Or 
it be sincere, am I sure that I ran noriakof disqualifyfa^o 
aetf for retaining the same liberty of wind by acceptiii|r « 
uncle's invitation ? But it is not possible, surely, that i 
peace should be endangered in the society of#one who trei 
me with something more, and colder, than indiiSerence itsi 
and if it were, my part is already taken, and it is nove \ 
late to retract. Hoor Kyrle, he wastes his eloquence ia < 
citinjjr my commiseration for a state of mind with whici 
have been long and painfully conyersant. If he knew he 
powerful a sympathy. my own experience had awakened 1 
him, he need not use an effort to increase it. 

A loud shout of welcome, sentlbrth in honour of 1 
heiress of Casitle Chute, and the lady patroness of the da; 
amusements, broke in upon these sombre dieditatioBa, a 
ealled the attention^ of that lady, and of her downcast escc 
to a novel scene, and new performers. 

CUoMren ifluneiit^m toUit, <)ao ppiitas et onuits 
Intremaere «adB| pcnitiuqii« extenrito telloi 
MiMoniiit. 

The sounds of greetmg then sank into a babbling murm 
and at laet into a hush of expectation, similar to that w 
which Pasta is welcomed at the Italian opera when she cob 
forward to stop the mouths of the untntelligibte ohoms, t 
to thrOl the bright assembly with the frantic sorrows 
Medea« 

The spot selected for the oocasioa, was the shore o 
small bay, whioh was oomposed of a fine hard sand 1 



TUB c6t£awim. ' 83 

afforded a retf fair and ievel coarse for the horses. At the 
^fartber end wa3 a loft]^ pole, on the top of which tras stis^ 
pended by the stirrup a new saddle, the destined fuerdon of 
e the eonqaerpr. A red handkerchief, stripped from the neck 
[ of Dan Hourigan, the house carpenter, was hoisted over- , 
headland a crowd 0f country people, dressedi notwithstanding 
t the finr ss of the day, in their heavy frieze great coats, 
stood rt Mhe win^ing-post^ each faction faiing resolved to. 
see justice done to its own representative in ti»e match. A 
number of tents, composed of old sheets, bags, and blitnkets, 
with a pole at the entrance, and a sheaf of reed, a broken 
bottle, or a sod of tu^f eretted for a sign, were discernible 
among the multitude that thronged the side of the little rising 
ground before mentioned, fligh above the rest Mick Nor- 
mile's si^ board waved in the rising wind. Busy was the 
look of that lean old man, as he bustled to and fro among his« 
pigs, kegs, mugs, pots and porringers. A motlev mess of 
felt hats, white muslin caps and ribands, scarlet doaks, and 
blue riding ^oc&*, filled up the spaces between the tents, and 
moved in a continual series of involutions^ whirls and eddies, 
like those which are observable bn the surface of a fountain 
newly filled. The horses w^re to start from the end of the 
bay, opposite to the winning-post, go round Mick Normile's 
tent, and the cowel on the hill side, and returning to the place 
rom whence they came, run straight along the sand for the 
saddle. This was to be the Victor's prize, 

Hie, qui forte relibt nipido contendere corstt, 
Invitet pretiis animw, et lureinift ponit. 

The solatia ticto were to be had at the rate of foul-pence a 
tumbler, at Mick Normile's tent. 

A rejected lover can hardly be supposed to have any pre- 
dilection for the grotesque. Kyrle Daly however, observing 
that Miss Chute made an efibrt to appear unembarrassed, 
and feeling, in the sincerity of his affection, a sentiment of 
grief for the uneasiness he had occasioned her, compelled 
himself to assume the appearance of )iis usual good humour, 
and entered with some animation into the spirit of the scene. 
Captain Gibson, who now approached them on foot, could 
not, with the recollections of Ascot and Doncaster fresh in 
his mind, refirain firom a roar of laughter at almost every ob- 
ject he beheld,— at the condition of the horses ; the serious 



Q4 . T0S CN>&LSeXAK8. 

ftfid hnportaiit look of the rideri^ ; the Tmiers appet 
of the whole course ; the band, consisting simply of a 
fiddler with a piece ef listmg about his waist and ai 
about his old hat ; the seif-importance of the stewards 
. Welsh the baker, and. Batt Kennedy the poet or jan 
the Tillage, as they went in a jog trot round the coursi 
leoting shiihng subeeriptiooa to the saddle from all wl 
peared on hor^back. 

«< Well, Anne," said Mr. Cregan, riding up to the| 
^^ we have lost three of our company. Hepton Conn 
gone off to fight a duel with some fellow from the mou 
that called him a scoundrel, andHaken Creagh with h 
a second. That^s the lad that'll see them proper! 
Doctor Leake has followed for the purpose of stoppi 
any holes they may happen to make in- one another, 
have all the fun to ourselves. If the doctor had sta 
should have had so many accounts of the sports of 1 
and all that. He is a very learned little man, the do 
don't suppose there 's so long a head in the county ; 
talks too much. Captain, I see you laugh a great de 
you mustn't laugh at our girls, though ; there are some 
bits o' muslin there, I can tell ypu." 

*^I like them uncommonly," said the Captain, 
dress, in particular, I think very becoming. The musl 
. with a ribbon tied under the chin and a pretty knot al 
a very simple and rural head dress. And' the scarlet 
and hood, which seems to be a favourite article of cc^ 
gives a gay and flashy air to their rustic assemblies^ I 
that girl, now, with the black eyes, on the bank, what a 
modest dress that is! A handkerchief pinned acn 
bosom, a neat figured gown, and a check apron ; bu 
demon whispered her to case her little feet in black v ^ 
stockings and brogues ?" 

*' They are better than the clouted shoes of the cont 
said Anne, *^ and durability must sometimes be prefe 
appearance." 

" Why that's Syl Carney, Anne," ezclaimdd Creg;. 

<«It is,' sir. She has seen her bean somewhere 
course, I Will venture to say/* 

A roar of laughter from Captain Gibson here at 
their attention. 

^^Look at that comical fellow on horseback," he 
^^ did you ever see such a pafbr of long legs with so : 



THS coLLEauim. 95 

bead. A fire-tongs woalil sit a borse aa well. And-^boerfc 
the jaunty way he carries the little bead, and his nods and 
winks at the girls. That's an excruciating fellow! And 
the arms, the short arms, how the fellow gathers up the 
bridle and makes the. lean animal hold up his head and jog 
airily forward. Is that fellow 'really going to run for the 
stake?" 

Kyrle Daly turned his eyes in the same direction, and 
sufiered them to dilate with an expression of astonishment, 
when he beheld his own saucy squire seated upon the hair- 
cutter's mare, and endeavouring to screen himself from his 
mas'ter^s obseryation by keeping close to the side of Batt 
Ken^c^, the Junius ; while the latter recited aloud a violent 
satire which he had made upon a rival versifier in the neigh- 
bourhood, fn fact, Lowry Looby, understanding that Syl 
Carney^ Wffi» to be at the course, and wishing to cut a figure 
in her eyes, had coaxed Foxy Dunat ^^ out of the loand of 
his mare for one hate," while that indifferent equestrian re- 
fireshed his galled person with a ^^ soil sate," on the green 
sod in Mi6k Normile's tent. 

Mr. jCregan here left the party, with thp view of aasumlDg 
his place as judi>e of the course at the winning post; 
while the staggeens with their riders moved forwurd, sur- 
rounded by a dense and noisy crowd, to the starting post near 
theetevation that was occupied by our three friends. 

« Wo are at a loss here," said Miss Chute, ^''fot a UsU m 
Utt of tki9 day'B naming horses, the eoUmr of m rider and 
the rider^sname /" [ Here she imitated, with some liveliness, 
the accent oi the boys who sell those bills at more regular 
fetes of the kind.] ^ But you, Captain Gibson, a^m to take 
an interest in the proceeding, and I am acquainted not only 
with the cbaiiacters ot the heroes who hold the reins, but with 
all thB secret machinery of intrigue which is expected to in- 
terfere with the fair*dealing of the day ; I will, therefore, if 
you pleaso, let you into the most amusii^ parts of their 
history as they pass." 

Captain Gibson, with a fresh burst of laughter, protested , 
that ** he would give the world for a peep into the social 
policy of an Irish village.*' 

" Well, then," said Anne, assuming a M ock-Ossianic man- 
ner, ^^ the first whom you see advancing^ on that poor half- 
star^red black mare with the great lump on her knee, and the 
kay rope for a saddle-girth, is Jenry Dooley, our village nailer, 

Vol. I.— 8 



86 THS COLLEOUlKS. 

filmed alike for his dexterity in shaping the heads, of his bnd 

jand demolishing those of bis acquaintances. Renowned ii 

war is Jerry, I can tell you, — G^irtenaspig and Derrygortnac 

loghy re-echo with his fame. Next to him, on that spavioe 

gray horse, rides John O'Reilly, our blacksmith, not less e 

teemed in arms, or rather in cudgels. Not silent, Captai 

Gibson, are the walks, of Garryowen on the deeds of Job 

O'Reilly, and the bogs of Ballinvoric quake when his nam 

b mentioned. A strength of arm, the result of their luibita 

occupation^ has rendered both these iteroes formidab 

among tiie belligerent factions of the village, but the xml 

is alb wed a precedence. He is the great Achilles, O'Reil 

the Tdemoii Ajax of the neighbourhood. And to follow i 

my Homeric parallels, close behind him on that long-backe 

UFigroomed creature, with the unnaraeahle colour, rides t 

crafly Ulyii^ea of the assemblage, Dan Hogan the proce 

server. You may read something of bis vocation in t 

aidebng gbnce of his eye and in the paltry deprecating > 

of his whule demeanour. He starts as if afraid of a bl( 

whenever any one addresses him. As he is going to 

married to Daoley's sister, it is apprehended by the O'Rei/ 

ttiai he will attempt to cross the blacksmith *s mare, buti 

smoky AchilM, who gets drunk with him every Satun 

night, hiia a full reliance on his friendship. Whether, be 

ever, Cupid or Bacchus will have the more powerful influei 

upon the process-server, is a question that I believe yet 

mains a mystery even to himself; and I suspect he v 

adopt the neutral part of doing all he can to win the sad 

for himi^elf. The two who ride abreast behind Hogan 

mouiitameers, of whose motives or intentions I am 

aware ; the sixth and last is Lowry Looby, a retainer of 

friend Mr. Daly's, and the man whose appearance made ; 

iskugh m heartily a little while since. He is the only rom 

Lie imlividuat of the match. He rides for love, and it u 

the chatty disposition of the lady of his affections, our c 

bouseujcild^ that I am indebted for all this information.*^ 

One would have thought the English officer was aboi 

die with laughter several times during the course of 

speech. He leaned, in the excess of his mirth, upon 

shoulder of Kyrle Daly, who in spite of all his depres 

was compelled to join him, and placing his hand agains 

ibrehead*" 



THB COLLECflANB. 87 

*' —-laughed, tint intemiMioik . 
ABlMni»l»]rfh«aiikt'» 

The mere force of sympathy compelled the lady and gen* 
l^etnan to lay aside for the moment their more serious reflec- 
tions, and adapt their spirits to the scene before them. It 
seemed curious to Kyrie Daly, that slightly as be esteemed 
this new military acquaintance, he felt jealous for the moment 
of the influence thus exercised by the latter on the temper of 
Anne Chute, and wished at the time that it were in his 
power to laugh as heartily as Captain Gibson. But a huge 
diaphragm, though a useful possession in general society, is 
not one that is most likely to win the afieotions of a fine girl. 
In affairs of the heart your mere laugher is a Iboi to your 
thinker and sentimentalist. 

Before the Captain could sufficiently recover himself to 
make bis acknowledgments for the entertainment which Miss 
Chute had aflforded him, a cry of '' Clear the coorse * Clear 
the coOrse !'* resounded along the sand, and the two stewards, 
the baker and poet, caipe gallopping round at a furious rate, 
laying about them stoutly with their oord-whip», while their 
horses scattered the sand and pebbles in all directions with 
their hoofs, and the stragglers were seen running off to the 
main body of the spectators to avoid a fate similar to that 
sustained by the victims of Jaggernaut, in that pious proces- 
sion to which his Majesty^snoa- emancipating government so 
largely and so liberally contribute. ^ Clear the coorse !'* 
shouted the baker, with as authoritative an accent as if he 
were King Pharaoh's own royal dough-kneader ^^ Clear 
the coone !" sung the melodious Batt Kennedy, the favourite 
of the musei, as he spurred his broken-winded Pegasus after 
the man of loaves ; and of course, the course was cleared, 
and kept dear, le^s perhaps by the violence of Tim Welsh 
than the amenity of Bntt Kennedy, who, though not a baker, 
was the more pithy and flowery orator of the two. 



81 THS COZtliBOXAKSJ 



CHAPTER XL 

UOW XYKLB ]»4Llr BA8 THS GOOD LUCK TO BEB A STA«- 
OMBV KACB. 

The sigatt was ginm«^arid the six faoraemen started in 
good order, and with more zeal and eagernesti in their faces 
than was to be found in the limbs of the animals which tbef 
bestrode. For a iew moments the strife seemed doubtfdi 
and Victory hovered, with an indecisive win{^, now overooe 
faelmet, and now over another. The crowd of spectatois, 
huddling together on aheap, with facei that flowed aoJ 
«yes that sparkled with intense interest, encouraged tiie 
riders with shouts and exclamations of hoarse and vehemeiit 
applause. ^^ Success ! success, Jerry I'* ^^ It *8 done ; • a half- 

Sint wit vou, Dan Hogan wins !** ^^ I depend my life upw 
ohn i >*ReUlj/* '^ Give her a loose, Lowry :" and other 
expressions of a similar nature. 

But ere they again came round the winning-post, the po- 
sition of the horses was altered. 0*Reiily rode in firoot, 
lashing his horse in tiie flank with as much force as if Ik 
were pounding on his. own anvil. Dooley the nailer earae 
elose behind, drubbing his black mare's lean ribs with tix 
calves of his legs as if designing^to bcfat the pfM)r beast oot 
of the last remnani of her wind. The others fbllowed, 
lashing their horses and one another, each abusing his neigh- 
bour in the grossest terms, all except Lowry Looby, wbo 
prudently kept out of harm's' way, keeping a loose in hi> 
Dandy and giving the hair-cutter's mare the advantage d 
what the jockeys term a «oft, a relief, indeed, of which the potf 
creature stood in the utmost need. Me was thus prepared 
to profit by the accident vrhich followed. The blacksmitb'B 
gray horse started at a heap of sea- weed, and suffered the 
nailer's mare to come down like a thunderbolt upon bis 
kaunches. Both steeds fell, and the process-server, who 
rode on their heel*, falling foul of them as they lay kickiof 
on the sand, was compelled to share in their prostratioo. 
This accident produced among the fallen heroes a seric^ot 
kicks and bniiaes in which the horses were not idle. 0'Reill?< 



clencl^ng hia band, hit the nailer a straight-forward blow 
between the eyes, which so effectually interfered with the 
exercise of those organs, that he returned the favour with a 
powerful thrust in the abdomen of his own prostrate steed. 
For this good office he was rewarded by theindignant q^uad- 
ruped with a kick over the right ear which made it unneces- 
sary to inflict a second, and the quarrel remained between 
the process* server and blacksmith, who pummelled one 
another as if they were pounding flax, and with as much, 
satisfaction as if they had never got drunk together in their 
livQS. They were at length separated, and borne from the 
ground all covered with blood and sand, while their horses 
with much diffi(\pity were set upright on their legs, and led 
oflT to the neighbouring slope. 

In the meantime, our party observed Lowry Loobv return- 
ing from the winning post under the protection of Mr. Cre- 
gan, witb the saddle torn to fritters between his hands, and 
his person exhibiting tokens of severe ill-usage. He bad 
contrived to outstrip the mountaineers, and obtained the 
prize; but the adverse factions, irritated at beholding their 
laurels flourishing on a stran^fer's brow, had collected around 
and dragged him from his horse, alleging that it was an un- 
fair heat, and that there should be a second trial. Mr. 
Cregan, however, with some exertion succeeded in rescuing 
Lowry from their hs^nds ; but not until every man in the 
erowd had put a mark upon him by which he might be easily 
distinguished at any future meeting. ' 

Tired of the deafening uproar that surrounded him, and 
longing for retirement, tnat he might" brood at leisure over 
his disappointnient\ Kyrle D£dy now lefl the course, notwith- 
standing the invitation of Anne Chute, that he would return 
and dine at the Castle. His intention was, to spend the 
night at the Cot(age on one of his father^s dairy-farins, 
which lay at the distance of a few miles lower on the river 
side ; and where one neat room was alawys kept in order for 
his use, whenever he joined Hiirdress Cregan in a shooting 
excursion towards the mouth of the stream. Hardress had • 
promised to visit him ^t this cottage, a few week^ before, and 
as he knew that his young friend must have come to an 
anchor in waiting for the ti^^, he judged it not unhkely that 
he might se^ him this very«niight. He had now an additions' 
leasoh for de|iring to hold conversation with Hardress, i 
•rder that he might receive the confiolation3 of his friendab' 
' 8» 



30 THE COLtfiGIAKg. 

under his own duntppoiDtment ; arid, if poMnble, obtain some 
knowledge of the true condition of bis mistress's affectioDS. 

Lowry Looby, once more reduced to his tegs, followed 
him at a distance somewhat more considerable than that re- 
commended by Dean Swift as proper to be obserred by gen- 
tlemen's gentlemen. He lingered only to restore the maie 
to Foxy Dunat, presenting him at the same time wi^ the 
mutilated saddle, and obstinately declining the hair-cutter's 
proposal of ^^ trniting him to the best that the Cat an' Bag- 
pipes C€>uld afford*" After which conversation, the two 
friends threw their arms about each other's neck, kissed, as 
in France, and separated. 

The night had fallen before Kyrle alighted at the cottage 
door. Mrs. Frawley, the dairy-woman, had been provideot 
enough to light a 6re in the Itttle yellow room, and to place 
beside it the arm-chair and small painted table, with tbe 
volume of Blackstone which her young master was accos* 
tomed to look into in the evening. The night, she observed, 
^^ was amart enough to hiake an air e' the fire no unplesflaot 
thing ; and even if it were not cold, a fire was cam^ 
when one would be alone that way '* With equal foresight, 
she had prepared the materials for a tolerable dinner, such 
as a hungry man might not contemn without trial. Whether 
it were the mere effect of custom, or an indication of actual 
and unromantic appetite, the eye of our desponding lover 
was nbt displeased, on entering the little parlour,' to see tbe 
table decorated with a snow-white damask cloth, a cooler of 
the sweetest butter, a. small cold ham, and an empty space 
which be knew, to be destined for a roast duck or chickens. 
There is no time at which the heart is more disposed to esti- 
mate in a proper liglht the comforts of home and a quiet fire* 
side, than when it has experienced some severe rejection Ib 
society, and it was with the feeling of one who after much 
and harassing anrioyance, encounters a sudden refuge, that 
our drooping traveller flung himself into the chair, and ex- 
claimed in the words'of Oriana : 

« Thoofflti hOL\ % shadow, bnt a sliding, 

Let tne koow some little joy, 

We that suffer io&i annoy, 

Are contented with a thought. 

Through an idle fancy Wfoa«;ht, 
Oh, let uiy joys hare some abiding !" 

» hile Mrs. Frawley superintended the dressing of the 



fowl in the Utchen, much vropdering at the forioni and ab- 
sent air with which her officious attentions were received by 
the young collegian, that meditative gentleman was endea- 
vouring to concentrate his attention on the pages of the 
learned work that lay before him. His eyes wandered over 
the concise and lucid detail of the reciprocal rights and duties 
of haron and feme ; but what purpose could this answer, 
except to remind him that be could never claim the lovely 
Anne Chute as bis femej nor would the lovely Anne Chute 
consent to acknowledge, him as her harcn. He closed the 
volume, and laying it on the little chimney-piece resumed his 
mood 0^ settled meditation by the fire. 

The silence of the place was favourable to that sort of 
drowsy musing in which the mind delights to repose its 
energies atler any strong and passionate excitement. There 
was no effort made to invite or pursue a particular train of 
reflection ; but those thoughts which lay nearest to the heart, 
those memories, hopes^ fears, and wishes, with which they 
^em most mtim^tely associated/ pasi^d in long and still pro- 
cession befoi-e his mind. It was a dreary and funeral train 
to witness, but yet the lover found a luxurious indulgence 
in its contemplation. He remained gazing on the fire, with 
his hand supporting his temple, until every cracktirig turf 
and fagot became blended in his though^ with the %utes 
which his memory called up from the past, or his fancy 
created for the fiiture. 

While he leaned thus silent in his chair, he overheard in 
the adjoining kitchen a conversation, which ior the moment 
diverted his attention firom the condition of his own fortunes. 

« Whereto are you running in such a hurry, Mary ?" said 
Mrs. Frawley. '' One would think it was for the seed o' the 
fire you come. Sit down again." 

^' O wisha," said a strange voice, ^^ ( *m tired from sitting. 
Is it to look after the butler Mr. Kyrle is come down to ye ?'• 

'^ Oyeh, no. He doesn't meddle in them things at all. 
If he did, we 'd have a bad story to tell him. You '11 burn 
that duck, i\elly,if you don't mind it " 

" Why so, a bad story, Mrs. Frawley ?" 

^^ I Ml tell you, Mary. I don't know what the reason of 
it is, but our butter is going from us this two months now. . 
I 'd almost take the vestment* of it, that Mr. Euright's 

* Swear on the priest** restmeat. 



92 jVHB COfASOIAItS. 

dair jman. Bill Noonan, made a^ pUhog* and took .aWay onr 
butter." 

" Oyeh !" ^ 

" What else, what W4iiild become of it ? Sure Bill him- 
self told me they had double their compliment liist week, at 
a'time when, if we were to break our hearts churning from 
this till doomsday^ we could get nothing but the buttermilk 
in the latter end." 

'' Did you watch your cows last May-eve, to see that do 
one milked 'em for you ?'' 

^* I did to' be sure. I sat up until twelve o'clock, to have 
the first milk myself: for Shaun Lauther, the fairy doctor, 
told me that if another milked 'em that night, she 'd have 
their butter the whole year round. And what good was it 
for me ? I wouldn't wonder if old Moll Noonan had a band 
in it." # 

*' Nor I neither. They say she 's a wjtch. Did I ever 
tell you what Davy NeaFs wife did to her of a time ?'^ 

" Not as I know." 

" The same way as. with yourself, the butter, no, 'tisn'tthe 
butter^ but the milk itself, was going from Eatty Neal, 
although her little cow was a kind Kerry, and had the best 
of grazing. Well, she went, as you done, to Shaun Lautber, 
the knowledgeable man, and put a half-a-crown into his 
band, and asked his advice* Well ! ' Tell me,' says Shaun, 
• were y.ou at Moll Noonan's yesterday ?' ' 1 was,' says 
Kate. ^ And did you see a hair spancel hanging over the 
chimney ?' says he. * I did see that lo(»,' says Kate. * Well,' 
says Shaun, ^ 'tis out of that spancel that Moll do be milking 
your cows every night, by her own chimney-corner, and you 
breaking your heart at a dry udder the same time.' * And 
what am 1 to do?' says Kate; '1*11 tell you,' says he. 

* A mystie rite, by which one fietvoii is enabled to mvlke a tapematnrtl 
transfer of hie neighbour's butter into hia own churns. The failure an4 
dJiminution of butter at different times, from the poverty of the cream, ap- 
l^ars 00 unaccoMitable, that the ct»mitry people can only attribute it t« 
witchcraft ; and those dairy snperstitions bare prevailed to a similar degree 
Sn the country paii« of hngland. In The uevU u <m 4m, his Satanic 
Majesty is thus made to jest «n the petty mischief of his imp, Pu^, whs 
seeks a month's furlough to the earth : 

" Tou hare some plot now^ 
ITpon stunning of ale, to stale the yest, 
Or keep the chom so that the butter comt «ot, 
Spit^ Of the honsewife's«ord and ktr hot spit.^' 



^ Go home And redden this horse-sboe in the fire, and ob- 
serve when you 're milking, that a gray cat will sit by you on 
the bawn. Just strike her with the red shoe, and your 
business will be done.' Wei), she did his bidding. Shelutw 
the gray cat, and burned her with the shoe, till she flew 
screeching over the hedge.'' 

^^ O, murther, hadn't she the courage ?" 

^^She had. .Well, the next day she went to Moll 
Noonan's, and found her keeping her bed, with a great 
acaki, she said she got from a |K>t of boiling water she had 
down for scalding the keelers. Ayeh, thought Kate, I know 
what ails you well, my old lady. But she said nothing, and 
I '11 engage she had the fine can o' milk from her cows the 
next morning." 

** Well, she was a great girl.*' 

*^ A', what should ail her ?" said Nelly, the servant wench, 
who was employed in turning the dui-k, '^ I remember Ji^ 
Flanhigan, the cooper's wife, above, waa in the same way, 
losing all her butter, and she got it again, by putten' a taste 
o' the last year's butter into the churn, before chumingi 
along with the crame,'and into every keeler,' in the house. 
Here, Mrs. Frawley, will you have an eye to the spit « 
minute, while 1 go look at them hens in the cook abroad f 
Master Eyrie might like a fresh egg for his toy, an' 1 hear 
them clockin'." 

^'^Do then, Nell, a'ragal, and, as you Ve going, turn in 
the turkeys, for the wind is rising, and I 'm in dread that it 
will be a bad night." 

A loud knock mg at the door was the next sound that 
invaded the ear of Kyrle Daly. The bolt flew back, and a 
stranger rushed in, while at the same momf nt, a gust of wind 
and rain dashed the door with violence against the wall, and 
oauaed a cloud of sm<j)U and ashes to fienetrate even the 
room ih which he sat. 

^* Shut out the doore ! shut out the doore !" screamed 
Mrs. Frawley, ^* the duck will be all destroyed from the 
ashes. k\ Lowry, what kep you till now ?" 

'^ Oh, let me alone, woman,'* exclaimed Lowry, in a loud 
and agitated voice, '' Where 's himself? Where *s Master 
Kyrle ?" 

'^Sitting in the parlour within. — What's the hiatter» 
eroo?" 

Without making any reply, Lowry Looby presented him* 



94 THIS COLLB0XAKB. 

self at the parlour door, and waving his hand with mucb 
force, exclaimed, ^^Cpme out! come out, Masther Kyrle! 
There 's the Nora Creina abroad just going down, an' every 
soul aboard of her She never will retch the shore ! O vo! 
TO ! 'tis frightful to see the aweJI that 'g round her. Tbe 
Lord in his mercy sthretch otit bis band -upon the watberii 
this fearful night I" 

Kyrle started u[) in alarm, snatched his hat, and rushed 
out of the room, not paying any attention tp the recom- 
mendation of Mrs. Frawley, that he wodld throw the frieze 
riding coat over his shoulders before he went out in the rain. 
Ldwry Looby, with many ejaoulations pf terror and of coid- 
passioh, followed his master to the shore, within a gun-shot 
of which the cottage was situated* They arrested their 
steps on a rocky point, which jutting far into the river, com* 
manded a wide prospect on eitheir side. It waa' covered 
with wet sea- weed and shell fish, and afforded a slippery 
footing tp the young collegian and bis squire. A small fish- 
ing-boat lay at anchor on the leeward side of the point, aoi 
her crew, consisting of a swarthy old man and a youth, were 
standing on the shore, and watching the pleasure- boat mt^i 
much interest. 



CHAPTER XIL 

HOW FOBTVNE BRINGS TWO OW FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

The situation of the little vessel was in reality terrific. A 
fierce westerly wind; encountering the receding tide, ocea' 
sioned a prodigious swell in the centre of the channel ; afl^ 
even near shore, the waves lashed themselves with so much 
ibry against the rocky head-land before mentioned, that Kyrle 
and his servant were covered with spray and foam. There 
was yet sufficient twilight in the sky, to enable them to dis- 
cern objects on the river, and the full autumnal moon, v/Uck 
ever and anon, shot, like a flying ghost, from one dark ma-« 
of vapour to another, revealed them at intervals with a ^^' 
tinQtness scarcely inferior to that of day. The object of the 
pleasure-boat seemed to be that of reaching the anchorage 



above alluded to, and with this view the helmsman held her 
head as clqse to the wind as a reefed mainsail and heavy 
swell would allow him. The white canvass, as the boat came 
foaming and roaring towards the spectators^ appeared half 
drenched in brine from the breaking of the sea against the 
windward bow. The appearance of the vessel was such as 
to draw frequent ejaculations of compassion from Lowry and 
the boatmen, and to make Kyrle Daly's heart sink low with 
fear and anxiety. At pne time she. was seen on the ridge 
of a fa^pken wave, showing her keel to the moonlight, and 
bending her white and glistening sails over the dark gulf 
upon her lee. At another the liquid mountain rolled away 
and left her buried in the trough, while her vane alone was 
visible to the landsmen^ and the surges leaping apd whiten- 
ing in the moonshine, seemed hurrying to overwhelm and 
engulf their victim. Again, however, suddenly emerging 
into the light she seemed to ride the waters in derision, and 
lefl the angry monsters roaring in the wake. 

^^ She never 11 do it, f 'm in dread," said Lowry, bending aa 
inquisitive glance on the boatman. The latter was viewing 
intently, and with a grim smile, the gallant battle made by 
the little vessel against the elements. 

^* 'Tis a good boy that has the rudder in his hand," he 
said ; *'* and as for their lives, ^tis the same Lord that is ps 
the water as on the land.* When their hour is come, on sea 
or shore, His all the same to *em. I wouldn't wondther if 
he done it yet. Ah, that swell put him off for it. He must 
take another tack. 'Tis a right good boy that houlds the 
rudder." 

" What ?" exclaimed Kyrle, *' do you thiuk it will be ne- 
cessary for them to put out into the tide again ?" 

" Indeed I don't say she '11 ever do without it," said the 
•Id boatman, still keeping his eyes fixed on the Nora Creina. 
^' There she comes round. She spins about tike a top, God 
bless her !" Then putting bis hu^e chapped hands at either 
side oir his mouth, so aS to form a kind of speaking trumpet, 
he cried out in a voice as loud and hoarse as that of the sur- 
ges that rolled between them, ^^ Ahoy ! Ahoy ! Have an oar ' 
•ut in the bow, or she '11 miss-stay in the swell." 

*^ Thank you, thank you, it is done already !'* shouted the 
faelmsman in answer — •* Kyrle, my boy, how are you ? Kyrle, 
have a good fire for us When we go in. This is coU 
work." 



96. THE G0LLE6IAV8. 

" Cold work ?*' repeated Lowry Looby. " Dear knows, its 
true for you. A' then, isn't it little he makes of it after 
all, God bless him, an* it blowing a pariect harico," 

Notwithatanding the vigour and confidence which spoke 
in the accents of the hardy helmsman,. Kyrie Daly, when be 
saw the vessel once more shoot out in the deep, felt as if be 
had been tiatenin^ to the last farewell df his firiend. He 
Gould not return his gallant greeting, and remained with his 
head leaning forward, and his arm outstretched, and trem- 
bling, while his eyes ibllowed the track of the pleasure-boat. 
Close behind Itini atood Lowry — his ahoulder raised against 
the wind, and his band placed over that ear on which it blew 
— clacking his tongue against his palate for pity, and indol- 
fing in many sentiments of ^commiseration for ^^ Masther 
Hardreas l'* and " the family," not forgetting " Danny Ihc 
Lord," and hia sister, >* Fighting Poll of the Reeks." 

We shall follow the vessel in her brief but daring coarse. 
The young helmsman has been already slightly introduced to 
the reader in the second chapter of this history, but die 
change which circumstances had since effected in his ap- 
pearance, renders it well worthy of our pains to describe 
his person and hearing with roor« accuracy and distinctness. 
His figure wa^ tall, and distinguished by that muscularity 
and firmness of set, which characterizes the inhabitants of 
the south-west of Europe. His attitude, as he kept one 
hand on the rudder, and his eye fixed upon the foresail, was 
such as displayed his form to extreme advantage. It was 
erect, composed, arjd manly. Every movement seemed to 
be dictated by a judgment perfectly at ease, and a will that, 
far fnnn beinj^^ depressed, had caught a degree of fire and 
excitement from the imminent dangers with which it bad to 
struggle* The warm and heroic fiush upon his cheek could 
not be discovered in the pale and unequal light that shone 
upon him, but the settled and steady lustre of Ids large dark 
eye, over which, not ev^n the slightest contraction ©f the 
arched brow could be discerned ; the perfect calmness of his 
manner, and tlie half smiling expression of ibis mouthy 
(that feature, which of all others is most tr?aitorous to 
the dissembling coward) bespoke a mind and healrt that were 
|>leased to encounter danger, and well calculated tld surmount 
it. It wa^ sucti a figure as would have at oncei awi&ened 
associations in the beholder's mind, of camps ancjl action, of 
states confounded in their councils, and nations Lverrun by 



i 



* I 



THB COUEftZANS. 91 

sadden conquest. ' His features were brigbtened hj a lofty 
and confident enthusiasm, such as the imagination might 
ascribe tp the Royal Adventurer of SwedeUi as he drew his 
sword on his beleagnerers at Belgrade. His forehead was 
ampl^ and intellectual in its character ; his hair *'* coal black" 
and curling ; his complexion of that rich deep Gipsy yellow, 
which, showing as it did the bealthy bloom )>en^th, was hx 
nobler in its character than the feminine white and red. Th^ 
lower portion of his physiognomy was finely and delicately 
turned, and a set of teeth as white as those of a young beagle, 
gave infinite vivacity to the expression of his lips. The 
countenance was such a one as men seldom look upon, but 
when once beheld can never be forgotten. 

On a seat at the weather side sat a young girl, her slight 
person wrapped in a blue cloak, while her eyes were raised 
to the cheerfiil face of the helmsman as if from him sbo de- 
rived all her hope and her security. The wind had blown 
back the hood from her shoulders and the head Mtad counte- 
nance which thus ^^ unmasked their beauty io the moon" 
were turned with a Sylph-like grace and iightness. The 
mass of curly hair which was blown over her left terhple, 
seemed of a pale gold, that harmonized wep with the ex- 
celling fairness and purity of her coipplexion ; and ttkm 
expression of her countenance was teader, afi*ectionate, and 
confiding. . 

In the bow sat a being \ri^o did not sharo the beauty of 
bis companionfl. He bore a prinligious hunch upon his 
shoulders, which however did noi prevent his using his limbs 
with agility and even strengt2i) as he tended the foresail, and 
bustled firom side to side ^ith an air of the utmost coolness 
and indifference.. Hk features were not disagreeable, ant 
were distinguished ^7 ^&t look of pert shrewdness whicb 
marka the low inOabitant of a city, and vents itself in vulgar 
cant, and in ridicule of the h<»iest and wondering ignorance 
of rustic simplicity. 

Such were the individuals whom the spirit of the tempest 
appeared at this moment to hold environed by his hundred 
perils ; and such was the manner in which they prepared to 
encounter their destiny. 

'* Mind your hand, Mr. Hardress," said the boatman, ia 
a careless tone, *^ we are in the tide." 

It required the hand of an experienced helmsman to bring 
the little vessel through the danger which he thus announced. 

Vol. L— 9 



08 THS MlXfiOUS*. 



Ad umnMie, overtofinng billow, capped in form, cai&e 
tiiunderiiig downwitrd like an af alanche upon ber side. Id 
spite of the precautiona of Hardresa, and the pi'actisecl skil 
with which be timed the motion of the waTe, as one would 
take a ball upon the bound, or a hunter on the rise — ^the bow 
sprit, dipped and cracked like a withered sapling, a winie 
tun of water was flung over the stern, drenching tibe crew as 
completely as if they had been drawn throui^ the mer 
The boat seemed to stagger and lose her way like a strkke: 
hart, and lay for a moment weltering in the gloomy cbasi 
in which the wasted wave had left her. A low and smotbmii 
scream was breaking from the female, when her ^e sgtf 
met that of Hardress Cregan, and her lip, though palevni 
quivering, was silent. 

^^That was right well done, sir,'' said Danny ManBit; 
the boat once more cleft the breakers, on ber laodwini < 
course. «* A minute sooner, or a minute later, up withtiie ! 
hand, would put it all Into her." j 

" A second would have done it," said Hardress, ** bnt aC 
is well now. A charming night this would be,** hecfl"] 
tinued, smiliiig on the girl, " for beaver and feathers." 

This jest pn>duced a short hysteric laugh, in answer,! I** 
was rather startliag than agreeable to the person who ^ 
dressed her. In a ^w minutte after, and without any v0 
considerable disaster, ^e vessel dropped her peak, anditf 
alongside the rocks. on which Kyrle Daly was expeA 
them; 

" Remain in the boat,*' said Hardress, addressing tbefiA 
while he fastened the hood over her head — ^^ I see tbattt^' 
ative fellow. Looby, above on tk*? rocks. I win procure j* 
an unoccupied room, if possible, ik the cottage, as a neis^ 
bour aind relative of Danny Mann. lilndeavour to conot' 
your countenance, and speak as little as ^^ossible. Vfttl 
ruined if I should be seen paying you any au^ntitn.'' I 

'^ And am I not to see you to-night, again?'^ said t^efii''j 
in a brc^en and affectionate accent. J 

^^ My own love; I would not go to rest without ta^ 
leave of you, for all the world. Be satisfied/* he ad(Mi 
pressing her hand tenderly, and patting her upturned M 
— ^" You are a noble girl. Go, pray — ^pray and return thiw 
for your husband's life, as he shall do for yours. I thouf 
we should have suf^d in heaven. Dan !" he contisB^ 

^oud, to the boatman, '* take care of your sijter." I 



THS COLLBOIANfl. - 99 

^^ His 9ist)ier !" echoed Lowry Looby, on the TOclur. ^^ O, * 
raurther, is Fightitag PoU of the Reeks nboord, too ? Why 
then he needn't bid DaoBy to take tsare of her, for she is 
well able to do that job for herself." • 

Hardress leaped out upon thd shore, and was received by 
Kyrle Daly with a warmth and delight proportioned to the 
anxiety which he had previously experienced, 

** My dear fellow, I thought I should have never seen you 
on your feet again. A thousand and a hundred thousand 
welcomes ! Lowry, run to. the house and get dinner hasten- 
ed— ^tay ! — Hardress, have yon any things on board ?' 

♦' On^ a small trunk, and my gun — ^ybu would for ever 
oblige me, Kyrle, by procuring a comfortable lodging, if 
you have no room to spare, for this poor fellow of mine and 
his sister. He is sickly, and fou know he is my footer-bro^ 
ther." 

^^ He shall be taken care of— I have a room — come along 
— yon are dripping wet. Lowry, ^ake up Mr. Cregan's 
trunk and gun to the cottage. Come along, Hardress, you 
will catch your death of cold. Pooh ! are you aiiraid Fight- 
ing Poll will break her tender limbs, that y.ou look back and 
W4itch her so closely ?" 

** No-— no, ray dear Daly — but I am afraid that fellow — 
Bool^.--Looby— ( what 's bis stupid name ?)r-' will break my 
trunk ; — he is watching ^e woman and peering about her, 
instead of minding what he is doing. But come along!— 
Well, Kyrle, bow are you f I saw you all in the window 
to-d^ when I was sailing by." 

^^ xes — you edified my mother with thiit little feat you 
performed at the expense of the fishermeni" 

^^ Ah, no — was she looking at that, though ? . I shall not 
be able to fdiow my face to her this month to come. Hallo, 
you sir. Booby ! Looby, come along ! Do you remain long 
in the west, Kyrle ?" 

<^ As long as you will take a bed in the cottage with me. 
But we will talk of this when you have changed your dress 
and dined. Voucame on the very point of time. Rem acu 
tetigistiy as our old college tutor Doyle would say. Mrs. 
Frawley was just preparing to diish ipe a roast duck. I bless 
the wind, all boisterous as it was, that blew you on these 
shores, for I thought I should have spent a lonesome eve- 
ning, with the recollections of merry old times, like so many 
2vil families, to dine, and sup, and sleep with me. Bui now 



that we «re met again, farewdl the t>a8t ! The praaent as^ 
the fbture ahall fornish our entertaimxieiit, after we have done 
with the roast duck." 

^^ The fume of which salutes my sense at this inomeiit 
with no disagreeable odour," said Haxdress, followiDg bi^ 
fiiend into the little hall of the cottage. '' Mn. Fraflej, 
as fat and fair and rosy as ever 1 WeU, Mrs. Frawlej,luff 
do yon and the cows get on ? Has any villanons iwp b^^ 
making pUkogs over your keelers ? Does the cream mount! 
Does the butter break ? Have you got the devtl well am 
your chum?" 

^< Oh, fie, maslher Cregan, to go spake of such a tloog^ 
til. Oh, vo, a vich-Q, you're drown'd^d wet, andth»t'» 
what, you are* Nelly, ek-oo, bring hether the candle. Oi) 
sir, you never will get over it." 

"Never mind, Mrs. Fr^wley. I '11 be stout cnoflgli I' 
dance at your wedding yet," 

** My wedding, a-vourneen !" returned the buxom ^^ 
woman, in a gentle scream of surprise, not unquaUfiedM' 
ever* by a gracious smile, " Oyeh, if you never fut a moneentiii 
then ! — ^Make haste hether with the candle, Nelly, eroo,wl»( 
are you doing ?" 

Nelly, not altogether paint demce in her attire, at W 
appeared with a light to conduct the gentlemen to tlxiv 
chaoiber; while Mrs. Frawley returned to the Utcbo- 
This accident of the stranger's arrival was of fata) cob^ 
quence to three individuals in the cottage ; namely, two<>| 
chickens and a turkey pout, upon whom sentence of ^ 
was immediately psonounced and executed, without ^ 
form of law than might go to the hanging of a Oropp!' 
Mrs. Frawley, meantime, fulfilled the ofiice of Sheriff <>| 
the occasion, ejaculating, out of a smiling reverie, while^ 
gazed listlessly on the blood of the innocent victims, ^^^ 
then I declare that Misther Hardress is a mighty ple*^ 
gentleman." 

' In the meantime, Lowry Looby was executing the cfi^ 
mission he had received with regard to Mr. Cregan'stros^ 
Lowry, who was just as fond of obtaining, as of comm^ 
eating, strange intelligence, had his own good reasotf ^ 
standing m awe of the far-fiuned Fighting Poll of the 'R^ 
who was renowned in all the western fiiirs, as a fear)^ 
whiskqr-drinking virago, over six feet in her stocking ^^^ 
and standing no mere in awe of the gallows than she iw 
of her mother's arms. It may at once be seen tb^t ^ '' ' 



THE COLLEGIAKS. IQl 

Tacter of this diBScriplion w^ the very last that could haVe 
been personated with any success by the lovely young crea- 
ture who accompanied Hardress, and indeed her only chance 
of escaping detection consisted in the unobtrusiveness of 
the attempt she made, and the care she used in concealing 
her features. The first circumstance that excited the asto- 
nishment of Lowry, as he stood bowing with his hat off, 
upon the rocks, while Danny the Lord assisted her to land, 
was the comparative diminutiveness of her stature, and the 
apparent slightness of her form. 

" Your sarvent, Mrs. Naughten,'^ he said in a most in- 
sinuating aceent. ^^ I hope I see you well in your health, 
ma'am. You wouldaH remember a boy of the Looby's, at 
aH, you met of a time at Nelly Hewsan's wake, westwards, 
(heaven rest her soul this night !) That was the place where 
the great giving-out was, surely." 

To this gentle reihembrance of old toerry times, the 
female in the blue cloak only answered by a slight, short 
courtsey, while she drew the hood closer about her face, and 
began, though with a feehle and tottering step, to ascend 
the rocks, 

" Bread, an'^ — beef, an' — tay an' — whiskey an' — ^torkies an' 
— cakes^— an' every thing that the heart could like," the offi- 
cious LowFy continued following the pseudb amazon among 
the stones and sea- weed, and marvelling not a little at her un«- 
accustomed taciturnity. <^ The Hewsans could well afford 
it, they were strong, snug farmers, relations o' your own, 
I 'm thinking, ma'am. Oh, vo ! sure I forgot the trunk and 
there's Mr. Hardress calling tome. Larry Kett," he con- 
tinued, addressing the old boatman before mentioned, ^^ will 
you show Mrs. Naughten the way to the house while I 'm 
getting the thrunk out o' the boat ; an' if you want a fire o' 
turf or a gwal o' piatees, Mrs. Frawley will let you have 
'em an' welcome." 

The old boatman wilhngly came into terms so easy and 
advantageous; and the fair counterfeit hurried on, well 
pleased at the exchange of companions. Lowry in the mean 
time returned to the boat, and stole into conversation with 
Danny the Lord, whom, in fear of his sneering satirical 
temper, he always treated with nearly as much respqct as if 
bis title were not so purely a thing of courtesy. Danny 
Mann, (m the other hand, received his attentions with but 
. little complaisance ,- for he looked on Lowry as a fooliinbt 

9* 



troublMoniA Ulkm^ irhoM property in words (like the est 
•f many o young absentee) far overbalanced his discret 
and abihtjf in their employnient. He had oAen told La 
^ in confidence, ^^ that it wouM be weU for him had he a big 
head an' a smaller mouth," alhiding to that peculiar o 
jbrmation of Lowry's upper man with which Uie reader 
been already made acquainted. The country people, (i 
are never at a loss for a simile) when they saw this long-l 
ged fellow, following the sharp-faced little hunch-back f 
phee to plac^, used to lean on their spades, and cafl 
attention of their companions to *^ the wran an' die euck 
goen' the road." 

. The ^^ cuckoo" now found the '* wrui" employed in c 
ing up a wet cable on the forecastle, while he sang ii 
mce that more nearly resembled the grun^ng of a pq 
Uie approach of rain, than the melody of the sweet ao 
stress of the hedges above named : — 

» Aa' of aU d« neat dat ejer waa hong, 

A eheek o* pork ia mj f aney , 
*Tu iweet an' toothsoae when tia young. 

Fait, datfa no lie, aaya Nancy. 
'Twill DoU in leaadan half an hov.. 

Den wit' your nail yon may try it, 
'Twill taate like any eanliflower, 

Tia bettor do dat dan to fry it. 

Sing ie-rig-i-dig-i<4iim-derom dmn." 

^* How does the world use Misther Mann this evening 
was the form of Lowry's first greeting, as he bent over 
gunwale of the stern, ajid laid his huge paws on the sc 
trunk. 

*^ As you see me, Lowry,'' was the reply. 

<< A smart evening ye had of it.'' 

** Purty fair for the matter o' dat." 

<« Dear knows, it's a wonther ye worn't drownded. 'Ti 
blown' a kurico. An' you singen' now as if you wor con 
from a jig^iouse, or a wake, or a weddin.' A' then tell 
jiow, Misther Mann, wasn^t it your thought when you 
abroad, thai time, how long it was since you were with 
priest before ?" 

«^ I tought o' dat first, Lowry, an' I tried to say a pra; 
but it was so long from me since I did the like beibre, i 
might as well try to talk Latin, or anjr other book-Iarn 
But sure if I tought o' myself rightlyi dere wasfi^t de 1 



THB CWEJUWIA98. 195 

fear of US, for I had a book o' Saint Jtfargaret's confeasioDs 
in'me buzeom, an' as long as I 'd bavadat^ I knew dat if de 
boat was to go down under me itself^sbe M come op again..'^ 

«Erra,no!" 

^Vlas, dear knows." 

^^ I wisht I had one of 'em/' said Lowry, ^< I do be oftea 
goen* in boats across to Cratloe, aa' them places." 

^^ You 'd hare no business of it, Lowry. Dem dat's bom 
for One deaths has no reason to be afeerd of anoder." 

^* Gondoutha ! You 're welcome to ybui^ joke this eve- 
ning. Well, if I was to put mf eyes upon sticks^ Misther 
Mann, I never would know your sisther again." 

" She grew a dale, I b'lie?e.": 

«<; Grew ?-»If she did, it 'slike tbe cow's tail, downwarcb. 
Why, she, isn't, to say, taller than myself, now, in place 
o' being .the head an' two i^oulders aboye me. An' she 
isn't at aU the rattlen' girl she was of ould. She didn't 
spake a word." 

^^An' dat 's a failing, dat 's new to both o' ye/', said his 
lordshipt *^ but Poll made a vow again talken' of a Tur»day, 
bekeys it was of a Tursday her first child died, an' deysaid 
be was hoist away be de good people, while Poll was goS" 
sipping wit Ned Hayes, over a glass at de public." 

^< And that 's her raison !" 

" Dat's her raison." 

" An' in regard o' the drink ?" 

" Oh, she 's greatly altered dat way too, dough 'twas 
greatly again' natur. A limeburner's bag was notten to her 
for soaken formerly, but now she 'd take no more dan a wet 
spunge." 

^^ That 's great, surely. An' about the cursen' an' swear- 
en' ?" 

«« Cursen' ? You 'd no more find a curse after her, dan 
you would aft^r de clargy. AnV'tisn't dat itself, but you 
wouldn't get a crooked word outside her ]ips> from year's 
end to year's end." 

'* Why then, it was long from her to be so mealy-mouthed , 
when I knew her. An' does she lift a hand at the fair at 
all now ? Oych, what a terrible 'oman she was, comen' 
again' a man witb her slocken off, an' a stone in the foot of 
it!" / 

(' She was. / Well, she wouldn't raise her hand to a 
chicken* now.?" 

y That flogfl cock-fighting." 

/ 



104 TBB COLLBOUKS. 

^^ Oaly, I '11 tell you in one case. She 's apt to be con 
trary to any one dat woaki be comen^ discoorsen' her of i 
Tursday at all, or peepen* or apyen' about her, she *a a 
vexed in herself not to be able to make 'em an answer. I 
used to be a word an* a blow wit her, but now as she cto' 
have de word, 'tis de blow comes mostly first, and she didii' 
make e'er a vow again' dat" 

'^ Shasthone !" exclaimad Lowry, who laid up this bintf( 
his own edification* ^^ Great changes, surely. Well, Mistfaf 
Mann, an' will you tell me now if you plase, is your mast 
goen' westwards in the boat to-morrow ?" 

^^ I don't know, an' not maken' you a short answer. Lor 
— I don't care. And a word more on de back o' dat agai 
although I have a sort of a rattlen' regard for you, stili a 
all, I 'd rader be taking' a noggin o' whiskey, to warm ' 
heart in me dis cold night, dan listening to your talken' der 
Dat I may be happy, but I would, an' dat 's as good as il 
was afler taking all de books in Ireland of it." 

This hint put an end to the conversation for the prese 
and Danny the Lord (who exercised over Lowry Looby 
influence somewhat similar to that which tied Master ih 
thew to the heels of Bobadil) adjourned with that loquacio 
person to the comforts of Mrs. Frawley's fire-side. 



CHAPTER XIIL 

IJOW THE TWO FRIENDS HOLD A LONGER CONVERSAT 
TOGETHER THAN TH£ READER MAY PROBABLY APPR0\ 

The female in the blue cloak withstood all the rec< 
mendations and entreaties of the good natured dairy-wor 
that she would ^< step in and take an air oif the kitchen fii 
She pleaded extreme fatigue, and requested that she ra 
be permitted to occupy at once the chamber in which 
was to pass the night. Finding her resolute, Mrs. Fra^ 
insisted on having a cheerful fire lighted up in tiie little r 
outside her own dormitory, which was appropriated tc 
fair stranger's use. It was impossible to itiaintain her ' 
^ui§e in the presence of this oflScious and hospii 



THE €K>IJJ»IANS. 100 

woman, whose regard for lier guest was ip no degree dimi- 
nished by a view of her person luid' dress. Her hair was 
wringing wet, but her cloak had in a great measure preserved 
the remainder of her attire, which was jusi a shade too 
elegant for a mere paf^apne^ and too modest for a person ' 
claiming the rank of a gentlewoman. The material, also, 
which was a, pretty flowered cotton, ^* a dawny pattern," as. 
Mrs. Frawley dedared, proclaimed a pocket altogether at 
ease, and led the 4airy-woman to the conclusion &at ^'the 
Naughtins were decent^ credible people, that knew how ta 
industber, and turn and stretch a penny, as far as more would 
a shilling." 

Having supplied the counterfeit Poll with every thing ne- 
cessary for her immediate uses, Mrs. Frawley left her to make 
what changes she pleased in her dress, and went to look after 
the young gentlemen's dinner : as well as to prepare some 
refreshment for the weary Mrs. Naughten heriself.^ * 

Scarcely had Mrs. Frawley departed^ when a soft tapping 
at the room door announced the approach of another visiter. 
The kxvely inconnue, who was employed at the moment in 
arranging and drying her hair, felt her heart beat somewhat 
quickly and strongly at the sound. She threw back from 
her temples the wavy mass of gold that hung around them, 
and ran to the door with lips apart, and a flushed and eager 
cheek. ^^ It is he !" she exclaimed to her own breast as she 
undid the bolt. 

It was not he. The weather-worn, freckled face of the 
little hunch'back, was the first object that met her eyes. Be- 
tween his hands beheld a small trunk, the lid of which was 
studded with brass nails, forming the letters E. O'G. 

^< By a dale to do. Miss, I laid hoult o' did," said Danny ; 
'^ Lowry said, de letters ^dn*t stand for Mr. Hardress at all, 
only one of 'em." 

^^ Thank you, Danny. Where is your master !" 

^^ Aten his dinner in de parlour wit Mr. Daly before a tun- 
deren' big fire." 

" Was Lowry speaking to you ?" 

^^Did any boidy ever see him oderwise-?. I '11 be bail he 
wan so." 

^« But does he know---*—" 

^^ I didn't hear him say a word about it," replied the little 
Lord, '' an' I tink, if he knew, heM tell." 
i '^ Well, Danny, will you find an opportunity of speaking to 



106 THE COLLEGIANS. 

your master without being observed, and tell him that I wiah to 
see him verj much indeed. I am fery uneasy, and he has 
not told me how long we are to stay here, or whore we are 
to go next, or any thing. I feel quite lonesome, Danny, for 
it is the first evening I have ever spent alone in nny life, I 
think." Here the, poor young creature's lip quivered a little, 
and the ivater started into her eye. 

*^ Never fear, ma gra hu ! ma grein chree hu !" said Danny 
in a soothing tone, ^^ I '11 speak a word in his ear, an* he'^ 
come to you. Dat I may never die in a frost if I wouki n't 
go from dis to Dublin to sarve you, next to Mr. Hardress 
himself. 

He was as good as his word ; and took an opportunitj. 
while Hanlress was giving him some directions about the 
boat, to mention the request of their gentle companioo in tbe 
storm. The yoUng gentleman inquired the situation of ber 
room, and bade his servant say, that he would not fail to visit 
her, if only for a few minutes, before he retired to rest. It 
was necessary that the utmost caution should be observed to 
avoid awakening suspicion. 

Kyrle Daly, in the mean time, was employed in manufac- 
turing a capacious bowl of whiskey-punch by the parlour fire- 
side. Instead of the humble but capacious tumbler, or still 
more modern, small stone-china jug, over which, yoU| good 
Irish reader, are, probably, accustomed to solace your honest 
heart in a winter's evening, two glasses, more than a foot io 
height, were displayed upon the board, and seemed intended 
to meet the lips without the necessity of any assistance from 
the hand. 

By one of those inconsistencies in our nature, on which 
it is idle to speculate, Kyrle Daly found a difficulty in get- 
ting into conversation ivith his friend, upon the very subject, 
on which, a few minutes before, he had longed for his adfice 
and assistance. Hardress appeared to be in high, noisy, and 
even exulting spirits, the sound of which rang jarringly and 
harsh upon the ear of tbe disappointed lover. The uproar 
of his happy heart offended the languor of his young com- 
panion's mind, as the bustle of the city noon sounds strange 
and unfamiliar on a sick man's hearing. 

N^ither, perhaps, is there any subject to which young men 
of equal pretensions have a greater distaste than that of love- 
confidences one with ano^er. If the tale be of a past and 
unhappy attachment, it is wearisome and annoying; and ii 



THE eoiLiOI£ERk 107 

it relate to a present and succesflAiI pasflfon, a ftantiment of 
jealouqr is apt to in? ade the heart of the Hstener, while he 
is made to contemplate a picture of happiDess, which, per- 
haps, the sternness of his owri destiny has allowed him to 
contemplate as a picture only. A better test could scarcely 
be adopted, to distinguish a sincere and disinterested friend- 
ship from ope of mere conyeniehce, than a trial of patience 
on such a topic. It is true, indeed, that the incidents lately 
recorded afford reason to believe that Hardress Cregan was 
not one of those forlorn beings who are made 
*< to loye, and not be loTcd again ;" 

but it is certain, neTertheless, that when Kyrle Daly first 
mentioned his having been at Castlechute, and driving Anne 
to the race-course, his manner was rather reserved and dis- 
couraging, than otherwise. 

*^ The longer I live," Ryrle said at length with son^ hesi- 
tation in his manner, ^* the longer I live in this luckless con- 
dition, and the oftener I think of that excellent girl, the more 
deep and settled is the hold which she has taken of my ima- 
gination. 1 wonder, Hardress, how you can be so indifferent 
to her acquaintance. Placing my own unfortunate affection 
altogether out of view, 1 can scarcely imagine an enjoyment 
more desirable tlian that of cultivating the society of so ami- 
able a creature." 

Here he drew a long sigh, and replenished the void thus 
occasioned, by having recourse to the bowl and ladle. 

^^ I am not of- the s^me opinion, Kyrle," said Hardress, 
*-^ Anne Chute is unquestionably a very fine girl, but she 13 
too highly educated for me." 

" Too highly educated!" 

^' Echo me not. The words are mine. Yes, Kyrle, I hold 
that this system of polishing girls ad UTiguem^ is likely to be 
the destruction of all that is sincere and natural and unaffected 
in the sex. It is giving the mind an unwhdesome prepon- 
derance over the heart, occasioning what an astronomer 
would call an occukation of feeling, by the intervention of 
reason." 

^ 1 cannot imagine a case," said Kyrle, ^' in which the 
exercise of reason can ever become excessive ; and there 
are sneerers under the sun, Hardress, who ^ill tell you, that 
this danger is least of aD to be apprehended among the lovely 
beings of whom you are speaking.'' 
• 



t06 THB OOLLSOIAlfA 

^< I thiiA Otherwise. As I pretotbe works of nature to the 
works of mall, the fresh river breeee to the dusty and amoky 
!s6pb}T of Capelnertreet, the bloom on a cottage cheek to the 
crimson japan that blazes at the Ettl of Bockinfhawwhiw'g 
drawing-rooois ; as I love a plain beefsteak before a grilled 
attorney ."^ this excellent whiskey-punch beferer my m^na't 
confounded corrant-wine^ and any thing else that is pure aod 
natural before any thing else that is adolterate^ and artifi- 
cial ; so do I love the wild hedge-flower simplicity before 
the cold and sapless exotic, fashioi^ ; so do I love the voiee 
ef afiectJon and nature before that of finesse and affectation." 

'' Your terms are a little too hard, I think,'' said Kyrle, 
** elegance of manner is not finesse, nor at all the opposite 
of siuipltcity ; it is merely simplicity made perfect. I graot 
you I that few^ very few, are successful in acquiring it ; and I 
dislike its ape, affectation, as heartily as you do. But we 
find something that is conventional in all classes, and I like 
affectation better than vulgarity, after all." 

<♦ Vulgarity of manner,*' said Hardress, '• is more tcderaUe 
than vulgarity of mind." 

*^ One is only offensive as the indication of the other, 
and I think it not more tolerable, because I prefer ugliness 
masked to ugliness exposed." 

** Why, now, Daly, I will meet you on tangible ground. 
There is our friend Ann Chute, acknowledged to be the lore- 
liest girl in her circle, and one whom I remember a charnuog 
good-natured pittle hoyden in her childhood. And see wfaK 
high education has done for her.-^-She is cold and distant, 
even to absolute frigidity, merely because she has been taught 
that insensibility is allied to elegance. What was habit, has 
become nature with her ; the frost whicirshe suffered to lie 
so long upon the surface, has at length penetrated to hei 
affections, and killed every germ of mirth and love and kind- 
ness, that might have made her a treasure to her friends id^ 
an ornament to society." 

*^ Believe me — Hardress— believe me, my dear Hardres. 
•you do her wrong," exclaimed Kyrle, with exceeding wanntb 

* It if notorioiu. that the dramitiek of a gooie or tarkay, griOtd aad higUf 
tniced, waa eaUcd a deviL Sobm «leniit p«noM, Imravth x9ko dtme^ 
taat term too itroiiff for " eari poUte,'' were at the palni of looking for • 
•yaenyme, of a ■lite iooad. and ditooyered a happr fohftitiite is the w(V< 
Aftornev. which coaTeyi all the original force, vtthoot the coacte <ai^ 
phony or the otiier phrafe. 



i 



TBB coixsgxahs. 109 

^' It is not that I love Anne Chute, I speak— ^but because I 
know and esteem her. If you knew her btit for three dajs, 
instead of one hour, you nerer would again pronounce so 
harsh a sentence. Ail that is yirtupus — all that is tender 
and afifectionate—all that is amiable and high-principled may 
be met with in that admirable woman. Take the paii^s to 
know her— -—visit her— -speak of her to her friends — her de- 
pendants — to her aged mother—to any one that has obsenred 
her conduct, and you will be undeceived. Why will you 
not strive to know her better V* 

^^ Why, you must consider that it is not many mmiths since 
I returned from Dublin ; and to say a truth, the single viail 
I paid at Castle-Chute was not calculated to tempt me to a 
second. Considering that I was an old play-fellow, and a 
kind of cousin, I thought Anne Chute need not have re- 
ceived me as if I were a tax-gatheier, er a travelling dan- ' 
cing-master." 

*' Why, what would you have her do ? Throw her arms 
about your neck and kiss you, I suppose V* 

^^ Not exactly. You know the class of people of whom 
little Flaccus said, Qnum vUia vitani in eantraria currunt^ 
and, after all, I think Anne Chute is not one of those. Her 
education is little worth if it could not enable her to see a 
medium between two courses so much at variance.'' 

^^ But will you allow a friend to remind you, Hardress, that 
you are a little overapt to take exception tn matters of this 
kind. And notwithstanding all that you have been saying 
against the polite world, 1 will venture to prophesy this — 
that when circumstances shall more frequently thrast you 
forward on the ntage, and custom shall make you blind to 
the slight and formal insincerities that grieve you at present, 
jour ideas on fashion and- elegance and education will un- 
liergo a change. I know you, Hardress ; .^ou are not yet 
of age. The shadow of a repulse is now to you a sentence 
ef banishment from any circle in which you suppose it is 
offered ; but when you shall be courted, when mothers shall 
dress their daughters at you, and daughters shall shower down 
smiles upon your paths ; when fathers shall praise your 
drinking, and sons shall eulogize your horses ; then,. Har- 
dress, look to it. You will then be as loud and talkative 
before the whole world as now in presence of your humble 
friend. You will smile and smile a hundred times over at 
your young philosophy.'' 

Vol. I.— 10 . 



110 THS C0IXS6UKS. 

*•* Ojb, ' never shall sun that morrow see,' " cried Hardreis. 
throwing himself back in his chair, and raising bis hands io 
seeming deprecation—^' I perceive what you are hitting at, 
Kyrle,'' he continued, reddening a little. ^^ You allude to 
my — my — timidity — baabfuhiess — what you will, my social 
cowardice. But I disclaim the petty, paltry failing;. The 
feeling that unnerves me in society is as widely different from 
that base consciousness of inferiority, or servile veneration of 
wealth, rank or power, as the anger of Achilles from the 
spite of Thersites. You may laugh, and call me self-coQ- 
ceited, but, upon my simple honour, I speak in pure since- 
rity. My feeling is this, my dear Kyrle. New as I was to 
the world after leaving colIege» (where you know I studied 
pretty hard) the customs of society appeared to wear a 
strangeness in my sight that made me a perfect and a com- 
petent judge of their value. Their holiowness disgusted, 
and their insipidity provoked me. I could not join with any 
ease in the solemn folly of bows, and becks, and wreathed 
smiles that can be put en or off at pleasure. The motive oi 
the simplest forms of society stared me in the face when i 
saw them acted before me, and if I attempted to play a part 
among the hypocrites myself, I supposed that cveiy eye 
around me was equally clear-sighted— saw through the hol- 
low assumption, and despised it as sincerely in me, as I had 
done in others. The consoiousness of guilt was evident in 
my manner, and I received the niortification which ensued 
as the just punishment of my meanness and hypocrisy." 

^< You do express yourself in sufficiently forcible terms^ 
when you go about it," said Daly, smiling. " What great 
hypocrisy or meanness can there be in remarking that it is 
a fine day, or asking aflter the family of an acquaintance^ 
even though he should know that the first was merely intended 
to draw pn a conversation, and the second to show him a 
mark of regard?" 

*' Which I did not feel." 

^* Granted. Let him perceive that never so clearly, there 
is still an attention implied in your putting the question at all 
with which he cannot be disobliged. It is flattering to ac- 
knowledge the necessity of such a deference. And, my 
dear Hardress, if you were never to admit of ceremony as 
the deputy of natural and real feeling, what would become 
of the whole social system ? How soon the mighty vessel 
^ould become a wreck ! how silent would be the rich man's 



TBE COILISGIAKS. Ill 

hanqaet ! how solitary the great man's chambers ! how few 
would bow before the throne ! how lonely and how desolate 
would be the temples of religio.n I" 

*< Yqu are the more bitter satirist of the two," said Har- 
dress. 

"No, no," exclaimed Kyrle. "I merely reminded you 
of an acknowledged fact, that when you enrol your name 
on the social list, you pledge yourself to endure as well as 
to enjoy. As long as ever you live, Hardress, take my word 
for it, you never will make, nor look upon a perfect world. 
It is Such philosophy as yours that goes to the making of 
misanthropes. The next time you go into society, resolve 
to accept any mortifications you shall endure as a punish- 
ment for your sins, and so think no more of them. This in- 
difference will become habitual — and while it does so, those 
necessary hypocrisies of which you speak will grow familiar 
and inoffensive." 

'' I see no occasion," said Kardress, ^^ to make the trial. 
Plain human nature is enough for me. If (were to choose . 
a companion for life, F should rather hope to cull the sweet 
fruit of conjugal happiness in the wild orchard of baturOi 
than from the bark-beds and hot-walls of society." 

" I advise you, however," said Kyfle, " not to. make the 
choice until you have greater opportunities of observing both 
sides of the question. Trust not to the permanence of your 
present feelings, nor to the practical correctness of your 
curious theories. It would be too Idte, ader you had linked 
yourself to — to — simplicity, I shall call it, to discover that 
elegance was a good thing, afler all." 

Hardress did not appear to relish this speech, and the con- 
versation, in consequence, was discontinued for some minutes. 
Young Cregan was indeed as incapable of calculating on 
his future character as Kyrle Daly asserted. He was in that 
period of life^ (the most critical perhaps of alU) when the 
energies of the mind, as well as of the frame, begin to de- 
velope themselves, and exhibit, in irregular out-breaks, the 
approaching vigour and fire of manhood. A host of new 
ideas, at this time, crowd in upon the reason, distinguished 
rather Ly their originality and genius, than by that correct* - 
ness and good order wmch is derivable from instruction or 
experience alone ; and it depends upon the circumstances in 
which the young thinker is placed, whether his future cha- 
racter shall be that of a madman or a sage. It was, perhaps, 
a knowledge of this mventive pride in youth that made tjb 



112 TQS C0Z1.SOIAS& 

atagirite assertrthat men sbooM not lo<d( idto fhikaopbi- 
jcal works beforo the age of five-and-twenty. 

Hardresa^ however, although very sensitive, was not one 
of those who c^n brood a long time over an evil feelioj^. 
«* Well, Daly," he excltumed, starting from a reverie, " we 
will each of us parsue our mclinations on this subject. Leave 
'me to the indylgence of my theories, aiid 1 will wiab you joy 
of your Anne Chute/' ." 

**'My Anne Chute!" echoed Daly, sipping his punch witb 
a sad face. ^^ I have no Uen upon that lady, ais the counsel- 
lors say. She may sue as a feme scle for me in any coert 
in Christendom. 

Hardress turned on him a look of extreme surprise, in 
answer to^which |^yrle Daly furnished him with an accoaot 
of his unsuccessful suit to Anne,, as also witb his suspiciens 
as to another attachments The deep feeling of disappoiot- 
ment under which he laboured, became apparent, as he pro- 
ceeded in his discourse, in the warmth an(| eagerness of his 
manner, the frequent compression of his lips, and clenching 
of his trembling hands, the dampness of his forehead, vd 
the sparkliniBT of his moistened eyeballs. The sight of bis 
friend, in suffering, turned the stream of Hardress Cregan's 
sympathies into another channel, and he employed all bis 
eloquence and ingenuity in combating the dangerous dejec- 
tion which was hourly gaining upon his spirit. He declared 
his disbelief in the idea of another attachment, and recom- 
mended perseverance by every argument in his power. 

^^ But the state of her mind," he continued, ^^ shall not 
remain long a secret to you. They have been both (Anne 
and her mother) invited to spend a part of the autumn with 
us at Dinis cottage. My mother is a great secret-hunter, and 
I need only^lefl her where the game lies, to make certain that 
. it will be hunted down. Trust every thing to me — for your 
sake I will take some pains to become better known to this 
extraordinary girl ; and you may depend upon it, if she will 
safier roe to moupt above Zero, you shall not suffer in my 
good report. 

When the conversation had reached this juncture, the z: 
lence which prevailed in the cottage showed that the night 
was already far advanced. The punch had descended so 
low, as to leave the bowl of the ladle more than half vilible ; 
the candles seemed to meditate suicide, while the neglected 
snuff, gathering to a pall above the flame, threw a ^oomy 
and flickering shadow on the ceiling ^ tbe turfen^fi^e wa£ 



H 



rrBs ooLL^ouns. 113 

Utile mord than a heap of pale ashes., before which the drowsy 
household cat, in her Sphynx-like attitude, sat winking, and 
purring her monotonous song of pleasuse ; the abated storm, 
(like a true Irish storm) seemed to mourn with repentant 
bowlings over the desolating effects of its recent futj ; the 
dog lay dreaming on the hearth, th^ adjoining farm-yard was 
silent, all but the fowl-house, where some giarrulous dame 
Partlet, with female pertinacity, still maintained a kind of 
drowsy clucking on her roost ; the natural hour of repose 
seemed to have produced its effect upon the battling elements 
themselves ; the tempest had folded bis black wings upon 
the ocean, and the waters broke upon the shore with a mur- 
mur of expiring passion. Within doors or without, there 
was no sight nor sound that did not convey a hint of bed- 
time to the watchers. 

To make this hint the stronger, Mrs. Frawley showed the 
disk of her full-blown countenance at the door, as round as 
the autumnal moon, and like that satellite, illuminated by a 
borrowed light, namely, the last inch of a dipped candle 
which burned in her hand. ^^'Masther Kyrle, darling," 
she exclaimed in a tone of tender remonstrance, ^' won't 
you go to bed to-night, child? 'Tis, near morning, dear 
knows.'V 

" Is Lowry Looby fn bed ?" 

^^ No, sir, he 's waiting to know have you any commands 
to Cork, he 's going to guide the car in the morning with the 
firkins.*^ 

Lowry here introduced his person before that of the dairy- 
woman, causing however rather a transit than an ecUpse ot 
that moon of womanhood. 

^^ Or, Misther Cregan ?" he exclaimed, '< may be he 'd 
have some commands westwards ? Because if he had, I could 
lave 'em at the forge at the cross, above, with directions to 
have 'em sent down to the house." 

<^ f have no commands/' said Hardress, '' except to say 
that 1 will be at home on next Friday." 

'^ And l have none whatever," said Kyrle Daly, rising 
and taking one of the candles. ^^ Hardress, mind you don't 
give me the •counterfeit, the slip, in the morning." 

This caution produced a hospitable battle which ended jn 
Hardress Cregan's maintaining his purpose of departing with 
the dawn of day. The friends then shook hands and sepa- 
rated for the night. 

10* 



114 TSB O0IXS6UII9. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

^ BOW LOWBT B^OOHES TfilXOSOPBICAL. 

As Lowry Looby returned to the kitchen he was met h% 
Nelly the housemaid, who reminded him that he would be 
obliged to start before the potatoes could be boiled in the 
morning, and recommended, a8:a preparatory measure, that 
he should take his breakfast over night. Secure of his in- 
dulging her in so reasonable a request, she had already, 
mnder Mrs. Frawley'a favour, laid on a little table before the 
kitchen fire, the remains of the roast ducks (so often com- 
memorated in this narrative,) a plate of ^^ re-heaters,*' (such 
t\'as Nelly's term for potatoes suffered to. cool and warmed 
again in the red turf ashes,) > as also a piece of pork, four 
inches in deptb, and containing no lean that was visible on a 
cursory inspection. This last was a dish for which Nelly 
knew Lowry Looby to entertain a fondness worthy of his 
ancient Irish descent. Indeed on all occasiotis Nelly was 
observed to take an interest in consulting the inclinations of 
this long-legged person ; a kindness upon her part which the 
ungrateful Lowry seemed little inclined to appreciate. 

The present proposal however harmonized so sweetly with 
his own feelings, at the moment, that he signified a speedy 
compliance, and followed the nymph into her culinary retreat. 
The kitchen presented a scene no less drowsy than the par- 
lour. Mrs. Frawley was saying her prayers by the fire-side, 
with a string of beads that hung down to the ground, now and 
then venting a deep sigh, then ^^ running her godly race," 
through a fit ofyawning, and anon casting a glance over her 
shoulder at the proceedings of the two domestics, while every 

. new distraction was foHowed by a succession of more audi- 
ble groans, and more vehement assaults with the closed 
hand upon her bosom. Danny Mann was sleeping heavily 

. on the oUier side of th^ fire, with his red woollen comforter 
drying on bis knee. In order to ^void disturbing either the 
slumbers of the one, or the devotions of the other, Nelly and 



y TBS C0LL^1A3?S. 115 

her Bwaia were obliged tb carry on thoir conYersation in a 
low whispering voice which gave additional .«fiect to the 
sleepy tone of the entire scene. The shadows of the 
whole party, like the fame of geniuis magnified by distance^ 
were thrown in gigantic similitude upon the surrounding 
walls. There Mrs. Frawley dilated to th^ dimensions of an 
ogre's wife, and here Danny Mann's hunch became to the 
original as Ossa to Knock Patrick. Looby's expanded 
mouth showed like the opening to Avernus, and the tight 
little Nelly herself, as she sat opposite, assumed the stature 
of Mr. Salt's black breccia Memnon, which any reader, who 
is curious about Nelly's personal outline, may behold in the 
ninth room of the British Museum. 

While Lowry consoled biipself with the greasy pork, swal- 
lowing it with as lively a relish as if it were the green fat of 
a Gallipagos turtle, be gave Nelly a history of the day's ad- 
ventures, not forgetting bis own triumph at the staggeen race, 
and the disappearance of Eily O'Connor. Nelly was the 
better pleased with his account of these transactions, as he 
thought fit to abstain, in the first instance, from all mention 
of Syl Carney ; and, in speaking of the ropemaker's dairgh- 
ter, to omit those customary eulogies which he dealt forth 
whenever her name was brought in question. Emboldened 
by this circumstance, Nelly did not hesitate to throw out 
some plain insinuations as to the probable cause of the 
mystery, which did not much redound to the honour of the 
charming fugitive, and she became still more impassioned 
in her invective, aAer Mr& Frawley had relieved them from 
the restraint of her presence, and retired to her sleeping 
room. 

^ Often ajn' oflen I told yoq, Lowryt that it wasn't for you 
to be looken^ aflher a girl of that kind, that thought herself 
as good as a lady. Great business, indeed, a poor man o' 
your kind would have of one like her, that would be too 
grand to put a leg in a $keogh* to wash thepotatieau or lay a 
hand on the pot-hooks to sthrain 'em if they wor broke to 
tatthers." 

^< That I may never die in sin if ever I had a thought of 
her, Nelly, only jnst divarten' at Batt Cooneity's." 

^^ What a show the house would be with ye l" continued 
Nelly', still following up the matrimonial picture, ^' an' you a 



116' TBfi COLLEGIANS, 

hard worken' boj, obleest to be up early and late at other 
peopIe^s bidden'. 1 *11 be bound that isn't'the girl that would 
be up with the lark an' have a fire made, an' a griddle o' 
bread down in the morning before you, an' you going a long 
road ; or have the hearth swep, an' your supper ready, aa' 
every thing nate about the place for you, when you 'd be 
coming back at night. But I believe there 's a chinuBtct 
before the boys' eyes that they don't know what's good for 
'om." 

"Look!" exclaimed Lowry, while he broke a potato 
between his fingers, swallowed one half at a mouthful, and 
tossed the crisped peel upon the table. " That I may be 
happy, if she wan offered to roe this minute if 1 'd take her. 
Sure I kno>V 1 'd have no more business of such a girl upon 
my floore than I would of Miss Chute herself. But there '« 
no raisin for all why I wouldn't be sorry for ould Mihil's 
trouble. He 's gone westwards, Foxy Duriat the hair-cutter 
tells me, to Castle-island, to his brother. Father Ned, I sup- 
pose to get him to publish her from the altar or something. 
They think 'tis westwards she went." 

Happening at this moment to cast his eyes upon Danny 
Mann, Lowry perceived, with a sensation of disagreeable 
surprise, that he was awake, and peering curiously upon him 
from below the half-raised lids. The red fire-light which 
gleamed on tbe eyeballs gave them a peculiar and equivocal 
lustre, which added force to their native sharpness of ex- 
pression. Danny felt the ill effect he had produced, and 
carried it off with a fit of yawning and stretching, asking 
Lowry at the sartie time, with a drowsy air, if he meant to 
go to bed at all ? 

" To be sure I do," said Lowry, «' when it 's pleasing to 
the company to part. There '? a time for all things, as they 
jsiy intlie Readincf-made-asy." 

^* Surdy, aurely,*' returned Danny with a yawn, " Dear 
knows, di^n, the Roaden-made-asy time is come now, for 
*lie almost riufr7teii\" 

*^^ 1 always, mostly, smoke a dress before I go to bed of a 
night;'* said Lowry, turning toward the fire, and clearing the 
how) of hb pipe by knocking it gently against the bar of the 
grate^ '^ I like to be smoken' an' talken' when the company 
is agreeable, and I see no rason for bein' in a hurry to-night 

* An optical iUaiioA. 



TH£ COXiLEGIAKS. 117 

above all others. Gome, Nelly," be added, while he chop* 
ped op a little t<!ibacco, and pressed it into the bowl with the 
tip of his little finger, '^ Goine here, an' sit near me, I want 
to be talken' to you." 

Saying this, he took a half-burnt sod from the fire, crushed 
the bowl into the burning portion, and afler offering it in 
Tain to Danny, placed it in the corner of his mouth. He 
then remained for some moments, with his eyes half closed, 
drawing in the fire with his breath, and coaxing it with his 
finger, until the vapour flowed freely through the narrow tube, 
and was emitted at intervals, at the opposite corner of his 
mouth, in a dense and spiry stream. 

^* An' what do you want to be«aying ?" said Nell, taking 
her seat between Lowry and the Lord, <^ I '11 engage you 
have nothing to say to me afther ail." 

'^ Come a httte nearer," said Lowry, without changing his 
position 

"• Well, there, why," returned Nelly, moving her chair a 
little cjoser, ^' will that do ?" 

^^ No, it won't. 'Tis a whisper I have for you. Misther' 
Mann would hear me if I told it to you where you are.**^ 

. " Oh, a whisper ! Well, now I 'm close enough any way," 
she said, placing her chair in contact with that of Lowry. 

The latter took the pipe from hit> mouth, and advanced his 
face so close to that of the expectant house-maid, that she 
feared he was about to snatch a kiss. Perhaps it was in 
mere curiosity, to satisfy herself whether in fact he could 
possess so much audacity,- that Nelly did not avoid that dan- 
ger by moving her head aside ; but greatly to her surprise, 
and doubtless, likewise to her satisfaction, the honest man 
proved that he had no such insolent intention. When he 
had attained a convenient proximity, he merely parted his 
lips a little, and puffed a whole volume of smoke into her 
eyes. Nelly uttered a gentle scream, and covered her face 
with her hands, while Danny and Lowry exchanged a broad 
grin of satisfaction. 

^' Well, Lowry," exclaimed the girl with much good hu- 
mour, ^' you 're the greatest rogue going, and that 's your 
name this nigJit." 

Lowry appeared to muse for a' few moments while he con- 
tinued the enjoyment of his pipe. In a little time he once 
more took it from his lips, puffed forth the last whiff, and said, 
*^ Misther Mann, they may say this and that of the world ; 



'118 THE COLUSOIAKS. 

an' of poverty and riches, an' humility and gentility, and 
every thing else they like, but here 's my word, ever. If I 
was ,a king upon a throne this minute, an' I wanted to have 
a smoke for myself by the fire-side, why if I was to do mj 
best, what could I smoke but one pea^orth o' tobacco in the 
night aflher all ? An* can't 1 have that, as it is, just as 
asy ? If 1 was to have a bed with down feathers upon it, 
what could 1 do more than sleep there ? An' sure I can do 
that in the settle- bed above ? Iff was able to buy the whole 
market out an' out, what could I ate of it more than 1 did 
to-night of that pork upon the table ? Do you see now, Mis- 
ther Mann ? Do you see, Nelly ? Unless he could smoke 
two pipes of a night instead of one, or sleep more, or ate 
more without hurt, I don't say what 's the advantage a king 
has over a poor man like myself." 

" A' sute, you know that 's foolish talk, Lowry. Sure die 
King could buy and sell you at the fair if he liked.'* 

" He couldn't without the Jury," returned Lowry, '* the 
Judge and Jury ever. He couldn't lay a wet finger on me, 
without the Jury; be coorse of law. The round o' the world 
is as free to me as it is to him, if the world be round in air* 
nest, as they say it is." 

" Round, ayeh ?" said Nell. 

*'Iss, to be sure." 

Danny Mann looked at him for a moment. *^ Is it the 
world we're walkin' on ?" he asked in some surprise. 

" To be sure, what else ?" 

" A' don't be talking," returned Danny, turning his head 
away in perfect scorn of the hypothesis. 

" Faix, 1 tell you ,no lie," said Lowry, '^ 'tis printed in 
all the books in Europe. They sdy that if it wasn't round, 
we'd soon be done for. We couldn't keep our hoult upon 
it at all, only to go flyin' through the elements, the Lord 
save us!" 

" Oh, vo ! vo!" said Nelly, " well, that bates Ireland." 

^^ Sure there 's more says that it \^n\ the sun above do be 
moven at all, only we goin* round it." 

" That the son doesn't stir ?" 

" Not a peg." • 

" Well, now you may hould your tongue, after dat," said 
Danny, " after wantin* to take de eyesight from us. Sure the 
whole world sees the sun goin', any way." 



ITHE C0IXE6IANS. 119 

*< I wouldn't b'lieye tjmt," said Nelly, " if they were to 
put their eyes upon sticks/* 

*' I wouldn't be so,'* returned Lowry, " what business 
'would a poor boy o' my kind have goin' again men that are 
able td write bopks, ]et alone readen 'eni. But His the fool- 
lishness of the women," he continued, fixing upon Nelly as 
the least pugnacious opponent, ^^ women are always for fool- 
ishness. They 'II b'Heve or not b'lieve, just as they like 
themselves. Equal to Dan Dawley's second wife,— Did you 
ever hear o' that business, Misther Mann ?" 

" Not as I know." 

" Well, stir up the fire, Nelly, an' put down a couple o' 
sods, an' I '11 tell it while I am finishing my pipe, and then 
we '11 all be off to bed. Dan Dawley was married the 
second time to a very nice girl, one Jug Minaham, (he 's the 
steward at Castle Chute, behind.) Well, he was out of a day 
at work, an' ^ his wife was setten' alone by the fire, a few 
weeks ailher they being married. Now there was one o' the 
stones in the chimney, (as it might be that stone there,) an' 
it stood out loose from the morthar a dale beyond the rest. 
Well, she sat looking at it for a while, and the thought come 
in her head, ' If I had a child now,* says she, ' an' he was 
standing a-near that stone, ihay be 'twould fall out and 
brain him on me/ An' with the thought o' that, she began 
roaring and bawhng equal to any thing ever you hear." 

<' Oh, then, she was a foolish girl," said Nelly. 

" Dear knows that was her name," said Danny. 

^^ Well, her old Mother heerd her bawling, an' she came 
in the greatest hurry. * A* what ails you. Jug ?' says she. 
So Jug up and told her her thought about the stone, an' 
be^n bawling worse than ever. An' if she did, the mother 
joined her, and such a piliilu as they raised between 'em 
was never known. That was well an' good. Well, Dan 
was abroad in the pota tie-garden ^ an' he heard the work 
goin' on in his house, crying equal to a fuoerai. * What 's 
this about ?' says Dan, < there 's somebody murthered, surely.' 
So he made for the doore, an' in he walked, an' there he 
found the pair o' ladies. ^ A' what ails you, mother V said 
he, ' Jug will tell you, agra,' says the mother. So he looked 
at Jug. ^ Thinken' I was,' says she, still crying, ^ that if 
the child was born, ap' if that stone there fell upon him, 
'twould brain him on me.' Well, Dan stood for a while 
looken' at her, ^ If the sky fell,' says he, * we'd catch larks. 



120 tus €OLusau3sn. 

An* 18 that all tbat happened you V « JmH it enoagh ?* say; 

she again. Wall, he stopped a long while thinking in his 

mind, and then he reached out a hand to her. * W^* njs 

he, * that^s the fooliihest thing I ever knew in my life,u' 

I 'U tell you what it is, I never*!! take a day with you iroiD 

this hour, until I *U find a woman,' says he, ^ that's feoliBlia 

than yourself/ No sooner said than done, out he walked, 

laving *em after him to do as they plazed. Well, there vts 

a long day before him« an' he waUced a dale before night-ftli, 

an' be didn't know where he 'd turn to lor his bed and dinoer. 

^«But ^re I'm asy about it/ says he, «sure while there's 

fools of women in the phce, I '11 engage I needn't starve.' 

Well, he called a gar^oon that was going tlie road. *' Whose 

&rm*house,' says he, ^ is that t see over there V It 's be 

longin' to a widow woman, sir,' said the boy. * What sort 

of a man was her husband V says Dan. * A smaH, daric man, 

an' wearing top boots,' says the 1>oy. Well became DaO) 

he made for the bouse, an axed for the lone woman. She 

wits standen' on the lawn looking at her cows milking, wbeo 

Dan made towards her. ^ Well, where do you come A-om?' 

says the widow*woman, ' From heaven, ma'am,' says Dae, 

making a bow. ^ From heaven ?' says she, looking at him 

with her eyes open. ^ Tea, ma'am,' says he, ^ for a little 

start. An' t seen your husband there too, ma'am.' ^My 

husband, inagh,"* says she, looking at him very knowing, 

* ea 1 you tell me what sort of man he was Y * A small dait 

man,' says Dan, ^ an' wearing top boots.' ^^ 1 give it in to 

you,' says she, ^ that 's the man. Come this way, an' tell 

me what did he say to you, or did he give any message to 

me ?' Weil, Dan put no bounds to his tongue, just to tbrj 

her. * He bid me tell you,' says be, * that he 's very badly 

off for want o' victuals ; an' he 'd like to have the young 

gray horse to be hdin' for himself, an he 'd do as much if 

you could send 'em to him.' ' Why then I *l\ do that,' says 

the widow, ^ for he was a good husband to me when he 

lived. What time will you be going back ?' * To-morrow 

or ailher,' says Dan, ' aflher I see my people. ' Well, stay 

here to-night,* says she, ^an' I '11 give you something to take 

to him in the morning/ Well became her, she brought biiB 

in, and trated him like a prince that night, with music an' 

dancing ; an' in the morning she had the gray horse at the. 

■" U it? 



THB COIXSOtAHB. 121 

doore with a hag o^ flour, and a crock o* butter, an' a roiiind 
o' corned beef. Well, Dan mounted the horse, an away 
with him home to hid wife. < Well, Jug,' says he, ^ 1 'H take 
with you all my days, for as bad as you are, there's more' 
that 's twice worse ; an' I believe if I went farther 'tis worse 
an' worse I 'd be getting to the world's end.' So he up an' 
told 'em the whole business, an' they had a merry supper 
that night, and for weeks afther, on whkt Dan brought home 
with him. 

" He was a rogue, for all," said Nelly, " to keep the poor 
woman's horse upon her.^' 

" She deserved it," says Danny, " an' worse. I never 
hear o' such a fool. Well, Lowry, will you go to bed now 
at last ?" 

The question was answered in the affirmative ; and Danny 
was at the dame time pressed to take a share of the sweets 
of the table, which he resolutely refused. Soon after, the 
careful Nelly, having made Lowry turn his head another 
Way, ascended by a ladder to her pallet, on a lofl over the 
parlour ; while Lowry and the little lord rolled into the set> 
tie-bed together, the one to dream of breakers, raw onions, 
whiskey, and ** Misther Hardress ;" the other, of Foxy 
Dunat's mare, and the black eyes of Syl Carney. 



^ 



CHAPTER XV. 

now HAXDRESS SP£NT HIS TIKE WHILE KTKLB DALV WAS 
ASLEEP. 

All were now asleep, except the two strangers, and the 
silence, which reigned throughout the little cottage, showed 
Hardress that no ear was capable of detecting his move- 
ments. He opened his room door soflly, slipped his shoes 
Aom his feet, and leaving the light burning on his table, 
trusted to the famous sixth sense of the German physiolo- 
gists, for a chance of findmg his way among the chairs and 
tables in the dark. He reached the door without a stumble ; 
Md perceivad by the light, which streamed through the key- 

Vf,L. L— 11 



122 TBE COLLXGUHS. 

liole and uader the door of his fiur friend's apartment, that 
ehe still expected him. 

Their meeting, though silent, waa impassioned and aSec- 
tionate. Hardress inquiredt with the tender and seduloos 
attention of a newly married man, whether she felt any in- 
jm'ious effects from the storm-— whether she had changed 
her dress, aad taken some refreshment — whether, in fine, b^ 
situation was in any way ineonvenient to her ? 

**' In no way at all, Mr. Hardress, as to any of these thin^ 
you mention," she replied in a low voice, for she was fearfal 
of wakinff IVIrs. Frawley in the next room. ^\But as. to the 
mind ! — ^May heaven never give you the affliction of spend- 
ing two sucii hours as I have done since I entered this 
room !" 

«< My life, why i^ill you, speak. so? What other coarse 
remained for our adoption ? You know your father's tem- 
per, he would as soon have died as sanctioned a private mar- 
riage, such as ours must be for some time longer. It would 
be absolute ruin to me if my mother knew of my having con- 
tracted such an engagement without consulting her wishes— 
and my father, as I have before told you, will act exactly as 
she desires. And why, now, my love, will you indulge those 
uneasy humours? Are you not my bride, my wife, the 
chosen of my heart, and the future partner of my fortunes ? 
Do you really think that I would forget my little angeVs 
feelings, so far as to omit any thing in my power that might 
set her mind at rest ? If you do, I must tdl you that I love 
you more than you imagine." 

"Oh, Mr. Hardress! oh, don't say that at aJl, sir," said 
the young woman with frankness and ready warmth of man- 
ner. '' Only I was just thinking, an' I sitting by the fire, 
what a heart-break it would be to my father, if any body 
put it into his head that the case was worse than it is," [here 
she hung down her head] " and no more would be wanting 
but just a little word on a scrap o' paper, to let him knoir 
that he needn't be uneasy, and that he 'd know all in time." 

This suggestion appeared to jar against the young gea- 
*tleman's inclinations. ^^ If you wish," said he, with a little 
earnestness of voice, "I will return with you to Garryow**" 
^ to-morrow, and have our marriage made public (torn ti , 
altar of John's ^Gate chapel I have no object in seeking i 
«void my own ruin, greater tlian that of preventing you fron 
shariag it. But if you will insist upon running the has«rd- 



THX ooUJBOiAxnr. 133 

hazard ? ' I meaii^ if yoo are determined on certainly de- 
stroyiBg our proepecto of happiness, your will shall be dearer 
to me than fortune or friends either, ff you baye a father 
to feel for, you will not forget, my lore, that I have a mother 
whom I love as tenderly, and whose feelings deserve some 
consideratioB at my hands.'* 

The gentle girl seemed affeeted, but not hurt, by this 
speech. ^ Don't be angry with me," she said, laying her 
hand affectionately on his llhoulder, **donH be angry, Mr. 
Hardress. I know I have a very bad head, and can't seo 
into eveiy thmg at once ; but one word from you, (and it 
needn't be an angry one either) is enough to open my eyes. 
Insist, do you say, Mr. Hardress ? Indeed, sir, I was never 
made to insist upon any thing. But when a thought, foolish 
as it is, once comes into my head, I long to speak of it, to 
know what you will say, to know if it is wrong or right. 
You wouldn't wish that I should keep it from you, sir ?" 
*' Never, oh, never ? Do not think of that." 
<^ I never will practise it long, any way, for such thoughts 
as those, if i were to hide them^ would kill me before a 
month. But keep always near me, my dear, dear Mr. Har- 
dress, for though you showed me that there is nothnig very 
criminal in what I have done, yet when you leave me long 
alone, the reasons go out of my head, and I only think of 
what the neighbours are saying about me, this way, and of 
what my father must feel, listening to them. DonH tiiink 
now, sir, that I am going to question what you tell me (for 
I trust in you neit to heaven) but if I am not so much to 
blame, why is it that my mind is not at ease ? The jslonn, 
sir-— oh, that storm I When the waves rose, and the boat 
rocked, and the wind howled about me, how my fedings 
changed on a sudden ! I strove to look quiet before you, 
but my heart was leaping for fear within me. When we 
sank down in the darkness and rose in the light, when the 
waves were dashen' in over the side, and the sails were dip- 
pen' in the water, I thought of mv father's fire-side, aod I 
was sure that it was the anger of the Ahnighty, hunting the 
disobedient child over the dark waters. I thought I never 
would #alk the hmd again— -and bow will it be, says I, if 
the boat breaks under us, and my father is told that bis 
daughter was washed ashore a corpse, with a blot upon ber 
name, and no one living that can clear it ?_But, I g^ve 
thanks to Heaven T* the poor girl continued, clasping her 



124 VBS COUUEmMXS. ' 

handd, and looking upwurd with tevs in Jier ^es — ^Hutt 
jud^eni has been spared ; not for loy merit, I am ature, but 
for its own mercy." 

^<And is not that a quieting remembranoevEtly ?'' said 
ber husband. 

«« Oh, that is not all,'' said £ily, «^tbat is not tike worst. 
Every movement that I make seems to bring dovn the anger of 
heaven, since I first thought of deceiving my father. Do you 
remember the morning of our marriage ?'' she added with a 
slight shudder, *^ I never can put that frightful mot ning oat 
of my mind. 'Tis always before my eyes. The little room 
inside the sacristy, and ' the candles burning on the small 
table, and the gray dawn just breaking through the window' 
We did not marry as other people do, in their femilies, or 
in the open daylight. We* married in secret, like criminals 
in prison, without preparation, without confession, or com- 
munion, or repentance. We chose a priest that was dis- 
graced by his Bishop, to give us that great sacrament, for 
money. May heaven forgive him ! how scon and suddenly 
he was called to judgment for that act!" 

Hardress, who had himself been struck by the circum- 
stance last alluded to, remained silent for a moment, while 
his eyes were fixed upon the earth. 

^' Why did you go back to the chapel that time, £ily/' he 
said at length, ^^ after I parted from you at the door ?" 

^^ Every thing looked bad and disheartening," eaad the 
young woman, '' I was just going to lift the latch of my fa 
ther's door, when I found that I had forgot the priest's cer 
tificate. I went back to the chapel as fast as I could walk. 
I passed through the sacristy and into the httle room* The 
certificate wasT there upon the table, the candles were burn- 
ing, and the clergyjoian was sitting upright in his chair— & 
dead nian ! Oh, I can no more tell you how I felt that mo- 
ment than if I was dumb. 1 thought the world was comibg 
to an end, and that 1 had ne nAore hold of life, than of the 
wind4hai was going by me. I ran out into the chapel and 
strove to pray, but my blood was boiling out at my fingtrs' 
ends. While I was on my knees, I heard the people ran- . 
idng to and fro in the skcristy, and I hurried out of the 
chapel for fear I 'd be questioned." 

^^ And did you go home at once ?" 

^^ No ; I took a walk first, to quiet my mind a Uttle, an 
when I did go home» I found my father was up and getting 



THB CQUsezAHa 12$ 

ihe breakfftBt ready before me. Ab, be desieryed a bettor 
daugbtertbanEily!" 

*^ Come, cone 1" said her biuband kindly, ^^ you wUl be a 
good daughter to him yet/' 

*^ I hope so, sir," said Eily, in a mournful foice. ^^ There ^ 
one tbiDg, ^t all events. He bvea me very well, and when'? 
ever I return^ I am sure of being easily forgiyen." 

** And can yon find no encouragement in that ?'^ Har- 
dress said, while he too)[ her hand in his, and pressed it in a 
soothing manner. ^^You say that you have confidence' in 
me — and the few happy week9 that we have counted since 
our marriage have furnished me with no occasion for com« 
plaint on Sat subject. Continue yet a little longer to trust 
in your own Hardress, and the time will shortly come when 
you shall find that it was not bestowed in vain.. Come, now, 
let me dry those sweet eyes, while I tdl you shortly what my 
plans shail be. You have heard me speak of Danny Mann's 
sister, Naughten, who lives on the side of the Purple Moun- 
tain, in the Gap of Dunlough— (you don^.t know those 
places now, but you '11 be enchanted with them by and by.) 
She is a good-natured creature, though somewhat vident; 
and is, moreover, entirely at my command. I have had 
two neat rooms fitted up for you in her cottage, where you 
can have some books to read, a little garden to fimuse you, 
and a Keny pony to ride over the mountains, and see all 
that is to be seen about the lakes. In the meantime I will 
steal a visit now and then to my mother, who spends the 
autumn in the neighbourhood. 8he loves me, 1 know, as 
well as i love her ; and that is very well. I will gradually 
let her into my secret, and obtain her forgiveness^- 1 am 
certain she will not withold it — and my fath^'s will follow 
as a matter of course-— for he has the greatest respect for her 
opinions." [If Hardress had not been Barny Cregan*s son, 
he would have given this respect another name,] ^* I shall 
then present you to my mother, she will commend your 
modesty and gentleness ; — io my father, who will rap out 
an exclamation on your beauty :• — we shall send for your 
lather and priest O'Connor to the hau)ing4)cme, and then 
where is the tongue that shall venture to wag against the 
fame of Eily Cregan ? If such a one there be, it shall never 
sting again, for I will cut the venom out of it with my smalK 
sword;" . 

^^ Hush ! hush, sir! Do not speak so loud,** cried the 



ISe VMM COLLieUllS. 

! 

young womaa in some alanii«^^there^8 one asleep nth^ 
next room." 

" Who is it ? Mrs. Frawiey ?" 

^* The fat, good old woman that got dinner ready for 
me." 

<^ Never fear her. She is a hard-working diligent womiB, 
that always minds the business she has in hand. It was not 
jto lie awake and make use of her ears that she-got between 
the blankets. Hark ! — There is a clearer proof stiU that she 
is asleep. She must be dreaming of a hunt, she imitates the 
horn of chase so finely. Well, Eily, be ready to start for 
Ballybunion at sunrise in the morning. You must contrive 
to slip down to the shore without being seen by Lowry, or 
any body else, if possible." 

The creaking of the bed, which sustained the ponderous 
Mrs. Frawley, here startled the young and passionate, though 
most ill-sorted, pair. After a hurried good night, Hardrets 
returned tb his room just in time to escape the observatioD 
of the good dairy-woman, who had been awaked out of a 
dream of pecks and keelers and fresh prints by the sound of 
voices in the stranger's room. On opening the door, how- 
ever, she was a little astonished to observe the lovely guesl 
in the attitude of devotion. Deprived, by this circumstance, 
of the opportunity of putting any awkward questions, Mrs. 
Frawley^ after yawning once or twice, and shaking her shoul- 
ders as often, tumbled into bed again, and speedily resumed 
the same tune upon the horn wh^ had excited the admira- 
tion of Hardress. ^ 

. Reader, I desire you not to think that this speedy fit of 
devotion was a manceuvre of the gentle Eily. The sin, as- 
suredly, was not done with reflection. But if the case ap- 
, pears suspicious, go down upon your knees and pray that as 
(alas, the while t) it has not been the first, it may be the last 
instance in which religion shall be made subservient to humsB 
and terrestrial purposes ! 

There was a slight feciling of chagrib mingled with the 
happier emotions of the young husband as be prepared for 
shimber. Gifted, as he was, with a quick preception and 
keen feeling of the beautiful and worthy, the paStton he had 
conceived for the gentle Eily had been as sudden as it was 
violent The humility of her origin, at a period when pnd« 
of birth was more considered in matrimonial alliances that 
it is at present^ might, it is true, have deterred hitn from coa- 



travf mag the wifiiies of his Iriends, if the in^reteion made 
on his iBCiag^itiot) had been less.poweifiiJ ; but his extreme 
youth, end the exceDiog beauty of hishnde, were (wo cir- 
cumstances Aat operated powerjblly in teoipting him to over- 
look all other counsels than those which io^re'siigsested. He 
thought, neyertheless, thai be had atted towards KJy OC<hi- 
ner with a generosity which apfiroached a species of mag- 
nanimity, in -preferriBg her before the whole world and its 
opinions ; and perhaps, too, be ^stertained a little philoso- 
phical vanity in the conceit that he had thus evincedan m- 
dependent reliance on his own mental resolircos, and shown 
a spirit superior to the ordinKry prejudices of society. He 
felt, therefore, a little chagrined at Eily's apparent slowness 
in appreciating so noble an effort, for indeed she did him the 
justice to believe that it was a higher motive than the love of 
self-adulation which induced him to bestow upon her his hand 
and his affections. But the realder is yet only partially ac- 
quainted with the character of Hardress, and those early 
circumstances which fashioned it to its present state of 
irregular and imperfect virtue ; we will, therefore, while 
that iery heart lies quenched in slumber, employ those hours 
of inaction in a brief and comprehensive view of the natural 
qualities and acquirements of our hero. 

While Hardress Cregan was yet a child, he displayed more 
symptoms of precocious ability, than might have shed a % 
lustre on the boyhood of many a celebrated geriius. He ob- 
tained, even in his school-days, the sobriquet of ^^ Coun- 
sellor'* from his fondness for discussion, and the childish 
eloquence which he displayed in maintaining a favourite po- 
sition. His father liked him for a certain desperation of 
courage which he was apt to discover on occasions of very 
inadequate provocation. His mother, too, doted on him 
for a mother's own, best reason ; that he was her child. In- 
dulgent she was, even to a ruinous extent ; and proud she 
was, when her sagacious acquaintances, afler hearing her 
relate some wonderful piece oSf wit in little Hardress, would 
compress their lips, shake their heads with much emphasis, 
and prophesy that ^^ that boy wonldskiM 6ne day or another.'* 
His generosity too (a quafity in which Mrs. Cregan was her- 
self pre-eminent) excited his mother's admiration, and 
proved indeed that Hardress was not an ordinary child. 

And yet he was not without the peculiar selfishness of 
genios, that sdfiahness which consistB not in the love of get- 



188 TUB OOUBGIASr. 



tingt or the love of keepiD|ir, in cupidity or avarice ; but is 2 
liUEurioiu indulgenea of all odo's natural iucliuatkna, ereo 
to an effeminate degree. His Very generosity was m specie 
of self-seeking, of that vulgar qua&ty which looks to nothing 
more than the gratification of a suddenly awAkened impobe 
of compassion, or, perhaps, has a still meaner object for its 
stimulus, the gratitude of the assisted, and thefiime ofanope& 
hand. If this failing were in Hardress, as in Charles ^* 
face, the result of habitual thoughtlessness and dissipaUoihit 
might challenge a gentler condemnation, and awakes pity 
ra^er than dislike ; but young Cregan was by no means io' 
capable of appreciating the high merit of a due self-goTent- 
menty even in .the exercise of estimable dispositions. He 
admired, in Kyrle Daly, that noble and yet junafiected firm- 
ness of principle which led him, on many occasions, to im- 
pose a harsh restraint upon his own feelings, when their in- 
dulgence was not in accordance with his notions of juslice. 
But Hardress Cregan, with an imagination which partock 
much more largely of the national luxuriance, and with a 
mind which- displayed, at intervals, bursts of energy wbicli 

' far surpassed the reach of his steady friend, was yet the less 
estimable character of the two. They were, nevertbeles, 
well calculated for a lasting friendship ; for Kyrle Daly M 
and valued the surpassing taknt of Hardress, and Hardress 
was pleased with the even temper and easy resolution of bis 

• schodfellow. 

Seldom, indeed, it was, that esteem formed any portion in 
the leading motive of Hardress Creg^n's attachments. He 
liked for liking^s sake, and as long only as his humour lasted. 
It required but a spark to set him all on fire, but the flaise 
was often as prone to smoulder, and become extinct, as it vas 
hasty to kindle. The reader is already aware that he had 
formed, during his boyhood, a passion for Anne Chute, who 
was then a mere girl, and on a visit at Dinis Cottage. Bis 
mother, who, from his very infancy had arranged this match 
within her own mind, was delighted to observe the earlj at- 
tachment of Jthe children, and encouraged it by every meais 
in her power. They studied, played, and walked together, 
and all his recollections of the magnificent scenery of those 
romantic mountain-lakes were blended with the form, the 
voice, the look and manner of his childish love. The ioog 
separation, however, which ensued when he was sent to 
school, and from thence to college, produced a total altera* 



lion in his seDtiments ; and the mortification which his pride 
experienced on finding himself, as he imagined^ utterly for- 
gotten by her, completely banished even the wish to renew 
their old familiar life. Still, however, the feeling with which 
he regarded her was rather one of resentment than indif- 
ference, and it was^ not ^without a secret creeping of the 
heart, that he witnessed what he thought the successful pro*^ 
gress of Kyrle Daly's attachwcnt. 

It was under these circumstances, that be formed his 
present hasty union with Eily O'Connor. His love for her 
was deep, sincere, and tender. Her entire and unbounded 
confidence, her extreme beauty, her simplicity and timid/ 
deferenee to his wishes, made a soothing compensation to 
bis heart for the coldness of the haughty, though superior^ 
beauty, whose inconstancy had raised hU indignation. 

^^ Yes,*' said Hardress to himself as he gathered the 
blankets about his shoulders, and disposed himself for sleep. 
^^ Her form and dispositions are perfect. Would that educa- 
tion had been to her as kind as nature \ Yet she does not 
want grace nor talent ; — but that brogue ! Well, well ! the 
naaterials of refinam£nt are within aiid around her, and it 
must be my task, and my delight, to make the brilliant shine 
out that is yet dark in the ore. I fear Kyrle Daly is, after 
all, correct in saying that* I am not indifferent to those ex- 
ternsd allurements." [Here his eyelids drooped.) ^<The 
beauties of our mountain residence will make a mighty* 
alteration in her mind, and my society will — will — gradually 
— beautiful— Anne Chute — Poll Naughten — independent — *' 

The ideas faded on his imagination, a cloud settled on his 
brain, a delicious languor crept through all his limbs, he fell 
into a profound repose. 



130 THS COlSJgBUSS. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

HOW THE FBIEKD9 PAlTSP. , 

" Is Fighting Poll up yet, I wonder," said Lowry Loobf, 
as he stood cracking his whip in the farm-yard, while tbe 
morning was just beginning to break, and the dairy people 
were tying down the fijrkins on his car. *^ 1 'd like to see 
her hptoTB I 'd go, to know would she have any commaflds 
westwards. There *s no hoult upon her to hinder bei 
speaking of a Friday, whatever." 

*^ Is who up ?" exclaimed a shrill voice which proceeded 
from the grated windows of the dairy. It was that of Ae 
industrious Mrs. Frawley, who, as early, if not as brisk asd 
sprightly as the lark, v»as already employed in setting ber 
milk in the keelers. 

*' Fighting Poll of the Reeks," replied Lowry, turning 
toward the wire grati|^g, through which he beheld the exten- 
sive figtire of the dairy- woman, as neat as a bride, employed 
in her health- giving, life- prolonging, avocations. 

*' Who is she, why ?" said Mrs Frawley. 
^ ^^ Don't you know the girl that come in the boat witii 
Mistber Cregan, and slep in- the room outside you ?" 

^' Oyeh ! I did*nt know who you meant. The boat- 
man's handsome little sister 1" 

" Handsome, ayeh ?" 

" Yes, then, handsome. She has the dawniest little sose 
I think lever laid my two eyes on." 

" Why then 'tis a new story with it for a nose. For- 
merly, when I knew it, it was more like a button musharooa 
than any thing else, and the colour of a boiled carrot. 
Good raison it had for that, as the publicans could tell you." 

^* Hold your tongue, man. Is it to drink yousay&ii^ 
used ?" 

"i:thrifle,I'mtould." 

<' £'*lhen, I never see one that has less the sign of it tban 
what she has." 

'#< She 's altered lately, Danny Mann tells me. Nellji 
eroo," he added, changing his tone, ^^Stmuber'^ to you, noVi 

* Agoodhiifbiiui. 



TBS coLLEaum. 131 

an' get me a dram, for it 's threatening to be a moist foggy 
Diornen^ an' I have a long road before me.'' 

Nelly vras occupied in liberating a whole regiment of 
dackSy hens,' pouts, chicks, cocks, geese, and turkeys ; who 
all came quacking, clucking, whistling, chirping, crowing, 
cackling, and gobbling, through th9 opened fowl-house door 
into the yard ; where they remained shaking their wings on 
tiptooy str^cbing their long necks over the little pool, the 
surface of whiefa was green, add covered with feathers ; 
appearing to congratulate each other on their sudden libera- 
tion, and seeming evidently disposed to keep all the conver* 
sation to themselves. 

" What is it you say, Lowry ? Cboke ye, for ducks, will 
ye let nobody spake but yeVselves ? What is it, Lowry ?" 
Lowry repeated his request, making it more intelligible 
amid the clamour of the farm-yard, by using a significant 
gesture. He imitated the action of one who fills a glass and 
drinks it. He then laid his hand upon his heart and shook 
his head, as if to intimate the comfort that would be pro- 
duced about that region by performing in reality what he only 
mocked at present. 

Nelly understood him as well as if he had spoken 
volumes. Commissioned by Mrs. Frawley, she supplied 
him with a' bottle of spirits and a glass, with thC' use of 
which, let us do Lowry the justice to say, there was not a 
man in the barony better acquainted. 

While he dashed fQotn his eyes the tears which were pro- 
duced by the sharpness of the stimulus, he heard footsteps 
behind him, and looking round, beheld Danny the Lord, 
and the soi-disarU Mrs. Naughten, atill mujffled in her blue 
cloak and hood» and occupying a retired position near the 
kitchen door. 

" I'll tell you what it is, Nelly,'* said Lowry with a 
knowing wink to the 90ubreUe. *' Poll Naughten lives very 
convenient on the Cork road, or not far fi:om it, an' I do be 
oflen goen' that way of a lonesome night, I '11 make a 
friend o' Poll before she leaves this, so as that she'll be glad 
to see me another time. I 'il go over an' offer her a dhram. 
That I may be blest, but I will." 

So saying, and hiding the bottle and glass under the fikirl 
of his coat, he moved toward the formidable heroine of tt|e 
mountains with many respectful bows and a smile of the post 
winning cordiality. 



132 VSB COLIfBOlAirS. 

* 

<^A &ie, moist moroen', Mrs. Naughten. 1 hope yon 
feel no fciague after the night, ma'am. Your ^anrant 
Misther Manii. I hope you didn't feel us in the yard, 
ma'am. I sthrove to keep 'em quiet^ o' purpose. 'Tis&'t 
gpen' ye are so airly, Misther Mann ?" 

Danny, who fek all the importance of diverting Loviy 
Looby's attention from his fair charge, could find no mem 
so effectual as that of acknowledging the existence of i 
mystery, and admitting him into a pretended eonfidence. 
Advancing, therefore, a few steps to meet him, he put on a 
most serious countenance and laid his finger warily along 
his nose. • 

« What 's the matther ?" whispered Lo wry, bending dowr 
in the eagerness of curiosity. 

Danny the Lord repeated the action with the addition of 
a cautionary frown. 

'« Can't she talk of a Friday either ?" said Lowry, mocli 
amazed. *^ I understand, Mister Mann. Trust me for ^ 
b^re life. A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse." 

>^ Or ass eider,- ' muttered the hunch-back as he irojd 
away. 

^^ But, Misther Mann !" cried Lowry, laying his immense 
claw upon his lordship's fihoulder. '^ Listen hethcr. Tbe 
mornen' will be smart enough, and may be I'd betther offer 
her a dbram, and she goen' upon the wather ?" 

He strode past the Lord and was close to the muffled fsuf 
one, when Danny pulled him back by the skirt. 

« Did'nt I tell you before," said he, ^< dat Poll never 
drank ?" 

" 'Iss, of a Thursday you said." 

" Or a Friday, or any day. On den, oh den, Lowry I" 

" Well, I meant no harm. May be you'd have no voir 
yourself on the head of it any way, sit ?" And he dis- 
played the bottle. 

^*Dere are tree kinds of oats, Lowry," responded Danny 
Mann, as he twined his bony fingers fondly around the neck 
of the bottle ; '* Dere are tree kinds of oats dat are for- 
bidden to be tuk as unlawful. Dey are false oats, rash oats, 
and unjust oats. Now do you see me, Lowry," he coo- 
tinned, as he filled his glass — ^< if I made a vow o' dat kiBd, 
it would be an unjust oat, for it would be traiten' myself 
very bad, a poor boy dat '« night and day at secb cold "va^ 
as mine, an' it would be a rash oat, Lowry, for — '* [here^ 



tossed ^ff the spirits] ^' I 'm blest bBt it wouldn't be long 
before 1 'd make it a. false oat." 

Lowry was greatly shocked at this unprincipled speech, 
'^ That 's a nate youth," he said privately to Nelly. '« 1 hat 'e 
a nice poet, not judging him. If that lad doesn't see the 
inside of the Stone Jug* for some bad business one time pr 
another, I'll give you lave to say black is the white o' mf 
eye. if the gallows isn't wrote upon his face, there 's no 
mait in mutton. Well, good monien' to you, Nelly, I see 
my load is ready. I have every thitig now, I suppose, Mrs. 
Frawisy. Whup, get up here, you old garron! Good 
memen* to you, Mrs. Naughten, an' a fair wind after you. 
Good nornen' Mistfaer Mann." He cracked his whip, 
tucked the skirt of his riding coat under his arm, as usuab 
threw his httle head back, and followed the car out of the 
yard, singing in a ple^ant contented key ; — 

" Den t YOU r«iMBDi>er thft time I gftveymi my heart ? 
Yoa flolemoly swore from me yob Jierer would put. 
JBut yoar mind '• like ttie ooetn, 

fiMh notion 
Hm now taken flic ht, 
And left me bemoaning the loss qf the red*haired man's wife." 

Kyrle Daly and his young friend were meanwhile ex- , 
changing a farewell upon the little gravel plot before the 
frontdoor./ 

^^ ComQ, come, go in out of the air," said Hardress, 
<< you shall not come down to the i^hore in that slight dress. 
Remember what I have told you, and sustain your spirits. 
Before another month shall pass, I pledge myself to become 
master, for your sake, of Anne Chute's secret." 

" And to honour it ?" said Kyrle, smiling as he gave him 
bis hand. 

^' According to its value," replied Hardress, tossing his 
head, ^* Good bye ; I see Danny Mann and his sister 
coming round, and we must not lose the morning's tide." 

They shook hands and parted. 

It was one of those still and heavy mornings which are 
peculiar to the close of summer in this climate. The sur- 
face of the waters was perfectly still, and a light wreath of 
mist steamed upward from the centre of the channel, so as 
to veil from their sight the opposite shores of Clare. This 

*ThtJ«iL 
Vol. I.— 12 



134 TSB COLUDGXAim. 

mist, ere long, became a dense and bliadii^ fog, that hsid 
until noon, and together with the breathless cahn Uuthy 
upon the land and water, prevented their reaching BaUjiw- 
nion until sunset. In one of those caverns which are hoi- 
lowed out of the cliffs on the shore, the traveller may discen 
the remains of an artificial chamber. It was usc^ at the 
period of which we write, as a kind of ware-room ftr cod- 
Iraband goods ; a species of traffic which was freely enga|«^ 
in by nearly all the middling gently and small farmeis.aloDS 
the coast. A subterraneous passage, faced with dry stooe 
work, opened into the interior of the country ; and die 
chan^r itself, fi'om constant use, was become perfectly dry 
and habitable. In this place Hardress proposed to £ily tint 
they should remain, and take some refreshment, while Dumf 
the Lord was despatched to secure a better lodging iiv 
the night, at some retired farm-house in the neighboU' 
hood. 

A small canvass-buih canoe, summoned from the interior 
of the cave by a whistle from the Lord, was employe^lto 
convey them from the pleasure-boat into the gloomy ponii 
•f this natural souterrain. Before the fragile skiff had g|i^^ 
into the darkness; Eily tiirned ^er head to catch a partioi 
look of the descending sun. The scene which met her ^ 
would have appeared striking, even to an accustomed eye; 
and to one like hers, acquainted only with the smoky splen- 
dour of a city sunset, it was grand and imposing in the ex- 
treme. Before ,her lay the gigantic portals of the Sbannojii 
through which, the mighty river glided forth with a majestic 
calmness, to mingle with the wide and waveless ocean tbst 
spread beyond and around them. On her right arose tli« 
clifted shores of Clare, over which the broad ball of <laj> 
although some minutes hidden from her sight, seemed J^ 
by refraction, to hold his golden circled suspended amid* 
broken and brilliant mass of vapours. Eily kfept her eyes 
fixed in admiration on the dilated orb, until a turn in ^ 
cave concealed the opening from her view, and she cop 
only see the stream of light behind, as it struck on thejag^^^ 
and broken walls of the orificd, and danced upon the surface 
of the agitated waters.. 

The place to her seemed terrible. The hollow sound ot 
the boatman's voice, the loud splash of the oars, and ^}^ 
rippling of the water against the vessel's prow, reverberatio? 
through the vaulted chambers ; the impenetrable darkne^ 



THS COLLBGUKS. 135 

into whieh they seemed to plunge headlong, and reckless 6t 
Atoiger or impediment ; all unit^, constitutcKla scene so new 
to tbe simple Eily, that she grasped close the arm of her hus- 
band, and held her breath for some moments, as if in expec* 
tation of some sudden amlteirifio encounter. In a little 
time the boatman rested on his oars, and a voice from the ' 
interior of the cave was heard exclaiming in Irish, '^ Is it 
himself?" 

^ It is,** said the boatman in the same language. ^ Light 
up the fire at once, and put down a few of the fresh l^r* 
rings. The lady is hungry.'* 

^ Yoii will join for the first time, Eily,** said HardresSt 
** in a fisherman's supper. Well, Larry, had you much luck 
hst night ?** 

^' Poor enough, masther,*' said the same oracular voicOf 
which Eily now recognised as that of the man to whose es* 
cort she had been intrusted by Lowry Looby on the pre- 
vious evening. ^^ We left Misther4>aly's point as soon as the 
wind fell, and come down as far as Kilcordane, thinking we « 
miglit come across the skull ; but, though we were out all 
night, we took only five hundhert, more or less. A* why 
don't you light up the fire, Phaudhrig ? And 'twasn't that 
the herrings didn't come into the river either, for when the 
moon shone out we saw the scull to this westward, making a 
curl on the waters, as close an' thick as if you threw a 
shovel full o' gravel in a pond." 

The fire now blazed suddenly upward, revealing the into* 
nor of the apartment before alluded to^ and the figure of the 
rough old boatman and his bov. The latter was stoop- 
ing forward on his hanfis, and kindling the fire with his 
breath, while Larry Kett himself was rinsing a small metal 
pot at the water*side. The efifect of the smoky and subter- 
raneous light upon those uncouth and grisly fissures, and on 
the rude excavation itself, impressed the timid blily with a 
new and agitating sensation, too nearly allied to fear to leave 
her mind at ease. 

In a few minutes she was seated on a small keg near the 
fire, while Hardress hurried the men who were preparing 
dinner. Larry Kett was not so proficient in the sbience of 
gastronomy as the celebrated Louis of Crockford's, and yet 
it is to be questioned, whether the culinary preparations of 
the latter were ever despatched with more eagerness and sat- 
isfaction. Eily, indeed, ate only a heroine's proportion ; 



is$ 




fie maaticatoffy action. 

Damij Maao is the mrantiT waa oocopied ia ptocuiil 
a OMfe efiffiUe lodging fiv tbe aigbL He ffetnraed vks 
thef bad caocluded thek uoceveoioBioQa meal, to say Unthe 
kad been aooeeasfbl in prociinnir two rooinsy in the hoosett 
** a bttle 'onas dat k^ a priiate bottle betweeo dat'u 
Beale/* 

"^ A private bottle ?*' exclaimed Haidress ; ^ what do jot 
meaii by a pnvate bottle f 

** 1 mean," replied the bttie k)rd, *^dat abe sella as gooA* 
drop aa if abe paid licenae for it : a ting she Devar was fvi 
enoagh to do.*' 
'' Where does she hfe ?" 

^ Close to de road above. She told me/' [here be drev 
Hardreas aside] '* when I axed her, dat Myles of depooes. 
aod de Biaater, ao* a deal o* geatlemen went de road west- 
wards y^erday, an* dat Phil Naughten, (Poll's Pbill) wis 
iri Beale waiten' for you deae two days wit de horse an' j^^ 
tin' car." 

^^ I am glad to hear it. Step over there to*iiight, asd^^ 
him to be at the door before daybreak to-morrow maToiDg* 
Tell him I will double hb fare if he uses diligence/' 

'' Why din, indeed," said Danny, "« I 'II tell him notinV(ie 
aorL 'T would be de same case wit him still, tor he 's a bof 
dat if you give h*m England, Ireland, an' Scotland for >t 
estate, he 'd ax de Isle o' Man for a kitchen garden." 

^^ Well, well, do as you please about it, Danny, but bs^ 
him on the spot. That fellow," he continued, speaking tfi 
Eily as he conducted her out of the cavern, "* that fellow if | 
so impudent sometimes, that nothing but the recollectioB<' 
his fidelity and the honesty of his motive keeps my band il I 
rest. He is my foster brother, and, you may perceive, wtt I 
the exception of one deformity, a welMookine man/* 
**> I never observed any thing hut the bunch," said £ilj' . I 
^^ For which," added Ilardress with a slight change iflti' I 
countenance, ^' he has to thank his master." 
" You, Mr. Hardress !" 

«' Even so, Eily. When we were both childreot tb«t 
young felk>w was my constant companion. Famili^V 
nrodttced a feeUng of equality, on which he presumed so Of 



THE ooixsaiAMs. . 197 

as to offer a rudeness to a little relative of mine, a Hiss 
Chute, who was on a visit at my mother's. She complained 
to me, and my vengeance was summary. I met him at the 
head of the kitchen stairs, and without even the ceremony of 
a single question or preparatory speech, I seized him by the 
collg and hurled him with desperate force to the bottom of 
thought. He was unable to rise as soon as I expected, 
and on examination it was discovered that an injury had been 
done to the spine, which, notwithstanding all the exertions 
that were employed to repdr it, had its result in his present 
.deformity." 

^^It was shocking," said Eily, with much simplicity of 
feeliol^. '* No wonder you should be kind to him." 

" If I were a mere Wock," said Hardress, *•• I could not 
but be affected by the goodnature and kindly feeling which 
the poor fellow showed on the occasion, and indeed down to 
the present moment. It seemed to be the sole aim and 
study of his life to satisfy me that he entertained not even 
a sentiment of regret for what had happened ; and his 
attachment ever since has been the alttachment of a zealot. 
I know he cannot but feel that his own prospects in life 
have been made dark and lonely by that accident ; and 
yet he is congratulating himself whenever an opportunity 
occurs, on his good fortune, in being provided with a con- 
stant service, as if (poor fellow !) that were any compen- 
sation to him. I have been alarmed to observe that he 
sometimes attaches even a profane importance^ to his mas- 
ter's wishes, and seems to care but little what laws he may 
transgress when his object is the gratification of my in- 
clinations. I say, I am alarmed on this subject, because I 
have taken frequent occasion to remark that this injury to his 
^pine has in some degree affected his head, and left him less 
able to discern the impropriety of such a line of conduct 
than people of sotinder minds." ' 



n* 



i98 TBB COLLSSIAIfff. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

HOW HAKDRE88 XJBAENSD A IITTLB iBCRET FROX S 
0TINe inTlVTSllAJff. 

N0TWITH8TANMN6 the message which Hardress Gregifi 
sent by Lowry Looby, it was more than a week belere be 
visited bis parents at their Killarney residenee. Se?enl 
days were occupied io seeing Eily pleasantly settled in bcr 
wild cottage in the Gap, and a still greater nunibek' in en- 
joying with her the pleasures of an autumnal sojourn aflbd 
those scenes of mystery, enchantment and romance. To a 
mind that is perfectly at freedom, Rillamey forms 10 itself 
a congeries.of Elysian raptures ; but to a fond bride aid 

bridegroom ! the heaven, to which the mountains reir 

their naked heads in awful reverence, alone can furnish a 
superior happiness. 

After taking an affectionate leave of hia beautiful wife, 
^nd assuring her that his absence should not be extended 
beyond the following day, Hardress Cregan mounted one of 
Phil Naughten^s rough-coated ponies, and set off for Dinis 
Cottage. It was not situated (as its name might seem to 
import) on the sweet little island which is so called, but fiv 
apart, near the ruined Church of A ghadoe, commanding a 
distant view of the lower lake and the lofty and woodes 
Toomies- 

The sun had gone down before he left the wild and rockj 
glen in which was situated the cottage of his bride. It was, 
as we have already apprized the reader, the first time Har- 
dress had visited the Lakes since his return from College, 
and the scenery, now, to his matured and well-regulated 
taste, had not only the effect of novelty, but it was likewise 
invested with the hallowing and romantic charm of joutbfiil 
association. The stillness, so characteristic of majesty, 
which reigned throughout the gigantic labyrinth of mountaiot 
cliff, and valley through which he rode ; the parting gleam 
of sunshine that brightened the ever-moving mists od the 
summit of the lofty peaks by which he was surrounded ; the 
solitary appearance of the many nameless lakes that slept in 



' THE COLLEGIANS. 139 

black repose in the centre of the mighty chasm ; the echo of 
his horse's hoo6 against the stony road ; <he voice of a goat- * 
herd's boy, as he drove homeward, from the summit of a 
heath-clad mountain, his troublesome and adventurous 
charge ; the lonely twitter of the kirkeen dhra, or little water 
hen, as it flew from rock to rock on the margin of the broken 
stream— 'these, and other long forgotten sights and sounds, 
awakened at the same instant the consciousness of present, 
and the memory of past enjoyments ; jind gradually lifted 
his thoughts t0 that condition of calm enthusiasm and M* 
ness of soul which constitutes one of the highest pleasures 
of a meditative mind. He did not fail to recall at this moment 
the memory of his childish attachment, and could not avoid 
a feeliag of regret at the unpleasing change that education 
had pr^uced in the character of his first, though not his 
dearest love. 

This feeling became still more deep and oppressive as he 
approached the cottage of his father. Every' object that' he 
beheld^^the lawn, the grove, the stream, the hedgey the stile 
— all brought to mind some sweet remembrance of his boy- 
hood. The childish form of Anne Chute still seemed to 
meet him with her bright and careless smile, at every turn in 
the path ; or to fly before him over the shorn meadow, as of 
old ; while the wild and merry peal of infant laughter, seemed 
still to ring upon his hearing. ^' Dear little being !" he ex- 
claimed, as he rode into the cottage avenue. ^^ The burning 
springs of Gluver, 1 thought, might sooner have been frozen, 
than the current of that once warm and kindly heart ; but 
like those burning springs, it is only in the season of coldness 
and neglect that fountain can resume its native warmth. It 
is the fervour of universal homage and aduktion that strikes 
it cold and pulseless in its channels." 

The window of the dining parlour alone was lighted up, 
and Hardress was informed in answer to his inquiries, that 
the ladies, Mrs. Cregan and Miss Chute, were gone to a 
grand ball in the neighbourhood. Mr. Cregan, with two other 
gentlemen, was drinking in the dining-room ; and, as he 
might gather from the tumultuous nature of the conversation, 
and the occasional shouts of ecstatic enjoyment, and bursts 
of laughter which rang through the house, already pretty far 
advanced in the bacchanalian ceremonies of the night. The 
voices he recognised, besides his father's, were those of 
Hepton Connolly, and Mr. Creagh, the duellist. 



to VBM C0tl£6IAKS. 

Feeling no iDdination to join the revellers, IlardreS; 

. rdered ctndles in tlie drawing room, and prepared to speed 

« quiet evening by hireself. He had scarcely however takeo 

. iB seat on the stniight-backed 8ofa« when his retirement ras 

>vaded by old Nancy, the kitchen-maid, who came to tell 

im that poor Dalton the huntsman was*^ a'mostoff," in the 

iltle green room, and that when he heard Mr. Hardress M 

.^rriv^« he begged of all things to see him before he'd go. 

* He never was himself rightly, a 'ra gal,"' said old Nancy, 

W[iping a tear from the comer of her eye, *^ since the mastlwr 

sold the hounds and tuk to the cock-fighting.'* 

Hardress started up and followed her ^^Poor fellow!'' 
he exclaimed as he went along, ^^ Poor Dalton ! And is that 
breath that wound so many merry blasts upon the mountab, 
so soon to be extinguished ? — I remember the time, when I 
thought a monarch upon his throne a less enviable being thao 
our stout huntsman, seated on his keen-eyed steed, in his 
scarlet frock and cap, with his hounds, like painted courtiers, 
thronging and baying round his horse's hoofs, and his hom 
hanging silent at his waistl Poor fellow ! ^ Every beagle ia 
the pack was his familiar acquaintance, and was as jc«lo<fi 
of his chirp or his whistle, as my cousin Anne's admiren 
might be of a smile or secret whisper ! How oHen has he 
carried me before him on his saddle bow, and taught me the 
true fox- bunting cry ! How often at evening has he held roe 
between his knees, and excited my young ambition with tales 
of hunts bard rtin, and neck or nothing leaps ; of double 
ditches, cleared by an almost miraculous dexterity ; of draw- 
ing, yearning, challenging, bunting mute, hunting change, 
ami hunting counter ! And now the poor fellow must wind 
his last recbeat, and carry his own old bones to earth at length! 
•^nev^r again to waken the echoes of the mountain lakes— 
never again beneath the shadow of those immemorial woods 
that clothe their lofty shores — 

" Mrt dr« riros, Martemqae aceeadere canto V^ 

The fox may come fVom kennel, and the red-deer slumber od 
his layer, for their mighty enemy is now himself at bay.*' 

While these reflections passed through the mind of Har- 
dress, old Nancy conducted him as far as the door of the 
huntsman's room, where he paused for a moment on hearing 
"oice of one singing inside. It was that of the worn-eut 



T9B OOLLEGIABSU 141 

lUDtsman himself, who was iiuiniiiiiig ovsr % few verses of a 
ravourite ballad. The lines which caught the ear of Hardress 
were the foUowiog :-« 

"Ah, bnnttDiaB dMr, I'll b* your friend. 
If yon let me rn till monimg ; 
Don't call Toorlioaftdt for one hatf hour, 

Nor neither soiuid jour bom ; 
For indeed I'm tired from yesi erday'e hunt, 

I can neither run. nor walk well, 
'Till I go to R( ck hill amonprtt «y frteadfy 
Where I wae bred and bom. . 
Tally ho the fox! 
Tally bo the fox! 
Tally bo the fox, a coliaweeB, 
Tally ho the fox 
Orer hill* and rocki 
And ehaae bim on till morning.** 

*^ He cannot be so very ill," said Hardress, looking at the 
old woman, ^^ when his spirits will permit him to sing so mer- 
rily." 

**" Oyeh, heaven help you, a pra !" replied Nancy, " I be- 
lieve if he was at death's doore this moment, he 'd have that 
song on his tongue still.'' 

^^ Hu9h ! hush !" said Hardress, raising his hand, ^^ he is 
beginning again." 

The ballad was taken up, after a heavy fit of coughing, 
in the eam^ strain. 

'*I locked him up an' I fed him well, 
An' 1 gave bim victakls of all kinds; 
Bot I declare to yon, hir. when he got loose, 

He ate a fat goose in thi> morning. 
So now kn(>el down an' say your prayon, 
Fpt yon 'II snrely die this amraing. 
* Ab, sir,' says the fox, I never pray, 
*For my father he br«d me a qnaker.' 
Tally ho the fox! 
Tally ho the- " 

Hardress here opened the door and cut short the refrain. 

The huntsman turned his face to the door as he heard the 
handle turn* It was that of a middle aged man in the very 
last stage of pulmonary consumption. A red nightcap was 
pushed back from his wasted and sunken temples, and a flush 
like the bloom of a withered pippin played in the hollow 
of his fleshiesa cheek. 

'^ Geaii millia fealtha! My heait warms to see you, my 



142 TBB GOIXBGIAMS. 

QWD maallier Hardfaress,*' ezelairoed the huotraian, readim^ 
him a skeleton hand from beneath the brown qmlt, *^ I cio 
die in pace now, as 1 see you a^rain in health* Tfaese tea 
days back they 're telling me your 're coming, an* comiogt 
until I began to think at last that you would'nt come until I 
was gone.*' 

^* I am Sorry to see yon in this conditioo« Dattoo — Hof 
' did you get the attack ?*' 

«» Out of a could I think I got it first, sir. Wb^ tiie masther 
sold the hounds— (Ah, masther Hardhress ! to think of his 
parting them dogs and giving up that fine, manly ezerciae, 
for a paltry parcel o' cocks an' hens !) but whten he sold tfaeoi 
an' took to the cock-fighting, my heart felt as low an' as 
lonesome as if I lost all belonging to me ! To please Ibe 
maather, 1 turned ray hand to the cocks, an' used to go ereiy 
morning to the hounds' kennel, where the birds were kept, 
to give 'em food an' water ; but I could never ungrm to tbe 
birds. Ah, what is a cock-fight, Masther Hardhress, in 
comparison of a well-rode hunt among tbe mountains, with 
your horse fiying under you like a fairy, and the cry o' tbe 
hounds like an organ out before you, and the ground fleeting 
like a dream oh all sides o' you, an', ah ! what 's the use o' 
talking ?" Here be lay back on his pillow with a look of 
sudden pain and sorrow that cut Hardress to the heart 

After a few moments, he again turned a ghastly eye on 
Hardress, and said in a faint voice, ^^ I used to go down by 
the lake in the evening to hear the stags belling in tbe wood; 
and in the morning I 'd be up with the first light, to blow a 
call on the top o' the bill as I used to do, to comfort the dogs ; 
and then I 'd miss their cry, an' I 'd stop listenin' to the 
aychoes o* the horn among the mountainsy till my heart wooki 
sink as low as my ould boots. And bad b«>ots they wor too. 
signs on, I got wet in 'em ; and themselves, and tbe cold 
morning air, and the want o' the horse exercise, I believe, 
an' every thing, brought on this fit. Is the misthriss at home, 
sir ?" he added, after struggling through a severe fit of op- 
pression. 

'' Fio, she is at a ball, with Miss Chute." 

^* Good look to them both, wherever they are. That's tbe 
way o' the world. Some in health, an' some in sickness, 
some dancin', and more dyin'." 

Here he raised himself on his elbow, and after easting a 
Itftggard glance aroundi as if to be assured that what he bad 



iL 



' TBS cou^Bouxm. 143 

to sasrcouM oot he overheardt he leaned forward towards 
Hwdreasi and wiuapered : ^ I luiow one in this house, raas- 
ther Hardre8«» thai lovea ymi well.'* 

The yomg gentleman lo^ed e little surprised. . 

'< Indeed I iOf** conttnued the dying huntsman, ^^ one toe 
that deserves a better fortune than to lof e any one without a 
return* One that was kind to qae ia my sickness, and that 
I 'd like to see happy before I 'd lea? e the world, if it was 
He«ren*s will.'' 

During this conversation, both speakers had been fre- 
quently rendered inaudiUe by occasional bursts of laughter 
and shouts of Bacchanalian mirth from the dining-room. 
At this memont, and before the young gentleman could se- 
lect any mode of inquiry into the particulars of the singular 
communicalaon above mentioned, the door was opened, and 
the face of old Nancy appeared, bearing on its smoke*dried 
features a mingled expression of perplexity and sorrow. 

^* Dalton, a*ragal ^" she exclaimed* ^' don't blame me for 
what I' m going to say to you, for it is my tongue, an' not 
my wish or my heart, that speaks it. The masther and the 
gentlemen sent me into you, an' bid me tell, you, for the 
sake of old times, to give them one fox huntin' screech be- 
fore you go." 

The old huntsman fixed his brilliant but sickly eyes on 
the messenger, while a flush that might have been the indi* 
cationof anger or of grief, flickered like a decaying light upon 
his brow. At leng^ he said, ^^ And did the masther send 
that message by you, Nancy ?" 

^* He did, Dalton, indeed. Ayeh, the gentlemen must be 
excused." 

'^ True for you, Nancy," said the huntsman, after a long 
l^ause. Then raising bis head with a smile of seeming 
pleaisure, be continued. ^^ Why then, I 'm glad to see the 
masther hasn't forgot the dogs entirely. Go to him, Nancy, 
. and tell him that I 'm glad to hear that he has so much o*^ 
the sport left in him still. And that it is kind father for him 
to have a feeling fqr his huntsman, ao' I thank him. Tett 
him, Nancy, to send me in one good glass o* Parliament 
punch, an' I Ul give him such a cry as bs never heard in a 
cock-pit any way." 

The punch was brought, and ia spite of the remon- 
strances of Hardress, drained to the bottom. The old 
huntsman then sat erect in the bed, and letting his head 



, 144 ^»i OsuateUiit. j 

baeki and indulged in one prolonfed ^^ hoicks !^* Aat mak 
the pbiahi jingle on the table, and frighted the sparron 
from their roosts beneath the thatch. It was echoed bj tbe 
jolly company in the dining parlour, chorussed by a howijo; 
from all tbe doge in the yard, mod uiswered by a gsDenl 
damour from the fowUhonse. ^Another! Anotberj 
Hoicks !" resounded through the house. But the poorcflfr 
sumptive was not in a condition (b gratify the ravelfefs 
When Hardress looked down upon him next, the pillow ap- 
]peared dark with bkK)d, tnd tbe cheek of the sofibrer U 
lost even the unhealthy bloom, that had so long naeaked tk 
miner Death, in his work of snug destruetion. A singuk 
hrilHancy fixed itself upon his eye-baHs^ his tips were dnf- 
ged backward, blue and cold, and with ui expres^nofdiill 
and general pain ; — his teeth—*—, hut wherefore, tingflr « 
such a picture ?^t is better let the curtain fall. 

Hardress Cregan felt less indignation at this circumstance 
than be ^ight have dene if it had occurred at the preteni 
day ; but yet he was indignant. He entered the dining ptr- 
lour to remonstrate, with a frame that trembled with pasnoo 

*^ And pray, Hardress ?^' said Hepton Connolly, u k 
emptied the ladle into his glass and turned on himi an eft 
whose steadiness, to say the least, was equivocal. **Pn? 
BOW, Hardress, is poor Dakon really dead V* - 

'^ He is^ sifi. I have already said it.'- 

^^ No offence my boy. I only asked, beoause if he be, it 
is a sui« sign, f here he sipped his punch and winked at Gie- 
gan with the confident air of one who is about to say a r^ 
good things] it is a sign that he never will die again." 

There was a loud laugh at Hardress, which confused hio 
as much as if he had been discomfited by a far superkv wit. 
So true it is that the influence, and not the capadty, of u 
opponent, renders him chiefly formidable ; and that, at least, 
a fair half of the sum of human motive may be placed to 
the account of vanity. 

Hardress could think of nothing that was very witty to 
say in reply, and as tbe occasion hardly warranted a slap oo 
the face, his proud spirit was compelled to remain passire. 
Unwilling however to leave the company, while the laufii 
continued against him, he called for a glass and sat do^ 
among them. 



THE COILEOIANS. 145 



CHAPTER XVIII, 

Ti:OW THE GEliiTI«E3i|BN SfSlfT THE EVENING) WHICH FBOVfil) 
RATHEB WAl^^ER THAN HABDBESS EXPECTED. 

<^ Peace !'* said Hepton Connolly^ with a fa^e of druDk«ii> 
seriousness, '^ peace be to the manes of poor Dalton I" 

^^ Amen, with all my heart T' exclaimed Mr. Cregan» 
^* although the cocks are well rid of him. But a better 
horseman never backed a hunter." 

>^ I drink him," said Hyland Creagh, *^ although I seldom 
care to toast a man who dies in his bed." 

*' That's all trash, and braggery, Creagh," cried Connolly 
— ^' we '11 have you yet upon the flat of your back, and toar- 
ing for a priest into the bargain." 

^^ Upon my honour as a gentleman, I am serious," said 
Creagh. '' They may talk of the field of battle and bloody 
breaches, forlorn hopes, and hollow squares, and such stuff; 
but what is the glory of a soldier after all ! To drag through 
the fatigues of a whole campaign, with its concomitant of 
night-watches, marches in marshes, s^nd bivouacs in rainy 
weather, and with no brighter prospect at the year's end, 
than that of makin|^ one among half a million of fighting 
fellows who are shot on a heap like larks. And, even then^ 
you meet not hand to hand, but cloud to cloud, moving 
about in a flock, and waiting your turn to take your allow- 
ance of cold lead, and fill a pit with your neighbours. 
Glory ? What glory is there in figuring in small types 
among a list of killed and wounded ? the utmost distinction 
that a poor sub. can ever hope for. Why, a coward is no 
more ball proof than a gallant fellow, and both may often 
dhine.upon the sapie list. No — my ambition should have a 
higher aim. While I Hve, let my life be that of a fearless 
fellow ; and when I die, let my epitaph be found in a band* 
some paragraph, under the head of ^ Domestic intelligence,' 
in the county journal. " Affair of honour. Yesterday morn- 
ing at five o'clock — meeting took place — Hyland Creagh, 
£squir,e attended by Blank, Esquire — and Captain Blank, 
attended by Blank, Esquire— regret to state — Mr. Creagh — 

Vol. 1.-13 



146 THX CJOIXEOXAIfi. 

third firft^mortaily wounded — ^borne from the girouod.— 
The afiair, we understand, originated in a dispute reqiectiii| 
a lovelj and accomplished young lady, celebrated as a reigA- 
iuf toast in that quarter.'* 

** And grand-niece^ we understand,'* added HardreA 
laughing, ** to the unhappy old gentleman, whose fiite we 
have just recorded." 

There was a laugh at Creagh. 

*^ Nay, my young friend," be said, adjusting his ruffles with 
the air of a Chesterfield*-'*^ the jeuraal that sbaQ mention 
ikat circumstance must be dated many years hence. ** 

^^ Adad, not so far off neither, Creagh," exclaimed Mr. 
Oregan, ^ and if you were to go out to*morrew morning,! 
should not like to see you go posting to the devil upon such 
a mission as that." 

•* Talking of the devil," said Hepton Connolly, ** did yon 
hear, Creagh, that the priest is to have us all upon the aitir 
next Sunday, on account of that little squib we had in the 
mountains the day of the races ?** 

^*It may be," said Creagh, with a supercilious smile; 
mais ce n'est pas mon afiaire. I have not the honour tp 
belong to his commumon." 

** Oh," cried Mr. Cregan, " true enough; Y&u belong to 
the genteel religion." 

** There you have the whip-hand of me," said €oDnoUj, 
•**f6r I am a papist.. Well, Creagh, not meaning to inapugn 
your gallantry now, f say this ; a papist, to fight a do^l, re- 
quires and possesses the courage of a protestant ten times 
ever." 

** Pray, will you oblige me with a reason for that pleasant 
speech ?" 

«< *Tis as clear as this glass. A protestant is allowed a 
wide discretionary range on most ethical, as well ae tbeolo- 

S'cal points of opinion. A poor papist has none. The 
buncil of Trent in its twenty-fifth session (I have it from the 
bishop) excommunicates all duellists, and calls the practice 
itn invention of the devil. And what can 1 say against it? 
I know something of the common law, and the rights of 
things, persons, and so forth, but the canonical code to me is 
a fountain sealed* *Tis something deeper than a cause be- 
ibre the petty sessions. 'Tis easier to come at Blackstoncs, 
or even Coke upon Lyttelton himself, than at Manochjus, or 
Saint Augustine." 



THE COLLEGIANS. 147 

^^ Well, but how you run on ! You were talking aboi^t 
the courage of a protestant and catbolic.*' 

'^ I say a papist must be the braver man ; for in additioii 
to his chance of being shot through the brains on a ftos^ 
mornuig in this world, (a cool prospect) it is no joke to be 
damned everlastingly in the next." 

*^ That never strudc me before," exclaimed Cregap. 
^' And if it had," said Creagfa, ''I confess I do not see 
what great disadvantage the reflection could have pro()uced 
to our friend Connolly ; for he knew, that whether he was to 
be shot yesterday in a duel, or physicked out of the world 
twenty years hence, that little matter of the other life will 
be arranged in precisely the same manner." 

^^ As much as to say," replied Connolly, ^Hhat now or 
then, the devil is sure of his bargain." 

^^ My idea precisely ; but infinitely better expressed." 
^^ Very good, Creagfa. I suppose it was out of a fiUai 
affection for the sooty old gentleman you took so much pains 
to send me to him the other morning." 

^* You placed your honour in my bands; and I would have 
seen you raked fore and aft, fifty times, rather than let the 
pledge be tarnished. If you did go to the devil, it was my 
business to see thai you met him with clean hands." 
<^ I feel indebted to you, Creagh." 
^^ I have seen a dozen shots exchanged on a tighter quar« 
rel. I was present myself at the duel between Hickman and 
Leake, on a somewhat similar dispute. They fired fourtetsn 
shots eachi and when their ammunition was exhausted, actu- 
ally lemained on the ground until the seconds could fetch a 
new supply fi*om the nearest market* town." 

^^ And what us^ did they make of it when it came ?" 
^^ Give me time, and you shall hear; 'Twas Hickman's 
* firsi and he put his lead an inch above Leake's right hip ; 
(as pretty a shot as ever 1 saw in my life), Leake was not 
killed though, and he stood to his ground like a man. I 
never will forget the ghastly look he gave me, (I was bis 
second,) when he asked whether the laws of the duello would 
allow a wounded man a chair. I was confident they ii^^ 
so long as he kept his feet upon the sod, and I said so. 
lYell, the chair was brought. He took bis seal somewhat 
in this manner, grasping the orifice of the wound . closely 
with his disengaged hand. [Here the speaker moved his 
eh^irsome ftet from the table, in order to enact the scene 



148 ' THE C0LLC6IAKS. 

with greater freedom.] There was a. fatal steadiness i.i 
every motion. I saw Hickman's eye wink, and not without 
a cause, it winked again, and never opened after. Tbc 
ibof of his skull was literaUy blown away." 

** And the other fellow ?" said Hardress. 

^< The other gentleman fell from his chair, a corpse, at the 
same moment ; afler uttering a sentiment of savage satisfac- 
tion, too horrible, too blasphemous, to think of, much less tc 
repeat.'* 

^^ They were a murderous pair of ruffians," said Hardress. 
^^ and ought to have been impaled upon a cross-road.*' 

**• One of them," observed Hyland Creagh, sipping las 
punch, ^^ one of them was a cousin of mine*" 

*^ Oh, and therefore^ utterly blameless, of course," said 
Hardress with an ironical laugh. 

^^ I don't know," said Creagh ; ^^ I confess I think it i 
hard word to apply to a gentleman who is unfortunate 
enough to die in defence of his honour.^' 

^' Honour !" exclaimed Hardress, with indignant zeal, (for 
though he was no great devotee, he had yet some gleam of a 
half religious virtue shining through bis character ;) ^^ caH 
you that honour ? I say a duellist is a murderer, and worthy 
of the gallows, and f will prove it. The question lies in the 
justice or inju;3tice of the mode of reparation. That cannot 
be a just one which subjects the aggressor and aggrieved tc 
precisely the same punishment. If the duelhst be the in- 
jured party, he is a suicide ; and if he be the inflicter of the 
wrong, he is a murderer." 
^ * Ah, Hardress," said his father, ^< but there are cases — '' 

^^ Oh, I know what you mean, sir. Fine, delicate, thin- 
spun modes of insult, that draw on heavier assaults, and 
leave both parties labouring under a sense of injury. But 
they are murderers still. If I filled a seat in the legislature, 
do you think I would give my voice in favour of a law that 
made it a capital offence to call a roan a scoundrel io the 
streets ? And shall I dare to inflict with my own hand, a 
punishment that I would shudder to see committed to the 
hangman ?" 

^^ But if public war be justifiable," said Connolly^ ^* why 
should not private ?"* 

^IuBfocry the Mthor of Our MaBBcring akoold liav«4hoiiglit praptr 
to adopttha MaemedcofreMOBuig. Will pofteritj wmf that Ur aiiiu 
terframhiBlileraiy ewatcUeoa 7 



TUB C0LLE6IAKS. 149 

^*Ay»" exclaimed Hardress, *M see you have' got that 
aphorism of JohosoD's, the fat moralist, to support you ; 
but I say, shame upon the recreant, for as mean and guilty 
a compliance with the prejudices of the world as ever para- 
site betrayed. I stigmatize it as a wilful sin, for how can I 
esteem the author of Rasselas a fool ?" 

" Very hardly," said Creagh, " and pray what is your 
counter argument ?" 

" This. Public war is never (when justifiable) a quarrel 
for sounds and conventual notions ofhonour. Public war is 
at best a social evil, and cannot be embraced without the full 
concurrence of society, expressed by its constituted authori- 
ties, and obtained only in obedience to the necessity of the 
case. But to private war, society has given no formal sanc- 
tion, nor does it derive any advantage from the' practice.*' 

" Upon my word,*' said Creagh, " you have some very 
curious ideas." 

" Well, Hardress," exclaimed Connolly, " if you have a 
mind to carry those notions into practice, I should recom- 
mend you to try it in some other country besides Ireland ; 
you will never go through with it in this." 

*^ In every company and on every soil," said Hardress, 
^^ I will avow my sentiments. I never will fight a duel ; and 
I will proclaim i;ny purpose in the ears of all the duellists on 
earth." 

*^ But society, young gentleman-^" 

*^ I bid society defiance ; at least that reckless, godless, 
heartless crew, to whom you wrongfully apply the term. 
The greater portion of (hose who bow down before this 
bloody eri^r^ is composed of slaves and cowards, who are 
afraid to make their own conviction the guide of their cbn« 
duct- 

* Letting I/gldrenol, wait apoB Iwotdtlk 
Like the poor eat la the adage.' 

'^< 1 am sure," said Creagh, ^^ I had rather shoot a ma^ (br 
dbubting my. word than for taking my purse." 

^< Because you are as proud as Lucifer," ^xcUimed Har* 
driess. — *^ Who but the great father of all injustice woiSfil 
gay that he deserved to be shot for callinjg you ^r^{it id an 
unpleasant word to be sqre) — a liar V 

*^ But he does more. He actually does strjke at my'lire 
and property, (or I lose both friends and fair repute, if I 
• suflfer suBb aqi fnault to pats unnotibed, *' 

J3* 



150 THE COLLEGUKS. 

' la answer to this plea, Hardress made a speech, of which 
(as the newspapers say) we regret that our space does nc: 
allow us to offer more than ^ mere oatline. He contended 
that no consequences could justify a roan in sacrificing ias 
own persuasion of what, was right to th^ error of bis friends. 
The more general this error was, the more criminal it be- 
came to increase the number of its victims. The questioL 
was not whether society would disown or receive the pas 
sive gentleman, but whether society was in the wrong or it 
the right ; and if the former, then he was bound to adopt 
the cause of justice at every hazard. He drew the nsual dis- 
tinction between moral and animal courage, and painted with 
force and feeling the heroism of a brave man encountenog 
alone the torrent of general opinion, and taking more wouods 
upon his spirit than ever Horatius Coccles risked upon hk 
person. He quoted the celebrated passage of the faithful 
seraph in Mtlton, alluded to the Athenian manners, and told 
the well-known story of Lucian Anacharsis, all which tended 
considerably more to exhaust the patience than to convince 
the understanding of his hearers. 

" Finally," said he, " 1 denounce- the system of private 
irar, beeause it is the offspring of a barbarous pride. 1: 
was a barbarous pride that first suggested the expedient, and 
it is an intolerable pride that still sustains it. Talk of public 
war ! The world could not «xist if nation were to take op 
the sword against nation upon a point of honour, such as 
will call out for blood between man and man. The very 
word means pride, It is a measureless, bloody pride, that 
demands a reparation so excessive for every slight offence. 
Take any single quarrel of them all, and dissect its motive, 
and you will find every portion of it stained with pride, the 
child of selfishness — pride^ the sin of the first devil — ^pride, 
the poor pitiful creature of folly and ignorance — ^pride, 
the " 

**0h, trash and stuff, man,*' exclaimed Connolly, losing 
patience, " if you are going to praach a sermon choose 
another time for it. Come, Creagh, send the bowl this way 
and let us drink. H^re, young gentleman, stop spouting, 
and give us a toast. ^ You'll make a fool of yourself, Har 
dress, if you talk in that manner among gentlemen." 

Without making any answer to this speech (which how- 
ever he felt a little difficulty in digesting) Hardress proposed 
the health and future fame of young Kyrle Daly. 



TUM COLLEGIAIVS. 151 

^^ With all my heart!" exclaimed both his father and 
Connolly.' 

*^ VU not drink it," said Cfeagh, putting in his glass. 

Hardress was just as proud (to borrow his own simile) 
as Lucifer himself; and probably it was on this account he 
held the quality so cheap. It must be admitted, likewise, 
that his ambitious love of singularity formed but too con- 
siderable a part of his motive in the line of argument which 
he had followed up ; and he was by no means prepared to 
perform the heroic part which he had described with So much 
enthusiasm. Least of all could he be expected to do so at 
the present moment ; for while he was speaking, he had also 
been drinking, and the warmth of dispute, increased by the 
excitement of strong drink, left his reason still less at free- 
dom than it mi^hthave been under the dominion of an ordi- 
dinary passion. He insisted upon Creagh's drinking his 
toast. 

^^ I shall not drink it," said Creagh ; ^^ I consider him as 
an impertinent puppy." 

" He is my friend," said Hardress. 

^^Oh, then of course," said Fireball, with an ironical 
smile, (evidently intended as a retort,) ^^ he is utterly blaae- 
less." 

To use a vulgar but forcible expression, the blood.of Har- 
dress was now completely up. He set his teeth for a mo- 
ment, and then discharged the contents of his own glass at 
the face of the ofiender. The fire-eater, who, from long 
experience, was able to anticipate this proceeding, evaded 
by a rapid motion the degrading missile ; and then, quietly 
resuming his seat, *^ Be prepared, sir," he said, ^^ to answer 
this in the morning." 

" I am ready now," exclaimed Hardress. " Connolly, lend 
me your sword, and be my friend. Father, do you second 
^at gentleman^ and you will oblige me." . ^ 

Mr. Barnaby Cregan rose to interfere, but in doing so, IhCAiw 
he betrayed a secret which had till that moment lain witli^^S^. 
himself ; he was the first who fell. 

" No, no swords," said Connolly, " there are a pretty 
pair of pistols over the chimney-piece. Let them decide the 
quarrel." 

It was so agreed. Hardress and Creagh took their places 
in the two corners of the room, upon the understanding, that 
both were to approach step by step, and fire when they 



15S YHB COUSGlAHf. 

pleased. Heptcm ConnoIIyy look his place out of harms 
way in a distant corner, wUle Cregan crept along the floor, 
mottering in an indiatinct> tone, *^ Drunk? ay, but not 
dead drunk. I call no man dead drunk while he lies on the 
high road, with sense enough to roll out of the way whec 
a carriage is driving towards him«" 

Hardness fired, after having made two paces. Creagb, 
who was unhurt, reserved his shot until he put the pistol up 
to the head of his opponent Ilardress never flinehed, Al- 
though he really believed that Creagh was about to shoot 
him. 

^^ Come," said he, loudly, ^' fire your shot, and have done 
with it. I would have met you at the end of a handkerchief 
upon my friend*s quarrel." 

Hyland Creagh, after enjoying for a moment the advan- 
tage he possessed, uncocked his pistol and laid it on the 
table. 

^' Hardress," said he, '^ you are a brave fellow. I beliefe 
I was wrong. I ask your pardon, and am ready to drink 
your toast." 

'' Ob, well,"' said Hardress, with a laug:h ; ** if that be the 

* case, I cannot, of course, think of pursuing the afiair aoj 

farther." And he reached his hand to his opponent widb 

the air of one who was exercising, rather than receiving, a 

kindness. 

The company once more resumed their places at the 
table, somewhat sobered by this incident, which, though not 
unusual at the period, was yet calculated to excite a little 
serious feeling. It was not long, however, before thej 
made amends for what was lost in the way of intoxication. 
The immense blue jug, which stood inside the fender, wu 
replenbhed to the brim, and the bowl flew round more ra- 
pidly than ever. Creagh told stories of the Hell-fire Club io 
, the sweating and pinking days. Connolly overflowed witb 
^ anecdotes of attorneys outdone^ of plates well wod, of bailil^ 
maimed and beaten ; and Cregan (whose tongue was tbe 
last member of his frame that became accessary to the sin 
of intoxication) filled up his share in the conversation, with 
accounts pf cocks, and of ghosts, in the appearance of which 
last, he was a firm, though not a fearful believer. Hardress 
remained with the conipany until the sotuid of a vebicte. 
dirawing up at the hall door, announced th§ re^ ^ of l^ 
r^oifter^d ctfUMa* if« it»ti left tiv^ redvip ans ^....'filpd.'f^ 




his own apartment, in order to avoid meeting them under 
circumstances which he well supposed were not calculated 
to create any impression in his own favour. 

We cannot better illustrate the habits of the period, than 
by transcribing an observation madein Mr. Cregan's kitchen 
at the mom^t of the dispute above detailed. Old Nancy 
was preparing the mould candles for poor Dalton^s \^ke, 
when she heard th^ shot fired in the dining-parlour. 

^^ Run in to the gentlemen, Mike, eroo,*' she exclaimed, 
without even laying aside the candle, which she was paring 
with a knife, in order to make it fit the socket more exactly. 
^^ I lay my life the gentlemen are fighting a^etDeZ." 

** It can't be a jetiJc/," said Mike the servant boy, who 
was courting slumber in a low chair before the blazing fire. 
" It can't be a^iwcZ, wh^n there was only one shot." 

" But it isn't long from 'em, 1 Ml be bail, till they '11 fire 
another if they don't be hindered ; for 'tis shot for shot with 
'em. Run in, eroo." 

The servant stretched his limbs out lazily, and rubbed his 
eyes. ** Well," said he, " fair play ail the world over. If 
one fired, you wouldn't have the other put up with it, with- . 
out havin' his fair revinge ?" 

*^ But may be one of 'em is kilt already !" observed Nancy. 

** E'then, d' ye hear this ? Sure you know, well, that if 
there was any body shot, the maslter would ring the bell !" 

This observation was conclusive. Old Nancy proceeded 
with her gloomy toil in silence, and the persuasive Mike, • 
letting his head hang back from his shouUers, and crossing 
his hands upon his lap, slept soundly on, undisturbed by any 
idle conjectures on the cause of the noise which they had 
heard. 



i 
154 THB OQWiOaUJXU 



CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW HABimsSS XBT AN OLD nUSND AND XADS A BH 

ONX. 

Fanot rostored the dreaming Hardren to the aociely of his 
beloved Eily. He sat by her side once inore, quietiog. 
with the caressea of a boyish fondDeas, her still recurriflf 
anxieties, and comforting her apprehensions by ejideaTov 
ing to make her share his own steady adtiqipation of iie 
mother's favour and forgiveness. This hope, on his own 
part, it must be acknowledged, was much stronger io 
his sleeping than his waking mom^ts.; for it was extrsor- 
dinary how different his feding on that subject became after 
he had reached his home, and when the moment of disclo- 
sure drew near. His extreme youth, all ruined as he was bf 
over-indulgence, made him regard his mother with a d^ree 
of reverence that approached to fear; and as he seldom 
loved to submit when once aroused to contest, so he wss 
usually careful to avoid, as much ss possible, any occasioD 
for the exercise of his hereditary perseverance. The influ- 
ence of his parent, however, consisted not so much in her 
parental authority, as in the mastery which she held over hi' 
filial affections, which partook of the intensity that distio- 
guished his entire character. Mrs. Cregan governed botb 
her husband and her son ; but the means which she employed 
in moulding each to her own wishes, were widely differwt. 
In her arguments with the former, it was her usual practice 
to begin with an entreaty and end with a command. On tbe 
contrary, when she sought to work upon the inclinations ot 
Hardress, she opened with a command, and concluded witb 
an entreaty. It was, indeed, as Hardress had frequently ex- 
perienced, a difficult taak to withstand her instances, whes 
she had receurse to the latter expedient. Mrs. Cregan pos- 
sessed all the national warmth of temperament andlivelines 
of feeling. Like all naturally generous people, whoee vir- 
tue is ra&er the offiq>riDg of a kindly heart than a well-rtgs- 
lated understanding, Mrs. Cregan was not more boundlentc 
her bounty then in her exaction of gratitude. She tiot onlf 
looked for gratitude to those whom she had obliged, but was 



TUB OOKUOUnt. 15$ 

10 exorUtaat as to tmagibe dial all those likewiie wbon Ap 
really wished to aenre.ahoahl return her an eqeal degree of 
kindnesB : and actually evince as lirely a sense of obligation 
as if her wishes in their favour bad been deeds. Alas ! in 
this selfish world, we are told that real benefits are frequenily 
forgotten by the reoeiiw, and sometimes repaid by cold un- 
kindness or monstrous hostility. It is no^wonder then, that 
Mrs. Gregan should haye sometimee (bund people slow to 
appreciate the value of her vain desires. 

While HaidresB was still nmnpiuring some sentiment of 
[lassionate admiration in the ear of his visionary bride, be 
was awakened by the pressure of a light finger on his riioul- 
Jer. He looked up and beheld a lady in a broad-leafed 
beaver hat, and ball dress, standing by his bed-side, and 
smiling down upon him with an air of aflbetion and reproof. 
Her countenance, though it had already acquired in a slight 
degree that hardness of outhne whicb marks the approach 
of the first matronal years, was striking, and even beautiful 
in its character. The forehead was high and commanding, 
the eye of a dark hazel, well opened, and tender and rapid 
in its expression. The entire face bad that length of feature 
which painters employ in their representations of the tragic 
muse, and the character of the individual had given to this 
natural conformation a depth of feeling which was calculated 
to make a strong and even a gloomy impression on the ima- 
gination of the beholder. Her person likewise partook of 
this imposing character, and was displayed to some advan- 
tage by her dress, the richness of which was perfectly adapt- 
ed to her lofty and regal air. It consisted of a beautiful 
poplin, a stomacher set off with small Imlliants, and a rich 
figured silk petticoat, which was fblly displayed in front. 
The skirt of the gown parted and fell back fi^om either 
side, while a small hoop, occupying the position of the mo- 
dern Vestris, imparted to this interesting portion of the 
figure a degree of fashionable slimness and elegance. An 
amber necklace, some enormous broches, and rings contain- 
ing locks of hair, the bequest of three succeeding genera- 
tions, completed the decorations of her person. 

^^ You are a pretty truant," she said, ^^ to absent yourself 
for a whole Ibrtnight together, and at a time too when I had 
brought a charming friend to make your acquaintance. You 
are a pretty truant. And immediately upon your return, 
instead of showing any affectionate anxiety to compensate 



156 ' THB COU.BOIAN9. 

for 'you inatfentioDi yoo nm off to your sleeping cham- 
ber, and oblige your fooliah mother to come and seek 
you ?'.' 

<^ My trim, mother, would Sisve hardly become your drav- 
ing-room." 

^< Or looked to advantage in the eyes of my lovelv 
visiter ?" 

^« Upon my word, mother, I had not a thought of her. I 
should feel as little inclined to appear wafting in respect^ 
to you, as to any visiter to whom you could introdace 
me." 

^' Respect ?" echoed Mrs. Crejgan, while shelaid iheligiF 
away upon the dressing-table (in such a positicni, that it 
could shine full and bright upon (he features of her son,) 
end took a chair near his bed<side. ^< Respect is fond of 
going well dressed, I grant you ; but there is another feel- 
ing, Hardress, that is far more sensitive and. exquisite oa 
points of this nature, a feeling much more lively and anxious 
than any that a poor fond mother can expect Do not inter- 
rupt me ; I am not. so unreasonable as to desire that tk 
course of human nature should be inverted for my sake. 
But [ have a question to ask you. Have you any engag^ 
meat during the next month, that will prevent your speodio£ 
it with us ? If you have, and if it be not a very weighty 
one, break it off as politely as you can. You owe some 
little attention to your cousin, and f think you ought to 
pay it." 

Hardress looked displeased at this, and muttered sometbiof 
about his inability to see in what way this obligation had 
been laid upon him. 

^' If you feel no disposition to show a kindness to your olii 
play-fellow," said his mother, endeavouring to suppress her 
^exation, ^^ you are of course at liberty to act as you please. 
You, Hardress, in your own person, owe nothing to the ' 
Chutes, unless you accept their general claim, as near reia 
lives of mine." 

'^ They could not, my dear mother, possess a streamer. 
But this is a sudden change. While I was in Dublin, 1 i 
thought that both you and my father had broken off the inter 
course that subsisted between the families, and lived alto- 
gether within yourselves." 

*' It was a foolish coldnesis that had arisen between jour 
aunt and myself on account of some free, some very free 



THE CMLBOIAIU. 16'f 

expres^ons the had used with regard to yoi4r father. But . 
when she fell ill, and my poor darling Anne was left to strug- 
gle unassisted, beneath the weight of oqcupation that was 
thrown thus suddenly upon her hands, py self-respect gave 
way to my love for them both. I drove to Gastie-Chute, 
and divided with Anne the care of nurse^tending and house- 
keeping, until my dear Hetty's health was in some degree 
restored. About a fortnight since, by the force ofnneessant 
letter-writing, and the employment of her mother''s ' influ- 
ence, I obtained Anne's very reluctant consent to spend a ' 
month at Killarney. Now, my dear Hardress, you must do 
me a kindness. T have no female friend of your cousin's 
age, whose society might afford her a constant source of 
enjoyment, and in spite of ail my efforts to procure her 
amusement, 1 cannot but observe, that she has been more 
frequently dull, than inerry, since her arrival. Now you can 
prevent this if you please. You must remain at home while 
she is with us, entertain her while I am occupied, walk with 
her, dance with her, be her beau. If she were a stranger, 
hospitality alone would call for those attentions, and I think 
under thb circumstances, your own good feeling will teach 
you, that she ought not to be neglected." 

^^ My dear mother, do not say another word upon the sub- 
ject. It will be necessary for me to go from bome some- 
times ; but I can engage to spend a great portion of the 
month as you desire. Send for a dancing-master to-mor- 
row morning. 1 am but an awkward fellow at best, but I 
will do all that is in my ppwer." 

^^ You will breakfast with us then to-morrow morning, 
and come on a lacking-party ? It was for the purpose of 
making you promise, I disturbed your rest at this hour ; for 
I knew there was no calculating in what part of Munstet 
one might find you after sunrise." 
" How far do you go ?" 
" Only to Innisfallen." 

^^ Ah ! dear, dear Innisfallen ! I will be with you cer- 
tainly, mother. .Ah, dear Innisfallen ! Mother, do you think 

that Anne remembers the time that Lady R invited 

us to take a cold dinner in Saint Finian's oratory ? It is 
one of the sweetest days that ever brightened my recoUectioq. 
I think I can still see that excellent lady laying her hand 
upon Anne Chute's shpulder, and tolling her that she should 
be the little princess of this littl^ fairy isle. Dear Innis* 
^ Vol, I.— 14 ? 



/ 



158 TBB «0IU0EAfl8. 

i 

lallao ! If I were but to teO jon, mother, how rnanj i 
aoumful hour that single happy oue has eoat me !" 

*^ Tell me of no such thing, my hoy. Look £)rward, tn4 
not back. Reserve the enjoymmit of your recolleetmi 
until you are no lonigrer capable of present and aotaal hap- 
piness. And do not think, Hardress, thi^ yoii make so ex- 
traordinary a sacrifice in undertaking this pretty office. 
There is many a fine gendeman in Kmamey who would 
gladly forego a whole season's sport for the privilege of 
acting such a part for a single day. I oannot describe lo 
you the sensation that your coumn has produced since her 
arrival. Her beauty, her talents, her ^egance and her accom- 
plishments are the subject of conversation in every circle. 
You will acquire a greatei* brilliance as the. satellite of sucli 
a planet than if you were to move for ages in your own soli- 
tary orbit. But if f were to say all that I desire, you should 
not sle^p to-night; so I shall reserve it to a moanent of 
greater leisure. Good night, ilardress, and ^sleep soundly, 
for the cockswain is to be at the door before nine." 

Mrs. Cregan was well acquainted with the chanict^ of 
her son. The distinction of attending on so celebrated a 
beauty as his cousin was one to which his vanity could never 
be indifferent, and nothing could be more agreeable to his 
pride than to find it thus forced upon him without any effort 
of his own to seek it. To be thus, out of pure kindness, 
and much against his own declared wishes, placed in a situ- 
ation which was so generally envied ! To obtain likewise 
(and these were the only motives that Hardress would ac- 
knowledge to his own mind,) to obtain an opportunity of 
softening his mother's prejudices against the time of avowal, 
and of forwarding the interest of his firiend Kyrle Daly in 
another quarter. AU these advantages were sufficient to 
compensate to his pride for the chance of some mortifying 
awkwardness, which might occur through his long neglect 
of, and contempt for, the habitual forms of sbeiety. 

And of all the places in the world, thought Hardress, Kil- 
hrney is the scene for such a debut as this. There is such 
an everlasting fund of conversation. The very store of com- 
monplace i^emarks is inexhaustible. If it rains, one can talk 
of the Killamey showers, and tdl the story of Mr. Fox ; and 
if the sun shine, it must shine upon more wonders than a 
hundred tongues as nim^e as those of Fame herself could 
telL The teasing of the gmdest the lies of the boatmen, the 



IM 

bgondfr of (he lakes, the Eii|^ arrhfttb, the ecboM, the ojp- 
tical iUosions^ the mista, the inoentains. If 1 were as dolt 
iu Otter, 1 oouki be as talkative as the barber in the Arabian 
Nights OB such a subject, and yet without the necessity of 
biirtfaening my tongue with more tiian a sentence at a tune* 

Notwithstanding these encouraging reflections, Hardress, 
next morning, experienced many a struggle with hia evil 
shame before he left his chamber to encounter his mother's 
charming vicdter. What was peculiar in the social timidity 
of this young gentleman lay in the circumstance that it could 
scarcely ever be perceived in society. His excessive piride 
prevented his often incurrmg the danger of a mortifying re- 
pression, and it could hardly be inferred from his reserved 
and, at the same time, dignified demeanour, whether his 
silence were the effect of ill temper, stupidity, or bashfiil- 
ness. Few indeed Bver thought of attributing it to that lofty, 
philosophical principle to which he himself pretended ; and 
there was but one* in addition to Kyrle Daly, of all his ac- 
quaintances on whom it did not produce an unfavourable 
impression. 

After having been summoned half a dozen times to the 
breakfast-parlour, and delaying each time to indulge in a 
fresh glance at the mirror, to adjust ms hair, which had now 
too much, and now too little powder ; to alter the disposi- 
tion of his shirt frill, and consununate the tying of his cravat, 
Hardress descended to the parlour, where, to his surprne, he 
found his cousin seated alone. She was simply dressed, and 
her hair, according to the fashion of unmarried ladies at the 
period^ fell down in black and shining ringlets on her neck. 
A plain necklace ef the famous black oak of the lakes, and 
a Maltese cross formed from the hoof of the red deer, con- 
stituted the principal decorations of her person. There was 
a consciousness, and even a distress in the manner of their 
meeting. A womanly reserve and delicacy made Anne un- 
willing to ajffect an intimacy that might not be met as Ae 
could desire ; and his never-failing pride prevented Hardress 
from seeming to desire a favour that he had reason to sup- 
pose might not be granted him. 

Accordingly, the great store of coavefsation which he had 
been preparing the night before, now, to his astonishment, 
utterly des^rt^l him, and he diaoowred that subject b an 
acquisition of little use while it is unassisted by mutual con- 
fidence and good will among the interlocutors. Nothing 



160 THSr C0ll£(3UlfS. 

was eflbctive, nothing toid ; and when Mrs. Cregan entered 
the parlour, she lifted her hands in wonder, to see her fair 
▼isiter seated hy the fire, and reading some silly noVel of the 
day (which happened to lie near her) while Hardress affect- 
ed to amuse himself with Creagh's dOg Pincher at the win- 
dow, and said repeatedly within his own heart, ^< Ah, Eilj, 
my own, own Eily ! you are worth this fine lady a hundred 
times over !" 

^' Anne ! Hardress ! My lady, and my gentleman ! Upon 
my word, Hardress, you ought to he proud of your gallantry. 
On the very first morning of your return, I (md you seated 
at the distance of half a room from your old playfellow, aod 
allowing her to look for entertainment in a stupid book ! 
But, perhaps you have not spoken yet ? Perhaps you do 
not know each other ? Oh, then it is mjf duty to apolo- 

fize for being out of the way. Miss Chute, this is Mr. 
[ardress Cregan ; Mr. H^dress Cregan, this Is Miss 
Chute.'* And she went through a mock intrddoetion in the 
formal manner of the day. 

The lady and gentleman each muttered something in re- 
ply. ** We have spoken, ma'am," said Ifardress. 

*^ We hate spoken, ma'am !" echoed Mrs. Cregan. *^ Sir, 
your most obedient servant ! You have made a wonderful 
eflTort, and shown a great deal of condescension ! You have 
spoken ! You have done every thing that a gentleman of 
so mueh dignity and consequence was called upon to do, 
and you will not move a single footstep farther. But per- 
haps," she added, glancing at Anne, ^^ perhaps I am dealing 
unjustly here. Perhaps the will to hear and not the will to 
say, was wanted. If the fault lay with the Hstener, Hardress, 
speak ! It is the only defence that I will think of admit- 
ting." 

^^ Except that the listener might not be worth the trial,'' 
said Anne, in the same tone of liveliness, not unmingled with 
pique, *^ I don't know how he can enter such a plea as that." 

^' Oh ! Hardress * Oh fie, Hardress I There 's a charge 
from a lady." 

*^ I can assure you," (said Hardress, a little confused, yet 

not displeased with the manner in which his cousin took up 

' the subject,) ^^ I am not conscious of having deserved Wf 

such accusation. If you call on me for a defence, I tan 

only find it in a simple recrimination* Anne has been t» 



TU.C»USfliAKt« lai 

^stant to ma ever ance aqr retvm fiom Diibliii» Hmt I wm 
afraid I bad cffen4ed her.*' 

^^ Verj fauTf sir, a very veaeonable ptea, itideed. WeU^ttiae 
Chute," cootinued Urs. Cregaa, tuiDUig rouad with ao m 
of mock graTity to ber jrouDg visiter^ ^^ why bave you boeii 
so distant to my son since bis return, as to nifdte btm sup^ 
pose be bad offended yon ?" And she stood iritb ber banda 
expanded before her, in the attitude of one who looks for an 
explanation. 

^^ Offended me ?" said Anne, ^^ I raust bave been exceed^ 
ingly unreasonable indeed, if I bad quarrelled with any thing 
that was said or done by Hardreaa, for 1 am sure be njever 
<Mice allowed me tbe*oppotrtunity." 

*^ Ob ! oh !" exclaimed Mrs. Cregan, clasping her faandsy 
sjid bursting into a fit of laughter. ^' You grow more severe. 
If 1 v?ere a young gentleman, 1 should sink down with sbamo 
after such an imputation as that.'* 

Hardress found himself suddenly entrapped in a scene of 
coquetry. '' Migijt not one do bettrri mother/' be said^ 
running lightly across the room, and takmg a seat close by 
the side of bis cousin — ^' Might not one do better by endea- 
vouring to amend ?" 

^^ But it is too late, sir," said i^nne, affecting to move 
away, '^My aunt Cregan is right, and i am ofiended with 
you. Don't sit so near, if you please. The truth is, I have 
made up my mind not to like you at ally and I never will 
change it, you may be certain." 

«< That is too hard, Anne> We are old friends, you should 
remember. What can I have done to make you so invete- 
rate ?" 

'» That 's right; Hardress," said Mrs. Cregan, who had 
now taken her place at the breakfast-table—^^ do not be dis* 
couraged by her. Give her no peace, until she is your friend* 
But ia tbe mealtime, come to bseaii^last. The cockswain has 
been waitii^.this half hour." 

The same scene of coquetiy virap continued during tbe 
morning. Hardress^ who was no /less delighted than sur- 
prised at this change of nmnner in his lovely cousin, assumed 
the part of a duteous knight, endeavouring, by the most 
assiduous attentions, to conciliate the favour of his oflended 
^Madye;" and Anne maintained with a playful dignity, the 
iDexorable coldness and reserve which was the prerogative , 
of the sex. in the days of chivalry and sound aenae* We 

14* 



hate tiwue, says Bmjrefet who tMat nt with pride ; but t 
smile 10 sufficient to leooncile as. In proportiea to the 
chajgiiairhidi the Aneied celdness of his iUr eoindn had oe- 
caeioned to the qiildi'Jiearted Hardress, was the i^Ieasme 
which he received from this unexpected and intimate turn of 
manner. And now it was, moreover, that he became eepa- 
ble of doing justice to the real character of the jwmg ladj. 
No longer embanassed by the feeling of strangeness and 
apprehension which had kept her spirits back on their first 
meeting, Anne now assumed to him that esse and livelmeas 
of manner with which she wss accustomed to fsscinate her 
more femiliar acquaintances. He was astoDisbed eveo to a 
degree ef consternation at the extent both of her talents and 
her knowledge. On genera) subjects, he found with extreme 
and almost humihating surprisei that her informatiof!^ very 
nearly approached his own ; and in a graceful and unosten* 
tali<N]s application of that knowledge to familier subjects she 
possessed the customary female superiority. 

We will Oct intrude so far upon the peculiar province of 
the guide-books as to iurni^ any detail of the encbanting 
scenery th)'otigh which our party travelled in the course of 
the forenoon. Every new sight that he beheld, every new 
hour that he tpent in the Society pf his cousin, assisted in dis- 
abusing his mind of the prejudice which he had conceived 
against her, and supplying its place by a feeling of strong 
kindness. It happened, likewise, that in the course of the 
day, many circumstances occurred to render him well satis- 
fied with the company of his new associates. The disposi- 
tion to please and be pleased was general among them ; and 
Hardress was flattered by the degree of attention which be 
received, not only from his own party, but from his mother's 
fasl^onable acquaintances, to ^hom he was introduced in 
passing. Life, spirit, courtlinesi^ of manner, and kindness 
of feelmg, governed the tone of conversation throughout the 
day ; and Hardress bore his part, in quality of host, with a 
degree of success and effect that was a matter of astonish- 
ment to himself. One or two of the younger ladies only 
were heard to say that Mr. Cregan was a little inattentive, 
and that he seemed to imagine there was not another 
lady of the party beside Miss Chute; but it is suspected that 
even those pretty niurmurers ' were by no means the least 
sensible of the merit of the persoti whom *^^y censured. 
When the evening drew near, and the pr ft the island 



» 
for Jhmiie, Hardress wm once mcNre surpriaed to find, that 
although hft had been apealoog ftr nearly half the day, he 
had not once found it neeeaBaty to make aBiskm to the Kil- 
lamey showers, the optical dec^tionai or the story of Cfiarlea 
Janes Fox. 

When he parted from the merry circle In order te fulfil Us 
promise to Eily, a feeling of blank r^et fell suddenly upon 
hie heart, like that which is experienced by a bey, when the 
curtain falls at the close of die first theatrical spectacle which 
he has ever witnessed. His mother, who knew him too well 
to press any inquiry into the nature of his present engagie* 
ment, had found no great difficult); in making him promise 
to .return on the next day, in order to be present at a ball, 
which she was about to give at the cottage. The regret 
whiph Anne manifested at bis departure, (to her an unex- 
pected movement) and the cordial pleasure with which she 
heard of bis intention to return on the next morning, inspired 
him^ with a feeling of happiness^ which he had not hitherto ex- 
perienced since bis cbiidnood. 

The next time be tbougbt of Anne and Eily at the same mo- 
ment, the coDJUDclioii was not so unfavourable to the forder 
as it had been in the morning* ^<^Tfa0re is no estimating the 
advantage,*^ he said within bis own mind, <^ which the so- 
ciety of so accopiplished a girl as that must produce on the 
mind and habits of my dear little Eily. I wish they we^ 
already friei^ds. My poor little love ! bow much she has to 
learn before she can assume with comfort to herself the place 
for which I have designed her. But women are imitative 
creatures. They can more readily adapt themselves to the 
tone of any new society, than we, who boast a firmer and 
less ductile natare; and Eily will find an additional facility 
in the good nature and active kindness of Anne Chute. I 
wish fi'om iny heart they were already friends*'' 

As he finished this reflection, he turned his pony off the 
6ap*road, upon the crags which led to the cottage of Phil 
IVaughten. 



1€4 



CHAPTBR XX. 

HOW HABDBES8 HA]> A smtAl^OE BBBAIT OP SIEY. 

The burst of rapture and affectioo witb which he was re- 
ceived by Eily, banished for the moment evei^ other feeling 
from the mind of the young husband. Her eyes spwkled, 
and her countenance brightened at his entrance, with the 
innocent delight of a child. Her colour changed, and her 
whole fi-ame was agitated by a passion of joy, which Bar- 
dress could scarcely have anticipated if his absence had been 
prolonged to a much more considerable time. He could 
not avoid feeling, that Eily was as far beyond his cousin in 
gei^leness of feeling, in ready confidence and winning sim- 
plicity of manner, as she was excelled by the latter in dignity 
of mind and of demeanour, in elegant knowledge, and in 
correctness of taste. 

They stood at the open door, Eily being yet encircled by 
the arm of her husband, and gazing on his face, while the 
expression of rapture that had illumined the countenances 
of both, faded gradually away into a look of calm and set- 
tled joy. On a sudden, their ears were startled by a hoarse, 
husky, and yet piercing voice, which seemed to proceed from 
a crag, that sheltered the cottage on the left side. Looking 
upward, Hadress beheld a woman standing on the turf, 
whose gesture and appearance showed her to be one of a 
race of viragoes who are now less numerous in the country 
parts of Ireland, than they were some twenty years since. 
«Her face and bait announced a Spanish origin ; her dress 
consisted of a brown stuff garment, fastened up at the back 
with a row of brass buttons, and a muslin cap and ribbon, 
considerably injured by the effpct of long possession. An 
old drBhjock^ soiled and stained by many a roll in the puddle 
of the mountain fairs, was superadded ; and in her right 
band she grasped a short, bf>evy oak stick ; which, if onf 
might judge by the constant use she made of it in enforcing 
her gestures, was as necessary to her discourse as the&mous 



THB COLLEGliBI. 165 

thread of Lord Chesterfield's orator. Her eyes were hlood* 
shot from watching and intemperance i and the same capses, 
joined to an habitual violence of tem|>er, had given to her 
thin, redf and streaky countenance, a sudden and formidable 
turn of expression^ 

'^Hai ha! my children! my imo fine, clever children, 
are ye there ? O, the luck o' me, that it wasn't a lad like 
you 1 married ; a clever boy, with the red blood running un- 
der his yellow skin, like that euh over behind the clouds, 
instead of the mane, withered disciple that calls my house 
his own this day. Look at the beauty of him ! lock at the 
beauty of him ! I might have been a lady if I liked. Oh, 
the luck o' me ! the luck o' me ! Five tall youpg men, 
every one of 'm a patthern for a faction', and all, all dead in 
their graves, down, down, an' no one left but that pitchur o* 
misery, that calls himself my husband. If it wasn't for the 
whiskey,'' she added, while she came down the crags, and 
stood before the pair, ^^ my heart would break with the 
thoughts of it. Five tall young men, brothers every one, an' 
they to die, an' he to live ! Wouldn't kill the Danes to 
think of it ! Five tall young men ! Gi' me the price of the 
whiskey." 

^< Indeed I will not. Poll. You have had enough .already." 

*<No, nor half!" shouted *the Amazon. "A dhram is 
enough, but two dhrams isn't half enough, an' I had only 
two. Coax him, 972a chree^ ma lanuv^ to gi' me the price 
0' the whiskey." 

Eily, who stood in great terror of this virago, turned a 
supplicating glance on Hardress. 

^' Youf young mistress," said the latter, ^^ would not be- 
come a participator in the sin of your drunkennesa" 

^* My Misthress ! The rope-maker's daughter ! My Mis- 
thress! Eily-na-thiadarucha ! Welcome from. Callow's 
Oreen, my misthress! The poor silly era thur! Is it be- 
cause 1 call you with the blood of all your fathers in your 
reins, a gentlemaip, my masther, that I 'd call her a lady, and 
my mistress ? Gi' me the price o' the whiskey t" 

'' I shall not, Poll. Go back." 

" Gi' me the price o' the whiskey, or I'll tear the crooked 
eyes out o' your yellow face ! • Gi' me it, I tell you, or I 'li 
^ve my misthress more kicks than ha'-pence, the next time 
1 catch her alone in the house, an' you away coorting and 
divarting at Killarney^" 



}$6 ' nra i»ummam. 

'' CoqI jrouraelf, Foil, or I 'U vti^k^ yovcool/' 

^^You a gendemaa! There i«H a ooggiD o' gsoten 
blood ia the veins o* youi whole sft-ed, breed, an' generaibon. 
You baToa^beaft 1 you stingy bose-polishiiig, tawoy &ced. 
^gg^f^h mane spirited roohawk, that hadn't the spint to 
chooee between poverty an' dignity! You a gentleman! 
The highest and finest in the land was open to. you, an' you 
hadn't Uie courage ^o stand up to your fortune. Tou a heart! 
Except a lady was to eome an' coort you of herself, sorrow 
chance she 'd evei have o' yoii, or you of her. An' signs go, 
see what a misthress you brought over us ! I wonder yoa 
had the courage to spake to her ilself. While others looked 
up^ you looked down. 1 often seen a worm turn to a but- 
terfly, but I never heerd of a butterfly turning to a wonnia 
my life before. You a heart ! I 'II lay a noggin, if the doc- 
thors open you when you die, they won't find such a thing as 
a heart in your whole yellow carcass^ only a conld gizzard. 
like the turisies." 

Hardress turned pale with anger at this coarse, but bitter 
satire. *^ Do stop her mouths my dear Hardress," murmured 
Eily, whose total want of pride rendered her almost incapa- 
ble of resentment. ^' Do silence her. That woman makes 
me afraid for tny very life." 

^^ Never entertain the least apprehension OS that snliject, 
£ily. There is one key to the good will of Fighting Pd). 
by which you may be always certain of keeping your plai 
in her aflections. It is whiskey. Keep her in whiskey, ai 
you keep her fkithful. Nor need you ever fear t»be on 
purchased ; for Poll has ju^t good principle enou^ topref 
a little whiskey with honesty, to a great deal obtained as tl 
wages of treason. Well, Poll," he continued^ turning to ik 
Amazon, ^^ you are too many for me. Here is halj^a-cron 
to drink my health, and be a good girl." . 

** Half-a-crown !" shouted the woman, catching the gii 
tering ccnn as Hardress sent it twirhDg through the air. *' 
knew you were your father's son, for all ! I knew 'tiso* pu 
pose you wer.e. I knew you had the nature ln,yoii,sAer al 
Ha ! here comes Phil and Danny at last. Come, sthrip, dot 
Phil ! Sthrip oflT the coat at once, an' let us see if ]H« Di 
nough laid the horsewhip over your shoulders to-day." 

The man only returned her a surly glance in answer t» 
this speech. 



TBS 6o£iiSoijamsf. 167 

•A 

«( What H« DDn<High is this, Phtl,'* said Rardress, <« what 
horsewhipping do you speak of, Poll ?'* 

" I '11 tell you, sir," returned Phil. " He is our landlord, 
an' the owner of all the land about you, as far as you can 
see, an' farther. He lives about a mile away from us, an* is 
noted for being a^ood landlord to all, far an' near. Only 
there *s one fashion he hte, and that 's a tiutiublesome X)ne to 
some of his people* As he gives all manner of lases at a 
raisonable rent himself, he wishes tliat his land should he 
sublet raisonable also, which makes him verycootrairy when- 
ever tbere^s does be any complaints of hard usage from the 
under tenants. I '11 tell you his pl&n when he finds any thing 
0^ the sort aflher his head tenants. He doasnU drive 'em, 
nor be hard upon 'em, nor ax for the arrears, nor one 
ha'p'orth, otily sends iiis sarvant-boy down to their liouse 
with a little whip- handle, about so big, that's as well known 
upon his estate, as the landlord's own (ace. Weil, the sar- 
vant-boy com6s in, as it might be to my cabin there, (if he 
hard any thing again' ine) and without ever saying one word» 
he wallks in to the middle o* the floore, an' lays the wbipfaaodle 
upon the table, and walks out again without ever sayin' one 
word. Very well, the tenant knows when he sees the whip, 
tiiat he must carry it up to his landlord next morning, a^ sure 
as he has a head upon his shoulders ; an' take it from me^ 
there's many lads among 'em have no great welcome ibf the 
sight of it. Well, up they go to the great house, an' there 
they a^ for the masther, an' they carry the whip handle into 
his parlour, ^ere he locks the door upon 'en^, an' if they 
can't well account for what they done, he makes Ihem sthrip, 
and begins flaking 'em with a horsewhip until their back ij^ 
all one griskin ; an' then he tells 'em to go about their busi- 
ness, an' let him hear no more complaints in future; I 
thought it was a ghost I seen myself, last night, when I found, 
the whip handle on mf own table. But I made all clear, 
when I seen the master. 

<*That is pushing his authority to a feudal extent," said 
Hardress. 

'^ A what, sir ?" asked PhiL, looking puzzled. 

" Nothing, Phil, nothing. Poll, go in now, and get 
supper ready in your mistress's room.^' 
t ^^ Let Phil get it," returned the amazon, ^^ I want to step 
over to the sthref^ for a pound o' candles." 

♦ Vill^pe. . 



168 THB OOXABGIAIIS. 

^*A pound o* candles!" echoed her helpmate, with s 
sneering emphasis. 

" 'IsSy what else ?'^ exclaimed Poll, grasping her baton, 
and looking back on him with a menacing gesiare. 

^^ You know best what else, yourself)'' said the husband, 
^^ We all know what sort oK candies it is*you 're going for. 
I lay my life you 're afther gettin' money fiom the mastfaer. 
But away with you, dont think I want to stop you. Your 
absence is betther company than your presence any day in 
the year." So saying, he precseded our hero and heroine iaio 
the cottage, muttering, in a low voice, a popular distich : 

" Joy be with job, if yen never come back, 
Dead or alive, or o* lM>rsebaok." 

In the course of this evening, Eily remarked that her 
husband, though affectionate as she could desire, waa inoie 
, silent and abstracted than she had ever seen him, and that 
he more frequently spoke in correction of some little breach 
of etiquette, or inelegance of manner, than in those terms 
of eloquent praise and fondness which he was accustomoi 
to lavish upon her. One advantage, however, of Eilj^^ 
want of penetration was, that the demon of suspicion never 
disturbed the quiet of her soul ; and it required the utmost, 
and the most convincing evidence of falsehood, to shake the 
generous and illimitable con6dence which she reposed in 
any person who Ws once established in hei* affectioss. 
While she felt therefore some little pain on her husband's 
account, she never experienced the slightest #oub]e on her 
own. She endeavoured with cheerfulness to adapt herself to 
his wishes, and though not in this she could become immed- 
diately ^successful, he would have owned a rigid temper, 
indeed, if it had not been softened hjr the submissive sweet- 
ness of her demeanour. 

* And Hardress was softened, thouifh not satisfied by ber 
gentle ^orts. He observed on t^s evenmg a much more 
considerable number of those uiiffeasing blemisbflu^ian be 
bad on any other, and the memory of them pu|wd bim 
even into his midnight slumbers, where Fancy, aT usual, 
augmented their effect upon his mind. He dffamed that 
the hour had come on which he was to introdoce his bride 
to his rich and fashionable acquaintances, and thai a large 
company had assembled at his mother's cottage to honour 



THE COLLSOIAirs. 1G9 

the occasion. Nothing Ijowever could exceed the hashful- 
ness, the awkwardness^ and the homeliness of speech and 
accent, with which the ropemaker's daughter received 
their comphments ; and to complete the climax of his 
clmgrin, on happening to look round apon her during 
dinner, he saw her in the act of peeting a potato with her 
fingers ! This phantom haunted him for half the night. 
He dreamed, moreover, that, when he reasoned with her OQ^ 
this subject, she answered him with a degree of pert vul- 
garity and impatience which was in *^ discordant harmony'' 
with her shyness before strangers, and which made him 
angry at heart, and miserable in mind. 

l^he dreams of passion are always vivid, distinct, and 
deeply impressive. The feeling of anger and annoyance 
remained on the mind of Har£'ess even afler he ftwoke, 
and although he never failed to correct and dispel the sen- 
sation, whenever it arose, yet throughout the whole of the 
following morning, a strong and disagreeable association was 
awakened whenever he looked upon Eily. 

Before he again left her, Hardress explained the nature of 
his present condition with respect to his mother, and informed 
his wife of the necessity which existed for spending a con- 
siderable portion of the month which was to come at his 
father's 4|ttage. Eily heard this announcement with pain 
and grief, but without remonstrance. She cried, like a 
child, at parting with him ; and after he had ridden awaf, 
remained leaning against the jamb of the door with hf * 
moistened handkerchief placed against her cheek, in ^ . 
attitude of musing sorrow. He had promised to return on 
the second day after, but how was she to hve over the long, 
long interval? A lonesomeness of heart, that was in 
mournful accordance with the mighty solitudes in which she 
dwelt, fell down and abode upon her spirit. 

On that night Hardress was one of the gayest revellers at 
his mother's ball. Anne Chute, who was, beyond all com- 
petttion,nhe star of tbe'^ening, favoured him with a marked 
and cordial distinction. The flattering deference with 
which he was received, by* all with whom he entered into 
conversation during the night, surprised him into ease and 
fluency ; and the succesa of his own eloquence made him 
in love with his auditory. When it is 6onsidered that this 
was the very first ball he had ever witnessed since his boy- 
hood, and that his life, in the interim had been the life of a 

Vol, I.— .16 



170 X1I£ COIXSOIAIIS, 

recluse, its effect upon bis miDd will cease to be a matter of 
surprise. Tbe richness of the dresses — the liveliness of 
the music— the beauty of the fair dancers — the g^ayety of 
their yaung partners — the air of elegant mirth that filled 
the whole apartment — produced a new and delicious sensa- 
tion of happiness in the susceptible temper of Hardress. 
Our feelings are so- much under the sovernment of our 
habits, that a modern Lnghsh family in the same rank might 
have denied the praise of c&mfori to that which in the unac- 
customed eyes of Hardress wore the warmer hue of luxury : 
for he lived at a time when Irish gentlemen fostered a more 
substantial pride than at present ; when appearances were 
comparatively but little consulted, and the master of a 
mansion cared not how rude was the interior, or how 
ruinous the exterior of his dwelling, provided he could 
always maintain a loaded larder, and a noisy board. Tbe 
scene around him was not less enervating to the mind of 
our hero because tbe chairs which the company used were of 
plain oak, and the light from the large glass lustre fell upon 
coarse unpapered walls, whose only oniament consisted of 
the cross* barred lines drawn with the trowel in the rough 
gray mortar. Many of those who are accustomed to scenes 
of elegant dissipation, might not readily giye credence to 
the effect which was' wrought upon his feelings fa^circum- 
stances of comparatively little import. The pemlrned air 
of the room the loftiness of the ceiling, the festooning of 
the drapery above the windows, the occasional pauses and 
changes in the music, all contributed to raise his mind into a | 
condition of peculiar and exquisite enthusiasm, which made 
it susceptible of deep, dangerous, and indelible impressions. , 
The wisdom of religion, in prescribing a strict and constant I 
government of the senses, could not be more apparent than 
on an occasion like this, when their influence upon tbe 
reason became almost as potent and absorbing as that of 
an internal passion. 

In the midst of this gayety of heart and topping fulness of 
mind, a circumstance occurred to throw it into a more 
disturbed and seriou?, biit scarce less delightful, condition. 
The intervals in the dancing, were filled up by songs from 
the company, and Anne Chute in her turn was called on for 
her contribution of melody. Hardress was leaning over her 
chair, and looking at the music-book, which she was turninsr 



THE COLLEGIANS. 171 

over leaf after leaf, as if in search of some suitable piece for 
the occasion. 

^* Ah, (his will do^ I thipk," said Anne, pausing at a manu- 
script song, which was adapted to an old air, and running a 
rapid prelude along the keys of the instrument. The let- 
ters H. C. were written at the top of the page, and flardress 
felt a glow like fire upon his brow the instant he beheld 
them, He drew back a little out of the hght, and listened, 
with an almost painful emotion, to the song which the fair 
performer executed with an ease and feeling that gave to the 
words an effect beyond that to which they might themselves 
ha?e pretended. They were the following : 

I. 

A place in tbj meiqor j, deareit. 

Is all that, I claim, 
To pause add Icok back when then hearest 

Tile floaod of my name. 
Another may woo thee, nearer, 

Another may win and wear ; 
I care not thooirn he be dearer, 

If I am remembered there. 
II. 
Remember n^ — ^not as a lover 

Whose hope was cro«8*d — 
Whose boflom can never recover 

The light it hath lost. 
Ai the young bride remembers the mother 

She lov«s, thoo)(h she never may see, 
As a sister remembers a brother, 

O, dearest ! remember me. 
111. 
Could I be thy tme lover, dearest, 

Conld^st thou smtlt? on me, 
I would be the fondest and nearest 

That ever loved thee ! 
But a cloud on my pathway is glooming, 

That never must burst upon thine \ 1 

And Heaven, that made thee all blooming, 

Ne*er made thee to wither on mine. 

IV. 

Remember me then ! — O, remember 

My calm, light love ; 
Though bleak as the blasta of November 

My life may prove. 
That life will, though lonely, be sweet 

If its brightest enjoyment should be 
A smile and kind look when we ineet, i 

And a place in thy i 



172 TUB COUtSOJUlKS. 



CHAPTER XXL 

HOW HABORfiSS MET A 8TRA3(GS TRIAL. 

^^ MoTHKB, can yoq tell me why Anne Chute appears so 
abstracted and so reserved in her manner these- few days 
past ? (s she ill ? Is she out of spirits ? Is she annoyed at 
any thing?" 

Hardress Cregan, who spoke this speech, was resting with 
his arm on the sash of one of the cottage windows. Mrs. 
Cregan was standing at a table in the centre of the room, 
arranging several small packages of plate, glass, and china, 
which had been borrowed from various neighbours on occa- 
sion of the ball. At a little distance stood old Nancy in her 
blue doak and hood, awaiting the commands of her mis- 
tress, who, as she proceeded with her occupation, glanced, 
at intervals, a sharp and inquiring eye at her son. 

^ Here, Nancy, take this china to Mrs. Geogheghan, with 
my compliments, and tell her that I *m very much obliged to 
her — andy for your life, you horrible old creature, take care 
not to break them.'^ 

*^ Oyeh^murther ! is it I? Fake 'em sure, that I won't, so.'' 

^' And tell Mike, as you are going down stairs, to come 
hither. I want to send him with those spoons to Miss Ma- 
earthy." 

^* Mike isn't come back yet, ma'am, since he wint over 
with the three-branch candlestick to Mrs* Crasbie." 

" He is a very long time away, then." 

^^ Can you teUme, mother," said Hardress, after in vain 
expecting an answer to hi» former queries, ^^ Can you tell 
me, mother, if Anne Chote has had any unpleasant news 
from home, lately ?" 

** Well, Nancy," continued Mrs. Cregan, appearing not 
to have heard her son, " run away with your parcel, and de- 
liver your message as you have been told, and hurry back 
again, for I have three more places to send you to before 
dinner." 

*^ Allilu ! my ould bones will be fairly wore from imder 



THE C0IXE6IAKS. 173 

tne, with the dint o* tbrallivantin," muttered Nancy, as she 
left the room. 

*^ I beg yottr pardon, Hardress, my dear. Were you not 
speaking ? My attention is so occupied by these affairs, that 
I have not a head for any thing besides. This is one of the 
annoyances produced by your father's improvidence. He 
will not purchase those things, and I am obliged to borrow 
them, and to invite their owners into the bargain. I should 
not mind the borrowing but for that, as they are, generally 
speaking, very inferior in quality to the articles they lend 
rae. In my thoughts, the latter always occupy so much 
more important a place than their possessors, that in sending 
a note of invitation to Mrs. Orosbie, (or Grasbie, as Nancy 
calls her,) the other day, I was on the point of writing, 
' Mrs. Cregan presents her compliments to the three- 
branched candlestick." But were you not speaking to 

me?" 

" I merely asked yoi|, mother, if you knew the cause of the 
change which has lately appeared in Anne Chute's manner, 
and which I have observeid more especially since the night 
of the ball?" 

*< I do," said Mrs. Cregan. . 

Hardress turned his face round, and looked as if he ex- 
pected to hear more. 

" But before I inform you," continued Mrs. Cregan, " you 
must answer me one question. What do you think of Anne 
Chute ?" 

" Think of her, mother ?" 

*^ Think of her, mother ! You echo me, like the ancient 
in the play. I hope it is not that you have got any such 
monster in your thoughts as may not meet the light." 

Hardress shook his head with a smile of deep meaning. 
^< Indeed, mother," he said, ^^ it is far otherwise. I am 
ashamed to trust my lips with my opinion of Anne Chute. 
She is, in truth, a fascinating girl. If f were to tell you, in 
the simplest language, all that I think, and all that 1 feel in 
her favour, you would say that you had found out a mad 
son in Hardress. She is indeed an incomparable young 
woman." 

*^ A girl," said his mother, who heard this speech with 
evident satisfaction--^^ a girl, who is far too amiable ito be- 
come the victim of disappointed feelings." 

^' Of disappointed feelings ?" 
16* 



174 THE COLLEGIANS. 

*^ Another echo! Why you seem to htve eaugiit tlie 
mocking spirit from the lakes. I tell you she is within the 
clanger of such an event" 

" How is that, mother ?" 

"Close that door and I will leB you. I see you have 
remarked the increasing alteration in her manner. If I 
fthouki intrust you with a lady*s secret, do you think you 
know how to venerate it ?" 

« Why so, mother ?" 

" Ah, that 's a safe answer. Well, T think I may^ust you 
without requiring a pledge. Anne Chute has met with the 
usual fate of young ladies at her age. $he is deep in love.'' 

Hardress felt the hot blood ga^r upon bis breath, when 
he heard these words. ** You are jesting, mother," he said 
at length, and with a forced smile. 

** It is a sad jest for poor Anne, however," said Mrs. 
- Cregan with much seriousness. ^^ She is completely 
caught indeed, 1 never saw a girl so much in love in 
my. life." 

^^He is a happy fellow," said Hardress, after a pause, 
and in a deep voice, " he is either a very stupid, or a very 
happy fellow, whom Anne Chute distinguishes with her. 
regard. And happy he must be, for a stupid lover oould 
never press so wearily upon the remembrance of such a girl 
H9 is a very happy fellow." 

^^ And yet, to lode at him, you would suppose he was 
neither the one nor the other," said his mother. 

" What is his name ?" 

" Can you not guess ?" 

The name of Kyrle Daly rose to the lips of Hardress, 
but from some undefinable cause he was unable to pro- 
nounce it. "Guess?" he repeated, "not I. Captain 
Gibson?" 

" Pooh ! what an opinion you have formed of Anne, if 
you suppose her to be one of those susceptible misses to 
whom the proximity of a red coat, in country quarters, is an 
alSair of fatal consequence." 

"Kyrle Daly, then?" 

" Poor Kyrle, no. But that I think she has already 
chosen better, I could wish it were he, poor fellow ! But 
you do not seem inclined to pay your cousin a compliment 
this morning. Bo you not think you guess a little below 
her worth?" 



THE COLUSdiANS. 175 

*< Not in Kyrle Dalj. He is a lover for a queen. He ia 
my true friend.'* 

^^ That,'* said his mother with emphasis, ^* might be some 
recommendation." 

Hardress gazed on her as if altogether at a loss. 

^ Weil^ have you already come to a stand?'' said Mrs. 
Oregan, <^Then I believe I shall not insist on your exri 
posing your own dulness any longer. Come hither, Har- 
dress, and sit near me." 

The young gentleman took a chak at his mother's side, 
and awaited her further s|peech with increasing interest., 

^* Hardress," she said, ^' I have a claim, independent of 
my natural right, to your obedience ; and I must insist, in 
this instance at least, on its not being contested. Listen to 
ne. I have now an object in vieW, to the accomplishment 
of which I look forward with a passieaate interest, for it has 
no other aim than the completion of your happiness ; a con- 
cern, my beloved boy, which has always pat closest to my 
heart, even from your childhood. I have no child but you. 
My other little babes are with their Maker. I have none 
left but you, and I think I feel my heart yearn towards you 
with all the love, which, if those angels had not flown from 
me, would have been divided amone them." 

She paused, affected ; and Hardress lowered his face in 
deep and grateful emotion. 

^^ It is, I think, but reasonable, therefore," Mrs. Cregan 
continued, *^ to desire your concurrence in a project which 
has your own happiness only for its object. Are you really 
so duD of perception as npt to be aware of the impression 
you have made on the affections of Anne Chute ?" 

^* That I — / have made ?" exclaimed Hardress, with a 
confusion and even a wifdness in his manner, which looked 
like a compound of joy and terror. " That I — did you say, 
mother ?" 

^< That you have made," repeated his mother. <^ It is true 
indeed, Hardress. She loves you. This fascinating girl 
loves you long and deeply. This incomparable young wo- 
man, with whose praises you darq^ not trust your tongue, is 
pitting for your love in the silence of her chamber. This 
beautiful and gifted creature, who is the wonder of all who 
see, and the love of all who know her, is ready to pour forth 
her spirit at your feet in a murmur of expiring fondness. 
Use your fortunes. The world smiles brightly on you. I 



176 THB COIiLBfllANS. 

eay again, Anne ^Ohute is long, deeply, and devotedly your 
own." 

Hardress drank in every accent of this poisonous speech, 
ivith that fatal relish which is felt by the infatuated Eastern, 
for his draught of stilling tincture. While he lay back in 
his chair, however, to enjoy the full and swelling rapture of 
his triumph, a horrid remembrance suddenly darted through 
his brain, and made him start from his chair as if he had 
received a blow. 

" Mother," said he, " you are deceived in this. It is not, 
it cannot be, the fact. I see the object of which yoa speak, 
and I am' sure your own anxiety for its accomplishment has 
led you to miscalculate. My own surmises are not in unison 
with yours." 

" My dear child," replied his mother, «^ I have a far better 
authority than surmise for what I say. Do you think, my 
love, that 1 would run the hazard of disturbing your peace 
without an absolute assurance of the truth of my statement ? 
1 have an authority that ought to satisfy the most distrustful 
lover, and I will be guilty of a breach of confidence, in order 
to set your mind at rest, for I- am certain of your honour. 
It is the confession, the reluctant and hardly won confessiou, 
of my darling Anne herself." 

Again, a revulsion of frightful rapture rushed through the 
frame of the listener, and made him resume his chair in 
silence. 

" When we came here first," continued Mrs. Cregan, " I 
could perceive that there was a secret, although I was far 
from suspecting its nature. The first glimpse of light that 
broke upon the mystery was produced by' accident. You 
remember poor Dalton, our old Huntsman ? I happened to 
speak to Anne of his attachment' to you, and could at once 
observe that her interest for the man was ardently awakened.'' 

<< I remember, I remember like a dream," said Hardress, 
raising his finger in the manner of one endeavouring to 
strengthen an indistinct recollection, '< Poor Dalton told me 
Anne had been kind to him. Anne ? No, no," he added, 
with much confusion, ^^ tie named no one. He said, a per- 
son in this house had been kind to him. I was prevented 
from inquiring farther." 

" That person," said Mrs. Cregan, " was Anne Chute. 
From the moment of that conversation my eyes were opened ; 
and I felt like one who has suddenly discovered the principle 



TWB .COLLaSGIAKS. 177 

of aa intricate and complicated system. I saw it in her 
silence, -while your arrival was delayed ; I saw it,. on the 
morning of your meeting ; 1 saw it, throughout that day ; I 
saw it, in her dissembled grief, in her dissembled joy. Poor, 
dear girl ! I saw it, in the almost childlike happiness that 
sparkled in her eyes when you came near us, and in the sud- 
den gloom that followed your departure. For shamcy my 
child ! Why are you so dull of perception ? Have you 
eyes t Have 'you ear^ ? Have you a brain to comprehend, 
or a heart to estimate, your good fortune ? It should have 
been your part, not mine^ to draw that dear acknowledgment 
from the lips of Anne, last night." 

To this observation, Hardress replied only by a low moan, 
-which had in it an expression of deep pain. ^^ How, 
mother," he at length asked, in a hoarse tone, ^^ by what 
management did. you draw/thia secret from her ?" 

*^ By a simple process. By making it worth her while to 
give me her confidence. By telling her what I have long 
since perceived, though it may possibly have escaped your 
own observation, that her passion was not unrequited ; that 
you were as deeply in love with her, as she with yoir." 

^^ Me ! me in love f You could not, you would not, 
surely, mother, speak with so lAuch rashness," exclaimed 
Hardress, in evident alarm. 

" Why — do you not love her, then ?" 

" Love her, mother ?" 

^* I see you have not yet done with the echoes/' 

*^ I love her as a cousin should love a cousin^ nothing 
more." 

^^ Ay^ but she is no cousin of yours. Come ! It must 
be either more or less. Which shall I say ?" 

'* Neither. It is in that light I have always looked upon 
Anne. I could not love her less. I would not, dare not 
love her more." 

*'' Dare not ? You have got a strange vocabulary for a 
lover. What do you mean by *' dare not ?* What mighty 
daring is requisite to enable a young man to fall in love with 
a young lady of whose affection he is already certain ? The 
daring that is necessary for wedlock, is an old bachelor's 
sneer, which should never be heard on lips that are ruddy 
with the blood of less than forty summers. Why dare you 
not love Anne Chute ?" 

^^ Because by doing so, I should break my faith to another,'* 



M78 TaE COLLGGIAKS. 

Mrs. Gregan fixed her eye on him, as If somewhat stunned. 
^^ What do you say, Hardr^ss?" she murmured, just above 
her breath. 

' ^^ 1 say, mother, that my heart and faith are both already 
pledged to another, and that 1 must not break my engage- 
ment." 

" Do you speak seriously ?" 

<^ 1 could not jest on this subject, if I were so inclined." 
. "And dare you tell me this?" Mrs; Cregan exclaimed, 
starting up from her .seat with a sudden fierceness of man- 
ner. *' You have no daring ! You dare not love the love 
that I have chosen for you, and you dare teil metp my face 
of such a boldness as this ! But dare me not. too far, i warn 
you, Hardress. You will not find it safe." 

^^ I dare tell the truth when I am called on," replied Har- 
dress, who never respected his mother so little, as in her 
moments of passion or authority ; ^^ in all places, and at all 
hazards, even including that of incurring my motlier's dis- 
pleasure." 

**' Listen to me, Hardress," said his mother, returning to 
her seat, and endeavouring to suppress her anger, ^* it is bet- 
ter we should fully understand each other." 

^^ It is, mother ; and I caimot chose a better time to be 
explicit than the present, i was wrong, very wrong, in not 
taking an earlier opportunity of explaining to you the cir- 
cumstances in which 1 stand. But it is better even now 
than later. Mother," he continued, moving near to her, and 
taking her hand between his, with a deprecating tenderness 
of manner, ^^ forgive your own Hardress ! 1 have already 
&xed my afiections, and pledged myself to another.", 

Mrs. Cregan pressed her handkerchief against her face, 
and leaned forward on the table, which position she main- 
tained during the dialogue which followed. 

^* And who is that other ?" she asked, with a calmness 
that astonished her son. ^^ Is she superior to Anne Chute 
in rank or fortune ?" 

"Far otherwise, mother." 

" In talent then, or manner ?" 

" Still far beneath my cousin." 

" In what then consists the motive of preference, for I am 
at a loss ?^' 

" In every thing that relates to acquirement," said Hv' 
dresSy " die is not even to be compared to Anne Chate. 



THE eOIXEOlAKS. 179 

It is in virtue, alone, and in gentleness of disposition, that 
she can pretend to an equality, t once betieved her lovelier, 
but I was prejudiced.'' 

Mrs. Cregan now raised her head, and showed by the 
change in bet appearance what passionate struggles she had 
been endeavouring to overcome. The veins had started out 
upon her forehead, ,a dullilre shone in her eyes, and one 
dark tress of hair, uncurl^ by dampness and agitation, was 
swept cross her temples. " Poor, low-born, siliy, and vul- 
gar !" she repeated with an air of perplexity and suppressed 
anger. Then, assuming an attitude of easy dignity, and . 
forcing a smile, she said, ^^ Oh, my dear Hardress, you must 
be jesting, for I am sure you could not make such a choice, 
as you describe." 

^^ If it is a misfortune," replied, Hardress^ ^^ I must only 
summon iip my philosophy, mother, for there is no escaping 
it." 

Mrs. Cregan again pressed her band upon her brow for 
some moments, and then said, '* Well, Hardress, let us con- 
duct this discussion calmly. I have got a violent shooting, 
in my head, and cannot say so much as i desire. But listen 
to me, as I have done to you. My honour is pledged to 
your cousin for the truth of what I have told her. I have 
made her certain that her wishes shall be all accomplished, 
and 1 will not haVe my child's heart broken. If you are 
serious, Hardress, you have acted a nwst dishonourable 
part. Your conduct to Anne Chute would have deceived — 
it has deceived, th^e most unbiassed among your acquaint- 
ances. You have paid her attentions which np honourable 
man could offer while he entertained only a feehng of indif- 
ference towards their object." 

'' Mother ! Mother ! how can you make such a charge as 
that ? Was it not entirely, and reluctantly, in compliance 
with your own injunctions that I did so?" 

"Ay," replied Mrs. Cregan, a little struck, '* but I was 
not then aware of your position. Why did you not then in- 
form me of all this ? Let the consequences, sir, of your 
duplicity fall on your own head, not on my poor girl's nor 
mine. 1 could not have believed you capable of such a 
meanness. Had you then discovered all, it would have been 
in time for the safety of your cousin's happiness, and for my 
•wn honour, for that too is staked in the issue. What, Sir ? 
Is your vanity so egregious that, for its gratifiGati9n merely- 



ISO ^ THE cou;bgux8. 

Jim would intei^ere with a young girl's prosfiects in life, by 
lyiing up the place at her side to which others, equal in 
merit and more sincere in their intentions, might haye as- 
pired ? Is not that consideration alone (putting aside ihe 
keener disappointment to which you have subjected her) 
enough to make your conduct appear hideous ?'* 

The truth and justice of this speech left Hardress without 
a word. 

<^ You are already contracted, at every fireside in £eny 
and Limerick also,'' continued his mother^ ^^ and I ^m de- 
termined that there shall be no whispering about mj own 
sweet Anne. You must perform the promise that your con- 
duct has given." 

/^ And my engagement? — " 

<^ Break it off!" exclaimed Mrs. Cregan, with a burst of 
anger, scarcely modified by her feeling of decorum. ^' If 
you have been base enough to make a double pledge, and if 
there must be a victinv, I am resolved it shall not be Anne 
Chute. I 'must not have to reproach myself with having 
bound it for the sacrifice. Now take your choice. I teU 
you, I had rather die, nay, I had rather see you in your coffin, 
than matched below your rank. You are yet uhable to cater 
for your own happiness, and you would assuredly lay up 
a fund of misery for all your coming years. Now, take your 
choice. If you wed as I desire, you shall have all the happi- 
ness that rank, and wealthy and honour, and domestic affec- 
tion, can secure you.—^If against my wish — if you resist me, 
enjoy your vulgar taste, and add to it all the wretchedness 
that extreme poverty can furnish, for whether I live or die* 
(as indeed I shall be careless on that subject henceforward,) 
you never shall possess a guinea of your inheritance. So now, 
take your choice." 

^^ It is already made," said Hardr^ss, rising with a mourn- 
ful dignity, and moving toward the door. " My fortunes are 
already decided, whatever way my inclinations move. Fare- 
well, then, mother. 1 am grateful to you for all your former 
kindness, but it is impossible that I can please you in this. 
As to the poverty with which you intend to punish me, 1 can 
face that consequence without much anxiety, after I have 
ventured to incur the hazard of your anger." 

He was already at the door when his mother recalled him 
with a softened voice. " Hardrcss," she said, with tears in 
her eyes, ** I mistake my heart entirely. It cannot afford4o 



Ifti 

losm a son 9Q eainljr. €k>iiie hither, laicl sit hf me, aj oim 
beloved boy. You knoiv not, Hanhreae, how I have lo?ed» 
aofl lofe joa. Why iriil yea anger me, my child ? i nerer 
angered.you^ evea when you were aa infknt at lay hetom. I 
nwvwr denied you aay things in all my life. I ne^er gave yoo 
a hard word,. or look, einoe you were a child in my arms. 
What have i done 'to you, Hardresa ? Even auppoaing that 
I have acted with any raahnets in this, why will yoa insist on 
my anfiering for it ?'' 

** My dear mother*--*-'' 

^* If you knew bow 1 have loved yon, Hardress ; but yon 
can never know it, for it was shewn most frequently and 
fondly when you were incapable of acknowledging or appre- 
ciating it If you knew how disinterestedly I have watched 
and laboured for your happiness, even from your boyhood, 
you would not so calmly resign your mind to the idea of such 
a separation. Come, Hardress, we must yet be friends* I 
do fiot press you for an immediate answer, but tell me you 
will think of it, and think more kindly. Bid me but smile on 
Anne when I meet her next. Nay, dooH look troubled, I 
shall not ^leak to her until I have yonr answer, I will only 
smile upon her — tbat*s my darling Hardress." 

•' But, mother—" 

^ Not one word more. At least, Hardress, mf wishes are 
worth a little censideratioa. Look there T* she suddenly 
exclaimckl, laying her hand on the arm of her son, and point* 
ing through the open window, ^^ Is that not worth a Kttfe 
consideration ?" 

Hardress looked in that direction, sad beheld a si^t which 
might have proved dangerous to the reaolutifm of a more 
self-regulated spirit. It was the figure of his cousin stand- 
ing uuler the shade of a lofty arbutus, (a tree which ac- 
knowledges KiUarney alone of all our northern possessions, 
for its natal region.) A few streaks of the golden sunshine 
streamed in upon her figure, through the bou|^, and quivered 
over the involutions of her drapery. She was without a 
bonnet, and her short black rinf^ets, blown loose about her 
rather pale and careful countenance, gave it somewhat of the 
character of an Ariadne, or a PenUiesilea She walked to* 
ward the house, and every motion of her frame seemed in- 
stinct with a natural intelligence. Hardress couM not (with- 
out a nobler effort than he would use) remove his eyes from 
this beautiful vision, until a turn in the gravel walk conceal^ 

Vol. I.— 16 



US XBB COXAMOAllt. 

it from his view, and it disappeared among die foliage, as a 
lustrous star is lost in a mass of autumnal elouds. 

^^ Mother/* said Hardress, ^^ I will think on what youhave 
said. May heaven defend and guide me ! I am a ousera- 
ble wiretch, hut I will think of. it Oh, mother, my dear 
mother, if I had confided in you, or you in me ! Why have 
we been thus secret to each other ? But pardon me ! It is 
I alone that am desernog of that reproach, for you were 
contriving for my happiness only. Happiness ! What a vain 
word that is ! I never shall be happy more ! Never indeed 1 
•I have destroyed my fortunes.*' 

^^ Hush, boy, I hear Anne's foot upon the lobby. I told 
her you would walk with her to-day." 

** Me walk with her ?" said Hardress with a shudder. 
*^ No, no, I cannot, mother. It would be wrong. I dare 
BOt, indeed." 

^^ Dare not again ?" said Mrs. Cregan, smiling. *^ Come, 
come, forget this conversation for the present, and consider 
it again at'^your leisure." 

^^ I wiU< I will think of it," repeated the young man, with 
•ome wildness of manner. ^< Mi^y heaven defend and guide 
me I I am a wretch already." 

*^ Hush ! bush !" said his mother, who did not attach too 
much importance to those exclamations of mental distress ; 
'^ you must not let your mistress hear you praying in that 
way, or she will suppose she has frightened you." 

'' My MiHreeSy mother !" 

** Pooh, pooh I your cousin, then. Don't look so terri- 
fied./ Well, Hardress, I am obliged to you." 

** Ay, mother, but don't be misled by — " 

*^ Ob, be in no pain for that. I understand you perfectly. 
Remain here, and I will send your ^cousin td you in a few 
minut^." 

It would have at once put an end to all discussion of this 
subject, if Hardress had informed his mother that he was io 
fact already married. He was aware of this, and yet he 
could not tell her that it was so. It was not that he feared 
her anger, for that he had already dared. He knew that he 
was called on in honour, in justice, and in conscience, to 
make his parent aware of the full extent of his position, and 
yet he shunned the avowal, as he would have done a aentence 
of despair. 



tsE eosi.Boijj|». 183 



CHAPTER XXIT. 

sow THB TSKPTATION OV HABDBBSS FBOCBBOBD. 

DuBiNG the few weeks Aha( followed the eonversation just 
detailed, Eily perceiTed a rapid and a fearful change in the 
temper and appearance of her husband. His visits were 
fewer and shorter than before, and when he did come, his 
manner was restrained and conscious in an extraordinary de- 
gree. His eye looked troubJed, bis voice was deep and 
broken, his cheek grew pale and fleshless, and a gloomy air, 
which might be supposed the mingled result of discontent 
and dissipation, appeared in all his person. He no longer 
conversed with that noisy frankness and gayety which he was 
accustomed to indulge in all societies where be felt perfectly 
at his ease. To Eily he spoke sometimes with coolness and 
impatience, and very often with a wild aflection that had in 
it as much of grief as of tenderness. To the other inmates 
of the' cottage he was altogether reserved and haughty, aB4 
even his own boatman seldom cared to tempt him into a 
conversation. Sometimes Eily was inclined to think that 
he had escaped fix>m some unpleasing scenes at home, his 
demeanour during the evening was so abstracted and so full 
of care. On other occasions, when he came to her cottage 
late at night, she was shocked to discover about him the ap« 
pearances of a riotous indulgence. Bom and educated as 
she was in the Ireland of the eighteenth century, this cir* 
cumstance would not have much disturbed the mind of our 
heroine, but that it became gradually more frequent of oc* 
currence, and seemed rather to indicate a voluntary habit 
than that ilecessity to which even sober people were often 
subjected, when they mingled in the society of Irish country 
gentlemen of that period. Eily thus experienced, for the 
first time, and with an aching spirit, one of the keenest 
anxieties of married life. 

'^ Hardress," she said to him one morning when be was 
preparing to depart, after an interval of gloomy silence, long 
unbroken, «' I won't let you go among those fine ladies any 



more, if you bo thinkiog of them always when you come to 
me again." ' 

Her fausbaDd stuled like one conacience-strack, and 
looked sharply round upon her. 

«^ What do you mean ?" he aaid^ with a slight contraction 
of the brows. 

^ Just what I say, then," said Eily, smiling and nodding 
her head, with a pretty affH^tation of authority. '^ I'hose 
fine ladies musn 't take you from Bily. And I 'U tell you 
another thing, Hardress : whisper I" she laid her band on 
his shoulder, raised herself on tiptoe^ and murmured in his 
ear, ^^ I '11 not not let you among the fine gentlemen either* 
if that 's the teaching they give you." 

*' What teaching?" 

" Oh, you know, yourself;** Eily continued, nodding and 
smiling ; «^ it is a teaching that you would never leani from 
Eily if you spent the evenings with her as you used to do in 
the beginning. , Do you know is there e*er a priest living in 
this neighbourhood ?" 

''Whydoypuask?" 

*^ Because Lhave something to tdl him that lies upon mj 
conscience." 

^ And would you not confess your failings to an affection- 
ate friend, Eily, as well as to a holier director ?'* 

^^ I would," said Eily, bending on him a look of piercing 
sweetness — *^ If 1 thought he would forgive me afterward^ 
as readtty." 

^* Provided always that you are a true penitent," returned 
Hardress, reaching her his hand. 

'' There is little lear of that;" said Eily. «' It would be 
well for me, Hardress, if I could as easily be peniteBt for 
heavier sins." 

After a moment's deep thought, Eily resumed her plmyfiil 
manner, and placing both her hands in the still expanded 
one of her husband, she continued, ^^ Well then, sir, 1 Ml tell 
you what 's troubling me. I 'm afiftid 1 'm going wrong en- 
tirely, this time back. I got married, sir, a coopfe o* 
months ago, to one Mr. Hardress Cregan, a very niee gentle- 
man that I 'm very fond of." 

''Too fond, perhaps?" 

'Tm afraid so, rig^dy speiAung, although I hope Ae 
doesn't think so. But be told me when he hrovght 
dovm to Killamey, that be was going to speak to his 1 



TOM CdlMeUM. Its 

{the brow of the listener darilened,] and to ask their fori^ve* 
ness for hiniftelf and Eiljr. And there 's nearlft two months 
now, since I came, and what I have to charge mygelf with, 
sor, is, that I am too fond of my husband, and that 1 don 't lite 
to vex him by speaking about it, as may be it wouJd be my 
duty to do. And, besides, I donH keep my husband to 
proper order at aU. 1 let him stop out sometimes for many 
days together, and then 1 'm very angry with him, but when 
he comes, I 'm so foolish and so glad to see him, that I can't 
look cross, or speak a hard word, if I was to get all Ireland 
for it. And more than that, again ; I 'm not at all sure how 
he spends his time while he is out, and 1 don't ever question 
him properly about it. I know there are a great many hand* 
some young ladies where he goes to, apd a deal of gentle* 
men that are very pleasant company aAer dinner, for indeed, 
my husband is often more merry than wise, when he comes 
home to me late at night, and still Eily says nothing. • And 
besides all this, I think my husband has something weighing 
upon his mind, and I don't make him tell it to me, as a good 
wife ought to do, and I 'd like to have a friend's advice, as 
you 're good enough to offer it, sir, to know what I 'd do. 
What do you think about biro, sir ? Do you think any of the 
ladies ha3 taken bis fancy ? Or do you think he's growing 
tired of Eily ? Or that he doesn't think so much of her 
now that be knows her better ? What would you advise me 
to do ?" 

^^ I am rather at a loss," said Hardress, with some bitter- 
ness in his accent, ^^it is so difficult to advise ^l jealous 
person." 

''Jealous!" exclaimed Eily with a slight blush, '^Ah, 
now I 'm sorry I cam^ to you at all, for I see ypu know 
nothing about me, since ^ou think that 's the way. 1 see 
now that you don't know how to advise me at all, and I'll 
leave you there. What would I be jealous of?" 

''Why, of those handsome young ladies that your husband 
visits." 

" Ah, if I was jealous that way," said Eily, with a keen 
and serious smile, " that isn't the way [ 'd show it." 

"How then,. Eily?" 

<' Why, first of all, I wouldn't as much as think of sucli 
a thing, without the greatest veason in the world, without 
being downright sure of it, and if I got that reason, nobody 
16* 



wouM em know it^ for i^ wouMn'l m ^ ivQ^^'^wir ^^ 
JDlo that rotifi there, ai>d stretch upon the bed, nod die." 

*' Wh>, tbftt '8 what niaoy a brutal fausbapd^ in eucb a eaae, 
would exactly desire." 

'' So itoelf," said Eilyv with a flushed, and kindhfig cheek 
*-** so itself. I wouMb't be long in his way, 1 'U engage." 
'^WeU th^n," Harness said, rising and addresang her 
with a sefere solemnity of n>allner, "my adviee to you is 
this. As long as you Mte, never piesuBie to inquire into 
your husband's secrets, nor afiect an influence which he 
never will admit. And if you wish to avoid that great rea- 
son for jealousy of which you stand in fear, avoid sufiering 
the slightest suspicion to appear; for men are stubborn 
beings, and when such suspicions are wantonly set afloat, 
tiiey find the temptation to furnish them with a cause aknost 
kresisuble." 

" Well, Hardress,?' said Eily, " you are angi^ virith me, 
after all. Didn't you say yeu would forgive me? Oh, then, 
1 '11 engage 1 'd be very sorry to say any thing, if I thought 
you 'd be this way." 

«• I am not angry," said Hardress, in a tone of vexation. 
** I do forgive you," he added in an accent of sharp re- 
proof, " I spokfB entirely for your ovvn sake.'' 

<^And wouldn't Bardress allow his own Eily her little 
joke ?" 

*^Joke!" exclaimed Hardress, bursting into a sudden 
passion, vi^hich made his eyes Viater, and his limbs shake as 
if they vpould have sunk beneath him. " Am I become the 
subject of your mirth ? Day after day my brain is verging 
nearer and nearer to utter madnees, and do you jest on that? 
Do you see this cheek ? You cc^nt n ore hollonts there 
than when f met you first.^ and does that make you merry ? 
Give me your hand 1 Do you feel hoiiv that heart beats t Is 
diat a subject, Eily, for joke or jest ? Do you think this face 
turns thin and yellow for nothing ? '1 her^ are a thousand 
and a thousand horrid thoughts and temptations burning 
within me daily, and eating my flesh away by inches. The 
devil is lauglung at me, and Eily joins him." 
**Oh, Hardresfr-Hardress!— " 

** Yes ! — you have the best right to laugh, for you are the 
gainer. Curse on y yu ! Gurse on your beauty-^-curse on 
my own folly — for I have been undone by both ! Let go 
my knees ! Let go my arm ! I hate you ! Take the trudiT 



I ^ not be {NttBoned with it. I am ttc& tt you^ ydtt hkve 
ditgoBted me ! 1 w^l ^ase my heaaft by teOing ybu the whole. 
If I seek the society €t cthef women, it ils became I ind 
not among them your meailnesB and vii%arity. If I gat 
drunk, ana make myaetf the beast you say, it is In the hope 
to forget the iron chain that binds me to you !" 

'«Oh, Hardress,'' shridLed the affi^gbted giri^ '' you are 
not in earnest now ?*' 

^^I am ! J do n»i jeke T' ber husband exdaittoed with a 
hoarse vehemence. "Let go my kmes! you are sure 
enough of mer I am bound to you too firmly." 

^ Oh, my dear Hardress! Oh, my own husband, listen 
tome! Hear your own Eilyfor one moment! Oh, my 
poor father !" 

<^Ha!" 

^^ It slipped from me ! Forgive me ! I know I am to 
blanie, I am greatly to blame, dear Hardress, but forgive me ! 
I left my home and all for you-*-oh, do not' cast me ofi! I 
will do any thing to please you, I never will open my lips 
again — only say you did not mean all that ! Oh, heaTens," 
she continued, throwing her head back, and looking upward 
with expanded month and eyes, while she maintained her 
kneeling posture and clasped her husband's feet. '< Merciful 
Heaven, direct him! Ob, F^ ardresi^^ think how liar I am 
from home ! thu.k of all you promised nte, and how I be- 
lieved you ! Stay with me for a while at any rate ! Do 

BOt " 

^On a sudden, while Hardress was still struggling to free 
himself from her arms, without doing her a violence — Eily 
felt a swimming in her head, and a cloud upon her sight. 
The next instant she was motionless. 

The first face which she beheld on recovering from her 
insensibility was ihat of PcU Naughten. who was seated in 
a low chair, and supporting Eily's'head against her knees, 
while she was striking her in the open palm with a prodigious 
violence. 

" Ah, then she dhraws the breath,** said Fighting Poll. 
'^ Oh, wirra, missiz, what brought you out on ^oUr face and 
hands in the middle of the fioore, that way V 

Eily muttered some unmeaning answer and remained for 
some minutes struggling with the consciousness of some 
undefined horror. Looking around at length, and missing 
the figura of Hardrfss, ahe lay back once more, and burst 



IM ran ' cotLEoum. 

into • fit of hysterical weeping. Phil Ntoghten, who was 
smoking a short pipe by the fire-side, said sometbingr in Irish 
to his wife, to which the latter replied in the. same language, 
and then turning to lEily, said :<^ 

M Will you take a drop of any thing, achree ?^* 

Eijy raised her hand in dissent. 

^' nill you come in, and take a sthretch on the bed then V 

To this £ily answered in the sffirmatiie, and walked with 
the assistance of the hostess into her sleeping chamber. 
Here she lay during the remainder of Jhe day, the curtain 
suffered to fall so as to keep the broad sunshine from h& 
aching eyes and head. Her rejections, however, on the 
frightful and sudden alteration which had taken place in her 
condition were cut short, ere long, by a sleep, of that sound 
and dreamless uature which usually supervenes after an ac- 
cess of passionate excitement or anxiety. 

In the meantinr.e Bardrcss hurried along the Gap road 
with the speed of one who desires to counteract by extreme 
bodily exertion the turbulence of an uneasy spirit. As he 
passed the lonely little bridge^ which crosses the stream above 
the Black Lake, his attention was suddenly arrested by the 
sound of a isn.iliar voice which appeared to reach him (rem 
the clouds. Looking over his shoulder to the summit of the 
Purple Mountain, he beheld Danny Mann, ne&rly a thousand 
feet above him, moving toward tlie inmense pile of loose 
stones, (from the hue of which the mountain has derived its 
name,) ar d driving before him a small herd of goats, tfce 
property of his brother-in-law. Turning oB the road, Har- 
dress con mencea the ascent of this toikcmc eminence, partly 
because the <)ifiiculty afiorded a relief to his spirits, and partly 
because he viisbed to cofi verse with his de}.endant. 

Although the day was fine, and scmetinf s cheered with 
sunshir.e near the base of the mountain, its summit was wrap- 
ped in inist, and wet with incessant showers. The scenery 
around was solitary, gigantic, ard sternly barren. The figure 
of some wonder hunting tourist, with a guide-boy bearing 
his portfolio and umbrella, appeared at long intervals, among 
the lesser undulations of the mountain side, and the long 
road, which traversed the gloomy valley, dwindled to the 
width of a meadow foot-path. On the opposite side of the 
enormous ravine, the gray and misty Reeks still raised their 
crumbling summits far above him. Masses of white mist 
gathered in sullen congress between their peaks, and, acme- 



times B(ail&tig upward ia krge volmnet, i^e torne lOAJefi- 
tiea% wward, eBtohiogftlhoiisaiid tint» of gold «nd puiple 
fiom the deelkiing sun. Sometimies a trailing shower, of 
jBingkd mist and rain, would sweep across the inter?eiiiiig 
chasm, like the sheeted «pectre of agiantt and present to the 
eye of the spectator that appearance which supplied the im- 
agination of Ossian with its romantic images. The aughty 
gorge, itself, at one end, appeared to be lost and divided 
amid a host of mountaina tossed together in provoking gloom 
and myi^tery. Down, it opened upon a wide aud cultivated 
chaiapaigci, wbieh, at this altkude, presented the resemblance 
of a rich mosidc, of a thousand colours, and afforded a bright 
contrast to the barren and shrubless gloom of the solitary vale 
itself. As Hardress approached the summit, this scene of 
grandeur and of beauty was shut oat from his view by teh 
iotervening mist, which left nothing visible but the peak 00 
vhich he stood, and which looked like a barren islet m a sea 
of vapour. A bove him was a bine sky, broken up with masses 
of cloud against which the raysot the sun were retracted, 
ivith various f fiect, according to their degrees of density and 
altitude. Occasicmally, as Hardress pressed onward through 
the heath, a heavy grouse would spring up at his fleet, chal- 
lenge, and wheel' to the other side of the mountain. Some- 
times also, as he looked downward, a passing gust of wind 
^ould <hraw aside the misty veil that lay between him and 
the worU, and cause the picture once more to open on his , 
sight. 

His attendant now met, and greeted him as usual. *^ It 's 
well for you. Master Hardress, dat hasn't a flock o' goats to 
be hunting after dis mornin' ;-^my heart is broke from 'em^ 
dat's what it is. We turn *em out in de mornin,' and dough 
dey have plenty to ate down below dere, dey never stop till dey 
go to de top o' the mountain, nothing less would do for 'em ; 
Eke many o' de Christians demselves, dey '11 be mountain 
always, even when it 's no good for "em." 

^^ 1 have no remedy," said Hardress musing, ^* and yet the 
thought of enduring such a fate is intolerable." 

*^ What a fine day dis would be for de water, Master f' 
continued his servant*-^^ You don*t ever care to take a sail 



now, sir i 



?" 



** Oh, Kyrle ! Kyrle Daly, what a prophetic truth was in 
your words ! Giddy, headlong wretch that I have been I 
I wish that my feet had grown to my motter's hearth when 



190 THX OOZXSOIAHS. 

I first thought of evading bet control, and marrying^ without 
her sanction*" He parsed in a mood of bitter retrospection. 
'^ ril not endure it !" he again exchiinied) starting nrom bis 
reverie, ^^ It shall be without recall. I will not, because I 
cannot. Monster I Monster, that I am ! tVed one, and 
WQO another ! Both now are cheated ! ly hieh shall be the 
victim?" • , 

The devil was at his ear, and whispered, ^'^ Be not 
uneasy, hundreds have done the same before you." 

^* Firm as dat mountain dtands, an' as it 9tood dis hundred, 
ay, dis tousand year, may be," continued Danny Mann, 
*« still an' all, to look up dat way at dem great loose stones, 
dat look as if dey were shovelled up above us by some joyants 
or great people of oiild, a body would tink it hardly safe to 
stand here onder 'em, in dread dey'd come tumblin^ down, 
may be, an' m'ake smiddereens of him, bless de mark! 
Wouldn't he now, master Hardress ?" 

'I 'he person so addressed turned his eyes mechanically in 
the same direction. A kind of desperate satisfttction was 
visible on his features, as the idea of insecurity, which his 
servant suggested, became impressed upon his mind. The 
latter perceived and understood its expression on the instant 

^^ Dere 's something troublin' you* Master Hardress ; dat 
I see plain enough. An' 'tisn't now, nor to-day, nor 'ister- 
day, I seen it, aider. Is dere anything Danny Mann can do 
to sarve you ? If dere be, say the word dis moment, an' 
I '11 be bail he 'D do it before long." 

'* Danny," said Hardress af^er a pause, ^^ I am troubled. 
I was a fool Danny, when I refused to listen to your advice 
upon one occasion." 

^^ An' dat was the time when I tould you not to go again' 
de missiz, an' to have no. call to Eily O'Connor." 

'« It was." 

« I tought it would be dis way, 1 tought, all aloing, dat 
£ily was no wife for you, master Hardress. It was not in 
natur she could.be, a poor man's daughter, widout money 
or manners, or book-lamen', or one ha'p'ort'. 1 told you dat, 
^master Hardress, but you wouldn't hear me, by any Boeans, 
an' dis is de way ai it, now." 

^^Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis done," said Hardress, with 
sullen impatience, <* I was to blame, Danny, an' I am sul- 
ftring for it." 

^> Does die know henBolf de trouble she is to you." 



TH3B (XfULBOiUaiai 18 i 

^^ I could QOt keep it from her. I did not know, myself, 
hove utterly my dislike had prevailed nrithia me, until the 
occasion arose for giving it utterance, and then it came 
forth, at once, Hkea torre,nt. I told her vtrhat 1 felt ; that I 
hated, that I veas sick of her ! I could not stop my tongue. 
My heart struck me for the base unkindness, the ungrateful 
ruffianism of my speech, and yet I could not stop my tongue. 
I have made her miserable, and f am myself accursed. What 
is there to be done ? Have you only skill to prevent mis- 
chief? Have you none to remedy 2^' 

Danny took thought for a moment. ^^ Sorrow trouble, 
would I over give myself about her,*' he said at last, ^^ only 
send her home packin' to her fader,ao* give her nolhanks." 
*^ And with «vhat face should I appear before my honour- 
able friends, nrhen that old rope-mfaker should come to de- 
mand redress for his insulted child, and to claim her hus- 
band's promise ? Should I send Eily home, to earn for 
myself the reputation of a faithless villain ?'' 

*^ I never tought o* dat," said Danny, nodding his head. 
'^ Dat 's a horse of anoder colour. VVby, den, I '11 toll you 
-what I 'd do. Pay her passage out to Quaybec, and put 
her aboord of a three-master, widout ever sayin' a word to 
any body. 1 *l] tell you what it is, master Hardress. Do 
by her as you 'd do by that glove you have on your hand. 
Make it come off as well as it come on, and if it fits too 
tight, take de knife to it." 
"What do you mean?" 

" Only gi' me db word, as I said before, an' I '11 engage 
Eily O'Connor will never trouble you any more. Don't 
ax me any questions at all, only if you're agreeable, takeoff 
dat glove an' give it to me for a token. Dat '11 be enough. 
Lave de rest to Danny." 

A doubtful, horrible sensation of fear and anxiety gather- 
ed upon the heart of the listener, and held him for a minute 
fixed in breathless expectation. He gazed upon the face 
of his servant, with an expression of gaping terror, as if he 
stood in the presence of the Arch Tempter bimself. At 
length he walked up to the latter^ laid his open hand opon 
his neck, and then drawing \m fingers close, luttil the fel- 
low's face was purple with blood, he shook him as if he 
would have shaken his joints out of their sockets. 

" Villain !" he exclaimed, with a hoarseness and. vehe- 
mence of tone, which gave an appalling depth to his ex* 



192 Tsw coiamauMB* 

prtsnonfi. '^ Dangerous viUBiii and teinpler ! If jou ever 
dare agaio to uUer a wordf or meditate a thoiogbt of irio- 
leoce towards that uafaappy creatuvey I will tear yoolimb 
from limb between my hands !" 

. ^* Oh, murder, Master Hardreiss ! Pat de hands noAy atick 
to me* sir, if I tought a ha'p'ort o' harm I" 

«« Do you mark me well, now ? I am quite in earnest 
Respect her, as you would the highest lady in the land. 
Do as she commands you, without murmoring If I hear 
her say, (and I will question her upon it) that you have 
leered one glance of those blood-looking eyes, upon her^ it 
shall be their last look in this werld.^' 

^' Oh, Vo ! Dat I may never die in sin. Master Hardress 
if—" 

«^ Begone ! 1 am glad you have opened my ejes I 
tread more safely now My heart is lighter t Yet that I 
should have endured .to be so tempted 1 Fellow, I doubt 
you for worse than you appear ! We are here alone ; the 
busy world is jiid beneath us, and we stand here alone in the 
eye of the open heaven, and without roof or wall, to screen 
usy even in fancy, from the downright reproach of the be- 
holding angels. None but the Iwughty and insulting Lu- 
cifer, himself, could think of daring Providence upon the 
threshold of his own region. But be you fiend, or mMrtal, 
I defy and dare you ! I repel your bloody temptation ! I tell 
you, fiend or mortal, that my soul abhors your speech and 
gesture both. I may be wretched and impious ; I may send 
up to heaven a cry of discontent and murmunng ; theory of 
blood. ehall never leave this earth for me. Bloed ! Whose 
Mood i Hers ? Great hearen ! Great heaven defend me !^' 
He covered his face with his hands, and bent down for a 
moment in dreadful agitation ; then suddenly starting op, 
and waving his hand rapidly, he continued, ^* Away 1 away at 
once and quit my sight. I have chosen my doom. My heart 
may burn for years within my breast, if I can find no other 
way to sooth it. I know how to endure, I am wholly ig- 
norant of guilt like this. Once more,'* he added, clenching 
his fist, and shaking it towards his startled dependant, 
'^ Once more, I warn you, mark my words, and obey them." 

So saying, he hurried down the hill, and was hid in the 
ascending mist ; while his affrighted servant remained gaping 
after him, and muttering mechanically such asseverattoos as 
^' Dat I may never sin, Master Hardressl Dat de head 



THE COIXEGLINS. 193 

tnay go to de grave wit me ! Dat I may be happy ! Dat 
de hands may sii^k to me, if I toiight any harm t" . 

More than half of the frantic speech of Hardress, it may 
be readily imagined, was wholly unintelligible to Danny, 
who followed him down the mountain, half crazed with ter* 
ror, and not a little choked into the bargain. 



CHAPTER XXIIL 

HOW AN 17NBXFSCTED VISITER ARRIVED IN SWi^S 
COTTAGE* 

Towards nightfall, Eily awoke with that confused and 
strange feeling which a person experiences, who has slept 
at an unaccustomed hour. The sun had already set ; but 
the red and faintly lustrous shadow of her window, which 
was thrown on the opposnng wall, showed that Us refracted 
light was yet strong and bright on the horizon. While she 
lay back, endeavouring to recall the circumstances which 
brought her into her present situation, a voice assailed her 
ear which made her start in sudden alarm from her reclining 
posture. It was that of a person singing in a low voice out- 
side her window in the following words : — 

"As I roved out on a fine lamiDer moniog, 
A fpeciiUitliig nuMt cnriouBly, 
To mT mrijTite I sooa espied 

A ehanmiigf fair one approaching me. 
I stood awhiW-* 

here the melodist knocked gently at the door of the cottage — 

I stood awhile in deep meditation. 

Contemplating what I should do ; 
Till, at length, recruiting all my Mnsationf , 

I thus accosted the fair Colleen rue."* 

At the close of the verse, which was prolonged by the 
customary nasal twang, the singer knocked a little more 
loudly with the knuckle of his fore-finger : — 

*RedlitUegiri. 
Vol. 1.-17 ^ 



TBS CMUBOUMi. 

<'0li2«itl Heetbor, tl»t ^oU* vicliior, 
Who died a Vibtim to the Gredan sklH ; 

Or wai I Paris, whbate deeds were vaariottt, 
Asaii arbllhffaa^or on Ida*s hilL 

I *d roam through jksi% likewise Arabiai 
Of PennsylTaiiia*- 

bere he knocked again-^ 

Or Pemksylnaiia looking for too. 
Through the bomiiig ragioos, like famed Orpheus, 
For one embrace of yoa, GoUeea me." 

^' I am ruined ! I am undone !* thought Eily, as she 
listened in deep distress and fear, ^* my father has found me 
out, and they are all come to look for me ! Ob, Hardress ! 
Hanlress!" 

*'*' They 're all dead, or dhraming here, I believe," said the 
singer ; ^^ 1 'm in fine luck, if I have to go down the old gap 
again afther night-fall.*' Stimulated by this refleotion, he 
turned bis back to the door, and began kicking against it 
with his heel, while he continued his song: 

'* And are you Avora, or thegoddess FIomi i 

Or Entherpasia, or fair Vanns bright? 
Or Halen fair, beyond compare, 

Whoam Paris stole from the Grecian's sight? 
Thoo fairest creature, how yon 've inslaveu me 

I 'm intoxicated by Cupid^s cine, 
Whosse golden notes and tnfatnations. 

Have deranged my ideas for yon, CoUeea me.'* 

Here the same air was taken up by a shrill and broken female 
voice, at a Uttle distance from the house, add in the word*; 
which follow: — 

'* Sir, I pray be aisy, and do not tease me 

With vour false praises mj»t jestingly ; 
Tour golden notes and in«iniwayshnns 

Are ▼anoting speeches decaivine me. 
I *m not Anrora, nor the goddess Flora, 

But a raral female to all men's viesr, 
Who 's here condoling my sitoation. 

And my appellation is the Colleen me." 

** You 're not Aurora ?" muttered the first voice. •' Wisfaa, 
dear knows, it hn\ aisy to conthradict you. They 'd be the 
dhroli Auroras an' Floras, if that's the figure they cut. Ah 1 
Mrs. Naughten!'' he added, raising and changing his voice 
as the shadow of the female figure crossed the window of 



» THS COU1B6UKS. 195 

Eily's apartment, ^* How are you this evenin^y tna'am? t 
hope you got well over your voyage that morning?*' 

« What voyage ? Who is it f have there at all ?'* said Poll 
in a tone of surprise. ^^ Oh, Lo wry Looby ! Oh, ma gra 
hu ! how is every inch of you» Lowry ? It raises the very 
cockles o' my heart to see you.'* 

*^ Purty well, indeed, as for the health, Mrs. Naughten, 
we 're obleest to you." 

"Oh, vo, vo ! An' what brought you into this part of the 
world, Lowry ? It 's a long time since you an' I met" 

*♦ 'Tis as good a;s two months, a' most, I b'lieve." 

" Two months, eroo ? 'Tis six years if it 's a day.'' 

*' Oh 'iss, for good ; but 1 mane the time we met in the 
cottage behind at the dairy farm, the night o' the great starm, 
when ye were near being all lost, in the boat, if it wasn't the 
willo' Heaven:" 

^' The dairy farm ! lost in the boat! I don't know what is 
it you 're talken^ about at all, man. But come in, come in, 
Lowry, and take a^sate. Stop, here's Phil. Phil, eroo, this 
is Lowry Looby, that you heard me talk of being a friend o' 
the Hewsans formerly.'* 

Thus introduced, Phil and Lowry both took off their hats, 
and bowed repeatedly, and with a most courteous profundity 
of obeisance. The door was then opened, and a polite 
contest arose as to the right of the precedence between the 
gentlemen, which was finally decided in favour of Lowry, as 
the visiter. 

" Well, Lowry, what news eastwards ?" was the next 
question. 

** Oh, then nothing sthrange, Mrs. Naughten. I was 
twice by this way, since I seen you that night. Coming from 
Cork I was to-day, when I thought I 'd step over, and see 
how you wor, afther the voyage. I left the horse an' car 
over, in Mr. Cregan's yard." 

" 1 believe you 're lost with the hunger. Phil, stir your- 
self, an' put down something for supper," 

*' Don't hurry yourself on my account," said Lowry, affect- 
ing an indifference which he did not feel, ^^ I took something 
at Mr. Cregan's. I saw Masther Hardress there in the par- 
lour windee, playin' chests (I think it is they called it) with 
Miss Anne Chute. Oh, murder, that 's a darling, a beautiful 
lady! Her laugh is like music. Oh dear! oh, dear! To see 
the smile of her, though, an' she looking at him ! It flogged 



196 THB COIXEOIAKS. 

the world ! Mike, the boy, tbey have there, an' old Nancy, 
told me, she *s greatly taken with the yoUng masther." 

" Why then, she may as wellthrow her cap at him/' 

**Why 80,eroar 

" Oh--for raisons." 

" There's one thing Mike told me, an' Fm sure I wondher 
I never heerd a word of it before ; that there was some talks 
of herself and my young masther, Mr. Kyrle Daly. I know 
be used to be going there of an odd time, but I never beerd 
any thing that way. There's a dale that's looking aflher her, 
Mike tells me. Whoever gets her, they say, he'll have as 
tRixch jewels to fight, as will keep him going for the first qoar- 
ther, any way." 

<' Tha go bragh t" said Phil, tossing his head, '' that's what 
bothers the gentlemen. JeweU^jettehj always." 

^^Jeweb always, then, just as you 8ay,Misther Naughten," 
said Lowry. •* It 's what ruins 'em, body and soul. At 
every hand*s turn nothing but a jewel ! Let there be a 
copthrairy look, and pistols is the word at once." 

*^ An' if a poor boy is reflected upon, an' goes to a fair to 
thry it out, with an innocent little kippen, O the savages 1 
the gentlemen cry at once. O the blood-thirsty villyans t 
And they'll go themselves and shoot one another like dogs 
for raison." 

" It's thrue, for you," returned Lowry. " Sure 'twould 
be a blessing for a man to be aiting a dhry piatie fi-om morn- 
ing till night, an' to have quietness. I'll tell you what it is, 
Misther Naughten. I spake for myself, of all things going, 
I wouldn't like to be born a gentleman. They 're never out 
o' tbrouble, this way, or that way., If they're not fighting, 
they have more things upon their mind, that would bother a 
dozen poor men ; an' if they go divartiog, ten to one they 
have tk jewel before the day is over. Sure if it was a thing, 
two gentlemen axed a lady to dance, an' she gave in to one 
of 'em, the other should challenge him for to go fighting 1 
Sure, that fiogs Europe ! And they have so much t^oks to 
read, to be able to convarse genteel before the ladies. I'm 
told, a gentleman isn't fit to i^w hb face in company, till he 
reads as much books as would sthretch from this to th<; duore 
over. And then to be watching yourself, an' spake Englified, 
an' not to ate half your nougb at dinner, ai^' to have 'end all 
looking at you, if you took too big a bit, or done any thing 
agtyn manners, and never have your own fling, an' let' you 



THfi COLLBOIAKS. 197 

do what yoQ liked yourself f I wouldn't lade such a life^ if 
I got Europe. A snug stool by the fireside, a boiled piatie 
in one hand, a piggin 'o milk in the other, and one (that I 
won*t name now) smiling overright me^ that^s all the gentility 
I *d ever ax for this world, any way. I*d a'most as lief be 
bom a female as a gentleman, maning no offence to the 
ladies, Mrs. Naughten. 

<^ Every one to his taste, Lowry, Many men bave many 
minds. Phil, will you go out now, and help Danny to put 
up them goats, not to have them straying over on Myles 
Miirphy^s ground as they wpr o' Chuesday week. 1 see 
Danny coming do^n the mountain. 

The obedient husband did as he was commanded, and 
Lowry took advantage of his absence, to enter into a more 
confidential coqj^munication with his formidable hostess. 

" Well, Mrs. Naughten, if f was to hear a person swear 
this upon a book, I M say 'twas a lie he was telling me, if £ 
didnU see it with my own eyes." 

" What is it you see ?" 

*' Oh, then, nothing but what I 'm well pleased to see. 
Well, I thought one that once gave themselves a bad habit, 
could never be broke of it again, no more than a horse could 
be broke of st«irting." 

At this the virago fixed upon him a kindling and suspi* 
cious eye. 

*«And tell me now, Mrs. Naughten," continued Lowry, 
not. perceiving the indication of incipient wrath, '^how did 
it come on you first when you dhropt the cursing that way 
entirely ? I think i 'd feel a great loss for the first weelc or 
fortnight" 

" Folly on ! Misther Looby, folly on ! You 're welcome 
to your sport this evening." 

" Sport ? Faiks it 's no sport to me, only an admiration. 
All the people that ever I heerd of making a vow o' the 
kind wor sure to break it again, if they didn't get inside of 
it, one way or another by shkaming. Sure there was, to my 
own knowledge, John P4ieilly, th^ blacksmith near Castle 
Chute, made as many vows as I have fingers an' toes again^ 
the dhrink, an' there isn't one of 'em but what he got the 
advantage of. First he med a vow he wouldn't dhrink a 
dhrop for six months to come, any way, either in a house <xr 
out of a house. An' sure 'tis where I found him the fort- 
night afther was at Mick Normile's, an^ he dhrinkin' as if it 
17* 



19£ TBS COtLSOUKf* 

was for bets, an' he sitting in a chair upon the thresfaoM o' 
the doore with a leg at this side and a leg at that. ^ Is that 
the way you 're keeping your vow, Misther OReilly V says 
I, when I seen him. * 'Tis,' says he, ^ what else ? sure I can 
dhrink here/ says he, * an' no thanks, while I 'm neither in 
the house nor out of it.' And sure 'twas thrue for bim. 
Well, there's no use in talking, but some people would live 
where a fox would starve. Sure, of another time, he med a 
vow he wouldn't dhrink upon Ireland ground, an' where do 
you think did I get him aflher only sitting cross legs upon a 
.branch o* the big beech-tree near Normile's, an' be still at 
the ould work, dhhoking away ! Wisha, long lite to you, 
says I, if that 's the way ; a pqrty fruit the tree bears in you, 
says I, this momiog. People o' that kind, Mrs. Naughten^ 
has no business mi^ng vows at all^ again' the dhrink, or the 
cursing either.'' 

^^ Pm hearing to you, Lowry," said Fighting Poll, with an 
ominous sharpness in her accent. 

^^ An' do you hould to the same plan still, ma'am ?" 

" What plan do you mane ?" 

*^ The same plan as when I met you that night at the Dairy- 
Cottage. Not to be talking, nor drinking, nor cuiising, nor 
swearing, nor fighting, nor . Oh, murther, Mrs. Naugh- 
ten, sure you 're not going to sthrike me inside your own 
doore?" 

^^ To be sure I would, whep I see you daar make a hand 
o'me!" 

*< Me make a hand o' you, woman ! What hand am I 
making?" , 

^^ Every hand!" exclaimed the Penthesile, raising her 
voice. So saying, and with the accustomed yell of onset, 
she flourished her short stick, and discharged a blow at 
Lowry's little head, which, if it had not been warded off by 
a dexterous interposition of the chair on which he had been 
sitting, would have left him something to think of for a week 
to come. 

The scuffle waxed hot^ and would ddlibtless have termi- 
nated in some serious bodily injury to the party assailed, but 
that the sudden re^entrahce of Phil, with his brother-in-law, 
Danny Mann, brought it to a premature termination. 

»* Poll ! Poll, ayeh ! Misther Looby I What's the mather ? 
Worn't ye as thick as cousins this moment?" 

" A' Lbwry, is dat you ? What 's all dis about ?" 



I 

J 



THE C0fiLE6U&9« 109 

^^DodH hould me Fluli an' 1^1 bate him while batbg 
is good for him ! an^ that 'a from this till morning." 

** Here 's usage, Mr. Naughten ! Mr. Mann, here '3 thrate- 
ment ! Gi' me my ould hat an' let me be off, I was a fpoi 
to come at all ! And after my civility eastwards, when you 
come dhripping wet into the cottage ! Well, it 's all one.'' 

** Whisht eroo !" said Danny Mann, in a conciliating tone, 
^^ Come dis way, Lowry, I want to talk to you." And he 
led him out of the cottaga 

Eily, who was perfectly aware of tlie c^use of this mis- 
conception, had listened to the whole scene, at one time with 
intense and painAil anxiety ; and at another with an inclina'^ 
tion to laugh in spite of all the difficulties and dangers by 
which she was surrounded. Before long, however, an idea 
entered her mind, which wholly detached her attention from 
the melay in the kitchen. She resolved to write to her 
father by Lowry, to make him awaro, at least, of her safety 
and of her hope to meet him again in honour, if not in hap- 
piness. This would at least remove one great load from her 
mind, and prepare him for her return. While she arranged 
her writing materials at the small table, the tboyghts of home 
came crowding on her, so thick and fast, that she found a 
difficulty in proceeding with her task. It was an humble 
home, to be sure, but yet it was her home. He was an 
humble father, but he was her father. She painted a little 
picture, unconsciously, to her own mind, of that forsaken 
dwelling. She saw her father sitting by the turf fire, lean- 
ing forward with his elbow resting on his knee, a finger 
beneath his temple, and his gray watery eye fixed on her 
accustomed chair, which stood empty, on the opposite side. 
His hair had received another shower of silver since they 
parted. She scarcely dared to breathe aloud, lest she should 
disturb the imagined loneliness of his condition. On a sud- 
den she figured to herself the latched door put gently back, 
and the form of Lowry Looby entering, witli her letter in his 
hand. She marked the air of cold and sad indifference with 
which the old man recognised him, and received the letter. . 
He looked at the direction — started — tore off the seal and 
looked within, while his whole frame trembled until the gray 
hairs were shaken loose upon his temples. She saw the 
passion struggling in his throat, and her own eyes were 
blinded by tears ; the picture here became too vivid for her 



^00 THE COLXJBOUKS. 

feelings, and pusbing the little desk aside, she sank down into 
her chair in a violent fit of sobbing. 

While she remained in this condition, Poll 'Naugfhten 
entered the room, arranging- her disordered headdress, and 
bearing still upon her countenance the traces of the vanished 
storm. Its expression, however, was completely altered, 
when she observed the situation of Eily. 

*'*' What ails you, a ra gal ?'* she asked in a softened voice, 
" Arn't you betther afther the sleep at all ?" 

" Poll, do you know that man who is in the kitchen ?" 

" Is it Lowry Looby? Ah ha ! the scoundhril ! 'tis 1 that 
do, an' I Ml make him he Ml know me too before I part faim." 

" Hush I Poll, come hither. I want you to do me a ser- 
vice. / know this man, too." 

" Why then he 's little credit to you, or any one else,** 

^^ I want to caution you against saying a word of my name, 
while he is in the house. It would be ruinous both to your 
master and myself." 

" Faiks, I '11 engage he wonH be a bit the wiser of it for 
Poll Naughten." 

" And I wished besides, that you would give him> if he in- 
tends going to Limerick, a letter^ which I will have for you 
in a few minutes. You need not tell him from whom it 
comes, do not even let him know that it is from a person id 
the house. And now. Poll, will you light me one of those 
candles, and close the window-shutters ?" 

This, was done, and Eily commenced her letter. Before 
she proceeded far, however, it occurred to her, that the 
superscription might awaken the suspicions of Lowry, and 
besides, she felt a very accountable difficulty about the man- 
ner of addressing her offended parent. Finally she decided 
on forwarding a brief and decorous note, to ^* Mr. Dunat 
0*Leary, Hair-cutter, Garryowen ;" in which she requested 
him to communicate to his old neighbour the circumstances 
of which she desired the latter should be made aware. 

While she folded the letter, she heard the cottage door once 
more open, and two persons' enter the kitchen. A stillness 
ensued, which was first broken by the voice of Danny Mann. 

" I was spaking to this boy here. Poll," he said, " ari' I see 
'tis all rising out of a mistake betune de two o' ye. He didn't 
mane any thing by it, he tells me. Eh, Lowry ?" 

^^ It would be long from me, Mrs. Naughten, to say any 
thing offensive to you, or any o' your people. Miatfaer 



TBE COLLSaUHS. 201 

Mann here explained to me the nature of the Biatther. I 
own I didn't mane a ba'p'worth." 

^^Well, that's eoought that's enough. Give him the 
hand now, Poll," said her husband, ^^ and let us ate our little 
supper in pace." 

Eily heard no more, and the clatter of knives and forks, 
soon afler, informed her that the most perfect harmony had 
been re-established among the parties. Nothing farther 
occurred to disturb the good understanding which was thus 
fortunately restored, or to endanger the secret of our hero- 
ine, although Lowry was not without making many inquiries 
as to the name and quality of the lodger in the inner-room. 
It was a long time, too, before he ceased to speculate on the 
nature of the letter to Foxy Dunat. On this his hostess 
would give him no information, although be threw out seve- 
ral hints of his anxiety to obtain it, and made many conjec- 
tures of his own, which he invariably ended by tossing the 
head,.and declaring that ^^ It flogged the world." 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

HOW £117 UNDERTAKES A JOUBNEY IN THE ABSJSKCE OF 
HEB HUSBAND. 

EiLT heard Lowry Looby take his departure on the next 
morning, with as lively a sensation of regret as if he had 
been a dearer friend. After the unkindness of her husband, 
she trembled, while she wept, to think that it might be a 
long time before she could meet one more interested in her> 
fortunes. 

Happier anticipations than this might not have been so 
perfectly fulfilled. The first weeks of winter swept rapidly 
away, and Eily neither saw, nor heard from, Hardress. Her 
situation became every moment more alarming. Her host 
and hostess, according as she appeared to grow out of 
favour with their patron, became at first negligent and surly, 
and at last insulting. She had hitherto maintained her 
place on the sunny side of Poll's esteem, by supplying that 
virago with small sums of money from time to time, although 



202 TBE CK>tI.EQIAKS. 

her eonseience told ber that those donations were cot ap- 
propriated by the receiver to any virtuous end, but dow ber 
stock was running low, Hardress, and this was from mere 
lack of memory, had left her almost wholly unprovided witfa 
funds. 

She resolved to write to him, not with the view of obtain- 
ing mere pecuniary assistance, but in order to communicate 
the request which is subjoined in her own simple language : 

" My dear Hakdress, 

^' Do not leave me here, to spend the whole winter 
alone. If Eily has done any thing to offend you, come and 
tell her so, but remember she is now away from every friend 
in the whole world. Even, if yoo are still in the same mind 
as when you left me, C' me, at all events, for once, and let 
me go back to my father. If you wish it, liobody,. besides 
us three, shall ever know what you were to your own 

En-Y." 

To this letter, which she intrusted to Danny the lord, 
she received no answer; neither Hardress nor his servant 
being seen at the cottage for more than a week after. 

Matters in the mean time grew mcire unpleasing between 
Eily and her hosts* Poll treated her with the most con- 
temptuous rudeness, and Phil began to throw out hints 
which it was diiScult to misconceive respecting their po- 
verty, and the unreasonableness of people thrusting idlers 
upon them, when it was as mu^h rs they could do to main- 
tain themselves in honesty. But Poll, who possessed the 
national recklessness of expense; whenever 'her husband 
spoke in this niggardly humour, turned on him, not in de- 
fence of Etiy, but in abuse of his *^ mainness,'" although she 
could herself use the very same cause of invective when an 
occasion offered. Thus Eily, instead of commanding like a 
queen, as she had been promised, was compelled to fill the 
pitiable situation of an insecure and friendless dependant. 

The wintry year rolled on, in barrenness and gloom, cast- 
ing an air of iron majesty and grandeur over the savage 
scenery in which she dwelt, and bringing close to her 
threshold the fir^t Christmas which she had ever spent away 
from home. The Christmas eve found her still looking 
aniiously forward to the return of her husband, or of his 
messenger. The morning had brought with it a black frost. 



THB COIiUEOUISS* 20S 

and ^y sat down dona to a comfbitless breakfast. No 
longer attended with that ready deference which marked the 
conduct of the Naughtens while she remained in favour, 
£Uy was now obliged to procure and arrange all tl^ mate- 
rials for her repast with her own hands. There was no 
butter* nor cream ; but as this was one oif the great Vigils 
or fast days of her Church, which Eily observed with a con- 
scientious exactness, she did not miss these prohibited luxu- 
ries. There was no fast upon sugar, however, and £ily 
perceived, with some chagrin, that the sugar-bowl also was 
empty^ She walked soft^ to the chamber-door, where she 
paused for a moment, with her handkerchief placed before 
her cheeks in that beautiful attitude which Homer ascribes 
to Penelope at the entrance of the *^ stout-built hall." At 
length she rabed the latch, and opened the door to a few. 
inches only. 

" Poll," she said, in a timid and gentle voice, " do you 
know where 's the sugar ?" 

^^ It 's in the cubbert I suppose," was the harsh and unce* 
remonious ai^wer. 

The fact was, Poll had begun to keep the Christmas the 
evening before, and treated herself to a few tumblers of hot 
punch, in the manufacture of which she had herself con- 
sumed the whole of Eily's sweets. And there might have 
been some cause of consolation, if Poll's temper had been 
rendered the sweeter by all the sugar she took, but this was 
not the case. 

" There is none there. Poll," said Eily. 

*^ Well, what hurt ? Can't you put a double allowance 
o' crame in the tay, an' dhrink it raw, for once ?" 

'< Ah, but this is a fast day," said Eily. 

^' Oyeh, choke it, fqr work ! Well then, do as you plase, 
I can't help you. I haven't a spoonful o' groceries in the 
house, girl,' except I went for 'em, a thing 1 'd be very ud- 
fond to do on a morning like this."' 

" Well, I can do without it, Poll," said Eily, returning to 
the table, and sitting down to her, unmetaphorically, bitter 
draught with the meekest resignation. 

" Gi' me the money, by an' by, when Pm going into town 
^r the Christmas candle, an' I Ul buy it for you, itself, an' 
the tay." 

" But I have no money. Poll." 

*' No money, ifiagh ? An' isn't it upon yourself we 're 



204 THE C0ILEOIAN8. 

<]ependia^ this way to get in the things again^ to-morrow, a 
Christmas day ?" 

" Well, I have not a farthing.'* 

^^ Didn't you tell ine yourself, the other day, you had a 
half-crown keepin* for me again Handsel Monday V* 

^* I gave it to Danny. I thought I 'd have more for yon 
before then." 

Here Poll dashed in the door with her hand, andeonfront- 
ed her affirighted lodger with the look and gesture of a 
Taging Bacchanal. 

^ An' is that my thanks ?" she screamed alond, *^ Why 
theni cock you up with- bread and tay this morning. Go 
look afther Danny, now, if you want your bruk'ast.^* And 
so saying she seized two corners of the table-cloth, and upset 
the whole concern into the fire-place. . 

Terror and astonishment deprived Eily for some moments 
of the power of speech or motion. But when she saw Poll 
taking brei^th, for a moment, and looking around to know 
what farther devastation she might commit, the forlorn help- 
lessness of her condition rushed at once upon her mind, and 
she fell back into her seat in a violent fit of hysterics. 

This is a condition in which one woman can rarely behold 
another without emotion. Poll ran to her relief, uttering 
every sound of afiectionate condolence and encouragement 
which arose to her lips. 

^* Whisht, now, a' ra gal ! Whisht now, missiz, a-chree ! 
Oh, ma chree, m'astbora, ma Ilanuv, you wor ! Howl, now, 
a' ra gal ! Oh vo ! vo ! — howl! — howl asthore ! What aib 
you ? Sure you know 'tis only funnin' I was. •Well, sec 
this ! Tell me any thing now in the wide world Pll do for 
you, a' ra gal." 

^^ Poll," said Eily, when she had recovered a certain de- 
gree of composure, ''there is one thing that you can do for 
me, if you like, and it will relieve me from the greatest dis- 
tress." 

" An' what is that, a-chree ?" 

^^To lend me one of the ponies, and get me a boy that 
can show the way to Castle- Island." 

" Is it goin' you 're thinking of?" 

" I will be here again," said Eily, " on to-morrow even- 
ing." Eily spoke this without any vehemence of assevera- 
tion, and in the quiet manner of one who had never been I 
accustomed to have her words doubted. So irresistible, too, 



THB COLLlSGZAKS. S05 

is the force of simple truth, that Poll did not even entertain 
a suspicion of any intent to deceive. 

**• An' what business would carry you to Gastle-Island, a' 
ra gal ?» 

**^I have a friend there, an uncle," Eily repHed, with tears 
starting into her eyes at the remembrance pf her old precep- 
tor. ^^ I 'm sure, Poll, that he would assist fne." 

** Fm in dhread 'ti& going from uz you are now, o' 'count 
o' what I said to you. Don't mind that at all. Stop here 
as long as ever you like, an' no thanks. I 'II step across the 
road this tninute, an' horry the sugar for you if it 's it you 
want." 

** No, no. I only want to do as I have told you. I '11 
engage to screen you from all blame." 

^' Blame ! A' whose blame is it you think I 'd be afeerd 
of? I '11 let you see that I '11 do what I like myself, an' get 
you the pony saddled an' all this minute. But you didn't ate 
any thing hardly. Here 's more bread in the cupboard, and 
strengthen yourself again' the road while I 'm away." 

She left the room, and Eily, who had little hope of suc- 
ceeding in her request, proceeded to make her preparations 
for the journey, with as much despatch and animation as if 
she had discovered a sudden mode of release from all her 
anxieties. For a considerable time, the prospect of meeting 
with her uncle filled her bosom with sensations of unmingled 
pleasure. If she looked back, (while she tied her bonnet 
strings below her chin, and hurried on the plainest dress in 
her trunk,) if she looked back to those days in which hei: 
venerable relative presided over her evening studies, and 
directed their application, it was only to turn her eyes again 
upon the future, and hope for their speedy renovation. 

Having concluded her arrangements, and cautioned Poll . 
not to say a word of her destination, in case Hardress should 
come to the cottage, Eily now set out upon her lonely jour- 
ney. The person whom Poll Naughten had procured for Jier 
guide was a stout made girl, who carried an empty spirit- - 
keg, slung at her back, in the tail of her gown, which she had 
turned up over her shdulders. She informed Eily that she 
was accustomed to go every Saturday to a town at the dis- 
tance of fourteen miles, and to return in the evening with 
the keg ftill of spirits. *^But this week," she continued, 
^ I 'm obleest to go twice, on accot^nt o' the Ohristmfti-dlhF 
Ailing in the middle of it?" 
Vol,. L— 18 



206 THS COLLEOIAlfS. 

^^ And nrhtt does your employer want of so niiEcb whis 
key ?" said £Uy, a little interested in the fortune of so bard 
working a creature. 

'* Want & the whiskey, inagh ?'* exclaimed the mouataiL 
girl, turning her black eyes on her companion, in surprise. 
^^ Sure isn't it she, that keeps the public bouse above the Gap, 
an' what business would she have wit a place o'^ the kind 
without a drop o' whiskey ?" 

<^ And what are you paid, now,, for so long a journey as 
UiatP 

" Defferent ways I 'm paid, defierent times. If it 's a 
could evening when I come home, I take a glass o' the 
spirits itself, in preference to any thing, an' if not, the mis- 
thress pays me a penny every time.'* 

^* One penny, only i" 

^^ One penny. Indeed it 's too little, but when I spake ol 
it, the misthress tells me she can get it done for less. So 1 
have nothin' to say but do as I 'm bid." 

Eily paused for some moments, while she compared the 
situation of this uncomplaining individual with ber own. 
The balance of external comforts, at least, did not appear 
lobe on tbe side of the poor little mountaineer. 

<^ And have you no other way of living now, than this ?" 
she asked with increasing interest. 

'^ Illiloo \ Is it upon a penny a week you think I 'd live ?'* 
returned the girl, who was beginning to form no very exalted 
idea of her companion's intellect. 

'*Do you live with your mistress ?" 

'^ No, I live with my ould father. We have a spot o' 
ground beyant, for the piatees. Sometimes I dig it, but 
mostly the young boys o' the place comes and digs it fcv us 
on a Sunday or a holyday morning, an' I stick in the seed." 

^^ And which is it for the sake of, the father or the daugh- 
ter, they take that trouble ?" 

<^ For the sake, I b'lieve, of the Almighty that made 'em 
both« Signs on, they have our prayers, night an' morning." 
^« Is your father quite helpless ?" 

^^ Oyeh ! long from it. He 's a turner. He niakes little 
boxes, and necklaces, and things that way, of the arbutus, 
and tbe black oak of the Lakes, that he sells to the English 
an' other quoUity people that comes to see them. But he 
tnda it hard to get the timber, for none of it is allowed to be 
cuty and 'tis only windfalls that he can take when the stormy 



THE OOLIiBOIANS. 207 

saison beg'ns. Besides, there's more in the town o' Killar« 
ney that outsells him. He makes but a poor hand of it 
afther all." 

^< I wonder you have not got a sweetheart. You are very 
pretty, and very good." 

The girl here gave her a side-long glance, and laughed so 
as to exhibit a set of teeth of the purest enamel. The iook . 
seemed to say, ^^ Is that all you know about the matter ?" 
but her words were different in their signification. 

*>^ Oyeh, I don't like 'em for men," she said with a half 
smiling, half coquetish air. ^^They 're deceivers an' rovers, 
I believe, the best of 'em.'* 

«^ Well, I wouldn't think that, now, of that handsome 
young man, in the check shirt, that nodded to you as we 
passed him, while ago. He has an honest face." 

The girl again laughed and blushed. '' Why then I '11 tell 
you," she said, at length seduced into a confidence. ^'If 
i *£i b'leive any of 'em, I think it is that boy. He is a boat- 
man on the Lakes,' and aims a sighth o' money, but it goes 
as fast as it comes." 
*' How 19 that?" 

^^ O then, he can't help it, poor fellow. Them boatmen 

ar'n't allowed to dhrink any thing while they 're upon the 

lake, except at the siaUans^ but then, to make up for that, 

they all meet at night at a JfidM in town, where th^y stay 

dancing and dhrinking, all night, 'till they spend whatever 

the quollity gives *em in the day. Luke Kennedy, (that's 

this boy,) would like to save, if he could, but the rest wouldn't 

pull an oar with him, if he didn't do as they do. So that 's 

the way of it. And sometimes afther being up all night 

a' most, you '11 see 'em out again at the first light in the 

morning. 'Tis a pity the quollity would give 'em money at 

all, only have it laid out*for 'em in some way that it would 

do 'em good. Luke Kennedy is a great fencer, I 'm tould. 

Himself an' Myles Murphy, behind, are the best about the 

Lakes at the stick. Sure Luke taught fencing himselfi once. 

Did you ever hear o' the great guard be taught the beys 

about the place ?" 

Fame had not informed Eily of this circumstance. 
^' Well, I '11 tell ypu it. He gev it out one Sunday, upon 
some writing that was pasted again the chapel door, to have 
all the boys, that wor for lamen to fence, to come to him at 
sech a place, an' he 'd taich 'em a guard that would bindher 
'em of ever being sthruck. Well, 'tis an admiration what b 



&08 THE COXtEGIAKS. 

gathering he bad before him* So when they wor all listed 
ing, ^ Boys,' says he, getting up on a taUe an' looking roood 
him, ^ Boys, the guard I have to give ye, that '11 save ye from 
all sorts o' isthrokes, is this, to keep a civil tongue in yer 
head at all times. Do that/ says he, ' an' I 'II be bail je 
nevierUl get a sthroke.' Well, you never seen people 
wondher so much, or look so foolish as they did, since the 
hoar, you wor born." 

" 'Twas a good advice." 

" An' that 's a thing Luke knew how to give, better than 
iie'd take. I hardly spake to him at all now, myself." 

"Why so?" 

" Oh, be knows, himself. He wanted me a while ago to 
marry him, and to part with my ould father." 

•* And you refused hilii ?" said Eily, blushing a conscious 
crimson. 

^ I hardly spoke to him afVher. He'd be the handsome 
Luke If ennedy, indeed, if he 'd make me part the poor onld 
man that way. An' my mother dead, an' he having no else 
but myself to do a-ha'p'orth for him. What could I expect j 
if I done that ? If Luke likes me, let him come and shov 
it by my father— if not, there *s more girls in the place, an' 
he 's welcome to pick his choice, for Mary," 

Every word of tkis speech fell, like a burning coal, upon 
the heart of Eily. She paused a moment in deep emotioD, 
and then addressed her companion : 

"You are right, Mary, you are very right. Let nothing, 
Jet no man's love, tempt you to forget your duty to your 
father. Oh, you don't know, much as you love him, what 
thoughts you would have, if you were to leave him as you say. 
Let nothing tempt you tc3t/it. You would neither have luck, 
nor peace, nor comfort, and if your husband should be un* 
kind to you, you could not turn to him again for consola- 
tion. But I need not be talking to you ; you are a good 
gfrl, and more fit to give mef advice, than to listen to any I 
can offer you. '* 

From this moixient Ejjy did not open her lips to her com- 
panion, until' they arrived in Castle-Island. The Christmas 
candles were already hghted in every cottage, and Eily de- 
termined to defer seeing her uncle until the foTlowixtj; 
morning. ^ 

END 9P vol. I,